Written 24/03/2010
Disclaimer: Transformers toys, comics, and characters were created and are owned by Hasbro. The 1984 cartoon on which this story is based was produced by the Claster Television production company, a subsidiary of Hasbro.
Warning: This story contains sexual content that could be considered slash (m/m), although it occurs between two ungendered robotic lifeforms. It is non-sticky, containing mild sparksex only. Rated PG-13.
Author's Notes: The little crack-bunny Fic That Could! It grew and evolved out of a tiny cracktastic idea into a real story, complete with humour, romance, crack and fluff! Mainly Prowl/Jazz, but with some (ahem!) background pairings as well. ;P
Summary: You know all those stories about Seekers in heat and going through breeding cycles? Well, Jazz didn’t. He does now.
Jazz threw himself into Prowl’s arms. “Hold me, Prowler,” he wailed. “I’ve been traumatized for life!”
Prowl calmly dropped the Third-in-Command on his aft.
Jazz fell back chortling uncontrollably, not even bothering to get up off the ground. Prowl crossed his arms over his chassis as he patiently let the mech laugh himself out.
“Are you over your dramatics yet?”
Jazz flashed him a ‘thumbs up’, a curious gesture appropriated from their human allies with several different meanings that nevertheless all seemed to indicate a positive response.
“Very well. Would you care to tell me what happened to put you into this state?”
Jazz snickered, but accepted his fellow black and white’s hand to lever him back to his pedes. “Come to think of it, don’t know if I should tell you. It was pretty unbelievable. The illogic of it might crash your processor.”
Prowl contemplated the still giddy Ops Specialist for a moment, took in his far too amused grin and the glittering light behind his visor, nodded, and continued on his way.
He gave it three steps before Jazz broke.
“Wait!”
He made it four. Hmmm, he might have to run a diagnostic on his probability matrix. He sent a reminder to his personal datapad to do that, just as Jazz caught up with him.
“Yes?”
Jazz hooked his arm through Prowl’s, holding on so the SIC couldn’t slip away again. “So I was out spying on the Decepticons, yeah? They been awful quiet lately and I was thinking it had to mean they’re up to something no good, ya know?”
“Yes, Jazz. I was there when Prime authorised your investigation.”
“Right. So I was expecting to find the ‘Cons hatching some new horrible plot, just like normal, that we’d then have to stop, just like normal, and kick ‘Con aft until they whimpered off home, just like normal.”
Prowl sighed. “Yes, Jazz.”
“But when I got there and snuck into the base, you know what I saw? Well lemme tell you what I didn’t see: no one is or will be hatching any plots for while. Not unless it’s a really clever one involving nothing but interfacin’ their plating off.”
Jazz smirked as Prowl’s optics flickered in surprise. “I beg your pardon?”
“S’what I’m telling ya! Everywhere I went, I saw nothing but mechs so busy gettin’ busy I coulda waltzed right down their corridors singing at the top of my vocal capacitors and they still probably wouldn’t have noticed me.”
“Surely they couldn’t all have been...”
“Well, no,” Jazz thought a bit. “Actually, I guess it was mostly the Seekers who was so revved up. I passed Thundercracker by the mess hall where he was practically trying to climb Motormaster. And Rumble and Frenzy ran right by where I was hiding, shrieking up a storm, with Skywarp hot on their afts. All three of the Rainmakers were crowded into the medbay with the Constructicons – they had poor Hook, the lucky glitch, surrounded when I peaked in. And while I didn’t see it, I sure in the pits heard what sounded a frag of lot like Blitzwing gettin’ blitzed by Dirge.”
“But the coup de gras was when I stole into the control room and saw Starscream cuddled up with both Megatron and Soundwave!” Jazz didn’t notice Prowl stiffen as he rapid-fire sent a series of vid-captures to Prowl to properly illustrate the sheer oddity of the Decepticon goings-on. “Look at that! Primus rust me if that ain’t the treacherous little schemer snuggled all cozy-like in Megatron’s lap while nuzzling Soundwave’s neck-cabling! And they was just eatin’ it up like energon-goodies! You ever seen such a sappy look in ol’ Megs’ optics before, Prowler? Down right terrifying, it is.”
“Yes,” he agreed distractedly. “Please excuse me, Jazz. I must speak with Bluestreak and Smokescreen immediately.”
Something in his tone must have communicated itself to Jazz, because the Ops mech paused in his mutterings to look at him searchingly. Prowl froze, trying to hide his sudden need to be elsewhere.
“Y’all alright there, Prowler? Was it something I said?” His visor flared. “You know what’s going on with the ‘Cons?”
Prowl hesitated, but could not lie or refuse to answer. He couldn’t afford to. If what he suspected was true, then it was already too late.
“From what you described, it seems the Seekers have entered their heat period and initiated a breeding cycle. It is a time when Vosians seek out the most viable mates – the strongest, fastest, smartest, whatever element they prize the most for their offspring. During this time, Seekers release a unique electromagnetic frequency that spurs their prospective mate into arousal. It is very difficult to resist.”
“Ooooh-kay. So that’s why all the ‘Cons are so preoccupied.” Jazz quirked a grin, then poked the tactician. “But that doesn’t explain why you’re so serious all of a sudden. They ain’t no threat to us, are they?”
“Vosians and Praxians are closely related.”
And for the first time in thousands of vorns of knowing one another, Prowl had to wait for Jazz’s processor to reboot from a crash.
“M’ sorry, mech,” Jazz stared dumbly once he was online again, “I think my logic algorithms are glitched. Ya can’t mean what I think ya mean?”
“Praxians are descended from a collective of grounded Seekers who left Vos and settled Praxus long before the Golden Age began. While we evolved out of many of our Seeker traits, such as the need or ability for flight and trine protocols, some of the most basic tenants of Seeker coding are ingrained in our sparks. Primary among those is the heat cycle and the drive to breed. Traditionally, full-coded Vosians will enter their heat period first and within just a few orns, the Praxians will follow.”
“If that’s the case, then why haven’t ya gone into heat before?” Jazz wondered, then suddenly retracted his habitual visor to lock optics with him as a thought occurred. “You haven’t, have ya, Prowl? You woulda told me if you were, right?”
“No, Jazz,” Prowl affirmed quickly, not liking that desperate look in his friend’s usually covered optics. “There hasn’t been a breeding cycle since the war started, and for quite a while before it began as well. The conditions have not been right for one for a long time. Bluestreak’s generation was the last one, and I was still a youngling myself when he was sparked.”
“So you ain’t never been in heat?”
“That’s correct. This will be my first experience. While I understand theoretically how it will proceed, I admit I am not certain I am fully prepared for the effects of the heat period.”
Jazz gave him a sympathetic smile and bumped their shoulders together companionably. “What kind of effects are ya expecting, if you don’t mind my nosin’?”
Prowl leaned imperceptibly closer to Jazz as he began to explain. “Have you ever wondered why Seekers are called Seekers?”
“Heard stories it was on account that they were the only space-flight capable mechs in the beginning and they were sent by Primus to find sources of energon.”
“Ah, no,” Prowl felt a smile quirk at his own lips. “They are called Seekers because they will expend a great deal of energy seeking out the perfect mate, one who will help them produce only the best possible sparkling. The heat cycle exists to both aide and expedite that process, as the need to breed will drive the Seekers to pick a mate as fast as possible in order to best conserve their own energy. A Seeker gripped within the heat cycle is unable to think of anything save for mating and will go to extremes to fulfill their code requirements.”
“It’s alright, Jazz,” he added, as the Ops mech’s un-visored optics clearly expressed his concern for his friend. There was a reason Jazz wore the visor after all, and it wasn’t about fashion. His optics could not hide any emotion he felt. “Praxians are not as affected by the heat period as our Vosian cousins. From what I recall of my own creators, we will still be driven to breed but will not lose access to our higher lever functions while we do.”
Prowl slowly began walking down the hall again, and Jazz easily fell into step with him. They walked in comfortable silence towards the command wing. Prowl comm’d a quick request for the other two Praxians to meet him in his office in a few breems, and then just took a moment to bask in the familiar friendship he shared with the mech beside him before he brought up his next point.
“Jazz, I’m sorry, but you should be aware that you will most likely be my target when I am overcome by my heat cycle. If you do not wish to mate with me, you will have to go to considerable lengths to avoid me. I will almost certainly put all my faculties to use in seeking and seducing you otherwise.”
Prowl continued the thought out loud while Jazz was shocked into a stunned silence. “Sideswipe and Sunstreaker will also have to be warned as Bluestreak will probably target them. I am uncertain who Smokescreen will seek out however, as there are several mechs he has indicated an attraction to in the past. I will need to discuss the matter with him, but they may all need to be warned.”
"The Prime, Ratchet, and Red Alert should also be informed so we can begin preparations for the arrival of the sparklings. There is much to be done in a short period of time."
Prowl waited after his pronouncement. Jazz’s fidgeting indicated he had questions he was unsure how to ask. Prowl had expected this, and was prepared to answer to the best of his ability. His friend deserved that much.
But what Jazz asked was not what he was expecting. “So, just so’s I got this clear. When you mechs go into heat and choose a mate... it’s someone you were previously attracted to? Not just whoever’d give ya the best sparkling, but some someone ya actually cared about first?”
“Er, well... that is...” Prowl stiffened in embarrassment. His battle computer frantically cycled through strategy after strategy to try to find a solution to get out of this awkward situation yet hopefully still retain his friendship with the one mech who meant the most to him.
Thankfully, Jazz forestalled his imminent crash with a hand on his chestplate over his spark. “’Cause I wouldn’t mind if that were true.” Jazz said with a gentle smile, stepping close enough for Prowl to feel his electric field wrap around him in welcome. “Seeing as I’ve been attracted to you since I met ya.”
Relief and a heady sense of anticipation had Prowl smiling back helplessly. Maybe this breeding cycle would turn out alright after all.
Jazz curled his arm around the Praxian mech in a quick hug and shot him a cheeky grin. “So tell me more of this funky EM frequency that drives mechs wild for Seeker-tail. M’ I gonna get the chance ta experience that too? ‘Cause I’ll tell ya right now I don’t think I’ll be needing it...”
When the heat hit the Praxians, they still weren’t ready for it despite spending the last orn and a half getting prepared. Bluestreak had been outside shooting target practice when it came over him, and as predicted, he wound up hunting down the twins in his search for a mate. Unfortunately, the twins happened to be in the common room playing games with some other mechs when he did. The resulting commotion would surely be recorded and replayed for vorns to come, if only for the expression on Sunstreaker’s face when the grey Praxian came running in and pounced right onto him with a full-body tackle.
Or it would have, had anyone been manning the security cameras in the control room. Smokescreen, however, had been overcome by his own heat period just astroseconds before and, in a surprising turn, had snagged Inferno along the way and was even now avidly distracting the Security Director from his duties.
Jazz, on the other hand, was easy to find when Prowl succumbed to his demanding coding. The special operations commander had made it his personal mission to never be too far away from the tactician while they waited for the breeding cycle to begin. He was in Prowl’s quarters at the time, working with the Second-in-Command on long-term plans for dealing with the inevitable upcoming sparklings.
The heat cycle kicked in quickly. The first thing Prowl noticed at its onset actually had nothing to do with either the nagging arousal or subsequent temperature control problems that were such classic symptoms of a Vosian or Praxian ready to breed. Rather, it was the sudden sharpening of the sensory receptors in his doorwings as they locked on to Jazz’s presence. The narrowing focus of his sensory network to what had always been familiar background stimuli was intense enough to draw him out of his work.
He lifted his helm and immediately sought out Jazz in the chair across the desk from him. The moment his optics lit on the other black and white, all other thoughts faded.
It was like he’d never seen the mech before. The white in his plating gleamed it was so bright, while the black dazzled like a night sky full of stars. Prowl could not tear his optics away. Every feature, every angle, every long smooth line drew his gaze hungrily until he’d traced every inch of his prospective mate’s form.
More than anything though, was how he’d never before noticed how much Jazz glowed.
A brilliant glittering aura encompassed the oblivious Ops mech. Seeming to shine with strength of Jazz’s lifeforce, it flared brightest right over his spark. Prowl was captivated! He quivered with the desire to touch that technicolour field, to immerse in the promised light and warmth of Jazz’s coveted spark.
Without any conscious control, Prowl felt his own electromagnetic field shifting to harmonize with that of his mate’s.
Jazz stilled, pausing in place as he suddenly became aware of the changed atmosphere. Then he looked up.
Prowl’s internal fans kicked on with a thunk. The blue glow behind Jazz’s visor, normally already bright with mischief and the joy of life that so embodied the spy, seemed to be amplified until it lit his entire face from within. The effect was beautiful (he was beautiful!) but Prowl felt a moment’s disappointment. He longed to see Jazz’s optics, to see his desire reflected back in those so expressive crystals as he’d become used to since that fateful conversation just over an orn ago.
As if he was reading his mind, Jazz’s visor retracted and the mech smiled. Wide, open, welcoming – that smile invited Prowl to anything he wanted with the assurance it would be given freely and happily.
With a moan wrenched from his spark chamber, Prowl was up out of his seat and clambering across the desk before his cortex finished giving the order to move. Heedless of the clank of his chair falling over, of the datapads being crushed under his knees, he crawled right into Jazz’s lap.
“Oh, Prowler, “ Jazz’s voice grated out rough with want. “If this is what heat always feels like, no wonder no one can resist you mechs. Can I...? I want to touch you...”
His plating itched, it longed so desperately for Jazz’s touch. “Please!” he cried. And then arms were around him, Jazz’s hands gripping his waist and holding him tight.
Prowl struck. He curled his arms around Jazz’s neck and yanked him into a scorching kiss. Jazz responded eagerly, his hands sliding sinuously up his back and going straight for his doorwings. He brushed teasing caresses all over the extremely sensitive sensory panels and bent his head to nip his neck.
Prowl writhed with pleasure. His whole body was on fire, the very energon in his lines aflame with need. He pressed as close as possible to the other mech, grinding their chests together as he sampled whatever part of his mate he could reach with hands or glossa.
Jazz, too, was not idle. Clever fingers skipped and skated along his body, dipping into crevices and creases to flick and fondle. Each touch sent an arrow of pleasure straight to his spark, simultaneously soothing his need for contact and making him burn with greater want for more. Prowl encouraged it all, leaning into each stroke and returning it for one of his own. Their synchronized electrical fields mingled and mixed around and within them both, enhancing the experience like nothing they’d ever felt before.
Jazz groaned as Prowl rubbed against him, his dextrous hands seeking out and stimulating all the hidden sensory nodes within and just under his flexible plating. It felt good to Prowl as well, this giving of pleasure back to the mate who was so talented at eliciting it from him. He was proud to be able to return the affections, to kiss and lick and touch his mate, and mark him worthy. As he himself was being marked.
“Jazz, Jazz, Jazz, Jazz...” Nothing else mattered to Prowl in this moment, nothing but getting closer to his mate. Closer than even the solid press of their bodies, the tangle of their electromagnetic fields. There was something else he needed, something he was missing. Something, the only thing that would complete him and salve the heat cycle.
“Jazz, I need... we have to... please!” Prowl whined as he slipped his fingertips into the seams of his mate’s chestplates, brushing delicately across the sealed latches tucked within. His own chestplates were opening without hesitation, the time for teasing past as the need to mate drove him relentlessly on.
Jazz echoed his whine, his latches unclicking instinctively and peeling apart his chestplates to reveal his pulsing spark.
Prowl released an exultant cry, his electromagnetic field flaring out in welcome and want. Jazz responded immediately, his own field blaring brighter as their sparks began sending out tendrils of energy in reach of the other. When the connection was finally made, both shuddered at the fierce jolt that only fanned the flames of their passion. Consumed by the need for more, they reached out again and again, the contact between their sparks deepening and lasting longer with every pulse.
Then at last, fleeting connection was no longer enough for either of them and their sparks met and clung. In full accord, both pushed that smallest bit further – reached out with the very fibre of their being that infinitesimal distance that separated them from what they wanted, needed, desired most – and fell into their mate.
Twin shouts of joy reverberated off the room’s walls.
Merged in the most meaningful way possible for their kind, Prowl and Jazz were one. For possibly the only in his life, Jazz felt what it was like for a Vosian or Praxian to be gripped by heat, the terrible ached that consumed and overwhelmed in its desperate desire to reproduce. And Prowl felt what it was like for one affected by their mate’s heat, the processor-numbing sensation of being just that wanted, of being so desired that you could not help but desire back yourself.
But that was not all they felt. Beneath the immediate feelings of the heat, there were deeper emotions that both sought and found freely. Feelings of friendship, attraction, devotion, trust, and above all, a growing current of love. That profound impression was the final thread and as it spread throughout their combined essences, it pushed them over the edge.
Overload crashed over them. Torn apart by the potency of the backlash, their sparks slowly retreated back into their proper chambers. Lingering waves of energy soothed them during the process until all that was left was a languid pleasure and a clear sense of completion.
“Mmmm...” Jazz purred in his audials as Prowl recovered. “If I’d known ‘facing with you was that good, Prowler, I’d have had you in m’ berth two breems after I met you.”
Prowl chuckled, far too satisfied to bother trying to calculate the remote likelihood of that. “I don’t think it always feels quite like that, Jazz. The heat is a powerful force that no doubt enhances the experience greatly.”
“No doubt,” Jazz agreed automatically, not even paying attention as he was busy running his hands over and down Prowl’s gradually cooling armour. Prowl nuzzled the side of his face affectionately.
“So,” Jazz stole a kiss. “Is that it? One amazingly awesome – if I do say so m’self – overload and the heat’s over?” He could not entirely keep the disappointment he felt at the idea from permeating his voice.
In answer Prowl wriggled in his mate’s lap. “Does it feel like it’s over?” He grinned wickedly. “Oh no, Jazz, not yet. It’s been banked, yes, temporarily satisfied so that I’m feeling a little more myself, a little more in control, but it’s by no means over yet. The heat cycle is about breeding, remember, and it doesn’t end until someone gets sparked up.”
“Reeeeally?” Jazz grinned back. “Then we’ll get to do this again?”
The outrageously lecherous tone he used did not fully hide the seriousness of the question. His too-revealing optics pleaded for reassurance.
Prowl kissed him fiercely. “Often. In fact, I was hoping that perhaps our relationship would not end with the heat cycle. We’re going to have a sparkling together, after all, it only makes logical sense that we forge a more permanent...” he hesitated, suddenly overcome by nerves, “connection.”
But Jazz heard what he’d meant to say and smiled, pleased. “I’d like that,” he said simply.
Prowl’s electromagnetic field flared out to caress his mate in joy. He hugged Jazz shyly. “Thank you.”
Strong arms tightened possessively around him. Prowl pecked a light kiss onto his face and snuggled in. For a while, neither of them moved. They just revelled in the comfort of being with their mate.
And future bonded, if all went well.
“So what are we to do until then?” Jazz smirked, and winked at him lasciviously.
Prowl returned the smirk twice-over, but surprised Jazz by getting up off his lap. His voice was a tease when he spoke. “I believe the humans have a solution that will work for us.”
He made for the exit.
Jazz stood up in confusion. “Where ya goin’?”
Prowl tossed a mischievous smile over his shoulder at him. “To give you a head start. I’m a Praxian, Jazz, the closest thing to a Seeker a ground-based mech can get. A Praxian in the middle of my heat cycle, a time dedicated to seeking a mate – which I, alas, did not get to do as you were so conveniently close when the time came. At your own insistence too, I might add.”
Jazz began to laugh as he understood. “You want to chase me? Well right on, Prowler! That is a plan I can get behind. Sounds like fun!” He all but skipped to the door and slipped through ahead of his mate.
One hand lingered to trail delicately over Prowl’s doorwing to his chest, then tapped lightly right over his sparkchamber. Jazz leaned close to sub-vocalise into his audial.
“Tag, you’re it.”
And he bolted off running down the corridor, a squeal of glee drifting back from him as he disappeared around the corner.
Laughing gaily, the temporarily sated heat cycle making him playful, Prowl quickly counted to one hundred. Then he broke into a run of his own and gave chase, happily off to seek out his mate.
Jazz, as only the Autobot’s premier spy could, led Prowl on a merry chase. Following nothing but the fading traces of the electromagnetic frequency his own had become tuned to, Prowl put all his considerable skills to use tracking his mate.
Since Jazz was not actively trying to hide or avoid him completely, the game was satisfyingly fun for them both. Prowl ignored the undisguised stares and amusement on the faces of those he passed as he followed his mate’s trail all over the base. Occasionally, he even had to double-back along his own path as clever Jazz employed some of his espionage tricks for an added challenge. When he did, always there would be a little clue to set him back on track: a scuff of paint, a scratch in the suspicious shape of an arrow, or a helpful Autobot ready to point him along. Several times, Prowl got close enough to catch a glimpse of a fleeing monochromatic shape before it vanished once more with a taunting laugh.
Exhilarated by the chase, the heat’s influence soon began to build again in burning anticipation of winning his prize.
Prowl only slowed his pace when his sensory network detected an unusual signature. It was not the familiar essence of his mate, so he almost passed it by. But there was something about it that called to his spark and he still retained enough higher level reasoning to wonder what. Curious, he crept quietly to the nearest room and peered in.
Huh. Well, that was perhaps more than he ever needed to know about his coworkers.
Plastered against – and partially on – the Security station, Smokescreen’s bright blue armor was almost invisible beneath Inferno’s bulk. Only the ends of his doorwings were exposed as the firetruck applied himself diligently to Smokescreen’s back. Based on the amount of moaning emerging from beneath the pair, his fellow Praxian was enjoying the attentions. Prowl blinked, the non heat-addled part of his processor curious how they could mate properly in that position. Then Inferno wrapped his arms around Smokescreen’s waist and all but lifted the mech off to the side to reveal the smaller Red Alert pinned to the console.
Red Alert’s wide open spark was still pulsing erratically with post-overload bliss when Inferno swept him up too and claimed a kiss of his own. Smokescreen squirmed back into the melee with a gleeful ardor that brought all three crashing to the floor. When they did, Prowl distantly noticed they were covered in what looked like Inferno’s fire retardant foam – and that was definitely smoke damage blackening the bank of monitors – before he was distracted by the ambient waves of arousal pouring off them at the three-way interfacing.
Far too charged up by the events to feel any embarrassment, Prowl swiftly returned to the hunt for his own mate. This time however, he used the overriding need of the heat cycle to his advantage and spurred his battle computer to determine the most likely location of his mate. Smiling when the answer came to him, he abandoned his higher level functions and set off at a fast run down the next hall.
Prowl careened around a corner, throwing out an arm for balance as he took the turn too fast. A breem after, he was leaping in the air to clear the skidding forms of the twins as an evilly smirking Ratchet tripped them on their way past his medbay. Astroseconds later Bluestreak tumbled out of the medic’s domain and loosed a triumphant yodel as he nearly smothered Sideswipe in his enthusiasm.
“Prowl.” The still grinning Ratchet nodded respectfully to him as he passed, but he did not pause. As he swung about the next corridor, he faintly heard Ratchet’s echoing yell for the trio to for Primus’s sake, take it to your own quarters! before he got out of range.
Then he was approaching the supposed-to-be empty command centre and his electromagnetic field flared as it sensed Jazz nearby. Howling a battle cry, Prowl put on a last burst of speed and launched himself through the entrance and directly into his mate. Jazz caught him and merrily met his lips when he crushed their mouths together.
That was the last thing Prowl was consciously aware of until an incessant beeping disturbed his comfortable rest along Jazz’s body. Lifting his head from his mate’s shoulder, he glanced blearily around until his optics cleared enough to realize the beeping was Teletraan-1 patiently announcing an incoming call.
His heat phase considerably eased by the most recent bout of interfacing, Prowl’s sense of duty reared its ugly head. Sighing, he began to untangle himself to get up and see what the message was about.
“Mm, wha izzit?” Jazz mumbled, stretching out atop what Prowl now recognized was the conference room table off to the side of the large room. Both flustered and vaguely smug by the realization, Prowl scrambled down as he explained.
Jazz propped himself up on one arm, unbothered by his improper location. “Gonna have ta call Optimus; we’re not supposed to be on duty until yer heat cycle’s done. Who is it anyway?”
“Just a moment, Jazz, let me just—“
Megatron’s frowning visage took over the screen.
“Whoa!” Jazz quickly joined him at the console. “Definitely gotta call Optimus. Wonder what ol’ bucket head wants at a time like this?”
Optimus Prime arrived in short order. Ratchet came soon after, dragging a very embarrassed Red Alert behind him as Smokescreen and Inferno trailed obediently (well, Inferno was behaving, Smokescreen kept trying to steal Red Alert back) in their wake. Once all the key players were there, the Prime activated Teletraan-1’s communications link and opened a channel to the Decepticon base.
“Geetings, Megatron.” He nodded pleasantly to the opposite faction’s leader. “Is there something I can help you with?”
Megatron scowled darkly at the Autobots. “I’m declaring a truce,” he said shortly.
Optimus blinked. “I’m sorry? Not that we in any way object to a cease of hostilities, but I am curious as to what brought this request on.”
“That’s none of your business,“ Megatron began, a thunderous expression on his dour face, when suddenly Starscream draped himself over his shoulder. “Get off me!”
But Starscream just canted him a saucy smirk and purred. “That’s not what you were saying a few orns ago.”
While the Autobots stared in bemusement, Megatron’s scowl faltered for a brief moment before deepening even further. “That doesn’t count! I was still under the influence of your blasted—“ He cut himself off with a significant glare at the watching Autobots.
“Oh please, it’s not like they don’t know.” The Seeker laughed, ignoring his leader’s displeasure. “Hey Prowl, has your heat kicked in yet?”
If Prowl could have blushed like a human he’d have been beat red when everyone turned to stare at him and Jazz pressed so close together they were all but advertising the afterglow. Smokescreen started giggling and didn’t stop even when Inferno clapped a hand over his face.
Their reaction was answer enough for Starscream. His smirk widened. “I thought so. Well, as you’ll no doubt soon be experiencing for yourselves, we need to put this little war of ours on hold for a while since about half the base is now expecting sparklings. Including myself,” he added, his bright red optics going hard in warning. “And I will not tolerate any harm coming to my winglet.”
At his side, Megatron snorted. “That’s my sparkling too, you crazy aft flyer. And as if it wasn’t bad enough that my Second went into heat and got himself sparked up, he had to drag my Third into it too!”
Starscream mockingly poked his mate. “Congratulations, oh mighty leader, you’re going to be a daddy – twice over!”
At which point Jazz suddenly realized what they were talking about and spoke up without thinking. “Wait, so Soundwave’s sparked up too? How does your going into heat make that happen, unless it’s just somethin’ about him? I mean, the mech’s got six Cassettes and they had to come from somewhere... “ He mused to last bit to himself.
Prowl looked at him strangely. “Erm, Jazz? You do know that the heat phase is just about facilitating the breeding cycle, yes? Because for Vosians and Praxians, going into heat just means we’re ready to breed. It doesn’t mean we’re always the newspark’s carriers. If our mate is the one to become sparked up, that’s good enough to satisfy the heat just fine.”
Jazz stared back blankly.
A full breem passed in silence.
Then...
“WHAT?!?”
Jazz looked down at his own chest, where he’d been feeling some slight twinges but put it off as a byproduct of all the vigorous exercise he’d been subjecting his spark to lately. Turns out he may not have been that far off the mark after all.
Huh.
The time leading up to the arrival of the sparklings was a tumultuous one for everyone. Everywhere, mechs were scrambling to get everything done in time.
Teams were assembled to scour in, around, and all over the base to make sure everything was as clean and safe as possible before tiny mechlings would soon be crawling around investigating anything they could get into. Access tunnels had to blocked, and sensitive wiring sealed away from curious little fingers. Walls, floors, and even ceilings had to be scrubbed and polished until they shone. Weapons, explosives, chemicals, and any tool or project that could be construed the least bit dangerous had to be locked away in secure, impervious containers. All in all it took almost four whole orns to thoroughly sparkling-proof the entire premises to even Red Alert’s exacting standards.
But that was only a small part of what had to be done.
While Red Alert coordinated the safety clean-up, Prowl and Jazz were busily reorganizing the duty rosters and procedure protocols to account for the upcoming changes. Personnel had to be shifted to allow for parenting time, schedules rearranged to accommodate the new needs that would soon be taking priority for a lot of the mechs on board. Thankfully, it appeared as if the entire base was in agreement and worked willingly to keep everything running smoothly.
Bumblebee and a few volunteers had begun preparations for creating communal sparkling recreation rooms, filled with games and teaching supplies appropriate for every stage of development. A list was already forming of mechs willing and eager for babysitting duties as well.
Perhaps the biggest change of all, however, was the ever-increasing amount of communication with the Decepticons. Not only was Optimus Prime working hard to iron out the details of the truce with Megatron, but even some of the others had opened friendly – or at least cordial – relations with their Decepticon compatriots.
Ratchet, Hoist, and Wheeljack had the most to do. Even with the cooperation of the Constructicons, they were working round the clock to design and build a bunch of basic protoform shells for both factions. Scrapper and Wheeljack had turned out to have many similar ideas, and were quickly wearing out the rest of the team’s patience. Ratchet had actually progressed beyond throwing wrenches and begun just taking potshots at them. Hook and Hoist seemed far too amused by it all and heckled mercilessly even as they forged, welded, and shaped the tiny protoforms.
Another project begun in conjunction with their former enemies was an outdoor playground set equidistant between both bases. Conceived by Cliffjumper of all mechs, the Seekers had latched onto the idea with enthusiasm and chosen a small protected valley surrounded by low mountains with large caves and interspersed with smooth canyons as the location. Wanting to give their future winglets a safe and fun place to practice their aerial manoeuvres, they were remodelling the area to more closely resemble the familiar terrain of Vos’ primary crèche.
Cliffjumper, Beachcomber, Hound, Mirage, and Trailbreaker worked around the excited Seekers to also make the area safe and enjoyable for ground-based sparklings. Wards and sensor nets and holographic fences were laid all around the playground valley to protect the sparklings from wandering predators or human encroachment. And taking a cue from their human allies, they also built a series of sparkling-sized toys and exercise equipment similar to human swingsets and monkeybars to give the sparklings something to climb and play around in within the meadowy glen.
The Seekers’ reaction to being sparked up had been something that no one, not even the Praxians, had been prepared to deal with. Seekers, apparently, went completely fragging crazy when they had sparklings on the way!
Their mad efforts to reconstruct the cliffs and canyons around the valley were only one example of their crazy nesting behaviours. In a surprising twist, Megatron had taken to visiting the Autobot base almost every other orn to ‘discuss important matters with Prime’ in an attempt to escape their manic preparations in his own base. Prowl had been present the first time he’d come around, all but begging to be let in just so that Starscream would stop harassing him about the precise positioning of the berth-padding in the nursery room.
“He just doesn’t stop!” The mighty Decepticon warlord had almost whined. “Every astrosecond, there’s something ‘crucial’ he needs me to do, and it’s always some pointless task that I half think he’s making up on the spot just to see me squirm! Last cycle he had me repainting our quarters a light blue so the sparklings could feel like they were flying through the sky and not develop claustrophobia. Then a breem later he was screeching about how toxic the paint was and ‘what if the sparklings licked the walls? They’d be poisoned! What kind of father are you?! Fix it!’ So then I had to spend twice as long as it took in the first place scraping all the paint off and rewashing the walls!”
Prowl sympathized with him a great deal.
Jazz hadn’t asked him to redecorate anything yet (thank Primus!), but his mate had certainly been displaying a wide range of unpredictable mood swings.
“Nah, m’ not hungry right now. Just leave it on the table, I’ll get it later.”
“Hey, this energon’s old! How long's this been sitting out here? Ugh, disgusting! Prowler, sweetspark, will you get me a fresh one? Pretty please? Thanks, love!”
“Prowl, I’m cold! Can you turn up the heat for me please? I would do it myself, but I just got comfortable. Thanks, Prowler, you’re the best!”
“Man, it’s way too hot in here! Why’d you turn it up so high, Prowl? Don’t you know I’m expending a lot of energy supporting your sparkling here! Turn it down!”
“Prowl, where are you going? C’mon back to the berth, and let me show you just how sexy I find you when you’re being all dutiful and industrious. Makes me wanna distract ya somethin’ fierce, baby!”
“Unh, not tonight, Prowler. I’m tired and my chestplates hurt. I don’t wanna ‘face right now. Can’t we just cuddle?”
And that sometimes all in one day! Yes, Prowl sympathized a great deal indeed.
Thankfully, it could not last forever. Before they knew it, the first of the carriers were starting to get the pains in their sparkchambers that indicated the tiny newsparks were detaching. The medics rushed to ready the protoform shells for the transfer and the aching carriers were escorted by their frantic mates to the medbay.
Prowl waited anxiously with Sideswipe and Sunstreaker when it was their turn. Inferno and Red Alert were already in with Smokescreen, cooing over the little mechling as his colours slowly came in.
“Prowl?” First Aid called, startling him so bad he actually jumped. He turned to look at the medic’s apprentice hopefully.
First Aid smiled gently. “You can come on in now, sir. Ratchet is about to make the transfer.”
Prowl was at his mate’s side in a flash. Jazz looked exhausted, lying back on the medical berth with his chestplates peeled back and his sparkchamber throbbing with the need to release the precious life within. Standing on the other side from Ratchet and the protoform, he held Jazz’s hand and smiled proudly down at his mate.
“Whatever happens from now on, Jazz, I want you to know that I love you very much and appreciate everything you’ve done for me. Our sparkling is going to be so perfect because it’ll made of the best of both of us.”
“Right back atcha, Prowler.” Jazz squeezed his hand as Ratchet carefully separated the newspark and moved it over to the shell.
As the newspark was absorbed into the tiny sparkchamber, Ratchet ran one last check before placing the newborn sparkling in Jazz’ arms. Its colours were already coming in, tiny swathes of black and white replacing the dull steel – except for a thin splash of bright pink slowly forming on her chest.
Her. Their sparkling was a femme.
“She’s beautiful, Jazz.”
Jazz was enraptured, lightly tickling over his sparkling’s chassis just to hear her giggle. “She’s a marvel, Prowl. We done good, we done real good.” He looked up at his mate. “What are we gonna name her?”
“I think you just did, Jazz.” He smiled happily. “Marvel. We’ll call her Marvel.”
EPILOGUE
Jazz nearly tripped as a small form barrelled past right over his foot.
“Marvel!” he yelled after his ballistic sparkling. “Watch where you’re goin’, bitlet!”
The saboteur hopped on one pede a few paces, waiting for the sting of tiny claws to fade. Prowl watched from the door to their shared quarters, barely suppressing his mirth.
“She takes after you, of course,” he said, letting the unrepentant grin free when his bondmate finally looked up.
Marvel, the only femme to emerge from the Vosian and Praxian breeding cycle five vorns ago, took after both her creators in truth. She was viciously smart and an intuitive problem-solver. A natural leader, she was already bossing the other sparklings around with gleeful abandon.
Alright, maybe she took a little more after her carrier after all.
Prowl was unreasonably (rightfully) proud of her even as he cringed every time she discovered some new and ‘interesting’ kind of trouble to get into. Thankfully, between her smarts and the combined talents of the other sparklings, she also usually managed to get herself out of most situations before they became too dangerous.
Marvel’s rise to infamy as the most reckless of the sparklings had come as a surprise to everyone. Most had feared that the newspark Bluestreak carried, with the twin prankster influences of Sideswipe and Sunstreaker, would be a total hellion that would drive all the Autobots crazy. But to the shock of everyone – including his own creators – Quicksnap was the most well behaved of all the little ones.
Bumblebee came trotting up to them. “Hey guys, is Marvel with you? She got away from me again.”
While Jazz sighed, lamenting on the unruliness of his sparkling with her babysitter as if he couldn’t fathom at all where her tendency to misbehave came from, Prowl was more pragmatic. He just pointed down the hall in the direction she’d run off to.
“Thanks Prowl.” Bumblebee nodded. The minibot’s maturity had grown by leaps and bounds since he’d been put in charge of looking after the cadre of newsparks, but his youth and ability to connect on their level still made him a favourite of the sparklings. They usually listened to him pretty well. “I’m trying to collect the kids for their playdate with the Decepticon sparklings, but I think they’re up to something. Blazeward and Flameguard were snickering like mad in the background when I went by to check on arrangements with Smokescreen and Inferno earlier.”
Jazz snorted, shaking his head in reluctant amusement. “That’s not surprising with those two.” It didn’t matter whether he meant the sparklings or their creators, the sentiment was the same. “No doubt Marvel’s in on whatever plot they’re hatching too.”
Blazeward, the newspark Smokescreen had carried, and his little brother Flameguard were almost as much trouble as Marvel. Much to the dismay of their third creator, Red Alert, who’d been surprised to find himself sparked up nearly an orn after Smokescreen’s heat period was supposed to have ended. The two mechlings – with Red Alert’s ability to spot trouble coming, Inferno’s gusto for driving headlong into danger, and Smokescreen’s knack for the con – were Marvel’s usual partners-in-crime and were sparkfailure-inducingly good at it.
Today all of the sparklings were supposed to go outside and play in the specially-designed playground that was neutral ground for both factions. It was the anniversary of their conception, and Bumblebee and a couple of other volunteers had promised to keep the sparklings out from underfoot. Prowl and Jazz were not the only mechs looking forward to the break and the chance to reaffirm their bond – hopefully in a very satisfying recreation of the events that sparked the little ones in the first place.
“Well, she can’t have got too far.” Bumblebee mused. “She loves playing with the Decepticons. I’ll check with Beachcomber next, he’s waiting outside to help me escort the sparklings to the playground.”
Any further discussion was put on hold when Wheeljack came running up to them. His headfins were flashing in alarm as he nervously wrung his grey hands.
“Wheeljack, what is it?” Prowl queried, ready to instantly call either the Prime or Ratchet – whichever was most needed depending on the nature of the inventor’s distress. Quite possibly both, knowing him.
“Oh, ah,” Wheeljack shifted nervously. “I can’t be sure... I mean, I’m sure I locked the cabinet, but it’s not there anymore... and I don’t think I would have moved it anywhere because it’s not quite done yet and everyone else who goes into my lab knows not to touch what’s in the experimental cupboard because I’m not finished working on those projects and don’t always know what might happen...”
“Wheeljack! You’re babbling worse than Bluestreak. Take a moment and then explain, calmly, what it is that has you so worked up.”
“You know those new electric propulsion ion thrusters I’ve been working on for the humans? Trying to adapt the weapons technology of some of our mechs’ ion fusion cannons into a clean-energy spaceflight-capable propulsion system that’ll be a lot more powerful than their current chemical-based combustion rockets?”
Both Prowl and Jazz nodded while Bumblebee just looked confused.
“Well, Marvel’s been by my lab a few times over the last decacycle, asking questions about the different ways mechs get around...” Wheeljack twitched guiltily as he ducked his head to look up at the mated pair beseechingly. “And I didn’t mean to, I swear! But it’s just that there aren’t many interested in listening to me talk about my work, and she was so attentive...!”
“I told her all about my project and even let her help a little bit. Nothing dangerous! Just holding parts still while I welded them on. She was just so curious, always asking why and how and fascinated by everything...” He seemed to steel himself, obviously anticipating the bad reaction his next revelation would cause. “Only I was just checking and now the ion thrusters are gone and I’m not sure, but think I caught her leaving my lab from the corner of my optics when I turned my back.”
Everyone froze for an astrosecond as the implications hit, and then pandemonium broke loose.
Prowl was the first to leap into action. He was off running after his wayward sparkling even as he shouted orders behind him. “I’ll call Optimus Prime. Bee, find the creators and have them check on their sparklings – get out to the playground if you must! Jazz, have Red check the security cameras. Wheeljack, get Ratchet on standby!”
The others scrambled to obey. Bumblebee bolted off back the way he’d come, hollering verbally to any mech that could hear him. Wheeljack did as told, then hesitated a moment before swiftly making his way back to his lab as another idea to help occurred.
Jazz was right behind his mate, already calling Red Alert for the camera sweep even as he sent out a Priority One alert code and organized his troops into a search pattern.
It didn’t take long to discover that all of the sparklings had managed to slip past their caretakers and were nowhere to be found in the base. Every mech that could was now out combing the Earth for some sign of the little ones. Desperate, Optimus put in a call to the Decepticon base for help searching the grounds outside.
The ceasefire with the Decepticons had continued mostly unchallenged since the sparklings’ creation. There had been a few squabbles, a few minor battles of ideological differences (namely that the Decepticons were still prone to stealing from and occasionally squishing the humans and the Autobots never had been) but for the most part, peace had reigned. It had been helped along enormously by the fact that both groups of sparklings quite enjoyed playing with each other and had formed fast friendships regardless of faction. For their sakes, the adults upheld the truce between them no matter how shaky their own relations.
Megatron looked nonplussed when he heard the news.
“Have you tried the valley yet? The Cassetticons already left to drop off our sparklings a few breems ago. They should be almost there.”
“Bumblebee has taken a group out to check. We haven’t heard back from them yet, though.”
Megatron sighed, propping his chin on a fist. “I can send a Seeker trine to do a flyby of the area if you want, Prime. But I’m sure it’s probably nothing, you know how these sparklings are...”
“Lord Megatron!” Soundwave’s monotonous voice suddenly exclaimed in alarm. “Soundwave: receiving telepathic distress signal from Cassettes! Sparklings in danger! Assistance: requested immediately!”
Megatron shot up to his feet. “What! How can they have...?! STARSCREAM, GET IN HERE! We need to mobilize immediately!” He turned to lock optics with Optimus, the question not needing to be asked.
Optimus nodded anyway. “I heard. We’re already on our way.”
And the connection cut as both ran to find out what was going on with their sparklings.
Both the Decepticons and Autobots arrived just in time to see a bright, blinding flash flare out over the entire valley. The Seekers and Aerialbots had flown the distance in a fraction of the ground crawlers top speeds and should have already been there. But in the bright glare of the explosion, it was impossible to see a thing.
“Oh, no...” Who said the words was irrelevant; it fit what they were all thinking. A collective gasp of horror rose up from the combined forces of the Cybertronian army as each believed they watched the moment their precious sparklings were destroyed.
Then the glow faded, and the dust began to settle.
The first sign that all was not as dire as it appeared was the Decepticon Air Commander’s distinctive screech echoing out over the high mountain-ringed valley.
“What in the name of Unicron’s smelting pools have you brats done?!”
Slowly, the dust cleared and what had really happened became apparent.
Or maybe not.
“What in the...?”
The sparklings all appeared to be fine. As were the Seekers, Aerialbots, Cassettes and the Minibots whom had accompanied Bumblebee to check on them. They were also all fused together in a giant mech and sparkling pile like some freakish, highgrade-inspired abstract art sculpture.
“STARSCREAM!” Megatron bellowed impressively. “What is the meaning of this?!”
“I didn’t do it!” The outraged Seeker protested. He was sitting near the centre of the pile, with one arm wrapped tight around his own sparkling’s middle and holding him like a football. The other hand was clenched around a pouting Marvel’s upraised arm, within which was just visible something long and dangerous looking. All three were squished close together, one solid point of contact all along their bodies.
They weren’t the only ones. Plastered wings to wings against Starscream’s back, Silverbolt was glowering over the squirming bundles of the Coneheads’ three sparklings in his lap. One of whom – was that Bedlam? – was upside down and seemed to be poking him with his nosecone in a very sensitive spot. At his feet, Blazeward and Flameguard were laughing hysterically as they tried and failed repeatedly to pull themselves free of his legs.
The strangeness didn’t stop there, but continued to radiate outward in an ever-widening circle. Like a finely interwoven spiderweb, every mech and sparkling in the valley was tangled on the ground and glued to their neighbour’s side.
Near the outer edge of the pile closest to the newly arrived ‘Bots, Quicksnap was huddled in the small space between Cliffjumper and Rumble where they lay squished under Thundercracker’s much larger body. Catching sight of his creators, he cried out for them to rescue him.
Given that almost everyone else was trying to shout over each other as well, no one should have heard the quiet little mechling. But Sideswipe did, and spotting his creation in such a precarious position, immediately broke from the stunned pack and ran toward him.
“I don’t know what your reckless nitwit of a sparkling was trying to do,” Starscream was explaining – berating – to Prowl and Jazz, when his head suddenly whipped around to turn wide-optics on the red Lamborghini racing closer. “No, don’t!”
His shout was in vain, for it was already too late. Having crossed some invisible line, the concerned creator abruptly found himself no longer moving under his own power. Sideswipe frantically tried to slam on the breaks, digging his heels into the rock to stop his forward momentum. But it was useless. He was pulled inexorably onwards until he joined the pile with a smack! The force of his collision with Thundercracker’s aft would have sent the Seeker sprawling if his chest hadn’t been braced by the Mini-bots under him.
They, however, bore the brunt of the impact and yelled out pained recriminations.
“Sideswipe, you afthead! If I could move, I’d kick you!”
Thundercracker grimaced above them, chin propped forlornly on his elbows. “It’s not that comfortable for me either, you know.”
“As I was trying to say before you so idiotically demonstrated,” Starscream cut in snootily, “no one can get close without being pulled into the mess as well. Whatever it is your damned menace,” and there was no doubt he was referring to the sole femme in the group, “was up to, the result was the magnetization of our plating! Any mech who gets too close will be drawn in. And the more mechs there are, the stronger the magnetic force will get as the mass rises. So stay away!"
A flash of purple light heralded Skywarp’s arrival. Clutching Soundwave’s Radartron while two dark little winglets, his own Skylark and TC’s Boomblast hung off his wings, the teleporter laughed as he surveyed the mech-pile in the valley.
“Aww, if I’d known you wanted to play with the sparklings so bad, ‘Screamer, I’d have sent these two back down while I got Radar out of the cave they pushed him in.”
Cocking his head at his carrier, Skylark chirped curiously and disappeared in a little puff of light. He reappeared a few feet over his Uncle Star’s head a moment later. He was, of course, instantly sucked down to splay out across Starscream’s helm like an octopus.
All of the sparklings started giggling uncontrollably. Skywarp included.
Starscream just glared as his trinemate absently made to put down the other two sparklings so he could retrieve his own.
“Don’t. You. Dare.”
Skywarp’s intakes hitched in amusement. “It’ll only take a second, and I’m sure I won’t get caught...”
“I swear, ‘Warp, if you never listen to another order again... SIT YOUR AFT DOWN AND DON’T MOVE!”
“As fascinating as this byplay is,” Prowl spoke up dryly, “might I enquire as to what we are to do to untangle the lot of you from each other? Perhaps starting with what it is Marvel was trying to do in the first place.”
Put in the spotlight, the little femme blinked huge optics at her creators and wibbled. “It’s not my fault! I was just trying to help Rift’ learn to fly so his carrier wouldn’t be sad at him anymore!”
‘Rift’ was Riftraider, Starscream’s sparkling who was currently imitating a very embarrassed football. Starscream had been the only Seeker to bear a non-flying sparkling, as his little one more closely resembled his other creators. With Megatron’s strong build and a milder form of Soundwave’s telepathic abilities, Starscream had been quite disappointed when he did not also develop tiny wings like all the other little Seekerlings.
It did not mean he loved his creation any less though, as he patiently informed the femme. Unable to do much more than squeeze his mechling in reassurance, the Seeker purred his turbines so Riftraider could feel the vibrations through his side. “Wings or no wings, sweetspark, you’re mine and I will always love you no matter what.”
“Well, now that we’ve cleared that up...” Jazz started, then trailed off. He threw his hands up and grinned blithely. “Yeah, I got nothin’.”
Thankfully Wheeljack stepped forward. “Marvel, is that my ion fusion system, honey?”
“Uh huh! It wasn’t finished though, so I got the baby combiners to fix it fer me.”
The ‘baby combiners’ were the Rainmakers’ triplets – Stormcast, Windformer, and Squallmaker – who fancied themselves great technicians like their Constructicon creators. Minus the intelligence or experience to actually make anything work properly, however.
“Ah!” Wheeljack nodded, headfins flashing in excitement. “I see. So instead of generating electric ion propulsion, somehow they seem to have turned it into a progressive electromagnetic wave that sensitizes and spreads to any metal it touches. Amazing!”
Ratchet kindly whacked him upside the helm before anybody else could. “How do we fix it, ‘Jack?”
“Oh, that should be easy! We just need to reverse the polarity.”
Everyone stared at the massive pile of magnetized mechs who could barely move and which no one could get close to without being sucked in.
“Okay, slight problem...”
In the end, it was Marvel herself who had to fix what she’d caused. Straining her little fingers to slide the few inches necessary, the femme sparkling successfully managed to find the right switch to flip the polarity. The moment she did, the magnetic properties in their plating subsided. Like a stack of dominoes, the mechs and sparklings collapsed and fell apart.
Relieved creators gratefully gathered up their creations. Jazz picked his way through the mess of bodies to scoop his little trouble-maker into his arms. He carried her back to his mate, who hugged them both.
Starting the long walk down the mountain pass with their sparkling holding hands between them, Jazz couldn’t help but chuckle.
When Prowl looked curiously at him, he started to softly sing: “‘Here I am, stuck in the middle with you.’”
Shaking his head, Prowl nevertheless indulged his mate and took up the song.
“‘And I'm wondering what it is I should do,
It's so hard to keep this smile from my face,
Losing control, yeah, I'm all over the place!’”
Laughing, they ignored the incredulous stares cast their way and continued off home, raising their voices to echo through the canyons.
“‘Clowns to the left of me,
Jokers to the right!
Here I am,
Stuck in the middle with you!’”
Song Disclaimer: "Stuck in the Middle With You" © Stealers Wheel (1972)
Back to Home
Moonbeam's Fanfiction Predilections