TF-Music Meme

Music Meme
Sweet Sacrifice- A mech could go mad in here. Swollen in darkness with only the comfort of the blinking monitors for company. Complete quiet. The burden of lives hanging in the balance of their attention span. He sits in there, though, ignoring the temptations of sleep, rest, and relaxation for reasons lost and ignored by others. They go on as if he never existed, leave him in that dungeon of a room to rot as they live their lives. No one cared, no one ever bothered to. Save him.
Day after day he would go in the room some didn't even know existed, just to be with the one whose spark called to his own.

Let it Go- Hateful words passed between them more than normal ones. Dangerous glares and punches and shoves were more common than affectionate smiles or hugs. They argued, and one became weary of their spat, they turned on their heel and stalked out to the usual place.
The other followed and would find the first outside, waiting. No words now, just their bond. Denial fading, doubt ebbing away as the raw emotions circulated invisibly between them. They sat together for however long it took for the sun to fade to moon. All their time together simply taught them that without pressure or watching optics, their feelings of anger and frustration were let go, and the bliss of their bond took them to recharge.

The All Spark- Life. No more. Cybertron doomed to be an avatar for the entire universe; a representative of death and madness. The yellow and black mech once looked at its mystical engravings on a constant basis as its protector; the guardian of the life of their world. And now it was gone.
It was his fault. They forgave him though, and the humans were too ignorant to know of what their sacrifice of the cube had meant for the Cybertronian race.
Younglings and Sparklings would die in their creator's chests and arms, mechs falling over dead in the once glorious streets and avenues, the towers and skyscrapers that caused

Rock n Roll Train- They were, quite simply, the best on Cybertron. Chosen by hand for their individual skills, they assembled in the last sanctuary on their planet, Iacon. They trained, studied, upgraded even, for their fights that were to come. The symbols of the Autobot army branded proudly on their chassis', they strolled through the streets with a certain strut as passerby's would gawk, femmes would giggle and flirt, and some even clapping them on their backs and mother-creators pointing them out to their little ones.
And finally their time to board the Ark came and the selection became more choice; trials weeded out most and left nothing but the best; the small army that would take on Megatron's forces personally. Under the direct leadership of the new Prime- nothing could stop them; they were on one hell of a roll.

I Don't Feel Like Dancing-He often wondered why Prowl bonded with him when he spent more time with his beloved datapads. Reports, statistics, permission forms, blah, blah, blah. It was getting so bad that now most days Jazz was in a terribly sour mood and would snap at any who crossed him.
It also started worrying him that he might actually have to compete with inanimate objects for his bonded's attention. And there was that dream he had of torching Prowl's office with a flamethrower and watching all those little devils burn a slow death; but he had a feeling that if he went through with such a thing, his aft was out of their berth for a VERY long time…
He sat at Blaster's party with a pout, staring into his energon. Until a white hand blacked his view, He looked up to see Prowl, without a datapad in hand, smiling at him. "Dance with me?"
Jazz stared at him, then curtly decided on a "No."
And he walked away.

Are You Going to be my Girl- Smart, sly, smooth, some other 'S' word. It didn't matter how you put it, she was a hell of a femme. Blue optics that would drive him crazy, curious hands and full, always smiling lips that teased the frag out of him.
She was desired of course, he often watched as mechs, often younger than her, would attempt to court her or just plainly hit on her. She'd hit right back, much to his amusement. Then she'd dance her way over to him as sexily as possible, throw anything out of his hands that was in her way, and plop herself in his lap demanding his attention.
Prime was one lucky son of a glitch…

Welcome to the Jungle-He thought it would be an easy job, considering how few mechs were there and their reputations all preceded them. Unfortunately, not every little detail DID.
Screaming medics, exploding engineers, volatile twins, a sex-crazy, party-going SIC and his partner, the rule-abiding, stoic TIC were all just the first three minutes of his day. The only thing keeping his sanity was his long-time friend, Inferno.
By the end of his first day, Red Alert walked into the commons on shaky legs and all but collapsed next to the firefighter. "Rough day?" He asked with amusement.
Red opened one eye, which barely glowed from exhaustion. "You have no idea…"
A mech passing by chuckled softly, he looked a lot like the TIC only blue, "Welcome to the jungle, kiddo."

Don't Stop Believing- Crazier things had happened, he supposed. Look at what had happened in his life-cycle. The silver bot on the table had just been resurrected and now he was wrestling around on the floor with the other silver bot, Sideswipe, like nothing had happened.
Treating himself to a swig of high grade, Ratchet resolved to get some recharge after twenty solid days of staying up to repair that little glitch, Jazz. Although, he decided it was worth it. Especially since Prowl would be there soon and he did NOT want to explain why his mate was dead.
As he reached the hangar-turned-quarters for the Autobots he saw a movement in the shadows. "Nice job, medic." A low grumbling voice called to him teasingly.
"Shut up and get in here, you fragger. " He grouched, shoving the black mech into their quarters. He was tired, but decided, quite bluntly, he could use a good interfacing for all the blind believing he put into Jazz.
"Feisty tonight, aren't ya?" Ironhide teased, Ratchet grinned evilly…

Burn it to the Ground- Fire burned around them as the burnt remnants of the Decepticon fortress crashed to the ground. Grins and narrowed optics, they strolled through the carnage like it was a gorgeous day out. This was the way they lived, how they wanted to live, it's what attracted them to the war. Before hand, Sunstreaker had enthralled himself into the gladiatorial circuit and won for the sake of hearing the crowds cheer him on and the sheer violence it released in him. Sideswipe had been a dealer, loving the thrill of discovery and the chances it came with.
They lived their way, laws and rules forgotten. Their faces were feared on both sides, as they themselves had no fears, no morals; they took what they wanted whether anyone was standing between them or not.
And they would do so until they died.

Hallelujah- As different as night and day, none knew how they were able to be together for so long. Anyone who asked was simply told it had to do with blind faith and trust. And that was the truth; they would believe, despite their own opinions, and if it failed, they would be there to support each other with no 'I told you so' involved.
Love took work, it didn't just happen. And a lot of times there was simply nothing you could do except trust in one another and pray that it would work out in their favor. It wasn't giving each other the world, but working to build a world of your own and fighting for it. Jazz and Prowl had that.
They had faith invested in each other. They held each other when they were broken and fixed each other with comfort and promises, but they ALWAYS believed in one another, despite everything.
Always.