#if anything i think it makes prowl better because like

[mechncheese]

Answering some AU related asks in this post so I don't flood your feed ! I wanna draw some of these so those will be included in a separate post later on !

Jetfire, Ratchet, Wheeljack and Perceptor are on an Optimus assigned mission so that's why/how they're working together !

Prowl and Brainstorm join them later ! Prowl broke Brainstorm out of prison as a really terrible backup plan after the Jetfire's team gets compromised (full context for the AU's locations can be read here) but in summary, Luna 2, where the team was originally working, was raided by Decepticons. This forced Jetfire's team to jump through the Spacebridge to an unknown location.

Brainstorm and Prowl with the help of others storm Luna 2 and hijacks the Spacebridge so Brainstorm and Prowl can get to Jetfire's team. They only buy enough time for a one way trip so now Brainstorm and Prowl are stuck with the Science Team.

As a pitbull owner, this made me chuckle, I imagine he kinda acts like one too. His whale eye of judgement and him having absolutely no sense of personal space and getting into everyone's business. Sometimes he can look incredibly sad and pathetic. Who want him?

Honestly, he's probably considered it and then went "no, no bad Skyfire ! that's an awful thought !"

HONESTLY REAL, Jetfire would be the designated chef, I imagine he cooks in big ass portions because he eats a lot. Ratchet is the second designated chef of the science team, Perceptor mixed up the salt and sugar and fucked up the soup. Prowl only cooked enough food for himself.

First Aid is like ratatouille while Red Alert would overcook all his food out of fear.

Wheeljack and Brainstorm cook the worst meal ever, forced to be removed from the kitchen. Brainstorm probably steals a bite from everyone's food though just because "it tastes better when it's from your plate"

Thank you ! Brainstorm's wings get in the way of Everyone and Everything and he's probably ruined countless of Percy's (and everyone else's) carefully put together experiments. I think he has similar energy to when someone with a long ponytail turns around and accidentally whacks you in the face but on a much more painful scale.

In no particular order and mostly with the Science Team;

Staying up the longest without recharge

One sided racing with Jetfire, whether it be to the other side of the room, lounging area, kitchen, outside, doesn't matter he just needs to get there first (Jetfire chooses not to acknowledge this)

Engex drinking (He's actually an incredibly lightweight drinker, and the quickest to knock out out of the scientists but that won't stop him from trying)

Getting his lab reports done fastest

He keeps trying to challenge Perceptor in a game of scrabble and keeps losing

anything, and I mean ANYTHING in regards to Brainstorm, he will try his hardest to one up that guy

Wheeljack does not fuck around during group game night

Secretly playing a game of "lets see how many times I can lap everyone around the Science Base"

Glaring contest with Ratchet, whoever looks away first loses (also one sided, Ratchet's lost in thought)

"Do you dare me to do this thing?" "no" "ok im doing it"

Ratchet likes to nap, he's a big fan of getting rest and he definitely needs it, he probably snores like crazy tho. Wheeljack likes to drive long distances, doesn't need a location or anything he just likes driving around. Jetfire likes to read and journal his thoughts, his only way to cope and vent around here </3. Perceptor likes word puzzles, crosswords, word search, etc, he would be a HUGE wordle fan.

They have game nights together, mostly board games.

Brainstorm has never heard of the term “relax” in his life but he does like to push other bot’s buttons for fun. He wants to know what makes them tick. Prowl has never heard of the term “fun” in his life but he does like to sit in solitude and darkness in the quiet away from everyone.

The adding height to his wings bit is really funny omg

But nah, Wheeljack’s not really self conscious about his height. He prefers it over being Jetfire’s height. At least Wheeljack can fit through most doorways.

BAHAHA, where there's Prowl there’s Brainstorm and vice versa. Honestly I’m not sure which guy the Science Team fears more.

I'm sure that when they see Prowl around, they just look around the room for Brainstorm like they've just lost sight of a spider they've been keeping an eye on.

[lord-squiggletits]

Decided to add in my own tags because they elaborate more on some good ideas:

#prowl feels like one of those characters where people trust what he says at face value when like. he's very much not a reliable narrator#prowl SAYS that he does the dirty work no one else is willing to do but. is it really dirty work?#or is it just him authorizing dirty work and hiding it on his own and justifying it in the name of 'it's for the autobots'?#to draw on an old fandom of mine: 'what is the difference between you and the decepticons now?'#'isn't it obvious prime? i serve the autobots'

I also feel like another reason we need to remember that Prowl isn't a reliable narrator is because his attitude towards waging war is frighteningly realistic to real life. The amount of times people in real life want to shrug off senseless brutality and deliberate cruelty/gambling of lives as "just how war is" is a bit frightening. Maybe I'm naive and don't know how war actually works, but I'm pretty sure "someone has to do the dirty work in war" begs the question of what exactly you call dirty work and why you're so intent on justifying (or hiding) it.

The thing about Prowl is I don't really think canon was ever trying to frame him as a "necessary evil" or anything along the lines of "he's a shitty person but his work was necessary" like mmm.... That feels very much like something Prowl wants to believe about himself, not something that's actually factually true in reality.

I can't really make a good argument about it because I only remember like a handful of standout Prowl Moments in IDW1 but like... Prowl dropping a bomb on a neutral city and blaming it on the Decepticons is not "a necessary evil," that's a war crime. Prowl trying to destroy the space bridge to Caminus to keep Starscream from getting power over it, dooming the entire planet and its inhabitants to extinction by starvation, is not "a necessary evil," it's a fucking war crime. I feel like trying to frame such drastic measures as him "doing the dirty work of the Autobots" feels way too much like an excuse for actions that actually aren't justifiable. Especially since Prowl himself is far from being the 100% rational guy he thinks he is, considering how often he bases his decisions on things like his anti-Decepticon bias and his general refusal to follow any orders that contradict what he thinks is The Right Thing To Do (TM).

But also I think this is kind of the fault of the narrative of IDW1, since very few Autobots besides Prowl are given the chance to actually be morally gray even when the worldbuilding implicates them in some very morally gray things. Like, for example, JRO adding in the existence of MTOs which implies that the normally squeaky-clean leader Optimus was willing to approve the creation of new soldiers just to throw them into combat (and even the attempts to humanize the MTOs by giving them "an education" were eventually cut down to nothing but combat optimizations). And there's also the fact that Optimus knows about the Wreckers and has been known to call them on missions at least once (Stormbringer), meaning he's very much aware of the Wreckers and their tactics and is willing to call them in for fights when it's necessary.

I don't think you need to use Prowl as a crutch to make the Autobots morally gray. I think the Autobot leadership (or at least, Optimus, since few people besides him or Prowl seem to have major tactical command over the army as a whole) is plenty morally gray enough on its own, because the nature of war is inherently morally gray no matter how righteous your cause is. Reducing the lives of your own people into numbers on maps, harvesting resources, bringing MTOs to life just to die in a war they practically have no stake in, those things are enough.

And tbh it kind of bothers me when people try to saddle Prowl with the "dirty work of the Autobots", not just because it frames Prowl's blatantly evil actions as some sort of savior act taking the blame from the rest of the Autobots (which isn't even accurate, because the blame for war crimes falls on the entire army as an institution rather than one person), but because it downplays the moral grayness of the Autobots and pretends that no Autobot BESIDES Prowl ever participated in morally gray actions, which simply isn't true.

TLDR: Prowl isn't as much of a hero as he thinks he is because committing atrocities in the name of your cause doesn't change the fact that they're atrocities (and may not have even been justified). However, painting Prowl as the "token evil teammate" of sorts also places too much blame for the atrocities of war on him in particular, when in reality that's a burden shared by Optimus Prime and any other members of the Autobot military command structure.

[yeyinde]

i would give you my life for marriage counselor!reader x price part 3, pleaseeee im begging you 😮‍💨🙏😮‍💨🙏

He fucks you in your office, for sure.

18+. extremely dubious consent. unk. condescending Dom!Price.

Petty, combative. Authority figures make him itch. But there's a sick thrill that goes through him when he sinks down into your chair, fully dressed with just his trousers undone, cock freed, and pulls you, completely naked, onto his lap. Makes you ride him as he sprawls out over it, too; his hand tight around your neck to keep you up, the other dangling over the edge, drinking from the sneaky stash of booze he finds after rummaging around your desk (all the while, he had you sitting on top of it, one hand rifling through your belongings and the other buried between your thighs, making you answer his inane questions as he tuts about how you're getting his cuffs all wet, not such a smart little girl now are you? soakin' his hand like that. needy little thing, more like.)

It's not his preferred position, but he likes the sight of you glaring down at him as he fills you with his cock. Unable to to do anything at all even when you're on top, in the dominant role. Reduced to a mess of a once smart, haughty girl. Biting your lip as he bucks into you. Trying to smother the scream, the plea—slow down, slow down, please, it's too deep—that trembles on your lip. Pride and this fickle, paperthin ideal of agency is the only thing keeping it all in.

You think you can take him. Handle him.

So, John gives you the reigns and leans back on your smart little chair in your smart little office. Accolades hung on the wall. Polished and mature. It's all so—

Adorable.

The contrast of it all feeds the monster in his chest that's been prowling around ever since you tried to boss him around. The mouth that once said you're not trying hard enough, Mr Price you need to do better now all slack-jawed and drool slick as he spears inside to the deepest part of you he can reach; the doleful glare swallowed by the shiver of your lids as your eyes roll back into your pretty little head.

Struggling to take him. Hesitating to slide down the thickest part of his cock, whimpering when he shifts his hips and makes you take him down to the root. Tears flood your lashline, gleaming iridescent like sunshine hitting an oil spill. Lips trembling as you jolt at the realness of it all—of trying to handle him like you said you could but quickly realising you can't when the heart of yourself starts to feel like a raw, open wound.

Yeah, he thinks, and brings the bottle to his lips. You look so much better just like this.

And that's what it's about, really. Control. Something you stripped him of when he marched into your office and you—younger, less experienced, less established—just looked at him, and said, sit down right there, Mr Price.

Well. You didn't say it, did you? No, you commanded. And Price doesn't take orders from idiots in office who think they're his superior, so why the hell should he listen to you, mm?

But he did. And now he's savouring it because this is quid pro quo. Something for something. His compliance (ephemeral as it was) for you.

Because the problem is that you riled him up. With your neat, clean office. Your smart suits. The unbidden air of authority—this condescending, sophisticated cloud that clung to the haughty tip of your chin when you talked to him. It all itched under his skin. Made his heart thunder with the urge to break—

(Claim, maim—sometimes he gets the two mixed up, the word eliding together under the malformed snarl in his throat. But you're tough, aren't you? He's sure you can handle whichever one ends up spilling out.)

He bites down on the little sliver of skin beneath your jaw—that small patch where his hand, still spread over the thick of your throat, doesn't cover—and groans, feeling you clench tight around him. Tight little hole barely stretched enough to take him without it aching each time he moves, tugging on thin, sensitive skin until he has to snuff the whimpers he can feel crawling up your throat with a squeeze of his hand.

It has the after making his head swim already. When he finally finished getting his due, breaking you in, he'll take you home. Let you rest. Court you good and proper until you're melting his hands, softened wax for him to play with and mould however he likes. And he will.

He saw the potential in you the moment he leaned in close—too close, his ex-wife will accuse him of later; you never get that close to me anymore, John—and saw the shift of your throat when you swallowed. The flex of your thighs as you squeezed them tight together. The little flutter of your lashes, eyes listing treacherously downward, so achingly close to submission that it punched the air from his lungs. Kept him winded even as you pulled yourself back together. Meeting his stare with a glare of your own. All fire, all teeth. But he'll enjoy filing your canines down until they're pretty and soft and round—

"mm, not so arrogant now, are you?" He pulls you closer, nips at the thrill of your pulse until he feels it thudding against his enamel. Rabbit-quick. Ferocious lioness purring at his feet. "S'all you needed was my cock, mm, to make you this sweet?"

He doesn't expect an answer, and can really only groan when you eke out a liquid, breathless, fuck you, John, content to let you lash out as much as you want, holding you tighter in the cup of his palm. Pussy clenching tight, tears dripping down your cheeks—he basks in it even as you claw at him, pawing at his chest with your teeth bared as you pretend this is your choice. That you're taking from him with each unsteady, furious roll of your hips. Pulling him in deeper. Letting the part inside of you that rages against this hew fantasy into reality; cobwebs of delusion thickening in the whites of your eyes as you shatter over him, on his lap, stuffed full with the thick of his cock, and play pretend in your head that he's just your throne—

Even as he kicks his heels against the legs of your own, planting his feet on your carpet, in this space you build yourself, driving inside of you until the webs shake, starting to come loose.

You—this free, willful bird—have been left in the wild for too long. And he'll spend the next two months building your cage, and when he's finally finished, you'll beg him to throw away the key.

"Told you, didn't I?" he growls, hand tightening around your throat. "You were in over your head, little girl. You should have listened."

(Freshly divorced—ink still wet on the paper—and he's already engaged. How about that.)

[azsazz]

Cold Shoulder (Part 3)

Hockey!Azriel x Ice Skater!Reader

Summary: Anon Req: please i know requests are closed but what happens after cold shoulder 🥺🥺🥺🥺

Warnings: Smut, oral (F receiving).

Word Count: 2202

Other Fics in the Hockey!Az AU: Penance, Shut Out, Out of Order, All's Well That Ends Well, Brr-eakdown Shots & Spins Sprinkles of Luck and Doubt Cold Shoulder (Part 1) (Part 2)

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“You know,” Azriel huffs, shouldering the bookshelf you have him moving into place. “When I said that I’d do anything to get you to forgive me, I was thinking something along the lines of taking you to dinner or doing some of your homework or eating you out until you accepted my apology.” Your cheeks flare hot as the image his head between your legs flashes through your mind. You carefully cross your ankles where you’re sitting on your bed. “Not rearranging your furniture.”

You’d feel bad about asking Azriel to reposition the furniture in your room, but you couldn’t think of anything else when it came to punishing him for how he’d treated you a few weeks ago in the locker room. If you’d asked for a sexual favor, he’d have been much too eager, and there’s no way you would have been able to hold yourself back from giving him something in return. So, moving furniture it was.

“Well, the feng shui is all off in here and I need better sleep,” you retort, crossing your arms over your chest. You let your eyes trail the tight t-shirt he has on, down to the light gray sweatpants that he knows make you wetter than that shower he abandoned you in. His dark hair is a disheveled mess, too, only adding to the raw sexual power emanating from him. Azriel isn’t playing about wanting you to forgive him, and he’s pulling out all the stops in hopes that you will. “Now, a little to the left, please.”

Truth is, you haven’t been sleeping well for a multitude of reasons, half of which involve the hockey player who shoots you a ‘seriously?’ look before following your direction. You bite your lip to hide your smile as you admire his backside. The few weeks you’ve spent ignoring Azriel have been long and hard, but not as long and hard as his cock, which, you can’t seem to stop thinking about in the late hours of the nights. Your vibrator in no way, shape, or length, compares to what Azriel is packing beneath those light gray sweatpants that sag low on his hips, which would reveal the waistband of his briefs, if he were wearing any.

He knows exactly where your eyes keep drifting to.

You find that you have better sleep when he’s around. Not just because he fucks you to exhaustion. It’s the nights that you aren’t having sex, too. Azriel’s presence alone is calming, and when he scratches your scalp or strokes his hand down your back, you find it much easier to forget the worries of perfecting your routine running rampant in your mind and relax in his strong hold.

“Right there!” You exclaim, grinning sheepishly when Azriel looks over his shoulder at you. “That’s perfect. Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Is there anything else you want rearranged?”

You’re sure that he doesn’t mean to phrase it suggestively, but you can’t help that your mind goes to the possibility of Azriel rearranging your guts. In a good way. A really good way.

Fuck.

Your face roasts with a blush. Azriel raises that damn brow again and you swear that you see the corner of his lips twitch in amusement. Like he’s thinking the same exact thing you are. Suddenly, you yearn to see that handsome smile of his.

“Uh, no. I think that’s it,” you answer, tucking your hands carefully under your thighs to keep yourself from reaching out to him.

“You sure?” he teases, prowling closer. You’re frozen to the spot, heart picking up in your chest when he comes to a stop before you, knee to knee. The way he’s staring down at you, like he wants to press you right back into the mattress behind you, causes a full body shiver that’s impossible to hold in. His hazel eyes are dark with arousal, and to further the way you react to him, he plants his hands on either side of you, leaning down until you’re the same height.

“I’m pretty sure,” you breathe, and you’re so close that your lips almost brush. You’ve missed him. Your hands ache to touch, to trail down his broad chest, to hook into the waistband of his pants and pull. Your body yearns for his. All you want right now is for him to lean forward, place all his weight on you while he fucks you into the bed.

Azriel’s voice is husky, and it causes your nipples to tighten beneath your shirt. “You sure I can’t help with anything else? I can move the bed. It looks a little off center.” You know his words aren’t a coincidence this time. He’s making innuendos on purpose, and it just so happens that you like the sound of that.

Your thighs part and Azriel slowly eases between them. If your heart wasn’t racing in your chest before, it is when he lowers himself to his knees before you. No matter how many times you’ve seen him in this position—when he helped you with your skates, the first time he went down on you—it still sets your body on fire. You’re pretty sure your cunt wets partially because Azriel’s conditioned you, praising you with such pretty words each time he does this.

He’s so close you can feel his warmth, but he’s not touching you like you want like you need.

“Yeah, I guess it is a little off center, now that I think about it,” you whisper, loving the way his eyes darken with arousal. From the corner of your vision, you can see his cock twitch in his pants.

“Wouldn’t want the feng shui to be off,” he murmurs back, shuffling forward so you can feel how interested he is in making sure your bed is in perfect position. You inhale softly; a sound that makes him want to fuck into you with fervor. You make him lose his goddamn mind.

Azriel’s hand finds your wrists, gently pulling your hands from where they’re still tucked under your thighs. He wraps one around his shoulder, guiding your fingers to the nape of his neck where you love to pull. Especially when you’re out of your mind, drunk on his tongue or fingers or cock. His hips almost buck when your fingers curl into his black strands, tugging subconsciously.

With the other hand, he intertwines your fingers with his, holding tightly. Gods, he’s fucking missed you. He’s been nothing but a storm cloud since he walked out on you, and everyone has taken notice. Even coach, who told him to fix his shit and get his head in the game or he won’t be playing against the Flyer’s this weekend.

He wants to play, but he wants your forgiveness more.

“Yeah,” you agree distractedly, and pull his mouth to yours.

The kiss doesn’t start slow. It’s fast and hot, the both of you ravaging each other like you’re wild animals devouring a kill. It feels like it’s been much longer since Azriel’s mouth has been on yours.

Your body surges with adrenaline and excitement when his tongue traces the seam of your lips, which part for him like the red fucking sea. Fireworks explode when your tongues touch, a tentative, gentle caress, as if he’s asking you if it’s okay. Your responding tug on his hair has him moving quicker, more assured, his tongue scraping yours in a way that makes you whimper.

“Fuck,” he breathes between kisses. His hands trail down your thighs, pushing higher to dip into the waistband of your sleep shorts. He snaps the elastic and you gasp against his mouth, dragging your free hand down the rippling muscles of his heaving chest. “I’ve missed you.”

“Missed you too,” you pant. You don’t want to pull away from him, not when you just got him back, but Azriel’s pulling at your pants and you do want them off.

Reluctantly, you lean back on your elbows and lift your hips for him. He loves that fucking look in your eyes, your lowered lids, the way you lick across your swollen lips as if chasing the taste of him. You have this fucked-out look on your face and he hasn’t even done anything yet, but he will.

Azriel helps you from your shorts and panties. Your thighs are already, trembling in anticipation, even more so with the way he caresses your sensitive skin.

Those hazel eyes are locked on your pretty cunt. Yeah, he’s missed you in more ways than one. Your taste has been haunting him. You’re like a drug he can’t get enough of, but he’s about to get his fix.

“Az,” you whine when he dips his head and presses featherlight kisses to your thighs. You need him higher and centered now. It’s been too long.

“Okay, okay,” he shushes. He wraps his hands under your legs and pulls you to the edge of the bed, right to where his eager mouth awaits.

You cry out in pleasure at the first swipe of his tongue through your wetness. Your back aches off of the bed and his hands finds your hips, pressing you back into the mattress.

Azriel’s mouth is fucking magical. You knew he was skilled with his hands, but this tongue…for someone usually so quiet he sure knows how to work you to the brink. His tongue flicks in a rhythm so fast that you can’t help but sneak your hand into his hair and grind your hips against his face. He growls, chest puffing with pleasure when you pull.

But he’s teasing you. He sucks and licks at your clit, drawing you closer and closer to euphoria before he moves away, lower, to fuck his tongue into you. He’s not going to let you have it this easily, even if he should.

“Azriel! A little to the left, please,” you whine desperately, repeating your words from earlier. You don’t know how you find it in yourself to tease right now, because the feeling in the pit of your stomach is bubbling into something that’s going to rock your world, but you manage.

Azriel’s eyes are near black when he peers up at you. You yelp when he removes his attention from your clit only to give a harsh nip at the meat of your thigh.

“My baby wants to come?” He asks, teasing a knuckle down your slit. You shudder on the bed and your neck nearly gives out at his touch. His words on the other hand, Azriel knows you love his fucking words.

“Yeah,” you gasp, and this time, when he spreads you with his fingers and licks a long, slow stripe through your wetness, circling slowly around your sensitive clit that aches for release, your neck does give out, your head falling to the mattress.

“You want me to lick this pussy until the bedsheets are soaked in your come?” He sucks, hard, and your back arches off of the bed.

“Yes!” You shout, fingers clawing at his t-shirt covered shoulders. You should have had him take it off, your nails threaten to tear the fabric.

Azriel hums against your clit, and the feeling reverberates to your bones. Your mouth parts and your eyes roll into the back of your head at the feeling. You’re so close…so so close that you can feel the heat coiling in your body—

“That’s my girl,” Azriel says, ignoring the way you whine impatiently when he removes his mouth from you again. This is just cruel, how he teases you like this. How you secretly love it. “Come for me, baby. Come all over my face,” he says, before diving back into your cunt with even more vigor.

You’re lost to his tongue, to the finger he slips inside of you. He brushes that bundle of nerves and it sends you plummeting over the edge into orgasm.

You writhe against his face, riding out the feeling that washes over you, threatening to drown you with pleasure. Azriel watches from where he’s still flicking his tongue over your clit, cock so hard in his pants that he might just come from watching you.

Your body convulses with sensitivity when you begin to come down from your high. Your thighs threaten to shut around Azriel’s head, but you know for a fact that he likes it when you do that.

“Az,” you keen desperately. He slows, sucking soft kisses against your clit, then slowly moves away when you give a soft, spent moan. He kisses the crook of your leg, your thigh, up to your hipbones. You manage somehow to lift your head to look at him, and your pussy clenches when you see the glistening of your wetness around his lips. He looks as blissed out as you feel, but his eyes suggest that the night isn’t over yet.

You take a deep breath and he watches the heat return to your gaze.

“I think the beds still a little off,” you say, breathlessly.

Azriel grins and your heart soars. “It’s about to be way off by the time I’m done with you tonight, pretty girl. I hope you’re ready.”

Fuck. You are. You really are.

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Azriel Hockey!AU Tags:

@whyonearthisyourusernamethi-blog @going-through-shit @crazylokonugget @lilah-asteria @girl-who-writes-stuff @moosemahboi @sherayuki @lyinginameadow @acourtofatboydreams @blackthorngirl @shadowsingercassia @evergreenlark @hannzoaks @bloodicka @whyshouldihaveanam3 @elle4404 @cherry-cin @quinzzelx @i-am-infinite @feeriqueivre @blightyblinders @kennedy-brooke @nyxbranwenn @dee-writes-smut @konaanaria13 @sunny1616 @lilylilyyyyyy @esahintzkanen

[keferon]

���We’ll see Earth again.” Swerve says it not because he knows for certain, but because he has to believe it.

———————————————

“You don’t have to, you know…”. Jazz gestures vaguely at Swerve’s holoform as he takes a seat next to Jazz on the edge of the bar.

“I know. But it just feels natural, sometimes.” Swerve doesn’t know how to explain it. That he knows his holoform better than his own frame some days. And if he just walked around like this on the ship, he’d get stares. But with Jazz….

“I know what you mean.” Jazz laughs. “Piloting my mech always felt natural. And then I ended up living out of it for a while after my trip through space. Spent so long inside that wiring and metal and electrical signals felt more like me than flesh and blood. Once Prowl found out…took me a while to remember how to be human outside my mech. I still miss it sometimes.”

Jazz is gazes off at a projection against the far wall. Swerve looks closer and recognizes it as a star map of the galaxies. And he wonders if Jazz is just talking about mechs anymore.

“Hard to believe Earth is just one of those tiny dots,” Jazz says softly. “It’s hard to believe any of it still sometimes. That I’m actually out here, on an actual spaceship, with aliens that aren’t just trying to kill us all. With Prowl. With you. I mean, what are the chances?”

What are the chances indeed, Swerve thinks. That of all the ships he just happened to end up on the same one as Jazz and Prowl. But he’s glad in a way. Because otherwise — otherwise he might never have realized that his dreams, his fantasies were anything more than that.

“I’m actually glad, in a way,” Jazz says, echoing Swerve’s own thoughts. “Glad to know we’re not alone in this. Glad to get to know you — the whole you. Glad to have met Prowl. But — I miss Earth, miss home.”

“I miss Earth too,” Swerve says. “A lot. Sometimes…sometimes when I think about the life I lived there it feels more alive, more like I was living then anything I can remember before my accident.”

Swerve had friends, had a job, had hobbies. Had people, including Jazz, — people who were a part of his life and whose lives he was a part of. People who would notice his absence, who would miss his presence. (People who did notice him go missing. Swerve’s seen the status next to his own name in mecha logs. Him and Jazz.)

“We’ll see Earth again.” Swerve says it not because he knows for certain, but because he has to believe it. He needs to see it. Needs to get back.

Because he knows what he’s not telling Jazz. That things back on Earth are not nearly as good as they are here. That things are falling apart. But he has to believe that it’s not too late. That they can still help, if only they can get there. If only they can do something.

“You think so?” Jazz looks directly at Swerve, a glimmer of hope in his eyes.

“I do,” Swerve says. “Because while you were doing whatever pilot training it is that they have you do to go into space, you know what we were doing? There was a whole team of us behind you — mechanics and engineers — training to support the mission. What to do if things went right. What to do if they went wrong. How to make sure we brought you home. We looked everywhere for you.”

Computations of oxygen supplies, food, water, potential mech damage. All to try and determine the likely survival windows in space. The long days and longer nights and dwindling hopes as the search had stretched on. The memory gives Swerve pause for the briefest moment. But none of their computations could ever have accounted for all the complexities of reality.

“And I found you,” Swerve says, brightening slightly.

“We found Earth.” He points vaguely at the projection. “That’s already two thirds of the way there!”

Swerve grins broadly.

“I can’t tell you how good it is to have a friend like you here.” Jazz throws an arm over Swerves shoulder as he says it. “Next stop, Earth.”

HELP the fact that they both miss Earth despite Jazz being a human and Swerve being an alien is kind of poetic and I’m SO here for it

[lordprettyflackotara]

party monster || fred weasley

SMUT. MINORS DNI. 18+. TW: partying, drug usage (cocaine guys), fred’s ooc sorry not sorry, paranoia, etc. just overall v mature themes. OBVIOUSLY DO NOT DO COCAINE. this has a lot of plot ;)

Fred Weasley was never one to turn down an invitation to a party. Especially not one from Mattheo Riddle, to a Slytherin party.

Fred had felt like he had seen it all. He had watched the Hufflepuffs get giggly over champagne, Gryffindors try muggle grass for the first time, and Ravenclaws make tame mixed drinks that sent their minds into oblivion.

Slytherin’s on the other hand, went as hard as Fred liked. Of course muggle grass and alcohol was provided. The usual sex addicts were on the prowl for someone new to warm their bed. But what Fred enjoyed about the Slytherins the most, was their lack of fear to try muggle substances.

The most recent substance the most fearless had been trying was cocaine.

George refused to attend Slytherin parties, frowning upon the houses entirety. Truthfully Fred used to be the same way, until Mattheo offered him his first joint. The dark lords son had introduced him to an entire new world of highs, ones that Fred couldn’t find anywhere else.

For the past year the core Slytherins had been trying different pills, ones Theodore had been smuggling from a muggle born Hufflepuff who was naive enough to think they were being used for medical purposes. Fred had been to enough of these parties to where no one questioned his presence. If anything, he was often greeted and offered a cigarette at the very least.

It was highly unusual for other houses to venture into the Slytherins events, old superstitions still highly believed in. Fred would’ve been the same way, if it weren’t for Mattheo. It was an unlikely friendship, one no one could understand. Not George, Not Draco, no one. The ginger scanned the room, excited to find his friend. Word on the street about cocaine being smuggled into Hogwarts was spreading like wildfire. Fred knew he had to be one of the first ones to try it.

Strolling up confidently to the couch Mattheo always sat, the ginger waved. One of Penelope Clearwaters friends sat in Mattheo’s lap, her blue uniform making her stick out like a sore thumb. Mattheo grinned at the sight of Fred, gently pushing the girl away from sucking more hickies onto his neck. “Why don’t you go take a few shots with Pansy and i’ll meet you over there in a second?” He suggested. The girl glanced at Fred, taking the hint and starting her journey of finding Pansy.

Theodore Nott sat on the other side of the couch, a cigarette loosely hanging from his lips. “My favorite Gryffindor, welcome to another rager,” Mattheo chuckled, gesturing to the party that was occurring around them. Fred took a seat beside the brunette, greeting Theodore as well. “So Riddle, what do you have for me? You know I love to try whatever new hits the market,” Fred asked. Mattheo reached into his pocket, holding up a small plastic baggy of white powder.

Fred’s eyebrows furrowed with confusion. Previously he was under the impression that all muggle party substances were in the form of small pills. “That looks like it’s going to taste like shit,” Fred pointed out. A genuine chuckle escaped Mattheo’s lips as he grabbed a small metal tray. “Thats because it does, you don’t swallow it, you snort it,” He explained. Fred watched curiously as he poured the powder onto the tray. He reached into his pocket, pulling out his wand.

Mattheo used the tip to slice it into three tiny lines, the small amount only furthering his curiosity. “How many milligrams is that per line?” Fred asked, trying to get a better grasp on the drug in front of him. Once Mattheo made sure the lines looked even, he set his wand aside. “Doesnt work like that. Nott, wanna lead by example?” He asked, gesturing the tray to him.

Theodore didn’t seem to hesitate at all, his nose hovering over one of the lines and inhaling it without a second thought. His lack of hesitance made Fred more confident. “Alright alright let me see what all of this hype is about,” The ginger interjected. Fred was determined to ‘one up’ Theo, the potions master always a bit too cocky for his liking. (Even if he thoroughly enjoyed spending hangovers with him.)

Fred mimicked Theo’s actions, holding one side of his nose as he inhaled the first line. Flames seem to spread through his nostril, the ginger deciding to ignore it and to snort the other line as well. Sharp pain washed over Fred’s senses, the feeling of the powder sliding down the back of his throat making him cough. “Look at that! Atta boy,” Mattheo said encouragingly, patting Fred on the back. As the brunette took a cigarette out of the box Theo gestured to him, he gestured to the party.

“Let’s get out there, shall we?”

Fred had never felt more talkative in his life. From Pansy, to Blaise, to Slytherins he didn’t know, he could not stop talking. Sober, Fred was a very social person. But he knew when to let the conversation fizzle out. But as of right now? That concept didn’t exist. He felt utterly invincible, as if the world itself existed around him for his pleasure and his only. His throat had gone numb, unable to feel the shots he downed repeatedly.

As he was talking to Blaise about his latest prank, his eyes briefly flickered to you. You were mesmerizing, a girl he had never seen before. Fred ensured to keep track of girls in his year, knowing which ones were taken and what not. But you looked to be the same age as him and he had never seen you a day in his life. You stood by the alcohol table, pouring raw tequila down your throat. Without excusing himself Fred left, abandoning his conversation with a way too drunk Blaise.

Fred knew he had to meet you, something about you calling to him. Even as you downed the liquor your hips swayed to the music, your curves intriguing Fred even more. The ginger didn’t feel one ounce of nervousness, the coke having imbedded in his mind. “Hey there, mind if I have a swig?” Fred asked. Your eyes widened at the sight of him, before handing him the bottle. “Thanks,” He said, taking a drink. Fred’s throat was completely numb, the firey liquid not affecting him at all.

He handed the bottle back to you, giving you a sly grin. Your lips were painted a dark red, your beautiful eyes accompanied by flattering dark makeup. The kind Fred could only imagine a Slytherin could pull off. “You have something right here,” You replied, pointing to your upper lip. In a sudden movement you stepped forward, wiping the very top of Fred’s lip. You held up your thumb, the faintest sprinkle of white powder coating the pad of your thumb.

“Thanks, been a wild night. When new muggle stuff comes in it’s always exciting to try it,” Fred said, unscathed by your action. If anything he was into it, thrilled that you were so touchy. “It always is, isn’t it?” You say, taking another swig of the bottle. Fred couldn’t help but grin, thrilled that a girl as hot as you understood his enthusiasm. It was difficult finding another student so adventurous, yet here you stood.

A girl behind you waved at Fred, a friend of Pansy’s. Fred waved back, making a mental note to talk to her later. “So, a lion playing with snakes?” You ask, creating conversation. He hadn’t realized he had just been standing there, his eyes flickering in every direction. Soaking in the party, the music, you, the lights, Pansy’s friend-

“I’m a good friend of Riddle’s, great isn’t he?” Fred said. He gestured to the brunette who was currently dancing on top of a table, his tie loose and hanging around his shoulders. A cigarette hung on his lips, his hips occupied by grinding on the Hufflepuff in front of him. You nodded in agreement, shrugging. After tonight Fred made another mental note to ask Mattheo about you. You were awfully quiet for a Slytherin.

“A real charmer, that’s for sure,” You replied, your words laced with sarcasm. Your eyes flickered to Fred, shooting him a playful smile. “As are you. I see where he learns it from,” You continue, biting your lower lip. Flattery was the gingers weakness, a cocky smile creeping across his lips. “Hey, you wanna get out of here? My dorms gonna be empty. Roommates crashing with one of the boys,” You ask, pointing to the dungeons. Fred knew about the girls rooms being in the dungeons all too well, his visits down there frequent.

“Sure, lead the way little witch,” Fred purred. You grabbed his large hand, your skin cold to the touch. You led him through the hot swaying bodies, your hand gripping his his. As you both approached the staircase to go down further Fred looked over his shoulder, his eyes landing on Mattheo. The brunettes eyebrows were furrowed as he watched him, mouthing a clear question: ‘you good?’

Fred smiled and nodded, shooting him a thumbs up as he followed you down the dungeons. If there was anything Fred knew about Slytherins, without stereotyping them too much, was that they cared about appearances. They kept precise upkeep about their looks, (maybe not including Mattheo), that it teetered towards an unhealthy amount. In Fred’s opinion anyway. He didn’t have to deal with strict parents with pureblood ideologies, so he didn’t feel like he had room to judge.

As you led him further down the staircase he noticed several mirrors in between portraits, for students to use while heading up to the common room. Fred’s focus mainly was on himself, noticing how large his pupils were. You both reached towards the end of the staircase, Fred’s eyes still focused on the mirror. For a split second he squinted, noticing he didn’t see you. His hand was being held in mid air, your fingers not entangled around his palm like he saw before him.

Questioning was on the tip of his tongue, your abrupt words cutting him off. “My dorm is further down and I need you, now,” You say urgently, palming at Fred’s shirt. His eyes flickered to yours, unsure. “Did you see that? You weren’t in the reflection,” Fred asked, completely ignoring your statement. You raised an eyebrow, gesturing to the girls bathroom on the right side of the hall. “You’re paranoid, do you want to fuck or not?” You asked.

Fred shook his head, trying to rationalize with himself. He had a hot witch standing in front of him and he was about to fuck up a one night stand because of some muggle drug. “Absolutely,” Fred agreed, allowing you to lead him into the bathroom. Admittedly this was one place Fred hadn’t been, his knowledge of the room little to none. He was surprised that a velvet green couch sat almost in the center of the room. Would that have been his style choice? Absolutely not. Do witches tend to take their time in the restrooms gossiping? Fred believed so.

Your lips were on him before he could process it, his back hitting the couch. You tasted like raw alcohol, his tastebuds flooded with the sensation as you got on top of him. Fred was typically dominant, but he never minded a Slytherin topping him. You were so confident, tugging your shirt over your heard before reattaching your lips to his. Your touch made Fred want to immediately submit, his cock growing harder by the minute as you straddled him.

“Hard already? Naughty naughty gryffindor,” You teased, biting his bottom lip. Fred groaned, his hands flying to your waist. He guided you to grind against him, his cock growing achingly hard. You kissed down the side of his face to his neck, sucking at his sweet spot. Fred squeezed your thighs, whimpering as your lips littered his skin with marks. You kissed down his clothed chest, all the way down to his aching cock.

You teasingly kissed his hard on, maintaining eye contact as you did so. The ginger bucked his hips towards, throwing his head back as you unbuckled his belt. “If you want me to suck your cock you’re going to have to beg Freddie,” You say, unbuttoning his jeans. Spews of pleas left his lips faster than he would like to admit, “Fuck, please, touch me, please.”

A brief concern of how you knew his name crossed his mind, the worry fading as you shoved his boxers and jeans down his thighs. Fred was decently known, maybe you had known him for an infamous prank or-

His spinning thoughts came to a screeching halt as you took him into your mouth. Fred couldn’t control his noises, you taking control of him and his pleasure one of the hottest things he had ever seen. As you bobbed your head up and down on his cock, Fred chopped up his previous mental ramble to paranoia. Most likely he was coming down from his high, his body adjusting his mind back to normal.

Fred didn’t even know your name, but the moans he was making made it sound like he did. He was pure putty at your hands, willingly and merciless at your disposal. His tip brushed against the back of your throat, expectancy of the sound of gagging ensuing. Except it didn’t. Fred looked down at you in awe, your eyes meeting his. You didn’t have a gag reflex? What kind of magic was this?

He roughly grabbed the back of your head, pushing you down further onto his cock. You took his length with ease, saliva pooling to the base of his shaft. “Merlin, you’re a goddess right? Sent to me from above?” Fred panted, his mind trying to wrap around you. You pulled off of his cock, his hands not affecting your movement. He thought he had applied a decent amount of pressure, even if it was involuntary. What were you? Were you some kind of-

“Maybe, maybe you’re just my personal pet. My babies get the best treatment you know,” You purred. The ginger had no idea what you were rambling about, but what he did know, was that he wanted you to fuck him. “Ride me, fuck, please ride me,” He whined. Most girls would’ve asked for foreplay, head, or something along those lines. But you didn’t ask for either, instead lifting up your skirt and shoving your panties to the side. You guided his tip up and down your drenched folds, the feeling of your warm slick enough to make Fred groan.

He couldn’t understand why he felt so sensitive, his body on cloud nine just from your simple touch. You sank down onto his cock with ease, your walls clenching around him. Fred threw his head back, unable to formulate coherent words as you began to ride him. You seemed unfazed by his size, riding him like you had been doing so for years. Fred was not only unable to speak, but completely and utterly speechless.

You didn’t seem real, his unrealistic expectations for a hookup playing out in front of him. You leaned forward, one hand placed on his throat while the other tugged at his hair. “You like that huh? Feel good Freddie?” You asked. Fred groaned an agreement, his cock brushing against your g spot with every roll of your hips. Most witches would tire out by now, opting to switch positions. Yet you didn’t, your body not seeming to tire as you squeezed at the sides of his throat.

“So good, Merlin, you’re going to be the death of me,” Fred moaned as you licked up the side of his neck. He felt his orgasm approaching, the ginger flustered by the feeling. Was it the coke that was going to make him bust quick? Or was it how well you were riding him? His eyes wondered over your shoulder, landing on a large full length mirror. The presence of the mirror wasn’t surprising, but what was, was your absence. You weren’t present in the reflection, Fred’s head beginning to spin.

“Uh, you’re not in the m-mirror, I-” Fred stuttered, his high approaching faster than he wanted it to. He wanted to go all night with you, but why weren’t you showing up in the mirror? You sat up, your breast bouncing as you continued to ride him.

“You’re being paranoid Freddie, now why don’t you go ahead and cum for me?”

Fred’s hips stuttered as he came inside of your cunt, his head rolling back onto the couch. His ears were ringing, any sounds of you or the party dulling out into nothingness. He began seeing stars, his vision fading out completely. His senses had seemed to given up, Fred’s body unable to sustain itself, passing out.

\/

Fred had woken up a lot of strange places after a party. Most times he woke up beside a witch whose name he didn’t know. Other times he would wake up in random places, one time including the whomping willow. (To this day, no one has any idea how he survived OR got a good nights sleep.) Where Fred had never been woken up before, was in the male Slytherin dorms. Nor, had he ever been violently shaken awake by someone. Faintly he could hear a familiar voice calling out to him, but the words were incoherent.

“Fred! Wake the fuck up!”

He jolted awake, his heart pounding out of his chest as he sat up. Scattered,he looked around, unaware of where he was. His eyes landed on Mattheo and Draco, both of which seemed extremely concerned. “W-what..?” Fred stumbled out. His head was pounding with a rager headache, his body felt drained and spent. “Pansy found you uh-” Draco began, before shooting Mattheo a look that he should speak instead. Mattheo sighed, handing Fred a glass of water.

“She found you in the girls bathroom passed out with your pants pulled down and you uh, came all over yourself,” Mattheo informed him. Fred could feel himself turning red, clutching the water in his hand. His eyes widened in disbelief, becoming dizzy again as he rested his hand on his forehead to keep himself propped up.

“Do you have any idea how you ended up like that dude?” Mattheo asked, keeping his voice even. Bags hung under his eyes, his knee bouncing anxiously. It was rare Fred ever saw Mattheo sober, but he could definitely tell he was. You raced through the gingers mind, embarrassment flooding over him. You weren’t real? None of it was real?

A knock on the door alerted the trio, the Slytherins eyes landing on the new comer. “Well shit I see the party monsters awake,” Theodore said, waltzing in. His confidence made Fred uneasy, his stomach churning. “Do you happen to remember what happened last night?” He asked him, his voice breaking. Theo nodded, taking a seat. “Why don’t you drink some water and i’ll tell you all about it?”

Theo didn’t know Fred well by any means. Sometimes he questioned what Mattheo saw in the ginger, the prankster a bit too full of himself. It was a coincidence he saw him by the alcohol table, talking to himself. At first Theo assumed he was yelling to someone, or even on a muggle phone a lot of Gryffinors used. Cautiously Theo rounded the table, raising his eyebrows as Fred offered the bottle of tequila he had been cuddling to the air in front of him.

The brunette couldn’t believe his eyes, watching dumbfounded as Astoria Greengrass gave him a wave. Briefly his eyes flickered upwards at the Slytherin, before returning to the void in front of him. With a confused expression Theo decided it was none of his business, returning back to Mattheo with new drinks in hand. He figured he was just high, anyways. Unknowingly Mattheo had recommended Fred to Astoria, who was looking for a quick hook up to help her get over her ex.

A dumbfounded Astoria had beat Theo to Mattheo, her lips moving a mile a minute. She was weirded out by Fred’s behavior, the ginger confirmed to be talking to the air. Mattheo’s eyes flickered upwards, watching as Fred was heading towards the stairs. His hand was held out in front of him, a goofy smile spread across his lips. He made eye contact with Mattheo, who managed to communicate through all the noise and ask if he was good.

Fred seemed more than good, excitedly nodding and heading down to the dungeons. It wasn’t until the next morning Pansy came running, trying to get the boys to help her carry Fred before anyone saw him.

As the group sat in Mattheo’s room you watched from the shadows, invisible to everyone around you. You had died from a cocaine overdose in 1970, the curse of your afterlife being that no one could see you. The only time anyone did, was when they had done the drug themselves. You didn’t quite understand the logistics of it, other ghost able to see you, but no being with a beating heart could.

You had been shocked Fred had seen you at the alcohol table, after being used to being unseen for so long. As cocky and mischievous as you knew Fred to be from watching, you liked him. So much so that you knew scaring the ever loving fuck out of him was going to be the only way he would never touch the horrid stuff again. Party monsters like Fred, often times danced on the line between life and death. Their bodies, from what you could understand, would be into overdrive. That crossover allowed him to see you.

You thoroughly enjoyed fucking Fred, even if the ginger now regretted it. And as much as you wished you could see him again, you knew he deserved a better chance at life. “Bloody hell, i’m never touching that stuff again,” Fred groaned, cupping his pounding head. You smiled at his confession, walking up to Draco’s side. You stood beside him, the blonde unaware of your presence. Your mission was complete, Fred would be on a better path now. You smiled to yourself, watching as the ginger lifted his head.

His eyes widened, centered on you.

“What the actual fuck are you doing here?!”

He can see you?

a/n: can yall tell im into plot twist rn? lol. might do a part two if yall want it >:)

[bones4thecats]

Hi, happy new years! I was wondering if you could do a platonic TFA story. I am making a book based on my request and I would like to see how you would write it.

The reader is a baby Predacon that was in an egg, and the egg hatches, and the first thing it sees is Optimus and thinks he is their mama, and just follows him everywhere and overprotective of him.

Optimus is stressing a bit because now nit only does he have to lead his group, take care of Sari, but now he has to be a parent to a baby of an extinct race of Cybertronian, and he doesn't think he's doing good and they deserves someone better to raise them. Then one day, the baby is missing, and he's just stressing out and going berserk. It wasn't after the baby Predacon was found that he relaxes and confused when he acted like that when Ratchet tells him that it was because of parental protocols that Cybertronians get when they get attached to something that they see as their own, meaning that he is perfect for them.

Bonus scene about the baby being overprotective:

Baby sees a big blue robot with a big chin being mean to mama? Say goodbye to your ankles! *Chomps*

Get a tingling feeling that something or someone is disturbing mama's happiness? Suddenly is by mama's side and sees its the big, blue chinned bot. *CHOMPS!!* The ankle bitter is back at it again. Nobody messes with mama and gets away with it.

Sentinel demabds Optimus to punish the baby bot (Optimus secretly gives them treats instead)

┗ Mama; TFA! Optimus × Sp.! Reader ┛

Characters: Optimus Prime (Transformers Animated) A/N: This took longer than I anticipated. But, I did enjoy writing it. You had an amazing request, and I hope you like how I interpreted it, @random-fandom1984! ⇘ Summary: After finding a pod with a Predacon sparkling inside, the Autobots take them in. But, this sparkling attaches themselves to a specific member of the team: its leader.

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┕━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━┙

⚔️ When a pod crashed one day just outside of Detroit, the Autobots set off to find out what it was. Optimus was the one who opened it, declaring it his duty as leader to protect his team.

⚔️ The others watched, weapons ready as he opened the pod. But, instead of there being anything truly dangerous, a tiny, sparkling-size Cybertronian jumped out of a broken mechanical-shell, gripped onto Optimus' arm, and refused to let go.

⚔️ Ratchet stared, wide-eyes as he tried to go through his medical training on what this Cybertronian's sub-species was. They certainly weren't an Autobot, and not a Decepticon, since they were too small, and too... animalistic.

"By the Primes..." he said, realization washing over him. "That's a young sparkling of a Predacon!"

"A Predacon? Didn't they go extinct millions on years ago?" Prowl asked.

"Did they somehow come back from the dead like a zombie or something?" Bumblebee added.

"Impossible. The only thing that could do that would've put them in a far more decomposed and demented state."

"They look like a baby possum holding onto its mama!" Sari said, smiling as she saw the baby Predacon hold onto Optimus and begin to purr lowly.

⚔️ Well, they have an issue now.

"If it wasn't brought back from the dead, how are they alive?" Optimus questioned Ratchet.

⚔️ Ratchet looked at the pod and walked up to it, dragging his servo along the outside of it, trying to rub something off to read the description of what was supposed to be contained, or maybe find out what it was built for.

⚔️ As he looked around, Bulkhead looked at the sparkling and smiled, waving one of his large servos at the youngling. Unfortunately for him, they took it as a threat and tried lunging at him.

"Holy Primus!" Bumblebee yelled as he and Bulkhead strayed from the baby. Thank goodness Optimus caught it in time.

"Talk about primal urges."

"I think I found what the Predacon came from." Ratchet said, making everyone look at him in confusion.

⚔️ He pointed to a projection of a large Predacon with a crown on his helm, one that appeared to transform into the Earth myth of a dragon, and listened as he spoke.

"To whomev'r finds this pod enwheeling the sparkling, hark carefully. This is the offspring of I, Predaking, Leadeth'r of the Predacons of Cyb'rtron, and mine own sparkmate, Luminate."

⚔️ A feminine-looking Predacon then came into view, a crown on her helm as well as he began to tearfully speak into the camera.

"In Predacon's CNA th're is one code f'r younglings: whomev'r those gents attacheth to first is th're rais'r, their parent. If 't be true those gents doth this to someone, prithee, raiseth those folk well and keepeth those folk safe. Not just f'r mine own sparkmate and I, but f'r the fate of all Predacons past, presenteth, and hopefully future."

⚔️ Yells erupted from the video and everyone began to become wide-eyed from what they were seeing: a war. Predacons falling from behind as Predaking yelled for his sparkmate to run and get the pod ready for evacuation. But, before this happened, he looked into the camera and smiled gently, before saying;

"Valorous luck in the future, mine own dearest offspring. Moth'r and fath'r loveth thee."

⚔️ The video then cuts as the pod's recorder then put up the words: RECORDING FINISHED. WOULD YOU LIKE TO WATCH AGAIN: YES. NO. in Cybertronian.

⚔️ Optimus looked down at the Predacon sparkling, who was still gripped onto his arm, and he smiled, lightly petting its head as it purred louder and rubbed against his servo.

"Well, looks like we have a new addition to the team."

═══════════════ ⋆★⋆

⚔️ Optimus opened his eyes, groaning as he felt his frame tweak and creak with his movements. That fight with the Decepticons yesterday really screwed him up. Maybe he'll just go for a little drive with the Predacon-

⚔️ Where is the Predacon? OH PRIMUS, WHERE IS THE PREDACON?!

"Ratchet!" Optimus yelled he sprung out of his room and towards the living room where the team was relaxing and healing.

"What's going on, Prime?" He replied.

"I can't find the Predacon!"

"WHAT?!"

-- A few hours later...

⚔️ Four hours. It took four hours to locate the Predacon. They were looking at the animals moving around the forest with sparkling optics, only to see Optimus and sprint to him, latching onto his leg like how they did with his arm just a few days prior when they were found.

"Y'know, you kinda acted like a Mother-Bird to them." Sari said as they drove back to the base.

"A 'Mother-Bird'? What do you mean?"

"Well, when you found out the Predacon was gone, you freaked out. Y'know? Now, you're calmer then Prowl when he's meditating."

"Then what does a mothering bird have to do with my moods?"

⚔️ Sari groaned and looked out the window, just telling Optimus to speak to Ratchet about it when they got back. He just agreed and kept driving, finally coming to a stop once inside the factory-made-base.

"Ratchet? May I speak to you?"

"Go ahead."

"Sari compared me to a mothering bird on the way back. She said when I went from being panicked to 'calmer than Prowl when he's meditating', it reminded her of it."

"That's because you were acting like a parent who lost their child. In other words: you love that thing just as much as it loves you. Don't worry about your skills at raising them, it's obvious you're just the Bot to take the reigns." He assured, patting the younger Cyberronian's shoulder before walking to his room to recharge.

⚔️ Optimus looked at his servos and silenced the rushing thoughts in his head. Ever since day once, the Predacon had been right by his side. And as he wondered if he was doing good enough for them, they just doubled their love for him by the thousands. Maybe... he was doing enough for them?

═══════════════ ⋆★⋆

⚔️ Another treat was tossed in your direction, a smile plastered on your face as you jumped around happily, grabbing all of the treats with a vigor matching a human child.

⚔️ Earlier that day, the Elite Guard had come down to see the Predacon sparkling and examine it for anything dangerous. Though, Sentinel, in true Sentinel-Fashion, began insulting Optimus the moment they touched down and gained contact.

⚔️ You growled from the Autobots' leader's shoulder as you listened to Sentinel speak. You may not speak like they do yet, but you understood them well enough.

⚔️ When Sentinel, Jazz, and Ultra Magnus made it to the base and began to speak about your conditions upon discovery and everything from then, you sat with Sari, watching her play around with one of her machines. Your spiky, colorful tail wagging as you watched happily.

"Well, it needs to come back with us to Cybertron for further testing, right, Ultra Magnus?" Sentinel spoke.

"They're not an 'it', Sentinel. They're a living, sentient being. Not some data-pad."

⚔️ Sentinel rolled his Optimus as he scoffed.

"Yeah, right. Look at it, Optimus. You think that thing can produce a single cognitive thought? You've gotta be kidding."

"They do produce cognitive thoughts, they're extremely intelligent."

"Oh please. It's being raised by you of all Cybertronians."

⚔️ At those insults, you stood, spread your wings, and lunged at Sentinel. In the time, you managed to scratch one of his optics and bite his ankle hard enough to draw energon.

⚔️ He screamed and jumped up, swinging you around as you held onto him. His big chin annoyed you at first, but his insults just solidified his place on your 'Bitch List'.

"Get it off me! Get it off me!" He screamed.

⚔️ Jazz watched with wide optics, trying to calm Sentinel down. Meanwhile, Ultra Magnus sighed and motioned for Optimus to handle the sparkling.

"Y/N. Hey, come here, sweetspark. I'm right here." He called, holding his arms out in the signal for an embrace, which you could never turn down.

⚔️ You ran into his arms and hugged him, wings tucking in as your upper legs held onto his shoulders and your lower were held by his other servo.

"It seems the Predacon has become attatched to you, Optimus Prime." Ultra Magnus spoke.

"Yes, they have, Sir."

"Then, I see no need to take them from you. It's obvious you have control of the situation."

"Thank you, Sir." A large smile formed on Optimus' face as he felt you nuzzle into his chest.

"And, you named them, I heard? Y/N?"

⚔️ Your head perked up as your tail slightly wagged. Ultra Magnus looked a little bit like Optimus, and you really liked Optimus.

"Lovely name choice for them." He said, a slight smile on his face as he stroked your helm once before ordering for the Elite Guard duo to get the ship ready to depart back to Cybertron.

"But, Ultra Magnus, Sir! The Predacon-"

"Will be handled by the ones who discovered them. Now, get ready to leave."

"Yes, Sir..."

⚔️ Nobody messes with Mama Optimus and gets away happily. Nobody.

[revelboo]

How in the fuck are you pumping out these fics THIS QUICKLY

Guessing you’re new here? I type these short forms pretty quickly if I’m not busy

Stand Too Close Pt 9

IDW Prowl x Reader

• He’d hoped after, he’d be over it. If anything, he made it worse. Because now he can’t stop thinking about how horrified the other Autobots will be if they find out. What Optimus will think of him. He’s supposed to be looking after you, keeping you safe.

• “Stop staring at me like that,” you mutter, wrapping your blanket firmly around yourself. Even with your back to him, you can feel his optics on you. Feel that answering heat spark through you that whispers that something is very wrong with you. How else can you can hate him and still want him. “And that is never happening again.” The words for you as much as him.

• “You weren’t complaining when I was inside you,” he mutters and you glare at him over your shoulder, face reddening. But you don’t argue with him. You can’t when he’d heard those sounds you’d made, felt you holding onto him. Door wings flicking, he swallows a laugh. Wonders if you’ll be taken away and given to another caretaker when Optimus realizes what he’s done. It’s what he’d wanted originally, but now it just makes him angry. As messed up as it is, he enjoys arguing with you. Pissing you off just for fun to watch those angry eyes flash.

• “A moment of weakness.” That’s all, even if for such a stuck up jerk he fucks like an animal. Even if for a short time, you felt like you’d seen the real Prowl. And that the composed, in control bot is all an act. Inhaling slowly, you tip your head back to stare at the ceiling. Anything but seeing those optics back to being pure ice. You’re still naked under the blanket, shifting to rub your thighs together and feeling his excess there. “I like you better angry.”

• He almost does laugh at that, because you don’t realize that he’s always angry. Always on a razor’s edge to maintain control. And he’s so tired of it, but he’s the one that everyone looks to. The infallible tactician who never makes mistakes or loses his temper. It’s what’s expected of him and that weight is slowly breaking him. “Not all of us have the luxury of being able to throw a tantrum.”

• “I don’t know,” you say with a shrug. “Smashing things just for the sheer pleasure of watching them break is good for the soul sometimes.” Because sometimes the only way to get over your issues is to destroy something. It’s something you’ve gotten good at over the years. Not only burning bridges, but delighting in it. He’s staring at you when you look at him and there’s understanding in the wry twist of his lips. If you’re fire, he’s gasoline. No matter what, this isn’t going to end well. You’ve never been good at doing the responsible thing, though.

• You’re not joking, even though you’re smiling reluctantly. If he really let loose, though? You’d run if you knew half the poison in his processor. Every injustice, every senseless death, if he was let off his leash to act without conscious, he’s not sure what he’d do in retaliation. Or if he’d want to stop. Because if he were free to eliminate threats covertly? Without running them past Optimus for permission that will never come, he’s not sure if there’s any line he wouldn’t cross to end this war. Anything he would destroy. That’s why he needs to stay in control, because he’s scares himself and that fury is always right there demanding action.

Previous

Next

[erimeows]

TFA Characters' Toxic Traits

Me with another TFA headcanon set? Who would've guessed. Got the inspiration for this one after realizing I'd done it with MysMes but not with Transformers. Enjoy!

Optimus Prime: Shoulders every single burden all by himself. Will not ask for help and open up to others when needed, even though not doing so ends up negatively impacting everyone more in the end than asking for help would've.

Bumblebee: Toxic positivity- enough said. You vent to him and he's like "oh but you have so much to be happy about!".

Bulkhead: Will not take sides in any conflict of his own accord even if he knows that one side is "right" if he fears it will upset any of his friends. Passively steps out of conflicts even when he's needed, unless it's an absolute emergency.

Ratchet: Refuses to open up about trauma that he has even though it affects the way he acts and negatively impacts the people around him, who are very confused as to why he acts the way he does.

Prowl: Has an ungodly superiority complex, tends to think he's better or smarter than others (even when he's not), though he's trying to work on that.

Sentinel Prime: I think we saw in the show, but he's very prideful and will never admit that he's wrong in any situation. Also terrible at offering genuine apologies- more of a sarcastic "I'm sorry you feel that way" than a genuine "I'm sorry I did (x)" kind of guy.

Jazz: Gets uncomfortable when things get too serious to the point that if people try to open up to him about something deep, he will change the subject or deflect them 90% of the time.

Ultra Magnus: Too by the book. Will do things that he doesn't believe in or ignore wrong doings for the sake of legality.

Megatron: Very selfish and very charming, which is a bad combo. Similar to Starscream, he will be nice to your face if needed and then screw you over in the end as long as it benefits him.

Starscream: So many, but the worst one is lying to people's face and then talking shit behind their backs or doing them wrong for his own benefit.

Blitzwing: Depends on which of the three personalities you're dealing with because they all have some pretty over the top toxic traits, but the worst and most prevalent one is that all three of them tend to belittle others to feel better about themselves- especially if their life is going bad or if they're feeling insecure about something in particular.

Lugnut: The Megatron obsession, obviously. It gets to the point that anyone and anything else in his life that should be prioritized get(s) pushed to the side for Megatron's sake when Megatron doesn't value him nearly as much.

Blackarachnia: Very vengeful and obsessive about getting revenge to the point that it's unhealthy. Obviously this is seen in her TFA episodes where she wants revenge on Optimus/Sentinel for what happened when they were in school- but those emotions are over a huge tragedy that happened in her life and are almost understandable. This toxic trait also applies to, say, someone who accidentally shoulder checked her or took her lunch from the staff fridge. If you wrong her in the slightest, she will make sure she has revenge, even if it was a genuine mistake.

Lockdown: Can't handle commitment. He's not scared of it, just not emotionally mature enough. Whether it be a job, a friendship, a romantic relationship, or whatever else, he won't commit. He doesn't care whose feelings it hurts or if he's passing up on something genuinely good for himself either.

Swindle: Also can't handle commitment, but I'd argue that his worst toxic trait is actually his concern for money. He's terrified of being broke to the point that it consumes his every waking minute. Sure, he enjoys the swindling, but if he misses out on money he panics and he will go to ridiculous lengths to get a good deal or to rip someone off.

[heartaces]

𝐁𝐀𝐋𝐃𝐔𝐑'𝐒 𝐆𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝟑 𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐂𝐄 𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐒 ASTARION EDITION ⟶ part one

“there is a time and place for violence. i mean - this place is perfect. but is it the time?”

“heaven forbid. we’re all entitled to our secrets.”

“sitting by the fire while you do all the hard work sounds marvelous, actually.”

“couldn’t you wait ten minutes before being an absolute freak?”

“you’re welcome to try and kill me, of course. but i don’t die easily these days.”

“ugh, don’t be so nice to me. it makes me want to be nice back.”

“a horrible death is always just around the corner with you.”

“stabbing someone a dozen times can be many things. but ‘the right thing to do’? hm, i doubt it.”

“immortality is only as good as the life you’re living. an eternity of luxury sounds a lot better than an eternity of struggle.”

“what are you doing? this isn’t safe. you can’t trust him.”

“look, i’m a not a details person, all right. but turning up and causing chaos has worked for us so far.”

“they were clearly artists. you can tell because it’s a mess in here.”

“you know, there is a point where bravery becomes stupidity. and walking into that thing would be very, very stupid.”

“i’ve had enough of bad poets singing of my looks - urgh.”

“is the plant bothering you?”

“until then, try not to die.”

“oh yes, i’m fine. i just feel… awful.”

“shut that oversized chicken up.”

“you know, the only way to cure temptation… is to give in to it.”

“next time, just warn me before you do something stupid.”

“there certainly is a strong ambience down here. i don’t know if it’s the bats or the decaying - everything. it’s quite homey.”

“it’s nice to see heroes are as awful as the rest of us.”

“unusually polite for a god.”

“of all the places you dragged me, this might just be the most foul. and that is saying something, given some of the things you exposed me to.”

“i mean, i hate to judge the proverbial book, but that oath may be all cover and no pages.”

“a shapeshifter? it could be anyone. i mean - it’s not me. but it could be anyone else.”

“sometimes we need to think with our heads before our knifes, dear.”

“you could watch for anyone acting strangely, but - well, you know the lunatics we camp with.”

“thank you. for being that evil bastard.”

“can you feel that? the dark, it’s - hungry. best watch the shadows.”

“this place brings back the worst memories.”

“well, that’s disturbing. still, better than having an actual conversation with him though.”

“oh no. not again.”

“honestly, just once, could we end up somewhere normal?”

“i prefer to travel in smaller groups. it’s more… intimate.”

“nice as it is, she still doesn’t have the best hair in the camp.”

“thank goodness. i was worried i’d have to get involved. now, let’s keep our hands to ourselves.”

“i much prefer it when i’m the one prowling in the shadows - about to strike.”

“ah, nothing says ‘true love’ like faking your own death to avoid someone.”

“you’re not going to eviscerate him? i was hoping for a show.”

“it’s just a waste of a perfectly good cult we could be controlling.”

“can you - ugh, can you shut up and let me read?”

“i hate to be negative. but they’ll carve you up like a goose.”

“my, she sounds positively demented. i love it. let’s tell her everything.”

“you villain. i didn’t know you had it in you.”

“a well-presented face can open a lot of doors.”

“hardly a promising introduction.”

“do you mind? i’m brooding.”

“i’d rather be the only dark power inside your body, if it’s all the same to you.”

“easy now, let’s not do anything hilarious.” 

“i’m with you, my dear. wherever this leads.” 

“i appreciate anyone who opens a conversation with bodily harm.” 

“nothing like a little camp drama to spice up the evening.” 

“it’s almost a pity things ended up amicably.”

“what do you see when you look at me?”

“i would’ve liked more for my trouble than a pat on the head and vinegar for wine.”

“do you have any other chaos you need to unleash here?”

“all i want is a little fun. is that so much to ask?” 

“don’t be so sour. i like a good time as much as anyone.” 

“this seems like a lovely little spot. the sense of impending doom aside.”

[badaboomx]

I'll let you do it, hands free (Bada Lee x Fem!Reader)

PAIRING: Bada x Fem!Reader.   SETTING: A sequel from THIS - The game of cat and mouse began, and Bada is the cat on the prowl. WORDS: 3.1k

ⓘ  Sequel that really just tests my patience for tension building I swear to god–.

A game of cat and mouse had started between the two of you, not by desire but by…

“This is a competition. It was a great impression for TV, but don’t do that again,” said your leader after you all read the note from that mysterious sender. Though, you knew exactly who it was even if no one had said anything out loud. 

Despite being praised for such a wild moment for television (even if it doesn’t get aired, it’ll remain in many’s memories), you were told to consider the competition as a whole now. You weren’t ranked badly in this round, but a wrong move in the next one and you could end up in the bottom – or eliminated. Then, all this traveling would be for nothing.

Not like there was any time for you and Bada to even exchange words. After that moment, it was a war of nerves and stress with the first mission coming full speed ahead. 

Next came group battles and you and your team had the chance to tear up the stage together against another team directly. And it was as if whoever was making the matches was thinking of great television moments to fill up the screen with, because when BEBE was announced next, your team was pitted against them.

God bless a good plotline, huh?

“Ah, we can’t lose this one,” one of the members said. “We won’t, we just tear it up like we always do,” your leader said, looking at you and proceeding. “Are you ready?”

The other members were holding a smirk and laughter back, for that comment had two layers. One, it was the leader tacitly reminding you to behave and keep your head in the game. Two, reminding you that you were about to battle with the woman who sent you that curious little note. You stood up tall, pushed your shoulders back a bit and merely responded with a smile.

You both stood there facing each other, your crew of smaller numbers against BEBE full of faces you were only getting familiar with. A handful of them were fresh faced and rookies like you, but you could tell they were slightly intimidated by you and your presence. The one putting up the tough, cool front was their leader and you didn’t take offense. Your leader did that too, even if you were all nervous and anxious.

Bada had the mic, holding it like she was about to spit celestial bars. Instead, it was time for a bit of trash talking.

“We already know one of you can’t battle,” Bada said firmly into the mic, glancing your way but never letting her gaze linger. “So I’m not worried, we will win.”

The oohs and ahhs of the spectators flew largely over your head, because Bada nervously licking her lips and only facing your leader was tell-tale signs that everyone in your crew caught on. Your leader had to hold in some laughter when she handed you the mic for you to respond.

With mic in hand, you merely said. “Ah, can’t look at me in the eyes when you say that?”

It made one of your members giggle at the very least, but you had tuned out the world around you to laser focus on Bada and the way she reacted to that. She only let a small moment drift by as she nodded with her lips pressed together before she retorted, walking up to you and staring you down. “Is this better?” she paused for a second. “You. Can’t. Battle.”

Oh? What’s this? Behind the cap, hidden in its subtle shadows, were the eyes of a woman fascinated with you. She looked tough and serious, but a twinge of curiosity permeated her gaze in a way that was tough to describe. At that moment the host talked and told Bebe to get back in position to begin the match. You read that codified message written all over Bada’s face.

‘Let’s play?’

And you were ready to play.

BEBE began with their routine, a powerful showcase as you expected. The fresh faced kids showcasing they weren’t meant to be messing, Bada showing that she would face you and you directly as they all stepped up on your and your crew’s face. But she knew what she was going to do when she got right in your face. At the same time as her, your chest popped to the rhythm of their music of choice and closed the space she didn’t dare to close. Noses just measly inches apart for that brief moment she was up on your face. In the blink of an eye that taunt showcased to everyone that you weren’t slacking, you were paying attention and were predicting Bada’s move. It gave a message to people, but most importantly it was a message to Bada. 

‘I’m observing you, I’m studying you.’

Soon enough, their dance was over and it was your team’s time. Just like your leader said, you weren’t here to seduce someone, you were here to prove something. So, when Damien's Dinner Time by Czarface started blaring on the speaker, it changed the mood immediately. No sexy dancing this time, just a group of hungry wolves on the prowl to the beat of some honest to god Hip-Hop. 

Stomping, hard-hitting and smooth, that’s the attitude you and your team brought to the match. BEBE stood still and observed, knowing they better take notes – but Bada did something more than just watch. Quietly, she admired, with the ghostly essence of a smirk tugging at those lovely lips of hers. 

In a breeze, the judges had ruled in your favor and your team took the win. BEBE knew how to lose though, approaching with cordial thanks and compliments before they were to retire to their seats. Oh, you didn’t miss a beat, swiftly moving through to find Bada and face up to her with a satisfied smile. This time a similar smile came to Bada’s face. Her hand came out, you grabbed it and shook it, and she pulled you a little closer and whispered in your ear.

“That was fun.”

Simple, and to the point.

You would not be able to meet or talk to her properly until after the first crew got eliminated. Back to back missions meant that no one had the time to get to know one another that well beyond the fight zone, and it meant that you and Bada were far apart without wanting to be.

During the main dancer mission, you didn’t get the pleasure to compete with Bada. However, she got the pleasure to observe you tear up the dancefloor and nearly steal a choreography on the Rookie class. And you knew she was observing, because your team members made it a point to bring it up to you on down time.

“Bada’s been looking at you like a hawk.”

The girls, behind the tough exterior that you all projected, giggled like schoolgirls at this primo gossip. Hell, who doesn’t love a little affair brewing in places that shouldn’t have them? If you can even call this an affair yet. After all, you both haven’t even bandied words, and wouldn’t get the chance to do so. Could it really be an affair if you both only exchanged looks here and there? When walking down the hall to your hideouts you both walked past each other and only locked eyes for a brief moment? When her hand would search yours in that brief moment and miss it?

It was an affair building up to explode soon, at the very least.

The remaining crews all stripped down to their swimsuits and gathered by the pool, enjoying their time in the freshwater and having a great time with one another. Rivalries were left outside to favor playfulness, getting to know each other and finding that you all were more alike than you thought. You would think that Bada would approach you on this resting day, but instead she watched you from afar as you emerged from the tumultuous warzone that was once called a pool. She watched for a while, too, while you and she played with others separately.

It was interesting, to say the least. Like you two were waiting to see which one would break first and approach the other. You didn’t mind this little game of cat and mouse, it made it all the more exciting. But you wouldn’t miss up an opportunity to tease.

More than once you sauntered close to Bada just to watch what she would do, watching how she seemingly stood and steadied herself for striking up a conversation only to watch you scurry away to tackle your real target into the water. Once you even got closer to her without realizing, and she seemed to notice and think for a second whether to talk to you or not, only for you to descend back into water and disappear from her line of sight. Then she caught on to the game, seemingly approaching you, then turning to a different direction, watching how you observed in anticipation.

Cat and mouse, cat and mouse.

Soon enough the aroma of cooked meat and fresh beer wafted to everyone’s nose, making most of the bodies in the pool return to land to share a cold one with their buddies. Bit by bit only few of you who were too energetic to sit down and eat remained in the water. You continued to swim by your lonesome, enjoying the feeling of being underwater and the peace of a nearly empty pool, but you wouldn’t be alone for long.

At one point you had touched the end of the pool for the third time and ascended to grab onto the edge, but instead a pair of long legs greeted you. Those pairs of legs squatted and revealed–.

“Ma’am, I’ve been asked to relay a message,” Bada spoke, semi jokingly, but telling the truth. “You shouldn’t swim so much without having eaten something.”

She looked so gorgeous up close, you could really just stare at her for hours if she’d let you. “Oh yeah? Are you a messenger or a bodyguard?”

Bada chuckled, adjusting her sunglasses before they fell off. “Both, but just this time.”

You placed both of your arms against the floor and rested your chin against your arm, looking up at this so-called bodyguard wearing such stylish shades. “You’re here to save me then?”

“Maybe,” Bada replied instantly, not looking away from you. It dawned on you then that perhaps the glasses were serving double purpose here, hiding her traveling gaze. There was a moment of silence before she realized that she actually had to tell you what the message was. “Your leader wants you to go eat with them, that’s all.”

You tilted your head and decided to be cheeky. “Aw, so you don’t care about my well being?”

“It’s not that,” Bada said while laughing, shaking her head. “I was worried about that too, they just told me to tell you on their behalf that’s all.”

You looked over at your group and watched them PRETEND to be focused on their conversation but you could tell that they were just applying the good old “Watermelon” to appear like they were actually talking fervently about something. You couldn’t help but to laugh. Still, you looked back at Bada who kept staring at you and wouldn’t stop. “So this isn’t you asking me to eat with you either?”

Bada seemed to think about it for a second, head tilted with curiosity. “Not yet,” she said simply, standing up and walking away. 

You could almost gasp at the boldness and suddenness. How cool of her to walk away like that! But you knew deep down inside it wasn’t something she wanted to do. It was… just appropriate to do at the moment, don’t you think?

When you finally arrived at your crew’s table, they were at the edge of their seats almost literally waiting to hear every little detail about the conversation, which you kept to yourself and promised to tell them later. They whined and tried to get you to spill the beans, but you opened the first bottle of beer and that was that.

You would unexpectedly encounter each other again. 

Your crew’s hideout was dark, all but one yellow light dimly lighting the room as you were sprawled on the couch resting. Your crew all had left the room for a multitude of reasons, but you remained there to catch up on some alone time for yourself. Just to think, to hear nothing, to enjoy your own company. 

Until the door unexpectedly opened without knocking and someone walked in. By the way they seemed familiar with the room, you assumed it was one of your members, but when you opened your eyes and sat up…

“Bada?” You asked instantly, without even thinking. 

Bada stood there, tossing a black bag on the nearest couch and fishing out something out of her pocket.

You weren’t getting any answers that way, so you stood up and walked up to her. “What are you–.”

Soon, music started blaring out of her phone, stopping you in your tracks. You couldn’t recognize the song at first, but you looked at the way the dim light showed her impassive face. No cap this time, her eyes clear to observe. Those eyes were hungry and determined.

Bada didn’t say a single word, putting her phone on the nearest table and wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you against her body. You could barely let a tiny gasp out, caught on your throat as you looked up into her eyes. This time, unclouded, traveling down your nose, down your lips. You noticed her lean down just a bit, lips inches away from each other when she spoke lowly, as if to avoid being heard by anyone who would dare to walk down the hall right now.

“Dance with me?” 

You instinctively let your hand land on her shoulder, up her neck and cupping her cheek. “Not in a battle, I hope,” you lowly replied.

At this, she chuckled and shook her head. "Just you and I."

With that, your hand fell to her chest, feeling the way her heart was beating like crazy -- like she had already finished dancing ten times over. It made her so infinitely endearing. The cool girl everyone was crushing on, the tough Bada, mush under your palm and unable to stop her beating heart just like any other girl in the world. Bada noticed that you could feel it under your palm and she even gulped a little bit. “Look at you,” you softly said with a smile that shouted total fondness. Bada couldn’t say anything but give a soft giggle.

So, without another word, you and Bada began to move to the rhythm. Body against body, gazes connected in a way that could not be pried away so easily. Bada made sure to keep you close to her body as much as she could, but it wasn’t necessary. You yearned to be as close to her as you could, feeling so warm and safe close to her, and you had no intentions of moving away from her even if someone bursts through the door. 

And luckily, no one did. Especially as the heat started to rise. She turned you around, keeping you as close as she could have you, hands resting on your hips as she motioned you to grind against her own movements. Her grip was firm and electrifying, feeling the jolts travel up your spine and tentacle across your arms in goosebumps. As a response, you grinded harder against her and you could feel her labored breath hitched on her throat when you did, like it was a surprise how bold you got suddenly.

“You seriously don’t hesitate,” Bada growled lowly, almost stammering.

“Why would I when I got such a good, hot partner?” 

Those words seemed to please Bada, making her smirk and growing a little rougher and firm in her movements as well. You could only gasp, feeling now how your own breath got stuck in your throat. You both were one with the music at that moment and didn’t falter for a second, but you giggled a little and fanned yourself visibly before speaking.

“You’re a beast, Bada. Didn’t know you had this hidden inside of you,” one of your hands went back to caress her neck as you said that. “How much of that are you going to show me tonight?” You leaned back against her body, looking up at her and noticing that ferocious look on her face. It was a subtle, implicit request, coated with that thrill of getting caught. You wondered if Bada would accept such a thing, if she was–. 

“Everything,” Bada breathlessly said, desperate yearning and lust permeating every letter of the word. “I need you so badly right now,” she said with finality, her lips slowly inching closer to yours and you were so ready to feel just how soft those lips were. You were so ready to feel more of the way Bada’s hands were traveling down your body so hungrily. 

Chatting.

Lots of chatting down the hall, approaching agonizingly quick.

It brought you and Bada back to reality, making you both stop dead in your tracks. When it became certain that it was your crew approaching, you and Bada pulled away against your deepest desire to continue. Hell, you could even hear Bada whine at the loss, a small growl of frustration to follow. But she quickly composed herself, grabbed her phone and bag and merely sat down across from you on the couch. You understood and sat down as well, trying to stop yourself from breathing so hard just like Bada was trying to do. 

Despite the frustration, you both looked at each other and realized how silly this situation truly was. You both laughed, unintentionally making a previous conversation seem natural by the time your crew barged in and turned on the lights. You were hoping to god that they didn’t notice Bada’s flustered look when they saw her, watching Bada coolly get up, grab her things and apologize for being in their hideout without their permission. Her excuse was that she wanted to talk to you, just to get closer to one another, which wasn’t exactly a lie but not a lot of talking happened.

But when Bada left the room and the door closed behind her, your members all turned around to watch you with big grins.

God, now you had some explaining to do, huh? And you only hoped that you didn’t have to explain with details, because then you wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about Bada.

[puraiuddo]

༺JazzProwl Fic Recs༻

— brought to you by puraiuddo -

This is by all means not a complete list of banger JP fics! It's my personal favorites—those fics that lodged themselves in my brain for one reason or another and never left.

Hopefully this list satisfies at least some of the sudden influx of interest for JP fics (and given how well rec'ing a fic turned out last time...) But, nah for real, not to make rec'ing fics fake deep or anything, but I think the fandom would be a better place if people were more unapologetically enthusiastic about fics and less afraid to interact with authors. So if you use this list to find some fics you have to promise to leave some unhinged comments! ٩("•̀ᴗ•́")و ̑̑

But before I start, I want to acknowledge the prevalence of potentially stereotypical depictions of Jazz in regards to his speech (❞), criminal/violent/sexual characterization (▾), or backstory/origins (⟲) in the JP/TF fandom. I've attempted to flag fics with the corresponding symbols above, because I'd like to recognize those problems while still rec'ing for a variety of other fantastic qualities. That said, I'm not infallible so please use your own discretion.

I've also tagged fics with "hiatus" if it's been a while between updates, but the author hasn't made a comment—these fics are especially important to interact with, b/c you never know if the author stopped posting b/c they weren't getting any reviews!

Now, without further adieu...

༺♡❦♡❦♡❦♡ -ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ- ♡❦♡❦♡❦♡༻

༺JazzProwl-centric༻

Mistakes on Mistakes Until— by jabberish

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 280,212 - Alt-War AU』

Ricochet's got a bad case of conscience and he's pretty sure it's about to get him killed. (aka I think I've read every defection/ex-Con au and now I'm forced to make my own. Jazz-centric.)

* (づ ᴗ _ ᴗ)づ♡ The crème de la crème of JP fics. I really can't properly articulate the sheer amount of love and respect I have for MOMU other than that if you haven't read it, your life is worse for it. Go read it. Then read it again. Now. (I've read it 4 times. No, I'm not joking) I love all the fics on this list dearly, but MOMU holds a very special place in my heart. Flawless characterization, flawless dynamics, flawless plot, one-of-a-kind writing style... it's got it all. Of note: I've not flagged it despite its premise, because it will expertly subvert your expectations and you need to read it to understand. Bonus: it's got a lot of well-deserved fanart!

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Untitled Series by Need2Scream

『(2/?) - ffn - Words: 158,064 - War AU - hiatus』

Where the Lonely Ones Roam - 116,327

"Say you have a little faith in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. Need to have a little trust in me. Just close your eyes and let me lead. Follow me home. To where the lonely ones roam." Eventual Prowl/Jazz

Spark - 41,737 - hiatus

"Chase you deep into the unknown. In my dark, in my dark, you're the Spark."/ "Roam with me, come down to where all of the others fell. Get lost, in the dark to find yourself. Just remember what I said, 'cause it isn't over yet."/SEQUEL to Where the Lonely Ones Roam

*It's not clear by the summary, but the series is essentially about Jazz and Prowl's developing relationship as they overcome war-related trauma, intermingled with a spectacular amount of original lore. See the author's ffn bio for a rundown. The originality and attention to detail in the world building in this AU is awe-inspiring. There are 2 fics in the JP series, but the author has a bunch of other Gen fics set in the same AU and another on ao3. Bonus: some of the Gen fics are Jazz & Prowl-centric and can be read as romantic!

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Crime in Crystals Series by Aard_Rinn

『(7/?) - ao3 - Words: 258,030 - Crime/Hitman AU - hiatus - ▾ ⟲』

The Hitman - 6,942 - pt 1

Prowl is the last clean cop in Praxus, the final flickering light in the darkness. There are plenty of people who would like to see him snuffed.

2. The Clarification, 3. The Kill, 4. The Capture, 5. The Prime, 6. The Talk, 7. The Chase 8. TBD

*The main plot is broken into 7 separate fics, but it's all one continuous story. Read the whole thing! It's on my all time favorites. It's thrilling, tremendously action packed, and the character dynamics are some of my favorites. It's also hysterical and wholesome and I've reread it a stupid amount of times. Bonus: it's got fanart + there are 5 extra fics, including a Jazz-centric prequel, in the same AU.

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War Eternal Series by Hearts of Eternity

『(3/4) - ffn - 2m? idk it's insane - Bayverse War AU - discontinued - ▾ ❞ ⟲』

Where You and I Collide - 362,090 - prequel

Separately, Jazz and Prowl are like forces of nature- they are uncompromising and uncontrollable. But what becomes of their natures when these two unstoppable forces collide? Will one break the other, or will they both be stronger for it?

As We Come Together - 485,586 - pt 2 - Gen

While the surviving Autobots begin to flock to Earth in response to Optimus' call, trying to find a new home on the strange organic planet called Earth, some unfortunate bots are beginning to realize the price of war may have been too high. Sequel to Time

May We Never Let Go - 408,409 - pt 3 - Gen - d/c

Hell literally lies in wait above Earth as the Cybertronians and Earthlings coexist uneasily, rattled by every attack the Fallen and his master launch on them. With new evil rising, the powers that be on Earth and beyond are gearing up for war.

1. As We Come Together, prequel 2: Surface of the Sun

*Long, convoluted explanation coming up given that this series is obviously a whole different beast compared to likely any other fanfic series you or I have ever encountered in our lives... b/c the author is just superhuman or smth idk...

The series is officially listed as 4 parts (WYaIC, WTWHL, AWCT, MWNLG). Where You and I Collide is the JP-centric prequel to the other 3 Gen fics (that have substantial background JP). WTWHL is technically part 1 of the series, but it's sorta more character-focused ficlets than a continuous story... which is why I didn't specifically list it as a rec even if that makes things more confusing... (ᵕ¬ᴗ¬) Also the author didn't list Surface of the Sun as part of the series, but it's a direct prequel (like WYaIC) starring the Lambo twins and it's... oh it's so good... absolutely shatters my heart that it's been d/c'd.

I've not listed an exact world count, b/c if you want to read every bit of the AU with all its prequels and offshoots (which I would highly recommend and have done)... I'm not gonna do the math for you, sorry. The main 4-part story is ~1.7m+ which I realize is frankly insane and extraordinarily intimidating, but it is so sooo sooooo worth it. The author has created their own fully fleshed out TF world with its own lore and characters and the time and effort they've put into is mind-boggling .

Anywho, despite ultimately being d/c'd, the series is still tremendously readable and nothing about JP is left feeling unbearably unfinished. I also happened to track down the lovely author and beg for a summary of the ending, b/c I'm a bit of a freak and they very kindly provided it so if not knowing how a fic ends bothers you/prevents you from reading, you have the option of getting closure even if you can't have it written out.

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Fathomless by Sroloc_Elbisivni

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 19,949 - Fantasy AU - complete』

Jazz is drowning on dry land on the other side of the world. Once upon a time, before Jazz was born, the Rust Sea covered a swathe of Cybertron bigger than the territory of any city-state except Iacon. The sea had been more powerful than any engine besides the one at the heart of the planet itself, big enough to swallow a metrotitan in its depths, the birthplace of storms. Thing is, none of that was Jazz. He doesn’t remember those days, before he was himself, except in his dreams. And his dreams are terrifying.

*This fic makes me feel some type of way... it gives me shivers. It's so eerie and the premise is so unique. It's also beautifully bittersweet, which is a hard concept to pull off.

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The Judge by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 107,653 - Alt-War AU』

Prowl’s got a secret, and he’d rather be dead in the ground before he let anyone find out about it. Jazz’s got one too, but he’s not as good at hiding it. Prowl is a secret superhero, Jazz is a secret fanboy who doesn’t know that he works with the guy. By night Prowl is the virtuous hero The Judge, but by day he’s just an unassuming tactical officer.

*Jazz and Prowl are sorta painfully adorable in this fic and the JP is so sweet it makes my teeth hurt. Plus it's got a really fun premise with lots of shenanigans.

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Black on White on Black Series by pipermca

『(3/?) - ao3 - Words: 86,248 - fix-it, War AU - complete』

Anamnesis - 31,097 - pt 1

When Jazz and his team are lost on a mission, Prowl has to carry on alone. But a discovery a thousand vorn later could turn his life upside down again.

2. The Ghost of the Howling Plains, 3. Pulling Strings

*Super interesting sorta-kinda-fix-it fic and/or explanation for the events and characterizations in IDW. There are 3 stories in the main JP plot line. Bonus: there's 2 "Extras" fics for cut scenes from the main fics.

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Crystal Ghosts Series by Rizobact

『(2/2) - ao3 - Words: 85,688 - Fantasy AU - complete - ⟲』

Enduring as Crystal - 40,517 - pt 1

There were a lot of reasons Prowl visited the library. He never knew the most important one was waiting for him in the garden behind it.

Eternal as Love - 45,171 - pt 2

Prowl promised he would help Jazz, the ghost of the crystal chapel in the garden behind Praxus' central library. He just couldn't anticipate what shape that help would wind up taking.

*Another super unique premise! I love a good historical mystery and the imagery is specularly evocative! And I'm a sucker for the trope... which I can't reveal, because of spoilers.

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Untitled Series by Vaeru

『(2/2) - ffn - Words: 10,766 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Descant - 7,925 - pt 2

G1/Jux compliant. Requiem sequel. Prowl doubted that his desired image of Respected Superior Officer came across very well with a half-scrapped mech clinging to his hand, but he loomed as best as he was able and glared.

*Requiem is Jazz-centric and I'd say more of a prequel to Descant than Descant is a sequel to Requiem... if that makes any sense. Regardless of how you view it or what order you read it, it's fucking brutal. (-‿-“) Bonus: author also wrote another really great fic called Transformers: Juxtaposition which is Lambo twin-centric and OC-centric, but perhaps one of the only OC fics that I've ever enjoyed.

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Domino Milkshake by SilenceoftheLlamas

『oneshot - (1/?) - ao3 - Words: 24,886 - War AU - complete - ❞』

Jazz drunkenly pretends that he's dating Prowl. Only he isn't, and the mech is right behind him.

*It's a fake dating AU... what more can I say? I love the the begrudging developing romance and the meddling friends. Bonus: it's got fanart!

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Hunter's Spark by WandersUnderStarlight

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 43,645 - Alt-War AU - ❞』

Jazz disobeys orders to abandon the ruins of Praxus and runs into one of the Senate's dirty secrets.

*This author also has a few more JP fics that I enjoy like An Offer He Can't Refuse and Long Patrol. I gotta offer aisclaimer though: the fics are... fairly cliche and a bit OOC. Hunter's Spark is much more tame than the other two, though. They're all sorta a guilty pleasure of mine, because it's fun to enjoy Prowl being a bit of a BAMF and Jazz being a bit of a damsel on occasion even if objectively I understand why it's not everyone's cup of tea. ("￣▽￣";)ゞ But the author definitely deserves credit for creative and entertaining premises and a really nice writing style!

༺☆★☆★☆★-ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ-★☆ ★☆★☆༻

༺General༻

Little Brother by Meiza

『oneshot - ffn - Words: 64,542 - War AU - discontinued』

Prowl is infamous for being a logical, nigh emotionaless thinker who's better at battle calculations than interpersonal relationships. How he was roped into taking care of the last survivor of Praxus is anyone's guess.

*Prowl & Bluestreak centric, but Jazz has a solid amount of screentime. The subplot is pre-relationship, co-parenting JazzProwl and it's cute as hell. It's not 'officially' discontinued, but it hasn't been updated since 2010... so... At least it doesn't end in a cliffhanger. (╥﹏╥|||)

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Things We Don't Tell Humans by SineadRivka

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 363,057 - Bayverse War AU - complete』

This was a first for us Autobots; never before have we come in contact with a species like these humans, so eerily similar to our own race and twice as tenacious as Sparklings. The question was, how far can we trust the humans with our culture? Some things have translated between cultures without much effort. Other subjects, however…

*Please note the tags! Also... I'll be honest that I mostly skip to the JP parts and main plot points in this fic as it's about a very ensemble cast and I'm not interested in TF humans ... so I can't entirely vouch for the integrity of the whole thing. (￢ω￢;)

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Echoes of Messatine by MlleMusketeer

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 303,863 - Alt-War AU - complete - ▾ 』

Cybertron hurtles toward war, and only a handful of mecha see it. Not Megatron, whose inflammatory writings gain him agonizing attention from those on high. Not Ratchet, the Iacon Medical Center’s most prized practitioner, whose Dead-End clinic remains the worst-guarded secret on Cybertron. Not Overlord, whose iron hold over Cybertron’s underworld is beginning to falter. Not Orion Pax, whose concern over the sudden silence of one of his favorite writers drives him to take up his hero’s pen. Not Terminus, who only wants to survive. But Trepan and Senator Shockwave both know well what’s coming. One aims to use a defiant miner’s fall to crush the aspirations of the masses. The other wants to use that miner’s triumph to ignite them. Neither much cares about Megatron himself, or his ultimate survival. Therein lies their fatal error.

*Not clear from the summary, but the premise is essentially "what if Megatron got the matrix instead of OP" and how their pre-war lives would have to pan out for them to ultimately switch roles. Just a really fascinating, supremely well-done "what-if" fic, but also probably the weirdest one to put on this particular list, b/c JP turns into megatron/JP at the very, very end... but... I just kinda ignore that development since it happens in like almost literally in the last chapter and you can def read it as friendship up until that point... (¬⤙¬ ᵕ)

༺☓○☓○☓○☓○-ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ-☓○☓○☓○☓○༻

༺Mature༻

*listen... don't @ me. They're definitely saucy, but they're not explicit. Yada, yada... hey minors, don't read these! ...But we all know you will so just don't talk to me or anyone else about it, cool? Cool. (☞ ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)☞

Intermission by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 5,049 - War AU - complete - ▾』

As the war stretched on for interminable vorn, Prowl found himself faced time and again with the mounting stress of his position. Many of those times he was forced to face alone, the gear grinding stress sending him to Ratchet for system overhauls and forced defrags. But every so often he'd be fortunate enough to have Jazz on hand, and when he did, well, it didn't take much. Pressing Jazz up against the wall, cramming him into corners, pinning him facedown over Prowl's desk. It didn't matter as long he could keep Jazz still.

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Audition by crabapplered

『oneshot - ao3 - Words: 12,783 - War AU - complete - ▾』

If one were to be delicate, one would say that Jazz and Prowl are incompatible. The blunt truth? 'You just lie there with this blank expression on your face,' he'd been told by his last partner. Signal had stayed longer then most, willing to try since Prowl was so obviously doing his best, interfacing to please his partner and give him what Prowl himself disliked. In the end, though, it hadn't worked. 'You don't like me touching you, you don't like the mess, you don't even like the overload, and half the time I swear you're running economic simulations in your CPU you look that bored. I don't want that. I don't want you miserable, and I don't want me miserable, either.' So why can't Prowl stop wishing?

༺♡❦♡❦♡❦♡ -ˋˏ ♫ ♡ 𓆩𓆪 ˎˊ- ♡❦♡❦♡❦♡༻

That's all, folks.

ദ്ദി(｡•̀ω-)✧ ~Happy reading!

and for the shit tumblr search/tag system, i offer: #jazzprowl #jazzprowl recs #jazz x prowl #jazzprowl fic recs #jazzprowl fanfic recs #tansformers fic recs #tf jazzprowl #tf fic recs

[denwritesandcries]

Lose on losing Dogs – S.S

Pairing: shauna shipman x fem!reader

Summary: There she is. The first person you met when you moved into the neighborhood. Your first friend, your first crush, your first kiss and your first heartbreak. Your first grief is very much alive and looking at you in the eye now.

or, shauna comes back.

Word count: 1,2k.

Content: post-crash, angst, reunion, reader and shauna had something going on, hurt/barely any comfort, the consequences of the accident, traumatized teenagers.

Note: They’re both broken and traumatized your honor.

English is not my first language.

Nineteen months. Five hundred and seventy-nine days.

It's been 19 months, 2 weeks and 7 hours since you've last seen Shauna. Since you've seen any Yellowjacket, actually. Since the crash.

Now you're standing outside her room, staring at the door silently like an idiot after showing up at her parents' house wearing pajama bottoms and looking just as much of a mess as they do. Damn.

Her mother looked at you with so much relief when she saw you on her porch that she just rushed you inside immediately, looking like she might cry at any moment because “you’re the first person to come see her who isn’t one of those tv parasites." And well, you didn't say anything. What could you say? Last time you saw her was at her daughter's funeral.

Shauna is back, you think.

You've finished school, graduated. Left town. Started college. You got your own life now and still there wasn't a single day where you haven't thought about her. Remembering her. Mourning her.

And now she's back. Alive.

It still doesn't feel real, even though it is. You just have to open the door so you can see it for yourself. Why can't you open the door?

“Mom,” comes her voice from inside the room, probably having sensed your footsteps prowling the hallway, “I told you to leave me alone.”

The sound is so strange and yet so familiar that it makes you choke on air, feeling your eyes sting from the tears you've been holding back since climbing the stairs. Without wasting another minute, you step forward and open the door, not realizing what you're doing until your sweaty hand turns the handle.

The first thing you notice is that the room is cold, the curtains are closed, one of the dressers is visibly dusty as if no one has been there for a long time. A room inhabited by a ghost. The last thing you notice is the bundle of blankets in the middle of the bed, with a mess of brown hair scattered around the edge, and a barely touched plate of food on the desk.

Clearing your throat, you take a deep breath. “Shauna,” you call.

You see the exact moment she registers your voice and freezes, even though you can't see her face.

She remains still and curled up and you shift your weight from one foot to the other, nervous and embarrassed. Maybe she doesn't want to see you. What made you think that you of all people would be the one she wanted to come visit her after coming back from the dead and a freaking accident? You can still remember the screams and hurtful words directed at you the last time you two saw each other. Maybe it would have been better if you hadn't come.

“Shauna,” you try again, sounding as desperately as you feel, “It’s me. I came to see you— To see how you are.”

'Liar', replies a voice – very similar to Shauna's on that fateful night, the night before the crash – 'if you really wanted to see me or know how I was doing, you would have come the day the plane landed, like everyone else did.’

I was in another city, you think. Shauna spent weeks in the hospital. Nobody let me see her. They didn't let me see any of them. I came as soon as I heard that she had been discharged and returned home.

‘And yet you woke up and spent hours walking in circles around your childhood bedroom, car keys in your hand. You almost left.’

You startle when the pile of blankets suddenly moves again, revealing the shape hidden beneath them and then you're finally face to face. Shauna Shipman. Your Shauna. The first person you met when you moved into the neighborhood. Your first friend, your first crush, your first kiss and your first heartbreak. Your first grief is very much alive and looking at you in the eye right now.

She faces you in a way that is impossible to avoid. God, she seems so thin, hair wildly messed up, big, deep brown eyes with dark circles beneath them, pupils so glassy it hurts to look at it, and Shauna looks lost, kneeling in the middle of the bed, like it's impossible to believe that you could be there.

Shauna calls your name, sounding so incredulous and so incredibly sad that being two feet away from her seems absurd and you cross the room in a blink, sitting on the edge of the bed and reaching out to pull her against you, before thinking better and deciding to grab her hands instead. She shudders.

“You came,” Shauna says. Her voice sounds hoarse and worn, you imagine she hasn't used it much at home or in the hospital. “I didn’t think you would come.”

You can feel scars on her hands as your fingers move to rub circles over the skin, and a brief glance makes you aware of old, yellowed bruises on her wrists.

“I did,” your voice breaks. “Of course I did.”

She seems completely different from that girl you were in love with and dumped you so long ago. The aloof, almost cold girl you argued with when you caught her fucking Jeff in a car when you were walking home from a stupid high school party. This sure doesn't look like the girl who screamed “What, do you think we're girlfriend and boyfriend or somethin'? I've never said we were exclusive!” when you tearfully told her you loved her the night before the whole disaster happened.

But her eyes are the same. Intense, painful, hazy. And still difficult to decipher completely. That's what makes you hug her back when her lips tremble and she launches herself against you in a thrust that throws you back a little. She melts and sinks into your touch like she wants to be a part of you, just like she used to do before.

“It was horrible,” she groans against your neck.

Shauna cries. She cries badly. She cries ugly and loud, tears wetting your neck and shirt incessantly, as if she has desperately needed it for a long time. She clings to your shoulders as if you were her lifeline. She's sniffling and whimpering like a child.

You hold her silently, having no idea what to say, running your hand gently down her back to calm her and trying to ignore the fact that you can feel her spine and ribs through the old sleep shirt she wears.

You also have no idea how many hours have passed before her crying subsides to silent sniffles, but when you look out the window you can tell that it's already night outside, even with the curtains closed. It doesn't matter, you would hold her forever if Shauna asked, especially if she continued trembling like that.

The room is completely dark and silent when she finally speaks again.

“Jackie's dead.” She mumbles, voice completely defeated, zoned out as if she weren't really here.

“Oh, Shauna,” you mumble back, feeling your own tears spill as well. “I know. Everyone is dead.”

Everyone is dead, but she is still here.

You squeeze her as tight as you can in your arms, as if you can stop her from disappearing again. Shauna whimpers against you and sniffles harder, her nails on your shoulders scratch and draw some blood, the sound of her crying filling the room again even with her face hidden in your chest. You kiss her forehead and she keeps crying, but she's still here so everything is fine.

At least enough to not give up completely.

[harque]

" debt "

💭 . . . 0.6k "whenever you're ready." aventurine pov, gn!reader, angst, mild spoilers (aventurine's real name + backstory), pre-relationship, starvation

Aventurine was charming in every sense of the word.

He was handsome, a poker shark, always the life of the party, and a better friend than some might guess. He was well-learned about finer things: liquor, gems, and numerous other small, but interesting tidbits that could start a conversation. But he doesn’t know how to be a boyfriend. Or, really, how to be anyone who isn’t on the verge of falling apart.

So, Aventurine’s initial reaction to your confession was not at all soft or romantic. His knee-jerk response is to withdraw. If there was any truth left in him, you were uncomfortably close to unearthing it and he wasn’t prepared to deal with the carnage built up underneath his delicately cultivated persona yet. He does, however, understand love. He is not heartless. He had been loved, when he was younger. He could not love you now. What more did he have to offer?

His sister loved him, his people loved him—the harsh sun, coarse sand, and fleeting rain all once adored him as if he were their own. Kakavasha was very loved, but there is no sense in loving dead things. Aventurine was needed. He likes that.

Aventurine likes and wants to be needed, because being craved, sought after, desired or even admired by someone, no matter the person—makes it easier to twist the game in his favor. He can control others by being relied upon, can make them want him. As long as he could trick other people into thinking he was indispensable, he was safe.

(He carved away pieces of himself to sell as commodities, a fine cloth for the wealthy to wear until there was nothing left, no remnants of his former self, just a hollow shell to be discarded.)

You didn’t need him. He doesn’t feel safe. You know he isn’t who he parades himself as, and he’s scared.

You were too patient. Too gentle—he sees you, the wolf in the clothing of a lamb, prowling the edge of his enclosure. (My friend, we are one in the same, why do you insist on living among them? You cannot hide. You are not like them. You can layer all the pleasantries you like on top of your appetite, try to bury it, but it is always there. I know how to get it out. Kakavasha, aren’t you starving? Do you eat in secret because you can’t bear the thought of becoming an outcast?)

He sees a lover with lips that drip sweet rot when open. You lean closer, pressing a chaste, warm kiss to the birthmark on his wrist right above his watch and oh—like the pathetic, wretched sheep he was, Aventurine wants so desperately—but he was too wary of taking more than he was allowed.

“I understand," You said as you pulled away, replacing your mouth with the pad of your thumb. His pulse raced as you traced his veins. “It’s about time for me to go, anyways. Whenever you’re ready, come find me, alright? We’ll talk.”

(Come closer, come closer. The table is made, the world is your plate, I will give you everything so you will not have a need for anything. Indulge freely in my bounty, savor the flavors and feast to your heart’s content. No, even then, you are not filled, you still hunger. Do you ever stop wanting more? Do you ever feel satiated? When your belly is bursting, when your teeth are stained with the juices of the hunt, is your thirst ever quenched? Never. Never.)

With an even and calculated tone, he simply responds, “Of course. I always keep my promises.”

The smile on his face was nonchalant. It is only his hands that betray him, trembling behind his back when you leave.

© harque — all rights reserved — notes & reblogs are much appreciated ¡¡¡( •̀ ᴗ •́ )و!!! thank you for reading!

[tripleglitchwriting]

I heard you're up for writing prowl (⁠≧⁠▽⁠≦⁠)!! Maybe just cute moments of reader and prowl cuddling or baking.... anything thats cute

I did it! I posted something!! Yippee!!!

This is fluffy prowl and reader movie night!!

It’s technically Earthspark Prowl, but I didn’t really do much of a deep dive into his character so it’s just kind of an amalgamation of Prowl’s in my head.

Anyway, enjoy :-)

Movie night. Your favorite time. It just happened to be incredibly difficult to set up with a guy hellbent on working 24/7. Luckily, you knew how to be creative by now. And so when you located a particularly bountiful energon deposit, a plan started to come together.

…

“Don’t.” He rumbled, “Do not touch that.”

Prowl loomed over you like an angry building, but you knew better than to be worried. The mine you’d “accidentally” found was a treasure trove of glittering, luminescent crystals reminiscent of the fantasy worlds in your dreams. It was beautiful, but not your mission. His, maybe, but not yours.

Being about the size of Prowl’s palm, you had to watch your step everywhere you went, else you somehow impale yourself on an energon shard. Of course, you used this to your advantage.

“Hm? Why? You scared?” You teased, just slightly poking the tip of a particularly sharp one.

“No, I’m concerned. You’re going to get yourself hurt.”

“What’s the problem? I see you drinking this stuff all the time!”

“Yes. Because I run on it, you don’t— it’s not even processed yet! So stop touching it.”

“Oh… I don’t know, it looks pretty delicious…”

“Are you glitched?”

“We’re about to find out!” You just about graze your teeth on a crystal before you are unceremoniously yanked away by a gigantic metal hand.

“Seriously, what in Primus’s name do you think you’re— oh. Oh. You little— don’t give me that, I can see what you’re doing!”

“Oh? And what am I doing exactly?” You grinned. He growled back.

“You have the right to remain silent. We’re going back to base and reporting this to Prime.”

And so you did. And he carried you the entire way back. You didn’t want to stay there for any longer than you had to, as pretty as it was, because tonight was movie night.

Prowl never left a job unfinished when it was right in front of his face. You suspected he would try and execute every procedure ever passed into law when it came to new energon deposits on an alien planet, even if he’d been living there for months now. And he would’ve done it right there. Standing in the equivalent to a cave full of explosives. Like a stubborn idiot.

You also knew that, if he didn’t do it, the rest of the Autobots would. Like they’re supposed to. Because it’s their job. With a mine like that, they’d be occupied for the entire night. How convenient…

…

When you finally arrived back at headquarters, he was already heading to his office. “Office” being a loose term here, as it was really just a room he put a desk, chair, and datapads in. The most basic, bland, boring kind. That was all he needed.

But not you. And you were going to make sure your plans went through.

“PROOOOOWL!!” You yowled right next to his audial receptor. He’d been doing whatever important report, but you figured it could wait.

“AGH!” He jointed up in his head, “WHAT?!”

“It’s almost time! Movie night!”

“Oh- you little fragging scraplet, can’t you see I’m doing something important?”

“More important than Terminator? Or Robocop?”

“Leagues more important than those sorry excuses for mechanical representation.”

“Oh, fine, I’ll just… put on Spaceballs…” He stopped.

“You wouldn’t.”

“I would. And I’d play it so loud that you could never focus on your work.”

“Don’t—” but you had already slid down his desk, racing to the adjacent room.

“YOU— DO NOT PLAY THAT AWFUL FILM!”

“I can’t hear you over the sounds of LONE STARR and his GOOFY GANG of SILLY characters!”

He could never catch you in time. Not because he wasn’t fast enough, no, he could pick you up in a second, but because you already had the trap set. The room you’d ran into was decked out with the best projector tech you could find. (AKA, the best projector tech you could convince Nightshade to make without turning the movie into a 5D nightmare) You had popcorn, energon candy, a mountain of blankets, and quite the wide array of tasteful films.

When he finally entered your snare, you received the most withering death glare known to mankind. But everything that withers must also bloom, and you could see joy behind his optics. Mostly because they were shining significantly brighter than usual. Hah, and he thinks you can’t tell when he’s hiding his real feelings.

The fairy lights you’d set up glowed a beautiful gold against otherwise dark corners. Your face was just slightly visible, especially with how small it was compared to him, but you knew he could see your beaming smile. He let out an exaggerated ex-vent, doorwings forcefully dropping and optics rolling. Still, once he finally sat down next to you, you saw them perk right back up again.

“We aren’t watching that horrendous mockery of a movie, right?”

“Psh, I don’t even have the DVD anymore. You broke it after flipping the table. Tonight, you get to decide what we watch.”

“Wait, I… but I thought you enjoyed choosing the film.”

“Sure I do. But I want to watch what you want to watch tonight.”

And his optics grew bright again, illuminating your wide selection of 80’s, 90’s, and early 2000’s DVDs. Breakfast Club, Mean Girls, Star Wars, The Godfather, Planet of the Apes… everything you could think of he hadn’t already seen.

So you were a little caught off guard when he chose The Princess Bride. Something he’d seen nearly ten times already.

Oh, sure, he played it off as an excuse to ‘get to know human culture’, but the same could be said for every other movie on the planet. You didn’t argue.

As the night progressed, you were eventually able to get him to pick you up. For a guy who claims to dislike soft things, he sure does put up with a lot of pillows and blankets for you.

You tried not to move when he unconsciously ran a digit down your back. Or when he pet your hair. Or when he adjusted himself to make sure you weren’t about to fall out of his fabric covered palm.

You fell asleep long before the movie ended. You couldn’t possibly know that he denied every call on his comm link, shooed away any bot curious enough to crack open the door, and completely forgot about the report that had been oh so important earlier.

You also couldn’t know that, had he wanted to, he could just turn his audials off if he didn’t want to hear you watch Spaceballs. He could’ve left you at the base when he realized you’d stumbled upon an energon mine. He could’ve made you leave his office when he worked on his reports. But he didn’t. He didn’t because the minuscule weight you provided in his servos was everything he needed.

Work could wait just a little longer. Tonight was movie night.

[covertleathers]

Chapter 1: Smiling Faces Tell Lies

AO3 Link

Rating: 18+ Explicit, drugs, sex, murder, guns, blood

Relationships: Lucanis Dellamorte/m!Rook (they/them), Neve Gallus/Bellara Lutare, Taash/Lace Harding

Chapter Summary: A campy/gritty Disco Mafia Murder story taking place in 1970s New York City. Zi (Rook) is a down on their luck thirty-something who seems to have lost everything they had in one really awful week. They decide to head to one of their old haunts - The Viper's Den - a discotheque to relieve some stress. Unfortunately, this night out throws them into a bigger web of problems involving several murders, the law, and the mob.

Author's Note: I'm honestly very excited to share this because it's been so fun to work on! I've been listening to music, watching some 70s movies, and looking through old photos. Just so you know, I'm not the type to like, preload my chapters. I just post them as soon as I think I've got one finished enough to my liking. But, I've got plenty ideas swirling in my nogging for this.

Sheer luck. The rain had just stopped before Zi parked and got out of their car around the block from The Viper's Den. The 46th St club had been crammed for at least three hours by the time Zi arrived in their finest threads close to midnight. It was too easy to slip past security and bypass the line going around the block. They couldn't afford to pay the $25 for the cover (even if they could, they weren't gonna).

Full to the brim with cigarette smoke, silk, and sweat. This had to have been the hottest basement they had ever had the pleasure of cruising through. Surrounding them were hundreds of people, writhing to the beat. Plenty of delicious specimens for them to pick up that night. Man, woman, neither, it didn't matter if they were fine.

Just a little upper, some mezcal, a sweet high, and a hottie to bed. This was exactly the Friday night they needed after this incredibly fucked up week. Varric's dead and thus the print shop closed, losing the only semblance of employment they could keep, and Davrin still wasn't returning their calls. Fuck him. Always on his high horse… Zi wasn't like him, they couldn't hold down a real job. Oh maker, they missed him. No, they told themself, Have some self respect.

As they prowled the edge of the crowd, they kept an eye out for a familiar face. Usually, he was right at the bar…Yup, Elek. A slick, young dark-haired man who's smile captured most hearts pretty easily. Unfortunately, Zi never thought to get mixed up with him sexually or romantically, mainly because they grew up together. Two Brooklyn kids who were both caught in the muck of this city. Well, Elek was doing much better than Zi. Most were.

Elek must have saw them coming because he visibly sighed and shook his head, his gold chain nearly sparkled in the club's purple and rose lighting. He took a long drag of his cigarette, then knocked it against an ash tray on the bartop. Nursing a tall glass of what Zi assumed to be beer, he watched them approach.

From what they remembered, he wasn't related to The Den's owner, whoever she was, but somehow had free range of the place for selling and gambling. He was small game, though, compared to the other sharks that swam in these waters.

Elek was a piece of home, even if he had a hard time admitting it. They had history. If there was anyone who had what they needed to make tonight an extraordinary experience, he would be the one they'd tap. Which they absolutely were about to. You know…he looked good. Maker, they needed to get laid, this was ridiculous.

"Elek!" they called with a wave. Zi had to put on their charming face, a slight sideways smile seemed to always work. "Long time no see?"

An incredulous smirk crossed his face. "Rook," he said. "Looking for work?"

"Not tonight. And I don't sell anymore." they replied with a light chuckle. If they knew anything about Elek, he couldn't resist a cute face. Zi just had to turn the charm up to one hundred. "I was thinking, you look absolutely smoking in jewel green, is this a new sports coat—"

"You still owe me two hundred bucks, Rook," Elek casually remarked examining his watch. It looked new, gold-plated maybe. He was hiding a genuine smile behind that annoyed grimace, Zi felt like they cracked him a bit. "Want to bother me when you've got some cash?"

Right, they had totally forgot about that. A few months back Elek loaned them two hundred dollars to help cover their car note. That's why I stopped coming around so often, they mused awkwardly to themself. Shit.

"About that…" they sidled up next to him on the bar, leaning on their elbow and giving him a perfectly arched eyebrow. "My boss is dead, his print shop closed. I'm out of a job. I just need a…favor."

"Fucking…" he moaned. "Zi…do you like being like this?"

They winced on the inside, but knew not to show it. That smarted. Alluring grin still plastered on their face. To win Elek over you had to be all smiles and play to his kinder side. He didn't show it often and Zi had an unfair in to his good nature. They exploited it as best as they could. "Just one hit. It's all I'm asking for. I've had an absolute shit week and you know I'll get you back…eventually...and tell your mom I said 'hi'?"

Elek, exasperated and tired of fighting Zi's simpering act procured a tiny ziplock bag of white from his coat jacket. "If it's going to get your pathetic ass out of my face…"

"I love you!"

"Can it before I change my mind," he grumbled.

Zi got a bit closer to hid it from view and scooped away a pinky nail portion of its contents. A quick sniff and it disappeared. A familiar head rush and that wonderful heat to their face. An almost instantaneous confidence boost hit their brain like lightning. Fuck this was what it felt like to be alive. Suddenly, they felt the music pumping through their body so loudly it was impossible to stop themself from moving.

"You are a godsend," they cawed before grabbing Elek's face and giving him a kiss on the cheek. "I owe you!"

"You already do, moron."

Riding that high, Zi flew to the dance floor. Fuck, nothing was better than this. Except sex. Maybe not. They couldn't decide in this state of mind and really didn't have to. The DJ made sure that anyone at the center of the dance floor could barely hear anything else but the beat. It was so loud, Zi felt their sternum bumping in time. This wasn't Soul Train. It was far messier and stickier with a layer of cigarette ash and spilled whiskey. Everyone danced with their shirts open, bodies packed tight against each other, glistening sweat rolling down their chests.

As they moved, Zi scanned the crowd for a new friend to bed. There were a fair amount of folks from what seemed like all over town. Qunari, elves, dwarves, a few humans. What mattered most to them was their moves. If Zi knew anything, great dancers were even better fucks. They would know, an art school drop out with nothing to show for it but agile feet and impeccable flexibility.

A fairly tall and lithe qunari locked eyes with them, a smile spread across her face and they drank in her long neck and silky chestnut hair. Lovely. Zi really did like brunettes. Were they in the mood for a tall glass of water or something more…exciting?

Then, Zi spotted him. Cutting through the dance floor with precision was a man in all black. Open collared shirt with rolled sleeves. A head shorter than them, built like a gymnast with slicked back black hair. He was walking with purpose in each step, slipping between revelers like a shadow. Oh, furrowed eyebrows and a determined stare! Unfortunately, they were a sucker for somber faces, too. Zi loved the look of a serious man with his mouth around their cock. It was its own kind of art.

It was probably the cocaine that made them grab his arm as he passed (it wasn't). In hindsight, they would have realized something was off. But, a bird couldn't resist a shiny object, no matter how sharp. The man paused as if snapped from a trance and whipped his head around locked eyes with them. A heavy brow, deliciously scarred lips. He was…handsome.

"You know the discoteque is for dancing!" They quipped into his ear, flashing what they knew was a captivating smile. No one could resist Zi when they turned it on tenfold. The shadowy stranger seemed surprised that someone noticed his crossing the floor. Unfortunately for him, Zi knew a good dancer when they saw one. "Show me what you can do!"

Zi studied him a bit closer in the dizzying, spinning spotlights at the center of the club. Under deep red shadows, spliced with stark white beams of light. He wore an expensive silk shirt and neatly tailored pants. Heavy leather belt. Silver diamond chain falling into some delectable looking chest hair. Italian shoes. Wow. Rich boy. They tugged his fingers and he followed with a long careful glance around. What was this guy's deal? He was acting like he had to go somewhere. "Looking for someone?"

"Yes."

A man of few words. Sexy.

"Dance with me in the meantime, I'll make it worth your while," they crooned in his ear as they sauntered closer, dragging a single finger down his chest. The stranger grasped Zi's wrist before they could pull at his belt. His grip was strong. Fine, they thought, and instead they guided his other hand to the small of their back, their waist asking his to move in time.

"One dance." The man stated firmly. They caught the accent that time. Spanish. And they picked up on deadly confidence. Zi glimpsed the ghost of a smile briefly grace his face. Oh, they had to figure out a way snag this one.

Of course they had been right. He could move. He must have been trained. They whirled together in a blur of black and maroon, keeping in step with each other as if they had done this one thousand times before. When Zi switched to a salsa, for the hell of it, he followed easily without missing a beat and took the lead. They felt lighter than air in his hands. And that was not the coke talking.

It was as if they were easily riding each other's rhythms like the tides. Their hip would collide, then separate and each instance sent their mind reeling in joy. It had been a very long time since they vibed with someone like this. They caught the smell of his cologne, musky sandalwood and leather, and that tipped them over. There had to be a way to get this guy to come home with them.

In all the nights they had cruised The Den, Zi had never seen him. Not that they knew everyone who passed through the club, but you get used to seeing the same bodies. You remember their movements. Recognize their limitations. And yearn for their possibilities. Which this newcomer had in spades.

Zi studied his face. He was half in it, half somewhere else. Espresso brown eyes scanning the club as they turned chest to chest at the center of the dance floor. It was almost unbelievable he wasn't entirely focused on the sculpted specimen before him. Zi never had this much trouble capturing someone's entire attention.

The song was coming to a slow down, ready to end this exhilarating venture. But Zi didn't want to stop. Beads of sweat were forming at their scalp from the stifling heat of a packed room. They didn't want to stop this magnetic connection. But, something had caught The Spaniard's eye, they knew they were losing him.

The stranger nodded at the end, inclining his head slightly, "Thank you—"

"No, thank you! You're an amazing dancer." they breathed, catching his wrist again before he could turn away. The music started to swallow them again. "Could I get your name? Your number? Maybe we could go out sometime? Do you like Chinese?"

He shook his head, whatever was weighing on him had his full focus now. Zi had become an afterthought, again. Expression changing dramatically to become grim and severe. The stranger was becoming more unknowable by the second.

Shit, shit, no! They panicked on the inside, I need this!

He delved back into the crowd, hand slipping from Zi's fingers with ease. The immensity of his presence on their hip left a looming empty space as he disappeared from view.

His loss, they grumbled internally and tried to let the music take them again in a haze of treble and synths. It wouldn't be hard to find someone else, they just needed to find the groove again.

Several candidates came into view as they spun through the crowns. Eventually, that Qunari woman found them again and their bodies were forced against each other as the crowd on the dance floor swelled and ebbed like tides in the harbor. Her name was Anjelika.

Zi asked over the music, "Come home with me?"

She gave an enthusiastic nod and smile. Fuck, she was gorgeous. An angel in white, Zi seemed to encircle and twirl with her for what could've been an eternity. They shared a cigarette, then an absolutely delicious kiss. Another, then another. They had feasted on her neck. She tasted like gin and lemons and ran her hand down the front of their trousers. The mysterious man slipped from their mind like water through their fingers. Only the wet essence left in his wake. Eventually, though, their high was fading.

It could have been well past 3 AM, they weren't keeping track of time. That's when the screams rang out. A record scratched and the music stopped abruptly, lights coming up to reveal the barren black walls of The Viper's Den.

"Uh…party is over, loves." The DJ stammered over the speakers, his voice slightly muffled by his facial hair against the mic. The crowd moaned in disapproval and folks weren't moving.

"Hey we paid the cover, we want to dance!" Someone said. Zi spotted a shot glass thrown at the DJ booth.

Another, "Yeah, we want to keep going!"

The sound of someone grabbing the mic and popping it against their palm, causing five agonizing seconds of horroble feedback that rocked their ears. "Get out you fucks! We're CLOSED."

Zi kept their arms wrapped around Angelika's waist, burying their face in her hair. She smelled so good. They asked again, "You coming, right?"

Then suddenly, she was all hesitation. They kissed again, her touches lingered on their neck and back, briefly pretending the music was going. There were plenty of others partiers were doing the same.

"Actually, I'm going to leave with my friends," she admitted with a sweet smile, glossy sweat sparkling down her neck. "You're a great dancer, though."

You've got to be fucking kidding me. At this point Davrin must have put a curse on them, because never had Zi came to the club and left alone. What the fuck is going on? They felt around in their shirt jacket and found their keys. Maybe it's a good night for a long drive home, then.

The crowd started moving back upstairs, murmuring anger and disappointment as they filed out. Zi followed, watching their feet in case someone dropped a bill or two. They ended up snagging three bucks. Ok, their luck hadn't totally run out.

Zi was one of the last stragglers to make it out of the cramped basement stairs. The club door was open to let in a cold wet draft, but also the sounds of walkie talkies…shit. The red and blue lights bounced around in the stairwell like memories of the dance hall. Guess they understood why the party stopped now.

All along the avenue were three or four cop cars, with officers stationed at the sidewalk, ushering partygoers out of the way before heading back inside. Eventually, they stretched caution tape over the club entrance. Zi glanced for Elek, hoping to catch him and ask what happened, but couldn't find their old friend among the lingering crowd across the street.

With one of the dollars they found, Zi bummed a cigarette, twiddling it between their fingers until they got into their car, one of the few consistent loves in their life. Wicked Grace, or Grace, for short. She was a 1969 Nissan Skyline, a car they had worked three odd jobs to get. Part time waiter, selling, and making prints at Varric's shop. Only one of those gigs turned out long term, until it wasn't. They popped open the glove compartment, rummaging around for their lighter. Dice, an old pair of aviators, a few parking tickets, condoms…no lighter.

"Fuck," cigarette hanging from their lip, they grumbled.

Zi turned over the ignition and powered the radio. Time to go home. Alone, they were reminded. It was the last thing they wanted. Or needed. In the face of Davrin kicking them to the curb, Varric's death, and in that no job. No cash. Nothing but Grace, a shitty apartment, it was all becoming too much. The precarious stack of cards they had worked so hard to build seemed to be collapsing. How could they call up Myrna and ask for the academy's help again? No, no. They'll find another way. There was no need to go nuclear.

Without warning, the passenger side door whipped open and a figure in black sat next to them. Not some drunk asshole…

Zi whipped their head and spat, "Hey, this isn't a fucking cab—"

Their cheek was met with metal so cold it nearly burned. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Not again.

The shadow put pressure on the pistol's barrel against their face, "Drive. Fast."

"Hey, I don't want to get involved in whatever the fuck this is," Zi complained, their face pushing back on the gun.

"Battery tunnel. Now." he said. "Or I kill you and I drop you into the East River."

Zi hit the gas and pulled off. At this point they were convinced their life had become some cruel, tragic comedy. Down 7th Avenue as fast as they possibly could. Of course, it was 3AM, there was hardly any traffic so they were passing 42nd in less than a minute.

"Will you get that thing offa me—"

The shadow pressed it deeper, it was painful.

"Faster," he turned around, looking through the back window. Out of the corner of their vision Zi caught a flash of intense, dark eyes.

They gunned it, pedal almost to the floor, flying at speeds they only attempt on the expressway. Narrowly dodging other cars as they barreled downtown.

Grace swerved, nearly hitting a taxi on their left side. Zi, with many, many days spent putting her to the test was course correcting with little effort, but this Mexican standoff was making them more agitated by the second. You know how hard it is to make right turn with the business end of a gun jammed into your face?

Zi swallowed nervously, "If you're running from someone, you might as well tell me where the fuck we're going. I don't snitch."

"This is nice," the man remarked nonchalantly, admiring the interior and ignoring what they said entirely. "A powerful rally car. Fast."

At least he had taste in…wait, that voice. More specifically that accent. Once that panic subsided enough for them to think clearly, they realized. The Spaniard.

"You're…you're from the club." Zi stammered, fully recognizing the handsome man they had danced with earlier in the night. His face was cast in mostly shadow, but those eyes were unmistakable.

His stare changed, but only slightly. A sign of recognition. They had to win over his good graces. He was going to be a hard one to work, but Zi had cracked harder nuts. This night had turned into some twisted fucking nightmare.

The Spaniard paused, glancing down at the cigarette somehow still precariously dangling from their lips and reached into his jacket pocket. Zi flinched until they peeped the silver lighter gleaming in his fingers. Pistol still pressed firmly against them, he leaned in, flicking it open and alight just under the end. Close enough to get it to burn. They could still smell his cologne, just like from earlier, but now there was the distinct smell of…iron. Blood. His hands were covered in it. A few precious seconds with a semblance of calm passed and he let Zi take a long, exhausted drag.

"Thanks."

"No problem."