#it just doesn’t make sense for anything to be real.

[astrocafecoffee]

Venus observation 🙂

Venus in Aries is drawn to partners who aren't afraid to stand up to them or push their buttons. They don’t want someone who just agrees with everything they say. They crave that playful friction, someone who can test their limits and push them to grow. Someone who just tells them "yes" all the time will quickly lose their interest.

You might not expect it from their calm, laid-back exterior, but Venus in Taurus can get pretty possessive and jealous. Because they value security and loyalty, any threat to their relationship, real or perceived, can trigger a strong reaction. If they feel like someone is encroaching on their partner’s attention or affection, they might become a bit territorial. They might not say anything outwardly, but you'll definitely sense it.

If you can make Venus in Gemini individual laugh, you’re in! Venus in Gemini loves someone who has a quick wit and a sense of humor. They can be very attracted to people who can joke around, tell funny stories, or keep the conversation flowing with clever remarks. It’s not about traditional romantic gestures, it’s about sharing a mental connection that’s also fun and light-hearted.

Venus in Cancer often gravitates toward people who have emotional needs they can care for. If their partner is vulnerable, has some sort of emotional wound, or even needs a “shoulder to cry on,” Venus in Cancer might find themselves deeply drawn to them. They can’t help but want to nurture and protect those they love, and sometimes this leads them to take on a caretaking role that can sometimes be emotionally draining. They thrive on giving, but it’s important for them to find someone who also knows how to take care of them in return.

Venus in Leo is often stereotyped as someone who’s just interested in the thrill of the chase or loves attention from multiple sources, but once they commit, they are incredibly loyal and devoted. If they’ve decided you’re their person, they’ll have your back no matter what. They’re not interested in playing the field once they feel secure in the relationship,they’re looking for a partner who can offer the same level of passion and dedication they give.

Venus in Virgo doesn’t do unnecessary drama, fluff, or superficial romance. They’re looking for something real and grounded. Empty flattery, unrealistic ideals, or dramatic outbursts can turn them off quickly. They prefer sincerity and practicality in love,this could mean straightforward communication and avoiding overblown emotional expressions. They just want the truth, no matter how it comes.

If there’s any tension or conflict in their personal relationships, Venus in Libra is likely to step in and mediate. They hate disharmony and will do whatever it takes to restore peace and equilibrium. This can mean smoothing over arguments between friends or helping couples navigate rough patches. They’re natural peacemakers and don’t like to see anyone involved in conflict. But sometimes, this can mean they suppress their own feelings just to keep things peaceful.

Venus in Scorpio isn’t satisfied with a shallow or stagnant relationship. They want to be part of a transformative process where both partners evolve together. They are attracted to people who are willing to dive into the depths of themselves, face their fears, and grow. They often have a strong influence on their partner's emotional development and can help them uncover their true selves. This transformation can feel like a “rebirth” for both people involved.

Venus in Sagittarius is a dreamer when it comes to romance. They can often get swept away by the idea of love itself, rather than being overly focused on the practical realities. They’re optimistic about love and tend to idealize it in their minds. This can lead them to fall in love with the concept of a person or a relationship before they’ve fully gotten to know them. While they have a genuine love for exploring different types of love, they may sometimes find themselves disappointed if the reality doesn’t match their idealized vision.

For Venus in Capricorn, actions speak louder than words. They may not shower their partner with compliments or romantic declarations, but they’ll show their love through practical means. They may take care of everyday tasks, like helping with chores, running errands, or ensuring financial security for both people. They also appreciate these same actions from their partner,they want someone who is dependable, responsible, and willing to contribute to the relationship in a practical way.

People with Venus in Aquarius are generally very open-minded and accepting of others, and they want the same in return. They are non-judgmental and don’t like to impose conventional expectations on their partners. They believe in the importance of allowing each person to be their true, authentic self without restriction. In relationships, they tend to be tolerant and accepting of differences and expect their partner to respect their need for personal growth and individuality.

Romance is incredibly important to Venus in Pisces, and they are often natural romantics. They may be prone to grand, sweeping gestures of love or to envisioning a love story that’s straight out of a fairytale. Whether it's candlelit dinners, heartfelt poetry, or spontaneous acts of kindness, Venus in Pisces wants to create beautiful, memorable moments with their partner. They also enjoy being pampered with romantic gestures that make them feel special and cherished.

[ayumigotabittoolonely]

Nerd gojo x nerd reader! Headcanons

Nerd!Gojo x Nerd!You Headcanons

♡ Gojo Satoru, the prodigy. The guy who solves complex math problems in his head like it’s a simple 2+2. If someone ask him how, he’ll just smirk and say, “Just run your mind faster.” As if that makes sense.

♡ Gojo, the last-minute genius. He does his assignments at the last possible second but still gets a perfect score. People have accused him of using black magic. He doesn’t deny it.

♡ Gojo, the overanalyzer. Someone calls him a know it all as a joke, and next thing they know, they’re stuck listening to a 30-minute breakdown of why intelligence is subjective and how human perception affects knowledge.

♡ Gojo, the human stopwatch. He calculates the exact time people take to do the most random things:

Shoko takes exactly 3.2 seconds to process a joke before laughing.

Suguru sniffs his food for 2.6 seconds before deciding if it’s poisoned.

His teacher blinks an average of 18 times per minute when lecturing.

♡ Gojo, the walking encyclopedia. He acts like he knows everything psychology, physics, chemistry, math. Whether he actually does or not is debatable, but he’ll never admit he’s wrong.

♡ Gojo, the fact machine. He drops random trivia constantly, just to flex. “Did you know honey never spoils?” “Gojo, no one cares.”

♡ Gojo, the exam escape artist. He drags Suguru out to do something totally unproductive before exams, but somehow still tops the class while Suguru barely passes. Suguru has stopped questioning it.

♡ Gojo, the romance skeptic. Laughs in the face of love at first sight, listing the exact probability of it happening.

♡ Gojo, the worst date ever. He once explained The Art of War on a date. The girl left before dessert. He still doesn’t know why.

♡ Gojo, the secret romance reader. He totally didn’t get caught reading a romance novel in the library. And he totally didn’t like it.

Then, there’s you.

♡ You, the transfer student. No expression. No reaction. The class went dead silent when you walked in, as if even breathing would be too loud. The teacher praised you, and you just nodded like it didn’t matter.

♡ You, Gojo’s accidental rival. Sitting next to him was a nightmare. He asked the most stupid questions, and you ignored all of them. He assumed you were just an edgy wannabe. That made him laugh.

♡ You, the real threat. When exam results came out, Gojo was shook. For the first time, he wasn’t the top scorer. You were. And your reaction? A shrug. No smile, no satisfaction. That’s when you became interesting.

♡ Gojo, the forced study partner. He forced the teacher to make you his partner. You weren’t amused.

“Why do I need to do practicals if I already know the answer?” you questioned

“To see if it’s true or not, dummy.” He grinned, waiting for your response.

“If it’s in the book, it’s already true.” He had never wanted to strangle someone and marry them at the same time before.

♡ Gojo, the doomed fool. No one ever entertained his nerdy ramblings, but you? You matched his energy. When you started debating him on his own topics, he knew he was done for.

♡ Gojo, the AI skeptic. He swears you talk like a robot.

“That’s not an effective method.”

“This is scientifically incorrect.”

“Are you a government experiment?”

♡ Gojo, the challenge seeker. He constantly challenged you to competitions. You refused every time. “Not interested in unnecessary drama.” That hurt his soul.

♡ Gojo, the frustrated observer. He needed to see a crack in your facade. Anything. He studied your every move, trying to prove you weren’t an AI.

♡ Gojo, the mimic. He caught you muttering the pi table to regain focus. He immediately adopted the technique.

♡ Gojo, the sore winner. If he scored higher than you, he wasn’t happy he was annoyed. What’s the point if you don’t even care?

♡ Gojo, the reluctant believer. He told you about his hobbies with way too much excitement. You told him about yours, but your blank expression made him question if you were lying.

♡ Gojo, the paranoid calculator. He tried analyzing your movements, but everything about you was too precise. It freaked him out.

♡ Gojo, the not-so-subtle spy. Since you lived next to Suguru, he used that as an excuse to observe you. Every time he saw you, you were either studying or staring out the window like a lifeless statue. You caught him multiple times. Instead of yelling, you just stared at him. It was terrifying.

♡ Gojo, the insecure nerd. He nervously brought up Dungeons & Dragons, expecting you to be clueless. Instead, you knew everything. He had never felt average before.

♡ Gojo, the desk menace. He constantly poked you during class, hoping for any reaction. You just stared at him, unblinking, until he became flustered and left.

♡ Gojo, the insane conversationalist. He told you the wildest theories, and you listened like it was just another casual conversation. It drove him insane.

It took me 4 days to think of a gojo nerd scenerio 😭

And you GUYS HAVE TO REQUEST DO IT

Part 2 will be here

@naomigojo

[literaryvein-reblogs]

Writing Notes: Fantasy Worldbuilding

Fantasy worldbuilding - the process of creating a fictional world replete with core characters, overlapping storylines, detailed settings, and fantastical elements that set the world apart from our own.

A clear, detailed fantasy world will help readers invest in the characters that inhabit it.

Essential Elements of a Fantasy World

The fantasy genre often contains elements of science fiction, magic, or imaginative creatures—but it’s more than just writing every fictional element you can think up. The world of your fantasy novel, video game, television show, or film has to make sense in order for the rest of its parts to work in harmony.

Magic: Decide if there is a magic system in place, then set the rules of it. What powers it? Is it a secret? Can anyone use it?

Geography: It may be helpful to create a fantasy map. Identify major landmasses and historic sites. How does the landscape impact the plot or the characters? What is the climate like? You can get as specific as identifying the indigenous flora and fauna, even if you don’t use those details. As a world-builder, you can include as much or as little in your process and final version as you like—as long as your story comes together in a way that makes sense for the audience.

Society: Figure out the inhabitants of your fantasy world. What language do they speak? What do they look like? Are they humanlike? Are they creaturelike? What sort of culture do they have? How have previous historical events impacted the way they live now?

History: While you don’t have to outline the beginning of your world’s history to the end, it’s useful to know of any key events like wars, plagues, political strife, extraterrestrial invasions, or anything else that had an effect on the way your world operates now.

Time: How does it flow in your world? Is there a calendar? Are there seasons? What affects the light and the darkness?

How to Create a Fantasy World

There are many avenues for writing fantasy worlds, and you can start with whichever aspect you like first:

Use real life as inspiration. That doesn’t mean taking people from existing ethnic groups and putting costumes on them—but observe how other cultures live, how they interact with their environments and each other. By incorporating real-life into your fantasy book, you can avoid falling into tropes and clichés, and create a richer template for your characters and plot to thrive in.

Define the setting. A good starting point when creating a fantasy story is the universe itself. Is this an imaginary world existing within our own world, like Black Panther’s Wakanda? Or is it its own entirely new world, like Narnia in C.S. Lewis’s fantasy series The Chronicles of Narnia? Describe what the landscape looks like, what colors it contains, or how many suns and moons it has. Any details that can help make your fantasy world feel more like real-life in order to help ground it in something believable will make a difference in how your audience feels and experiences it.

Create inhabitants. A fantasy world has more than one type of inhabitant. They can be vastly different from one another, or only have subtle contrasts between them. For example, in J.R.R. Tolkien’s Lord of the Rings, the magical world setting of middle-earth has both Dwarves and Hobbits, which, despite both being the smaller races, contain many differences between them. They each have their own origins and backstories, temperaments, key aesthetics, daily life routines, and various other aspects that enrich and define the separate races. Inhabitants include the antagonists as well. Make them more than one-dimensional bad guys—give them a motivation that’s relevant to the world they live in.

Make magic. Implement your magic system, if there is one. Write its limits, along with its capabilities. For instance, in George R. R. Martin’s Game of Thrones, the magic in the world seemingly gets stronger when the main character Daenerys Targaryen brings about the birth of her dragons. Magic needs rules in order to function properly in your fantasy world, and while you don’t need to include a list of laws in your writing, the use of it must make them apparent.

Source ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

[cinnamqnx]

plug!hawks headcanons

warnings. drug use (weed), alcohol use, swearing

♡ you meet hawks from a mutual friend, wanting to find a dealer after only getting/smoking weed from friends

♡ they recommend ‘hawks’, he goes to the same college as you but you’ve never actually spoken to him. he’s sort of like the college plug

♡ the first time he meets you, he finds you so adorable. your awkwardness when asking him what you’re after pulls a small smile on his face

♡ after that, you’ve kinda been on his radar

♡ definitely makes you pay less than what he actually charges

♡ even gives you pre rolls to save you the trouble, and this man knows how to roll

♡ over time you gradually get closer to him, seeing him at parties every weekend, regularly going to him for weed, it was inevitable

♡ i also feel like he doesn’t really fw many people, so he always had time for you

♡ lets you call him keigo, even though he usually prefers that people call him hawks and only letting close friends call him his real name

♡ sorta becomes your personal guard dog at parties 😭

♡ always grabbing you water when he thinks you’ve drank way too much and ordering you an uber home

♡ if he hasn’t really drank, he’ll drive you home after taking you to some fast food place and eating in his car (he’s lowkey panicking when he sees you whip out any sauce)

♡ refuses to give you anything stronger than weed

♡ “nah, i don’t really want you on the hard shit.”

♡ doesn’t want you ending up addicted or ruining your life for drugs and always gives you lectures about it, even if it’s unprovoked

♡ he’s just veryyyyy protective when it comes to you

♡ i also feel like dabi would also be some type of dealer, and him and keigo have this little rivalry going on

♡ warns you to stay away from him, i feel like he’d go crazy if he saw dabi speak to you or even look at you

♡ everyone around you is confused whether you’re actually together or not because of how you act together

♡ however, keigo has a reputation for sleeping around, just doing his own thing, so it’s definitely thrown you off getting involved with him in that way

♡ even though he hasn’t really been entertaining anyone since you both got closer

♡ but he’s scared to fuck things up with you so he doesn’t say anything

♡ you don’t really know what you’d refer to him as in your life either, but you’re glad to have him around at least

♡ this man is always paying for you

♡ whether you need your nails doing, hair or you just need some more clothes, keigo always is the one paying for you

♡ also always buying you food, whenever you both smoke together and you get the munchies he’s ordering food for a family of eight

♡ you always tell him he doesn’t need to, but he’s more than happy to do it, something about your grateful smile has his heart pounding

♡ you start noticing problems when keigo starts showing his jealousy towards men you’re talking to

♡ you haven’t had chance to actually date any of them, since they’re either scared off by keigo or don’t want to get involved since they can clearly sense the tension between you both

♡ now, keigo has no real reason to be jealous, you’re not his girlfriend after all

♡ but when he sees you grinding and being way too close to this one guy for his liking, he snaps

♡ in his head, it was justified, you were acting different since you got involved with him and keigo had no choice but to step back from you despite how difficult it was for him

♡ he’d had enough

♡ storming over to the two of you and throwing his drink in his face, a fight broke out immediately, the frat brothers rushing to break them apart before keigo grabs your wrist

♡ “why the fuck would you do that? you know i like him.”, you yell at him after he had dragged you outside

♡ “he isn’t good for you, y/n!”

♡ “you don’t even know that! we haven’t spoken in days, like, you’ve been distancing yourself and acting weird for weeks, and now you wanna punch the guy i’m talking to? what the fuck-”

♡ “yeah, cause i fucking like you. bro- how have you not seen how badly i’ve been wanting you for months?”

♡ after hearing that, you swear your heart stops, and suddenly the thoughts of the guy you was with crumbled

[bitchinbarzal]

Choose Me | J Middleton

summary: you overhear something you shouldn’t and jake realises he can’t lose you over it.

-

The bar is packed, buzzing with the kind of energy that only comes after a big win. Jake is in the center of it all, surrounded by teammates and friends, his laugh carrying over the music. You had been standing near the bar, sipping a drink, when you heard his voice—clear as day, cutting through the noise like a slap to the face.

“Marriage? Nah, man. I don’t see the point. We’re good how we are.”

You freeze. The words slam into your chest with the force of a slapshot.

You turn to look at him, your stomach twisting as he claps his teammate on the back, completely unaware that his words just shattered something inside you.

You want to walk away, pretend you didn’t hear it, but the ache in your chest demands otherwise. So you step forward, heart pounding, and call his name.

Jake turns, still grinning—until he sees your face. His expression falters. “Hey, baby. What’s up?”

“I need to talk to you.” Your voice is steady, but barely.

He nods, sensing the shift in your mood, and follows you outside. The cold Minnesota air stings your skin, but it’s nothing compared to the heat boiling inside you.

You round on him the second the door closes. “So, you don’t see the point?”

He blinks. “What?”

“Marriage, Jake. You don’t see the point in marrying me?”

His jaw tightens. “You heard that?”

“Yeah, I did.” You cross your arms, trying to keep your voice even, but the hurt seeps through. “Is that how you really feel?”

He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “I just don’t think marriage changes anything. We’re good, aren’t we?”

“Maybe you think that, but I don’t,” you snap. “I want to get married, Jake. I’ve always wanted that.”

His brow furrows. “Why? It’s just a piece of paper—”

“It’s not just a piece of paper to me!” Your voice breaks, and you shake your head. “It’s about commitment. It’s about choosing each other, every day, no matter what. It’s about knowing that we’re in this for life, that we’re building something real.”

His face twists in frustration. “You think I’m not committed to you? You think I don’t love you?”

You swallow hard. “I think you don’t want the same things I do. And if that’s the case… then what’s the point?”

His eyes widen, panic flickering across his face. “Wait, what are you saying?”

You inhale sharply, forcing yourself to meet his gaze. “If you don’t want to get married, then I don’t see a future here.”

“Baby, come on.” His voice is rough, desperate. “You’re really gonna walk away over this?”

You hate the way your body trembles, hate that you love him so much it physically hurts. But you can’t ignore this. You won’t settle.

“I can’t be with someone who doesn’t want the same future as me.” The words taste like regret, but you say them anyway.

And then you walk away.

Jake doesn’t sleep that night.

Or the night after that.

Or the one after that.

Your absence is everywhere. The bed is too cold, too big. The apartment feels empty, hollow. He catches himself reaching for his phone too many times, only to remember you’re not his to call anymore.

And it wrecks him.

Because he was wrong. So goddamn wrong.

Losing you has been the worst thing that’s ever happened to him. Worse than any injury, any loss on the ice. And if marriage is what you need to feel secure, to feel loved, then he’s a goddamn idiot for ever making you think he wouldn’t give that to you.

He just needs to prove it to you.

It’s a week later when you step out of your building and nearly run into Jake.

Your breath catches. He looks exhausted—dark circles under his eyes, hair a mess, like he hasn’t been sleeping. But his eyes, stormy and desperate, are locked onto you.

“What are you doing here?” you ask cautiously.

“Fighting for you.” His voice is rough, and he exhales, pulling something from his pocket. Your heart nearly stops when you see the small velvet box in his hand.

Your lips part in shock. “Jake—”

“I fucked up,” he says, stepping closer. “I was scared. Not of commitment, not of you—just of the idea that I could lose you. But I already did, didn’t I?” His voice breaks. “And I can’t live like this. I can’t live without you.”

Tears blur your vision. “Jake—”

“You wanna get married?” He opens the box, revealing a ring. “Then let’s get married. Not because I have to, not because you’re making me—because I want to. Because if being your husband is what it takes to keep you, then I’ll do it a thousand times over.”

Your breath hitches. “Are you serious?”

He steps even closer, crowding into your space, his voice barely above a whisper. “I love you more than anything. And I want a life with you. Whatever that looks like—married, kids, whatever. As long as it’s you.”

A sob escapes you, and suddenly, you’re in his arms. He holds you so tightly, like he’s terrified you’ll slip away again.

“You idiot,” you whisper against his chest. “You should’ve just said that in the first place.”

His laugh is shaky, pressing a kiss to your temple. “I know. I’m sorry. Just—tell me it’s not too late.”

You pull back, meeting his gaze, then glance at the ring in his hand. Your heart swells, aching and full.

And then you nod. “Ask me properly.”

His lips curve into a slow, relieved smile. He sinks to one knee, still holding your hand.

“Marry me?”

This time, there’s no hesitation.

“Yes”

[ilovegyokeres]

thanks for part 2 of Celebrity Crush!!!! your writing is definitely the best!!! 💖💖 now we deserve part 3 with their meeting and kiss

𝒞𝑒𝓁𝑒𝒷𝓇𝒾𝓉𝓎 𝒞𝓇𝓊𝓈𝒽-𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓉 𝟥 ✧˖°

───────────✦✧✦──────────

𓆩♡𓆪 𝐊𝐞𝐧𝐚𝐧 𝐘ı𝐥𝐝ı𝐳 | 𝐉𝐮𝐯𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐮𝐬 | 𝟐𝟒/𝟐𝟓 𝐒𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐨𝐧 𓆩♡𓆪

✧ 𝐖𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐚𝐥𝐤𝐢𝐧𝐠, 𝐚𝐧𝐝 𝐧𝐨𝐰 𝐲𝐨𝐮’𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐞.

𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞𝐞𝐭, 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐚𝐢𝐫 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐮𝐧𝐬𝐩𝐨𝐤𝐞𝐧 𝐧𝐞𝐫𝐯𝐞𝐬.

𝐇𝐞’𝐬 𝐞𝐯𝐞𝐧 𝐛𝐞𝐭𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧.

───────────✦✧✦──────────

The moment you step off the plane in Turin, a rush of excitement and nerves floods over you. The city is cooler than you expected, and the cold air feels refreshing after a long flight. But it doesn’t stop the flutter in your chest; you're in the same city as Kenan Yıldız—the very person you’ve been texting and FaceTiming for weeks. But this? This feels different. You're about to meet him in person.

You walk through the airport, and despite the crowds of people bustling around you, it feels like you’re walking through a dream. Every step brings you closer to the moment when you'll finally see Kenan in the flesh. Your phone buzzes in your pocket, snapping you out of your thoughts.

It’s a message from Kenan.

Kenan: “Hope you had a smooth flight. I’m already looking forward to seeing you tonight."

You smile, typing quickly.

You: “I’m so excited. It feels unreal to finally be here!"

Kenan: “Can’t wait to show you what we’re about tonight. I’ll make sure it’s a game to remember."

You feel your heart race as you read his words. He’s as excited to meet you as you are to meet him. It feels surreal, and yet, the nervousness is palpable.

The ride from the airport to your hotel is almost a blur as you try to focus on the city around you. Turin is beautiful, the architecture sleek, and you can sense the energy in the air, especially with the game happening soon. It doesn’t seem real yet—Kenan is just moments away, and you’re about to watch him play on the same field that’s been the center of his world.

When you finally arrive at the hotel, everything seems to slow down. The luxury of the place is unmistakable, but you’re too excited to really appreciate the surroundings. The anticipation is too much. You quickly check in and head to your room, knowing that in just a few hours, you’ll be at the stadium, watching Kenan live for the first time.

The game is coming up, and you’re torn between wanting to get to the stadium as fast as possible and wanting to make sure you look your best. You check your phone again, though you know that Kenan is getting ready for the match and likely won’t be texting right now. Still, you can’t help but want to feel connected.

There’s a momentary pause in the excitement. The city outside your hotel room window is alive, full of sound and anticipation. Your heart pounds in your chest—Kenan will be on that pitch soon, and you’re about to witness it all.

Finally, you get the message you’ve been waiting for.

Kenan: “I’ll be looking for you in the stands. Ready to see me score?"

You can’t help but laugh softly.

You: “I can’t wait. You better impress me."

His reply comes fast, as always, with a hint of excitement and playful confidence.

Kenan: “You won’t be disappointed. See you soon."

You sit back on your bed, still trying to wrap your head around the fact that you’re in the same city, about to see him in action. It’s hard to focus on anything else—your heart won’t stop racing.

Arriving at the stadium, you can feel the buzz in the air. The atmosphere is electric, filled with the chants of the Juventus fans and the collective anticipation for the game. The VIP section is luxurious, but your mind keeps drifting back to one thing—Kenan.

You sit down, getting comfortable as you survey the stadium. The game is about to start, and all you can think about is how you’re about to see Kenan, your favorite player, in person. It doesn’t seem possible, but there he is, warming up with the team, moving fluidly across the field. You try not to let your excitement overwhelm you, but your pulse quickens with each second that passes.

The warm-ups are intense, with the Juventus players stretching and getting in the zone. But it’s impossible to take your eyes off Kenan. He looks so focused, so confident, yet there’s a quiet intensity about him that makes you even more nervous than you already were.

And then, during a brief pause in his warm-up, your eyes lock for just a moment. Kenan’s gaze sweeps across the stands, and your heart stops when he notices you. There’s no mistaking it—he sees you, and for a brief instant, he smiles.

The world seems to pause in that second, and your breath hitches. You quickly look away, trying to keep your composure. But inside, you're a mess of excitement and nerves. Kenan smiled at you, and that tiny moment alone is enough to set your heart racing. You can’t help but feel like the tension between you two is building.

The game is about to start, and the players are lined up at the tunnel, ready to head out. You take a deep breath. This is it. You’re here, Kenan’s about to play, and it feels like you’re at the beginning of something new.

The game finally ends, and Juventus claims the victory. You’re still trying to calm your heart after the goal and the celebration. The stadium begins to empty as the players make their way off the pitch. You sit in the VIP section for a moment longer, your mind spinning.

The idea of meeting Kenan finally is almost overwhelming. After everything—the texts, the calls, the anticipation—it’s time for you two to finally face each other. You gather your things, take a deep breath, and make your way toward the exit.

As you step into the hallway, your eyes scan the area, and there he is. Kenan is walking toward you, a look of nervous excitement on his face. He’s just come off the shower, there’s a mix of adrenaline surrounding him. His teammates are nearby, laughing and celebrating, but Kenan’s focus is entirely on you.

When you finally stand in front of each other, neither of you knows what to say. There’s an awkward silence, filled only with the distant sounds of the stadium and his teammates’ voices.

Kenan cracks a smile, his expression softening. "I can’t believe you’re actually here."

You laugh nervously, feeling the tension in the air. "I’m still processing it, honestly. Seeing you in person… it’s surreal."

There’s a long pause, and Kenan steps a little closer, his eyes searching yours. "I’ve been thinking about this moment since we started talking."

Your heart flutters at the sincerity in his voice. The tension between you both is palpable, but there’s something comforting about it too. It feels like the start of something real, something that’s been building for weeks. You both smile at each other, unsure of what comes next, but excited to finally be face-to-face.

"It’s kind of crazy, isn’t it?" you say softly, your voice almost shaking as you speak. "How we’ve talked for so long and now... here we are."

Kenan’s eyes soften, a playful but nervous smile crossing his face. "Yeah, it feels like we’ve known each other longer than we actually have. But, in a way, it’s kind of perfect that we’re meeting like this, you know?" He chuckles, though there’s a hint of uncertainty behind it. "Maybe it’s just me, but I feel like there’s a lot more we still don’t know about each other."

You nod, feeling your heart racing as you process his words. The way he’s looking at you, so open and yet, still unsure. "I guess we’ll have to find out. It’s a little nerve-wracking, don’t you think?" You give a small laugh, trying to mask your own nerves.

Kenan steps a little closer, the distance between you shrinking with each passing second. "Yeah," he admits, his voice dropping slightly. "But... I don’t know. It feels right. And the way you’ve been there, even from afar, it’s kind of made everything feel... easier." He tilts his head slightly, studying you with a quiet intensity. "I didn’t think I’d feel like this about someone I’ve never met in person before. But here we are."

His words hit you in a way that makes your chest tighten, and you find yourself searching his gaze, wondering if he feels the same surge of emotion you do. There’s an unspoken connection between you two, palpable in the way he’s looking at you now.

"You’ve really been thinking about this, huh?" you ask, your voice quieter now, soft with a mix of surprise and admiration. "I mean, you’re Kenan Yıldız. You’re not exactly the kind of person who—" You pause, unsure of how to finish the sentence. "I guess I’m just surprised that you… feel the same way."

Kenan lets out a small laugh, shaking his head. "You’re not the only one who’s been thinking about this. I’ve been watching your stories, reading every message, and trying to make sure I didn’t mess this up when we finally met. So, yeah, I’m a little nervous, too."

You blink, trying to process his confession. Nervous? Kenan Yıldız, the football star, nervous? It almost feels impossible. "You? Nervous?" you repeat, half in disbelief, half in awe.

Kenan shrugs, a faint blush creeping up his neck as he meets your gaze. "It’s different when you know someone so well through a screen and then suddenly… they’re right in front of you. It’s a lot to take in." He laughs softly, though his smile is still unsure. "I guess that’s why I keep second-guessing myself."

You smile at his honesty. The idea of Kenan, this confident and composed player on the field, being nervous around you makes your heart race. "I get it," you whisper. "I think I’ve been second-guessing myself too."

Kenan looks at you for a long moment, his eyes filled with an emotion you can’t quite put your finger on. "So, what do we do now?" he asks, his voice low and thoughtful. "We can’t just stand here all night, right?"

You hesitate for a second, your mind racing as you search for the right words. "I don’t know... I think it’s okay to just take this slow, right? There’s no rush." You glance around the hallway for a brief moment, the sound of his teammates still echoing in the background. "We’ve waited this long, so maybe we don’t have to rush into anything. We can just… enjoy the moment."

Kenan nods, his eyes softening as the tension between you two begins to ebb. "You’re right," he agrees, his smile growing warmer. "No need to rush. We’ve got time. And I’m just glad you’re here."

The air between you both feels lighter now, but there’s still that lingering intensity, that unspoken desire to know each other more. Slowly, Kenan steps back and motions toward the exit, as though inviting you to take the next step. "How about we grab some food? I’m starving after the match, and I could use some company... if you’re up for it."

You smile, feeling the nerves begin to fade as you give a small nod. "I’d like that."

The two of you walk toward the exit, the excitement of what’s ahead almost tangible between you. The night is just beginning, and everything feels possible, full of promise and new beginnings. There’s something special about the way things have unfolded so far, something that tells you that the connection you share isn’t just a fleeting moment.

And as you walk together, side by side, there’s a sense of quiet excitement between you both. Kenan’s smile is genuine, and so is yours, and you know that this is just the beginning of something much bigger.

───────────✦✧✦──────────

✧ 𝒜𝓊𝓉𝒽𝑜𝓇’𝓈 𝒩𝑜𝓉𝑒: 𝒯𝒽𝒶𝓃𝓀 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓈𝑜 𝓂𝓊𝒸𝒽, 𝒾’𝓂 𝓈𝑜 glad 𝓎𝑜𝓊 𝓁𝒾k𝑒𝒹!𝒾’𝓁𝓁 𝓌𝓇𝒾𝓉𝑒 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒹𝒾𝓃𝓃𝑒𝓇 𝒶𝓃𝒹 𝓉𝒽𝑒 𝒦𝒾𝓈𝓈 𝒾𝓃 𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓉 4, 𝒾 𝒻𝑒𝓁𝓉 like 𝒫𝒶𝓇𝓉 3 𝓌𝒶𝓈 𝒶𝓁𝓇𝑒𝒶𝒹𝓎 𝑔𝑒𝓉𝓉𝒾𝓃𝑔 𝓉𝑜o 𝓁𝑜𝓃𝑔!

[double-u-qed]

10k words of sheer jazzprowl fluff. enjoy! ao3 link here. [which i recommend, seeing as none of my formatting transferred over here and i'm a tiny bit lazy]

Jazz doesn’t think he’s ever been so nervous before; his fingers keep tracing over each other, rubbing patterns into the metal. He trails them along the plates, tugs on some of the exposed wiring — a habit his mentor scolded him for often, always redirecting his attention to something else in an effort to make him quit it. But none of his mentors are here right now, haven’t been for a long, long time, so his fingers stay picking and pulling.

He’s never been to Iacon before, despite it being the capital city-state — the head of operations, so to speak. Home of the Primacy and Senate. It’s a hodgepodge of culture, mechs from far and wide settling down, so you’d think a mech like Jazz would have been there before.

But nope — never been.

So why the hell was the Prime himself of all people requesting his presence?

It didn’t make any sense. Well, it did, but — Jazz was just your regular ol’ cultural investigator, nothing special. It was just a fancy, self-given title as well; a way of saying he went to many places and dabbled in the various cultures, researching them (word to be used lightly). He had to make shanix somehow, and the music by itself wasn’t cutting it; it only made sense then to make a career out of what he likes to do best. It paid enough to keep traveling, to keep experiencing a little bit of everything, and that was what mattered to Jazz most.

How Sentinel Prime of all mechs caught wind of him and his work, he hasn’t a clue. If anything, he would’ve assumed the Prime would hear about him from his skirting of the rules before anything related to his work. He hasn’t exactly crossed that line just yet, but he’s not ruling out the possibility, either. Point is, he had trouble believing it when the message found its way into his inbox.

But as much as he tried, he couldn’t find any sign of forgery or tampering with the letter. It definitely looked legit — enough that, well. Here he is: surrounded by a bunch of fancy city mechs not paying him a lick of attention, optics glued to their screens even as the train halts to a strut-breaking stop. All in all, it’s pretty typical, but Jazz can’t help the nervousness he feels all the same.

How was one meant to conduct themselves in front of the fragging Prime? Closest Jazz has ever gotten is a Senator or two, and even then, it was mostly in passing. He hasn’t the faintest clue as to proper Iaconian etiquette. A smooth, charismatic talker he may be, a mistake is a mistake and would still be all too easy to make.

Too bad he doesn’t have more time to agonize over it. The train eventually reaches its station, the doors opening and mechs beginning to shuffle in and out. It’s a hectic mess, really, all kinds of pushing and shoving happening simultaneously. Jazz is just thankful that he manages to make it out in one piece, squeezing between two doorwingers, a litany of apologies on his lips as he wiggles his luggage through the swarm.

After wandering around lost for longer than he’d like to admit, he does eventually find his hotel. It’s not too shabby, but definitely… gaudier than it has any right being. The berth has little hanging crystals attached to it, strips of silver lining the sides. Jazz can’t help wondering if it’s all a show for tourists; give them a little feel of what it’s like to be so close to the Big Building (name pending) where the Prime resides. The streets were lined with his image, after all.

Thankfully, Jazz didn’t bring too many things with him, making the unpacking process easy enough. Unfortunately for him, that also means he has nothing left to occupy himself with; nothing to keep his mind off the fact his presence is expected real soon — less than a joor, his HUD ever so helpfully supplies.

As limited as Jazz’s knowledge of Iacon is, he’s heard plenty of rumors about Sentinel Prime and the company he keeps close to. (All in hushed whispers, of course; it’d be considered heresy to so loudly denounce a mech chosen by Primus Himself).

Sentinel’s… vain. Lazy. The type to shirk his responsibilities onto someone else, most meetings being conducted by his Right Hand more often than not. From what he’s heard, Jazz feels sorry for the poor mech, even if he was constructed during Zeta’s time for the sole purpose of being an attendant. Can’t be easy being stuck to a mech that doesn’t seem to take anything too seriously.

Speaking of which… slag. The Prime’s personal attendant had plenty of rumors surrounding himself too, none of them too kind. He was apparently a real stickler for rules and regulation, no doubt a fault of his pre-programming. He was detail-oriented, a go-getter, the type where nothing escaped his notice. He operates in the limelight and shadows both, the true iron fist of the Primacy.

If the rumors are to be believed—and they often are to be in Jazz’s line of work—then he’ll more than likely be working closely with the Right Hand for… whatever it is they want Jazz doing.

He was seriously screwed, wasn’t he?

“Oookay, Jazz-Meister; you’ve got this. Nothin’ a little sweet-talking can’t get you out of. Hopefully. I’m sure it’s nothing that important. They’d have the dogs on your trail and at your door in seconds flat if it was like that. Probably.” Thinking on it, there was no telling whether or not they weren’t scoping out the area for him already. Unlikely, but Jazz has long since learned to trust his instincts at the first sign of trouble.

It’s just that — they haven’t detected anything. And it’d be rude, maybe even enough for a court-martial, to ignore the summons even more than he already has.

Whining some more to himself, spark set on a path of shaky, nervous revolutions — he sets off for the biggest building of them all.

It’s… no better than his hotel room, adorned in gold and the shiniest of metals, the archways crystalline. Reaches straight out to the sky, proud and — intimidating. Foreboding and imposing, and any other words to say that it was fragging distracting as all get out. Two larger-than-life statues of Sentinel himself sat in the courtyard, of which is fenced off and surrounded by guards no doubt armed to the nines.

Jazz swallows down the bitter taste in his mouth, hands fluttering at his sides as he steels his resolve. They haven’t done anything, so surely that’s a good sign, right?

“’Morning,” he greets them, giving a nod. “I have an appointment with the Prime? Or one of his attendants, I’m not too sure, the letter didn’t specify.”

The guards stationed directly in front of the gate don’t move, but their optics do slide over to each other at the same time. Turning back to Jazz as one, they simultaneously ask, “Designation?”

Unnerved, Jazz stumbles over his words. “Uh, Jazz. Jazz of Staniz.”

“Designation acknowledged. Permission granted. An escort will be with you shortly; proceed.”

Thoroughly creeped out now, Jazz just flashes them a smile and pretty much scurries away, glad to be gone from their penetrating gaze.

True to fashion, the escort practically pops up out of nowhere, suddenly at his side and taking him by the elbow, leading him further into the—palace? It was practically a palace, all regal staircases and spacious rooms to host plenty of mechs in power. The front room alone was bigger than any place Jazz had ever stayed in, that was for sure.

“Wait here,” the small, red bot dragging him around says once they enter a conference-esque room. “Sentinel Prime himself will be here in a moment. In the meantime, do help yourself to any of the refreshments provided.” With that, they give a small bow before leaving.

“You call these refreshments?” Jazz asks no one in particular as he takes a seat. The treat in his hand is a spiky little thing, brittle and dusted with something he doesn’t recognize. Whatever it is, it sparkles and emits a soft glow. “How does a treat manage to be so flashy?”

Chucking it back into the bowl, Jazz leans back a bit, eyes roaming over the place. “Better yet, is everything just like that here?”

Somehow the place didn’t feel very lived in. It was personalized all right — you couldn’t take more than a few steps before running into various things with Sentinel’s image memorialized — yet somehow empty and devoid of life. Maybe that was just how rich mechs lived, with their big, fancy places.

Either way, it sure did make Jazz feel sorely out of place, shifting around awkwardly in his seat. Primus, was it ever quiet here. There was too much junk to make the noise echo, but the sound of his fingers tapping out a little diddy against the table still sliced right through the silence. Not in the good way, either, his fingers curling back into his hand after a mere klik or two of making noise. That left bouncing his left up and down and humming to himself, but even that got old soon enough.

The boredom was about to kill him when the door finally opened again, the mech of the hour and another strolling on through. Strange — Jazz would’ve expected more personnel to be by Sentinel’s side.

Ducking his head a bit to avoid Sentinel’s gaze as the larger mech seats himself across from him, Jazz’s attention is captured by the other mech that came in. He’s on the shorter side — still taller than Jazz, though. His posture belies his caste, all elegant and proud. His paints consist of white and black, his face covered by a full battle mask, and his doorwings fanned out behind him.

Now, Jazz may not be able to see much of the mech’s face, but he can make out the way the mech visibly hesitates for a moment when they make eye contact, doorwings going unnaturally still as he looks at Jazz. And he’s — glaring. He’s glaring, not just staring. His optics are furrowed, his hands suddenly being clasped together behind him as he stands by the door, turning his head to the side sharply, practically severing the contact.

Ah. The rumored personal attendant.

His behavior wasn’t too odd, then; Jazz was well aware of how he looked. His paint hadn’t been redone in a few orns, chipped and dulled all over. Public transit had never really been Jazz’s thing, deeming it a waste of good shanix, making both his modes rather susceptible to pieces of small debris scratching the surface.

Strangely though, Sentinel seems bothered by his Second’s hesitation, raising an optic ridge in his direction. He even eyes the mech up and down before rolling his eyes with an exasperated huff of air when his attendant failed to say anything. Huh.

Turning back to Jazz, the Prime is quiet for a moment. A long moment, actually. Too long. Uncomfortably long. Jazz just hopes his face isn’t giving away his building restlessness.

Sentinel places an elbow on the table, hand to his face as he finally says, “I’ll make this quick — I’m a very busy mech, after all. I need your expertise for the gala I’m hosting tonight. We’re attempting to establish better relations with one of our distant colonies; it’s said you know a thing or two about their customs. I’m sure you get where this is going.”

That — wasn’t quite what Jazz envisioned. He blinks. “I- yes? I think so?”

“Great!” The Prime gives the table a bit of a slap—Jazz can’t help his flinch—splaying his hands out as if to say problem solved. “Glad that’s been taken care of, I hate having to give long explanations. Always admirable, a mech that’s quick on the uptake. Now — you’re to remain here for the foreseeable joors until this whole thing is done with. Direct any of your questions to Prowl over there.”

That takes the other mech—Prowl—just as aback as it does Jazz. Only difference is the amount of exasperation the other manages to exude while somehow keeping his tone reasonably respectful. “You won’t be staying, Sir?”

Sentinel snorts. “Primus, no. You’re the one who recommended this mech to help us; you debrief him. I have a whole day spent agonizing over which of which looks better despite them being the exact same. This is why I hate galas so much.”

Unlike the Prime, Prowl doesn’t seem as keen on acting so lax and improper around an outsider. His words are carefully—and rather pointedly—chosen. “I’d hate to waste your time any further, then. Do take care, Sir; I’ll handle things from here.”

The Prime just raises his hand in a rather dismissive way of parting, the mech continuing to grumble to himself as he exits the room.

If Jazz was a lesser mech, he’s sure his jaw would be on the floor. As it stands, he whips his head around to stare at Prowl, disbelieving in what just happened. It- it all happened so fast. Jazz said less than a sentence! Sure, he was told that Prowl would be handling things, but that — that was just inconsiderate!

Undeterred, acting as if such a thing was a regular occurrence, Prowl takes a seat in the now abandoned chair, unsubspacing a datapad. He glances up at Jazz after a moment of simply scrolling, and it’s — tense? No, that’s not quite right. It’s… it couldn’t be. Could it?

Just as quickly, the doorwinged mech looks away, attention resolutely on the screen of his datapad as he begins to fill in Jazz on the full set of details.

“As Sentinel informed you, tonight is a crucial event for the establishment of our ties to other ruling colonies in the area. Any information you can provide would be deeply appreciated, seeing as we have had little contact with those a part of this colony ourselves.”

The cultural investigator tries to listen, giving his input here and there where needed, but his mind keeps wandering. He’d almost believed for a moment that the look from before had been timid, almost shy, but as the more time passed, the more he was certain he must’ve been mistaken. The rumors, as well; Prowl wasn’t nearly as cold as they made him out to be. He was just awkward if anything.

Only…

Prowl takes him all around the building, never once losing his rigid stance, doorwings not even so much as twitching. The most damning thing of all is his outright refusal to look at Jazz head-on. He’ll get close, their optics almost locking, before settling his gaze on something just a little above Jazz’s eyes. It’s puzzling if Jazz has to be honest.

But you didn’t get to be a cultural investigator without accepting the fact some people act in ways you might not initially understand, so he just chalks it up to being how Prowl normally is. Or maybe it’s a custom from wherever he’s from. That would make sense, actually. Ah, wait — did that make Jazz rude for trying to get the other to look at him? It probably did, didn’t it.

Feeling thoroughly chastised even though it’s just himself he’s arguing with, Jazz puts the matter to rest. He’s here on business, after all.

That’s why he is most definitely not staring when the other suddenly pulls up his mask in the middle of talking, revealing icy-blue eyes and a thin, narrow face. It just — surprises Jazz is all, considering he seemed adamant about wearing it the entire time before.

It’d be rude to stare, so he turns away.

Catching his eye, Prowl lowers his gaze, looks up at the lip of the mask still hanging overhead, casting shadows on his face, then stops walking, prompting Jazz to stop as well. “Standard procedure,” he explains, gesturing to his face. “It’s a safety precaution. Forgive me for not taking it off sooner; I have a tendency to get wrapped up in my thoughts to the point of being negligent of my surroundings. I didn’t realize it was still there until my fans pinged a warning about overheating.”

“’S all good,” Jazz is quick to assure, tapping a finger on his visor. “Just didn’t know if it was something cultural or not, didn’t want to assume or cause offense.”

Prowl seems to consider that in that silent way of his Jazz was beginning to pick up on. It wasn’t obvious that he was updating his files, if not for the way his focus seemed to dim, returning with a couple of blinks. Then he’s all nods, and they continue on their way.

The Prime’s attendant is once again in the middle of explaining something when he suddenly goes quiet, words trailing off. A frown mars his face, minuscule as it is. It’s contemplative, a stylus tapping against the screen of his to-do list. He closes his eyes as Jazz twists his body around to step in front of him.

“Something wrong?” asks Jazz when the silence stretches on.

“Not wrong, per se… Just.” Prowl’s face screws up, the most emotion Jazz has seen on it so far. He taps two of his fingers against his lips. “Sentinel decided most events of the banquet would be left to you.” Blunt, precise. “The event planning itself will mostly be done by himself, but matters are to be overlooked by you before being approved. It’s a lot of work.”

Those icy eyes bore into him, his words seemingly ending there.

Jazz stares back into those unblinking eyes, noting the way Prowl’s grip on his datapad has tightened.

Feeling brave and a little risky, Jazz asks, “Sentinel not trust your word on such matters?”

A bit of pride makes his spark spin a little faster when Prowl actually looks relieved, doorwings lowering a bit. “No,” he says, voice still monotone but holding a little mirth. “He doesn’t. Says a mech constructed cold wouldn’t know a thing about foreign matters, least of all me.”

That gets Jazz’s attention. “How so?”

“Lack of experience,” Prowl says, shrugging. “I was made with the purpose of helping out the Primacy shortly after Sentinel was added to their ranks. I’ve never had the time to experience anywhere but Iacon, really.”

“Not even Praxus?”

“Petrex, actually,” Prowl corrects, bobbing his head a bit as if he was used to having to say it. “And no, I’m afraid. So as you might imagine, there is some truth to Sentinel’s words.”

“But you have something to say anyway, I’m guessin’. Well, let’s hear it,” Jazz says, happily relinquishing some of the control and order over to the other. Planning’s never been his thing, and honestly, this entire thing has left him dizzy. It’s just a little too surreal to be real, no matter how often he bumps his leg against a wall. “Not like I have a completely clear idea of what I’m doing.”

He thought that was encouraging, but if anything, Prowl looked slightly distressed and put off by his words. He glances around them, chewing on a lip.

“Sentinel won’t like it,” he weakly tries to argue. “He doesn’t take too well to some of my ideas, despite leaving most of the work to me. I’d hate for you to be blamed if it doesn’t go over well.”

“You don’t stay as acting attendant for so many vorns without knowing a thing or two.” Jazz grins a Cheshire grin, gently tugging one of those white hands free of its death grip. “C’mon, I won’t tell. I’m sure that big brain of yours has already concocted a whole list of ideas on what to do, so tell me. I trust ya. Pretty pleeeease?”

The attendant stares openly at their clasped hands, making Jazz falter a bit in his enthusiasm, dropping it a little awkwardly. It’s — well, it’s not like he could read the other’s field before this, but now he can’t even get a single hint of what’s going on with him. His face is so impassive as he gives a small nod.

But even as everything seems all fine and business again, Jazz’s hand remains feeling a little cold, his stomach clenched in apprehension.

The gala comes and goes, miraculously being pulled off in the haphazard bit of time they had to spare. It’s not the worst party Jazz has ever been to, either. The foreign guests are a delight, laughing at his jokes and sharing bits of their culture with him that he commits to memory. The band Sentinel hired even lets him play for a bit, even if though it’s a less fancy and richly prestine song than they’re probably used to hearing.

It’s a good time overall, every mech looking happy. Even Prowl.

The battle mask is on once again, obscuring most of his face. But he’s so relaxed as he chats with his company, doorwings moving, even laughing.

He looks so… at home. So peaceful, elegant. Not at all stiff and awkward, adverse to any and all attention.

That is, he’s perfectly at ease until Jazz comes by, wanting to thank the mech for all of his help. Then, he’s a mirror of before; doorwings pulled up high, unmoving, face blank, but eyes furrowed behind the tinted glass of his mask. Jazz would almost think he’s concentrating, if it weren’t for the way his plating is pulled in tighter, tense.

It makes Jazz slow down a bit, his smile slipping. He’s not used to being hated — because that’s what this was, wasn’t it? Him being hated. Prowl had no problems looking the other mechs in the optics, didn’t seem to care when one of the governors from the distant colony put a hand on his arm, tugging on in as they told a story. The only explanation then is that Jazz has done something to upset him. But he came over here for a reason, and he intends on seeing it through. It’d be rude of him not to.

“Thanks,” he says, getting closer. “Never did get to ask you why or how you chose me in particular for somethin’ as big as this, but — thanks. It was fun, if a little hectic. Not what I’m used to usually helping out with.” He chuckles a bit, hoping to ease the tension a bit.

The other’s words are much more clipped, precise and to the point. “I was only doing my duty. It pays to know who is skilled in what is required. You were a big help tonight, so it is I, who should be thanking you.”

Despite himself, Jazz can’t help grinning a giddy grin. He attempts to play it off, hiding it behind the rim of his drink, pretending to take a sip from it. He doubts he succeeds. “Skilled, huh. Didn’t think I was skilled enough for the Prime’s Second to know of me.”

It’s minute, barely there, but Jazz swears the mech manages to just — stop altogether, a little hiss of air being pulled in through teeth. No doubt, it only means something bad, Jazz’s posture slipping back into something only half-relaxed, all cheeriness gone.

“Yes, well,” Prowl’s once again not looking Jazz directly in the face, “as I said: it pays to know. As the one who oversees most of Sentinel’s duties, it is my job to keep track of any names that come up often in conversation.” Now he’s staring down at his own drink, scuffing his peds against the ground as his fingers fidgeted against each other. “Senator Shockwave speaks fondly of you,” he mumbles.

That surprises Jazz. “Really? We’ve only spoken a few times, though…” None of those times particularly stood out, either.

Prowl nods a little more eagerly than before. “Fleeting as it was, your interaction left an impression on him. He was quite impressed with your endeavors and accomplishments, awed with the amount of places you’ve been to.”

It looks like he wants to say more, subtly shifting his weight. But he doesn’t. He doesn’t say anything more at all, merely dismissing himself politely with a bob of wings. It doesn’t escape Jazz’s notice that his doorwings only raise once he’s on the other side of the room, swept up in the crowd of mechs dancing.

And like that, Jazz sees no more of him for the rest of the night.

The next time Jazz met Prowl, it was long after Sentinel Prime’s reign. He’d almost forgotten about the mech entirely, but then, the war happened and things changed. Jazz changed. Mechs kept getting hurt, places kept getting bombed and raided. It hurt, seeing the people and planet he loved be torn apart. It was dying, their planet. Slowly poisoned and unable to sustain itself the way it used to, public transportation lines in ruins and whole cities demolished.

No longer could he safely travel from place to place, playing songs of old and new. There was simply too much death, too much destruction, no matter how much the newly-appointed Prime tried to avoid it.

He was a good spark, Optimus. Enough that Jazz felt sure in his sudden decision to enlist in the faction he had formed. He doubted there was much someone like him could do, but hey; it didn’t hurt to try. If he was truly so knowledgeable of their planet that even Sentinel Prime had paid some notice, he wanted to put those skills to use. People always did say he was a mech of the people, and maybe that was needed right now.

So here Jazz is, lined up and waiting for inspection. His application had already gotten him through the preliminary round, so now it was time for the real test to begin.

As he expected, Prowl himself was the one conducting the inspections, even though it was rather tedious, menial work. Not really something befitting of a mech perfectly constructed for a broad variety of political work. The sight of him and his datapad is enough to make Jazz’s lip quirk in a half-baked smile. Working with the mech even just once had taught him how important control and certainty were to him, down to the very last detail. Though in the case of Sentinel, that was probably more out of a necessity than anything else. Vorns of that kind of work probably left Prowl a little more than distrustful of their new Prime.

All the other mechs in line are nervous, some even mumbling rather profane things about the Second in Command, glancing at him from above cupped hands. Cowards are too afraid to say it any louder than a whisper though. What they didn’t seem to get, however, was just how sensitive a Praxian’s doorwings can be. Careless fraggers didn’t seem to notice the subtle twitches in Prowl’s wings, making Jazz’s smile turn into a smirk he had to hide behind his hand.

Staying in Praxus and other city-states predominately populated by door-winged mechs on more than one occasion had made him rather familiar and acquainted with the various tells of a mech’s doorwings. And boy were Prowl’s wings expressive if you knew what to look for. Jazz was pretty sure he was even cursing behind that stoic demeanor he seemed to be pre-programmed with, attention on his datapad as he cussed them out. Dignity and keeping up appearances were perhaps the only things keeping him from saying such things out loud.

When the Praxian gets closer to where Jazz is, the ex-cultural investigator sees the exact moment the other truly notices he’s there. Disappointingly, not much has changed. Only this time, Prowl doesn’t have a battle mask to properly guard the small changes in his expression.

His optics flickered to where Jazz was, his lips slackening a bit as he blinked. He tilts his head a bit — more when Jazz flashes him a million-watt smile with a coy little way. It’s hard to tell what, but Jazz sees him mouth something to himself before he—rather stiltedly—turns back to the mech he’s meant to be inspecting, blinking a couple times more. Jazz can’t help snickering.

It’s still pretty obvious he’s staring whenever he can, though, as much as he wants to act like he’s fulfilling his job perfectly. Not quite in an apprehensive way, it’s almost — curious? A little wide-eyed and innocent, even if the corners of his mouth are pulled in tight, riddled with stress, straining.

Maybe Jazz hadn’t been mistaken in thinking that night hadn’t been so bad between them, after all.

“Jazz,” Prowl says, bowing his head a little in greeting once he’s standing right in front of him. It’s the very definition of polite, if it weren’t for the datapad he’s ever so intentionally hidden behind, pretending to look busy.

Jazz can’t help the way his spark sinks a little at that. Try as he might, he can’t think of a single thing that would have the Praxian reacting like this in his presence. Sure, he probably wasn’t exactly Prowl’s typical cohort, nor first choice of company, and the mech didn’t seem very social by nature, but…

Whatever. One way or another, Jazz wasn’t going to-

“I see that you expressed an interest in covert operations. Special Ops. May I ask why?” Those icy optics pin him in place, glowing bright as Prowl’s eyes go a little wide, tiny rings of lenses rotating as he studies him.

“That’s not the type of question you’ve been asking the others,” Jazz notes, confused and a little shaken off course, something he isn’t used to. He’s always been known to blurt out rather careless things when nervous, which is exactly why he doesn’t do nervous, not in things like this. “Aren’t you supposed to like, ask about combat training? Background? How serious I am about this? Things like that?”

Oops. Was that insubordination? It sure sounded like it, no matter the fact Jazz wasn’t enlisted yet and this wasn’t his superior. Yet.

Jazz might even be fooling himself, but he swears Prowl’s death grip on his datapad tightens even further. The mech lowers his gaze, raising his datapad a little higher, hiding behind it. Perhaps subconsciously, he puts a bit of distance between them, as if literally trying to un-step over some unseen boundary. “Yes, that is normally the case. My apologies.”

That… that felt wrong. Prowl was in way too high of a position to be apologizing to him so — so submissively. It felt weird, not at all fitting in with the paradigm Jazz had shoved the other mech into. Plus, it’s not like he was offended or anything, he just wasn’t sure what to do with that outlier of a question.

In a rush, he struggles to get the other to stop subtly slipping away, to stop curling away from Jazz. “No, no, it’s- it’s fine… Just a lil’ confused, is all…”

It’s awkward. Primus, take him now, it’s so awkward. Why were things always chock-full of silences and the oddest of surprises when it came to this mech? Jazz never has trouble talking! Socializing is what he’s all about! He loves meeting new people, but this guy — somehow this guy takes everything off-course, which is a rather amazing feat for someone so structured.

Shifting on his peds, Jazz tries to spare the mech who has now begun glaring at some speck over his shoulder, looking… ashamed? Hell, was it ever hard to get a read on this guy. “I guess — I just thought somethin’ like that would be a good fit for me? Dunno if there was really a reason behind it. I know a lot about different frametypes, different people. Figured it’d be helpful in pulling off stealth missions to have a mech onboard that can give a few pointers like that.”

“An acceptable and admirable answer.” The way Prowl says it is careful, as if there were a million things he was trying not to suddenly blurt out. It almost sounds like the words were forcefully pulled out from between clenched teeth. It really didn’t suit him, nor the constructed image of him Jazz had once again formed from the many press conferences shared on the news. He always seemed so regal, so poised in those clipped, reciting lines like a mech made for the job.

From there, the rest of the inspection carries on pretty normal. Jazz even manages to impress the Praxian with his scores on the physical tests, even if he doesn’t say as much. It’s only the barest hint of a swooping motion in his doorwings that gives him away, and that probably only happens at all because Jazz is so far away — most wouldn’t have caught it from this distance.

Really, what does it take to get on this mech’s good side? The other mechs around seemed to be thinking something similar, elbowing Jazz and demanding to know what he’d done to get such a reaction. It’s all light-hearted, but Primus does it make Jazz feel a little miserable. They acted like this measly morsel of attention was the holy grail when, to Jazz, it was hardly anything at all. He’d seen what a relaxed Prowl was like, what he was capable of emoting.

Sitting on the sidelines as the inspections carry on, Jazz observes Prowl. None of the strange behavior is present when he interacts with the other enlisted Autobots, face light while his doorwings say all kinds of things. Some of it manages to get Jazz to smile. It’s a dry kind of humor and wit, the insults he says in everything but words. He’ll tilt his head slightly when someone asks a question he deems dumb; will close his eyes and stand up even straighter when disappointed in someone’s answer to his question.

A few times the Praxian glances Jazz’s way, unmoving as Jazz flashes him a smile just for the sake of being a little annoying. It’s there that Jazz decides he wants to understand this mech a little bit better, wants to make him shed that standoffish nature that seemed to have only gotten worse in the tides of war. He’s just so fascinating, not at all like any other Praxian Jazz has met before.

Inspecting his newly added badge in a mirror, he supposes he’ll have plenty of chances and many things to try.

More vorns go by, and Jazz’s progress is… well. It exists if you know how to look at it.

Prowl has clear, practically visible boundaries with the way he declines offers and separates himself in his office, and the last thing Jazz ever wants to do is cross those in his attempts to befriend the mech. So he starts slow, merely leaving cubes of energon on the other’s desk, nothing more. It’s a bit of a peace offering too, giving Prowl the chance to decline it and make it clear he has no intentions of becoming Jazz’s friend. If so, the saboteur will gladly back off. He might not be used to being hated, but he knows you can’t force these things.

Surprisingly, Prowl always takes him up on the offer, not quite smiling but tilting his head downward in gratitude, not really lifting it all the way back up until Jazz is gone.

His relations with the other Autobots weren’t terrible, but Prowl still didn’t seem particularly close to anyone. Solitude was what he preferred, though the line between voluntary solitude and pure negligence was a thin one. Mech tuned out the entire world when he became focused on something, snapping at anyone who dared pull him away. Not in an overtly aggressive way, mind you, but sometimes if someone pushed a little too far it got to that point. He was always like that when it came to solving any sort of puzzle or fully understanding something that caught his attention, and it didn’t matter if you were friend or foe.

It was rather odd; then again, maybe friendship was just defined differently in Prowl’s book as a whole. It was clear Ratchet, Optimus, and Red Alert all adored him in their own ways, and Prowl both respected and appreciated them in turn.

Ratchet would gently prod and nag at him, but treated him with kindness all the same, never raising his voice. He seemed to get that Prowl didn’t do well with loud noises, easily overwhelmed when there was too much stimuli to keep track of. It’s what made the medbay so hard for him, with its extra bright lights and thrumming machinery. Plenty of medics would try to get Prowl to come in for maintenance, but so far, only Ratchet had a record of succeeding.

Red Alert and him were cut from a similar cloth, meticulous and a little overbearing when it came to their work and protecting everyone. They understood each other without having to say anything, making each other’s jobs easier in a way that even Jazz struggled with.

As for Optimus… Optimus loved everyone, accepting their flaws and all. But he truly valued Prowl in a way that Sentinel didn’t never had, Prowl practically beaming in that subtle way of his whenever Optimus looked to him for input.

Why Jazz seemed to be an outlier remained unclear. And it continued to be murky, until the whole Earth thing.

Everyone got closer to each other the second they came back online and understood their situation, homesick and so small in numbers. They were all they had left of home. They were busier too, trying to maintain their fickle relationship with the humans in power at amicable status. Prowl in particular became swamped with work, prompting Jazz to increase his efforts to get the mech to just relax.

Thus lay the issue — mech didn’t seem to know the meaning of the word, continually rigid, words dismissive and solely professional when it came to Jazz.

“Is it just a Praxian thing? Or does the guy really hate me that much?” Jazz asks, voice pitching up into a whine as he drapes himself over Smokescreen’s desk, giving a big, feline-like stretch. “He hates meeeee… Wants me deeeeeaaaad.”

Looking up from his online game (which was a total violation of on-duty protocol), Smokescreen gives him a confused look of pinched face plates. “Who? Prowl?”

“Yesssss.” Jazz sinks further into the desk, becoming one with it. His words come out muffled, face pressed into the surface. “Talk about mixed signals. One moment I think he might like me decently enough, the next I’m certain he wants me dead where I stand. Is it me? Am I the issue?”

Smokey’s silent — too quiet. It makes Jazz roll over a bit, raising an optic ridge (not that Smokescreen can see it). That was a perfect opening for his friend to say, ‘always, Jazz. You’re the biggest nuisance I know.’ Smokescreen wasn’t one to pass on such openings, either, hence the confusion.

Smokescreen looks… full of mirth? His gaze is up to the ceiling, a hand covering his mouth, shoulders shaking a bit.

“Have you, I don’t know, tried asking him directly?”

Okay, that definitely sounded like stifled laughter in the other’s voice. Like the tone of a mech that knows more than he’s letting on.

Still, Jazz is feeling miserable, so he’ll gladly bite if it means getting the chance to vent a bit. “No,” he says glumly, kicking a ped against the desk for the added effect. “I thought about it, but it didn’t seem right. We’re Prime’s Third and Second, y’know? It’d be awkward, laying it all out. Can’t risk damaging morale if it ends up ugly. And he really does dislike me.”

No, Jazz wasn’t imagining it; Smokescreen snorted, pressing the hand a little tighter against his mouth.

“You’re… really not used to that, are you?”

And, well. That was a problem Jazz was trying not to address. Having it said so bluntly makes him pout a bit. “Maybe not before, but now it’s a little more common.”

Smokescreen sobers up a bit, field twinged with sympathy. “Oookay, that’s an issue you and I are gonna have to sort through at a later time. But what I want to know is, why do you care? What makes Prowl such an outlier you feel the need to sit here and whine to me about it instead of taking action?”

“I don’t know!” Jazz exclaims, plopping himself back down, raising his arms up to Primus Himself. “Maybe it’s the way he doesn’t try to hide it?”

“Hide what?”

Jazz scowls. “You’re doing that on purpose.”

“Yeup,” Smokescreen says, leaning back and grinning. “It’s annoying, isn’t it? Me making you admit that you’ve got a problem you don’t know how to fix.”

“I hate you.”

“Then get out of my office.”

“No,” Jazz says, all the world’s petulance in his tone as he settles back down on Smokescreen’s desk. “Your desk is a lot comfier than mine. And you’ve got games. Lots of them.”

“Am I at least an added bonus?”

“Not when you’re yapping and pullin’ my leg so much, no. Not even a little.”

“You wound me, Jazz,” Smokescreen dryly retorts, turning his gaze back to his handheld. When there’s the telltale death jingle, he merely sighs, putting it aside as he studies Jazz a bit. It makes the saboteur squirm, that level of scrutiny. More so when Smokescreen’s got that psychiatrist look to his eyes.

Giving up the charade, Smokescreen smirks, leaning in close enough to poke Jazz in the nose. “Oh, you cannot be serious. Who knew you of all people could be so dense.”

Jazz frowns. “What do you mean?”

But the junior tactician wasn’t listening, muttering under his breath, “Hate you?” He shook his head a bit, chuckling. “Jazz — the mech practically trips over his own peds whenever you enter the room. He’s a real bumbling idiot when someone so much as says your name, suddenly all eyes and ears like some kind of organic pet being brought food.”

The saboteur sits up straight, not caring at all that he manages to knock a pad clean off the desk. He ignores Smokescreen’s indignant little ‘hey!’ when it clatters to the floor. “No, that- that can’t be right. Prowl doesn’t—”

“Do romance?” His friend finishes, raising an optic ridge. His grin was still there, but it seemed slightly forced now. It’s that look he gets sometimes whenever he’s stepping on rough terrain, knowing a little too much about the bots on base. “Listen, Jazz — I know that you’ve technically known Prowl longer than I have, but you don’t work directly under the mech. And apparently, you’re fragging oblivious to what’s been obvious to us all.” When that only gets him a blank stare, he shakes out his hands for emphasis. “The wings, Jazz, the wings!”

“W-“

Jazz doesn’t get to finish, the door suddenly opening, stealing both of their attention. And low and behold, there was Prowl, nose stuck in reports as he swiftly made his way through, none the wiser.

“Smokescreen, have you looked over the governor of Oregon’s request yet? I-“

He pauses once he notices said person is in the middle of something. It doesn’t escape Jazz’s notice the way his gaze flicks to him, the way he’s seated, before going back to Smokescreen. It could be an illusion, but Jazz swears the mech takes a small shuffle backward, trying to shield himself partially with the report in his hand. His faceplates looked slightly darker too, optics giving a small flicker, in, out.

“Is… this a bad time?” He’s addressing Smokescreen when he asks, making a point of avoiding looking at Jazz. But his wings — those fucking wings!

Jazz’s jaw could hit the floor. It’s — it’s barely there, barely anything at all, but when you’re actively looking it for, it’s rather obvious; Prowl’s doorwings droop a bit as he says the words, his left foot pulled back as if to pivot on out. His helm is lowered and — yep; he’s sneaking glances at Jazz out of the corner of his eye, nervously tapping his fingers against the side of his datapad.

Oh, Primus — it really was rather obvious, wasn’t it? Like, really, really obvious. The mech was shy. Ridiculously shy. Prowl! That had to be wrong, right? Prowl didn’t- oh. Oh. He didn’t do romance because Jazz was there and not romancing with him. Prowl was rather old-fashioned in everything, so why not this as well?

Snickering quietly, Smokescreen gives him a hard clap on the back that makes him stumble and almost fall off the edge of his desk. He ignores the glare Jazz sends his way, his tongue sticking out. Turning to Prowl, he’s all smiles and politeness, cheeky fragger.

“Nope, not at all, no worries. Jazz and I were just discussing some business, nothing important. And as for your earlier question — yep! Looked it over and ran the numbers myself. Should be all good to go.”

“That’s…” Prowl purses his lips a bit, face pinched and crinkled in thought. It looked… pained. Like he didn’t really want to say the words coming out of his mouth. “That’s good. Thank you.”

“I- uh.” Jazz points towards the door, because it’s clear Smokescreen has no intention of helping him out. “Go.”

That same, little droop. “If it’s because of me-“

“Nah,” Jazz says, cutting him off. And it isn’t. Not completely. Just — not for the reasons Prowl might be thinking. “Like Smokey said: it wasn’t that important. Just a little banter. Your report, on the other hand…”

The tactician looks down at said report, almost as if he had forgotten why he came into the room at all. Again, his face screws up into something rather odd. Indecisive. “It-“

-can wait. But Prowler’s always been a logical, by-the-books kind of mech, never selfish. The words die there, his lips pursed as he stops himself, blinking harshly as he lowers his gaze.

It almost gets Jazz to stay. Almost. His head’s a little too full of discoveries for that, needing some space to simply breathe. Primus. How long had everyone on base known? And why didn’t they tell Jazz? It’s not like he was some serial dater or anything! He wouldn’t react badly!

But… how does he feel about Prowl? He doesn’t know. He’s never had to think past his own wounded ego before, so fixated on the fact the Praxian seemed to only treat him differently.

Maybe. Maybe that was part of the problem. If Prowl was really that shy, no wonder nobody wanted to spoil things for him.

Jazz pauses.

The mech had been flirting with him from the beginning. All those times he would suddenly blurt out an unrelated question, sheepishly apologizing when questioned about it. He was trying to get to know Jazz better.

That. That changed some things — a lot of things. It answered some things too, but that seemed rather trivial right now.

Prowl — Prowl had a crush on him. Him.

A hand comes up to rest against Jazz’s mouth, his head turned and making eye contact with his own reflection. He didn’t remember making it make to his hab, nor entering his washracks.

He was even more startled to find himself smiling.

Valentine’s was. A holiday. A great holiday, even. Jazz was always stoked for it, showing his appreciation for everyone on base in the little things, such as giving them little pieces reminiscent of their home back on Cybertron. From treats to playing music — he had it all. It reminded him what he had loved about being a cultural investigator so much, his spark full and warm whenever people thanked him.

This year… It wasn’t like Jazz was any less excited, far from it. The problem was…

“Woah, either you’re really deep in thought, or you want to kill Blaster right now. Which is it?”

“Thinking, so go away before I catch your disease.”

Smokescreen, damn him, only presses in closer, making an utter mockery of Jazz’s threat. “Hmmm, I don’t doubt that—the thinking bit, just to be clear—but it really does look like you want to tear Blaster apart right now. Last I checked, he was your second best friend—with me being the first, of course—so now I need to know why. Though,” he chuckles, “I might have a guess.”

Jazz sighs, focus thoroughly ruined now. “I’m not jealous.”

“Sure you’re not. Blaster just conveniently happens to be chatting away with your not-so-secret admirer that you may or may not have similar feelings for, all whilst you’re glaring at him. I’m believing you so hard right now.”

“Knock it off,” Jazz says, giving him a shove. “It’s genuinely not like that. I think-“ He hesitates, knowing the words will be very real once they leave the sanctity of his own head. “I think Prowl’s planning to actually confess soon.”

“Oh.” Smokescreen’s blink is audible as he turns back to study Blaster and Prowl from the other side of the room. “What makes you think that?”

“He’s been acting more skittish than usual, almost acting guilty anytime I walk in on the two of them talking. Mighty embarrassed too.”

“Okay,” Smokescreen says, slowly and giving an even slower nod. “I’ll pretend to understand the thought process here.”

Exasperated, Jazz huffs again. “Prowl doesn’t get embarrassed unless it’s something to do with — y’know. This.” He waggles a finger between himself and where Prowl stands. “Which, considering Blaster’s title of second place bestie—soon to be first, if you don’t stop poking me—makes me think he’s plotting something. Something big.”

“Ah.”

It’s quiet then, both of them just staring as Prowl eventually leaves the rec. room, wings a little higher than normal. In unison, their heads turn to follow him out, mouths pressed into lines.

Watching Blaster soon leave as well, Smokescreen drums a finger against Jazz’s arm, humming. “You gonna do anything about it? You want to do anything about it?”

“That’d be mean though, right? He’s obviously trying so hard…”

Suddenly serious, Smokescreen sits bolt upright, grasping Jazz’s arm a little too firmly. Urgently. “Jazz. Jazz, Jazzy, Jazz-meister. You don’t have to reciprocate or do anything if you don’t want to. I know I teased you a lot-“

“What? No.” Jazz wriggles out of his friend’s hold, raising an optic ridge. “I’m not- ah, slag. That’s not what I meant, Smokes. I just meant I don’t wanna rush him by letting him I’ve caught on or anything. It’d spoil his fun, right?”

Smokescreen studies his face some more, likely trying to parse through his words and link them back to his body language. When he’s satisfied, he smiles, leaning out of Jazz’s space once more. He taps all fingers against both knees obnoxiously. “Well, you might be right about that. He might curl in on himself and die if he feels like he’s made a fool of himself.”

And then, he’s wearing that professional, clinical look. He looks over to Jazz out of the corner of his peripheral view. As much as he is Jazz’s friend, he’s also the glue holding this base together, and—in his own way—Prowl’s friend as well. “I know it’s been a long, long time, but he isn’t used to — sincerity, I guess. He’s a little slow when it comes to processing emotions and putting them in the right little boxes he’s made up. Sentinel… had a lot of fragged up ideals, you know. Didn’t approve of being so affectionate with others and other junk.”

The tapping continues.

“Now, imagine living a life of seclusion, hidden away and made to perform only one task and having no other opportunities. The only person that pays you attention is someone who treats you like slag, though not as harshly as you know other people are capable of being. It makes you lacking in social skills, harsh and cold because you were programmed to be as such and nobody has given you anything more than diplomatic pleasantries. Suddenly, that’s gone and you’re surrounded by new, unpredictable people. They care about and appreciate you, but you were convinced such things weren’t yours to have. It goes on for years and years, and while it gets a little easier to believe, you’re still stuck being standoffish and a little alienated. How would you react if someone told you outright ‘I like you’ before you get to do it yourself?”

Jazz is silent for a long, long time. He thinks about it — really, truly thinks about it, hands clasped together, elbows pressing down into the armor of his knees.

Eventually, “I wouldn’t believe it. I’d think it’s some kind of joke to get a reaction out of me.” And Prowl is a very, very logical mech in all areas, except for feelings. There, he’s illogical as can be, as emotional as the best of them.

The Praxian clasps his shoulder. “Good.” Approval dyes his words in bright hues, a small smile on his face as he stands up with a groan, twisting. “Definitely sat there too long,” he grumbles under his breath, wincing as he rubs at his back.

It makes Jazz laugh, which might’ve been what Smokey was really aiming for all along.

He’s turning to leave when Jazz makes a grab for his hand.

“Thanks,” he says, meaning it to a degree words can’t convey. “And don’t worry.”

“Who said anything about being worried?” Smokescreen retorts, so gooey and fond.

Jazz has been avoiding the rec. room tonight, every revolution of his spark loud in his head. He can’t remember ever being this nervous before, practically giving himself a spark attack with the way he’s both giddy and filled to the brim with anxiety.

He can hear the sounds of the party going on even in his room, loud and positively thunderous, making the ground shake a little, depending on where you are. It’s exactly the scene of life he’s always loved, feeling at one with the beat and energy. It makes him remember days of a little town of nowhere, one small mech clinging to a pillar hidden in shadows as they watched a live performance. They were never meant to be there, having snuck in.

Every bit of it was worth it though, the music resonating and positively singing in his spark. It was heavenly bliss, enough for him to get lost in it, forgetting his place.

He expected the musicians to be upset at having discovered a little stowaway taking up their time. Instead, they had been delighted with how enthusiastic he had been about their music, jumping up and down.

It was the entire group that had given him a new designation then and there, taking him along and raising Jazz as their own.

The rec. room practically beckons out to him, but — he’s unable to stay still, so sickeningly worried. What if he’s wrong? What if he’s right?

Prowl was special to him — that much became so blindingly clear the moment he discovered the Praxian’s crush on him. It only made sense for him to be bothered when he thought the mech seemingly hated him — he wanted his attention! He just. Hadn’t realized that at the time. But now it’s so painfully there, squeezing his chest and pressing down until it hurts.

Lovesick — that’s what Smokescreen had called it. Kinda embarrassing, considering Jazz’s age. He’s much too old to be acting like a youngling having their first crush, writing away in this datapad and swinging their peds.

But here he is, virtually doing that very thing.

In, out. Round and round the air goes, flustered hands constantly in motion, checking all over himself for any unseen imperfection.

He wants this to be perfect. He wants-

Prowl. Wants to hold him and kiss him — eventually. He doubts the Praxian’s the type to move so fast, but hey, he’s surprised Jazz before.

All Jazz has to do is go out there and see. He’ll never know if he stays in here all night. Would Prowl be crushed if he did? He would, wouldn’t he. All assuming Jazz’s suspicions are right, of course, and Prowl really is planning something tonight. Primus. Jazz could be so very, very wrong. Prowl didn’t go to parties, what has him so convinced tonight will be any different?

But it’s also Jazz’s party and, well. He’s sorta obligated to show up no matter what.

Right.

Steeling himself, Jazz makes the oh so very scary decision of finally leaving his room, gradually approaching the ruckus of music, streamers, and a little bit of high-grade. Just a little.

The whole room is dyed red, many mechs dancing and laughing, loud, loud, loud. Too loud and totally not Prowl’s scene, Jazz really should just — he’s already said hello to like, five different people, surely — half of them were drunk off their afts already, they wouldn’t even notice-

Where is Prowl??

Jazz doesn’t even notice he lifted himself up to the tips of his peds until he’s lowering himself to the floor in disappointment when he’s unable to spot the mech he’s been both hoping and dreading seeing.

A shame, really, because Jazz really thinks he’s outdone himself this year with the amount of heart decorations and streamers. It’s practically a whole store’s worth of things.

Yeah. That’s the only reason he feels sad right now. The only reason at all.

He tries, he really does. He smiles, he waves, he even dances a bit. Does the things expected of him, acting like nothing’s wrong, nothing at all.

It doesn’t last, not completely. He doesn’t think anyone notices or questions his sudden departure, halfway out the door without anyone stopping him. But he does — stop, that is.

Down the hall, he hears it: a song he hasn’t heard in a long, long time.

Following the distant sound of music, Jazz finds himself in a more secluded section of the Ark, away from prying eyes. It’s not a very spacious room, but nor is it crowded like the rec. room. It’s quiet, save for the red boombox perched up on a small ledge.

“Blaster…? What’s going on?”

Blaster, predictably, doesn’t answer.

“I asked him to, considering he’s the only one with records of this song.”

Jazz whirls around and — there — there’s Prowl. Smiling that smile that he’s so fickle about sharing, saying it makes him look untrustworthy. Which was really just a fancy way of saying he didn’t like it, which always made Jazz sad because — it’s cute. Ridiculously so, the way it’s lopsided and shows a little teeth.

“Hey,” Jazz says.

“Hey,” Prowl echoes.

“What’s,” Jazz gestures to the small bit of heart streamers he’s only now noticed, “all of this?”

“What does it look like?” Prowl says, flashing more teeth as he playfully pokes Jazz’s arm. “Surely you of all mechs recognize a party?”

“I- I do, but-“

Oh, Primus. He really hopes he still looks put together right now.

“It’s my song,” he says, voice nothing more than a choked up whisper packed full of love and shock. “It’s the song my mentors played and re-named after me. I didn’t- I’ve never played this song for anyone before. How did you…?”

“Rewind,” Prowl answers, holding out one of his hands. And Jazz — he takes it. It doesn’t even occur to him why until they’re dancing. Not a formal dance or anything like that — it’s Polyhexian to its core. “He’s got a recording of practically everything, you know. Even of your mentors’ older performances.”

“And the — and the dancing?” Jazz asks, grinning like mad as Prowl leads him through the motions of a song and dance he knows by spark. He thinks he should be more shocked by this entire affair, maybe stuttering and disbelieving. But he knew Prowl a little better than that — knew his subtle cues and spark better than most.

Everything about this was so very Prowl; down to the way it’s a moment between them, and them alone. Minus Blaster, but ah well. Blaster was always good at keeping a secret.

“Blaster. I — apologize if it isn’t any good. I’ve never done anything more than the formal dances expected at political events.” And the thing was, it — well, it was awkward, the movements stilted and a little clumsy. Less than Jazz would have expected from Prowl, convincing him that it’s more about the dance itself than the action as a whole.

Funny, how Jazz wouldn’t have it any other way.

“It’s perfect. Just — perfect. You’re perfect.”

That makes Prowl — stop. Stop like Jazz had always interpreted as being a sign of discomfort.

His eyes go wide, mouth forming a little ‘o’. He ducks his head, trying to hide it in the crook of his neck.

“Aw, c’mon, none of that,” Jazz teases, putting his hands on either side of the Praxian’s face, turning him back forward. “I wanna look at’cha. I don’t get to do it this close, this often. I like looking at such a handsome face.”

“I’m assuming you knew, then?” Embarrassment twinges in Prowl’s field, twined with mortification and a bit of loathing. All making Jazz’s smile turn a little sympathetic, but above all else: full of love, love, love. Adoration for this shy weirdo of a mech he’s come to know and appreciation.

“Took me a bit,” he admits. “But once I caught on — oh boo, all subtly was off the table. You’re so transparent, but that’s something I love about ya.”

Prowl’s eyes are zeroed in on Jazz’s hands, sliding his own up until he’s clasping them. He rubs small, little circles into the palms, voice a little husky and shaky as he says, “Can I take this as a yes, then?”

“Yeah, Prowler,” Jazz whispers, voice equally shaky now, leaning his helm to rest against the tactician’s. “You can.”

[sossolei]

things that have helped me shift ⊹₊⟡⋆

DISCLAIMER, Just because I have shifted before doesn’t mean I am the Library of Alexandria. I’m a person just like you, learning as I go so I don’t have the answer to everything but I do try! I’m also not saying any of this will absolutely, 100% make you shift, but hopefully it can provide some perspective or insight into something you hadn’t thought about! !!! ANTIS DNI !!!

LANGUAGE — I’ve noticed since I first got into shifting that shifters will talk about/treat these realities like fanfiction or a role playing kinda thing??? It confused me before I had shifted because if this is real then why are people talking about themselves in the third person, or referring to others as “npc/non main characters”, or scripting in some crazy trauma for “fun”??? If you read anything of mine, you will notice I do not use words like “main character” or even “desired reality” because for me personally, it’s just reinforcing in my mind that this is not something that’s real or even close to something I can achieve.

Cut out third person language entirely. Stop referring to your “failed shifting attempts” as such, in fact, stop referencing it AT ALL. Stop keeping track. Stop referring to people in these realities as “main characters” or “npcs.” Stop coming back from an attempt thinking “damn I didn’t shift.”

INSTEAD, start saying that you shifted every time you attempt. “But I woke up in my O.R” who says? only you have a say in whatever reality you want to live in. Fake it til you make it. Start talking about people as they are, people. Use their names or nicknames. Watch a TikTok and think to yourself “yeah I’d send this to them.” FEEELLLLL IT. MAKE IT REAL TO YOUUUU.

LOGIC — After successfully shifting, I don’t tend to think about the “science” or “spiritual” side anymore BUT this is the logic that makes the most sense to me and is the simplest explanation I can think of. When you wake up in the morning, do you first check your phone or stand up to brush your teeth or stretch? Whatever path you choose is a shift in your reality. Every single choice you’ve ever made is a shift in your reality. As far as you know, if you checked your phone instead of stretching, you might pull something later on in the day that you wouldn’t have pulled had you stretched. But you didn’t. And now there’s a reality where you stretched, did the exact things, and didn’t pull a muscle because you stretched that morning.

THAT is reality shifting in its simplest form.

Manifesting can even be considered reality shifting because you’re shifting your current consciousness into one that is receiving said manifestion. The universe is infinite. Do not let the constrictions of others constrain you too.

“Yeah you can shift realities but not to those fantasy places like hogwarts, that’s not possible” why not? If you’ve just admitted can shift realities, why are “fantasy” realities so different to you? Because HERE in THIS reality, they are fantasy. In that reality, it is everyday, it is normal, it’s just another Tuesday. Shifting is simply becoming aware of your consciousness in another reality, similar to switching characters in video game like The Sims 4, from one plumbob to another and yes, that easy.

MEDITATION — You don’t need anything to shift realistically, but the one thing I recommend for anything is meditating. It’s a skill and, like any other, one that can be refined and perfected over time. Learning to get into a state of pure consciousness is a practice that existed for centuries, anybody can do it and doing it will only ever benefit you. You can meditate when you wake up, before you fall asleep, when you’re sitting up, WHENEVER! I’ve always felt better after a meditation, shifting related or not. It also helps me feel better when I don’t end up shifting because at least I’ve honed in and practiced that meditation technique, yk? Positives in everything!

OTHER PRACTICES — If nothing else, I recommend trying different spiritual practices and adding a lil sprinkle of shifting in there! This applies to religion as well in case that isn’t clear lol. If you don’t follow any specific spiritual practice, try pegan spell work (with protection and research ofc), research any herbs that aid in things like enhancing spiritual energy. If you pray to a God, you can “work” with your God in a sense to aid you in this personal journey, whether that be through journaling or actual prayer, prayer is an amazing manifestion technique and I do believe it can help with reality shifting considering it’s not against any religions. And if you don’t want to do any of this, come up with something for you and you only! A ritual can be anything you make it. You decide what works for you at the end of the day.

REMOVAL — This helped me the most in my opinion, I completely stepped away from online communities doing anything with reality shifting ( specifically shifttok ) and followed my own intuition of how to go about shifting, doing shadow work to figure out any blockages/questions I had, and just overall made shifting fun again for myself! The main thing I did was learn more about manifesting because the manifestion community does NOT play, they do not believe in limitations and they love LOA(ssumption) which is my fav so!

LUCID DREAMING — Not the actual act of lucid dreaming but learning about lucid dreaming and astral projection really makes you understand that anti shifters are so ignorant to what these things actually are it’s insane! People didn’t even believe that you could control your dreams 10-20 years ago, they genuinely thought dreams were just something that happens to you. Nowadays, we obviously know that you can control your dreams but this is just proof that nobody knows what they’re talking about fr. I guarantee you, a few years from now, people are gonna be talking about reality shifting the same way they talk about lucid dreaming, CASUALLY. Reality shifting is not some big thing of grandeur that only “special” people can do, the same way everyone can lucid dream, is the same way everyone can reality shift, and astral project.

All this is to say, stop fucking listening to other people LMAOOO. That’s gonna be my advice every single time because too much of anything will become a problem. Advice is good when you’re starting out and I don’t mind giving advice on that, but nobody knows you better than you know yourself, even if you don’t think you know what to do, I PROMISE you on everything, you know what’s best for you. You know what works, and you know what doesn’t, YOU KNOW. Believe yourself. Nobody else matters.

“you are the light. it’s not on you, it’s in you. don’t you ever in your motherfucking

life dim your light for nobody.”

[overthinkingwritershub]

How to Write Believable Villains - A guide to writers

Villains aren’t just obstacles for the protagonist—they should be fully realized characters with depth, purpose, and their own internal logic. A strong villain can elevate a story, making the hero’s journey more compelling and adding layers of moral complexity. Here’s how to make them believable and unforgettable:

1. They Should Believe They’re the Hero of Their Own Story

A great villain doesn’t wake up in the morning thinking, I’m going to be evil today. They act based on their beliefs, desires, and personal logic—no matter how twisted.

Example:

Killmonger (Black Panther) believes he’s liberating oppressed people, not just seizing power.

Light Yagami (Death Note) sees himself as a force of justice, eliminating criminals to create a "better" world.

Magneto (X-Men) fights for mutant supremacy because of his experiences with human cruelty.

What to Avoid:

A villain who does bad things just because. ("I want to destroy the world for no reason!")

Over-the-top mustache-twirling evil.

Ask Yourself:

If your villain were telling the story, how would they justify their actions?

What’s their version of "doing the right thing"?

2. Give Them a Personal Code of Ethics (Even If Twisted)

Even villains have rules they follow. Their moral code might be flawed or extreme, but it’s consistent.

Example:

Jigsaw (Saw series) doesn’t kill for fun—he forces people to appreciate life through twisted "games."

Hannibal Lecter is a cannibal, but he only eats the "rude" and has a refined sense of culture.

Walter White (Breaking Bad) starts with the rule "no innocent people," but his morals erode over time.

What to Avoid:

A villain whose actions are random and contradictory.

A villain who has no limits—real people have boundaries, even bad ones.

Ask Yourself:

What is one thing your villain refuses to do, no matter what?

How does their moral code shape their decisions?

3. Their Motivation Should Be Relatable (Even If Their Actions Aren’t)

Your villain’s goal should make sense, even if their methods are extreme. Readers should understand why they’re doing what they do—even if they don’t agree with it.

Example:

Thanos (Avengers: Infinity War) believes overpopulation will destroy the universe, so he wants to "fix" it.

Dr. Octopus (Spider-Man 2) wants to complete his scientific work, but his obsession turns him into a villain.

The Phantom (Phantom of the Opera) longs for love and acceptance, but his jealousy drives him to violence.

What to Avoid:

A villain who is evil "for the sake of it."

A villain with an overdone revenge plot unless it has deeper layers.

Ask Yourself:

If the villain had chosen a different path, could they have been the hero?

What’s their core belief that fuels their actions?

4. Make Them Competent (Nothing’s Scarier Than a Villain Who Actually Wins)

A weak villain is forgettable. A great villain is dangerous because they’re smart, powerful, and capable.

Example:

Moriarty (Sherlock Holmes) is a criminal mastermind who outsmarts Sherlock multiple times.

Darth Vader is feared for a reason—he’s powerful, strategic, and ruthless.

The Joker (The Dark Knight) doesn’t have superpowers, but he manipulates people and turns society against Batman.

What to Avoid:

A villain who gets defeated too easily.

A villain who constantly makes dumb mistakes.

Ask Yourself:

What is the villain better at than the hero?

How do they outmaneuver the protagonist?

5. Don’t Forget Their Human Side—What Do They Love? What Are They Afraid Of?

Even villains have emotions, relationships, and vulnerabilities. Giving them a human side makes them more three-dimensional.

Example:

Lord Voldemort fears death more than anything, driving all his actions.

Loki craves attention and validation from his family.

The Wicked Witch (Wizard of Oz) isn’t just evil—she’s grieving her sister’s death.

What to Avoid:

A villain with nothing to lose—stakes make them more dangerous.

A villain who is just a killing machine with no depth.

Ask Yourself:

What does your villain secretly love?

What keeps them up at night?

Final Thought - Make the Villain’s Presence Felt

Even when the villain isn’t on the page, their influence should loom over the story. A great villain challenges everyone and everything in the story and the theories everyone else believe in.

[dipshit-does-crimes]

wow it’s crazy how fine everything is! wow wow definitely am a real person or something definitely not just a thing wearing a skin suit or a hallucination

[amoritasart]

Don’t meet your heroes?

I like the idea of Philip taking odd jobs to survive before finally deciding on slaughtering everyone.

[proshipconfessions]

Responding to your last post about proshippers complaining about other proshippers. You didn't provide this option, but I really think it should depend on the content of the ask... And yes, this is a confession blog for proshippers/profic, etc. aligned people. Telling us to go to antiship confession blogs is horrifically stupid and is only going to put us in dangerous positions.

The proship community is not immune from being shitty. There are proshippers who act just like antis. People who think they can change their race and give themselves disabilities are straight up infecting the community as well. There are proshippers who are horrifically ableist against pwOSDDID, schizospec disorders, etc. There are proshippers who straight up use slurs they can not reclaim. There are proshippers who call people the r slur. I especially think proshippers with these disorders (including myself) should have a safe outlet to talk about the toxicity and abuse within our own community without telling us to basically become an anti. Because what the hell???

Of course, I can't read every single anon that you get, but if they are anything along the lines of what I'm talking about here, consider not deleting them. Especially don't tell people to "just become antis" or "just go to antiship confession blogs." That's harmful as fuck.

If anything, these confessions should serve as a reality check that our community isn't perfect. Or serve to remind people that this behavior shouldn't or won't be tolerated in the proship community. Not every self-proclaimed "proshipper" is actually a proshipper, especially if they act abusive, ableist, or harass people like antis do. I will die on this hill.

If you don't want to house confessions about these topics, that's fine. Just say so, and I'll make my own confessional blog where these topics are allowed.

You’re right that there are plenty of people who are proship and also shitty af. It’s something that I’ve both posted plenty of confessions about and have actually even—in case you haven’t been familiar with my blog for a while—made my own post about! It’s like one of just a few posts that I have made speaking directly from my mouth and not a confession. It’s just a post that I wrote about behavior that I hate seeing pop up far too commonly in this community. I literally can’t count how many people I have blocked, which includes not only antis, but also shitty proshippers and pricks who claim to be them while supporting harm caused to others in real life.

You’re also right that you can’t read every anon that I get. I would have much preferred that you even just ask what kind of thing I’m talking about instead of acting like you’re some secret second mod and I’m just some asshole who refuses to hold anyone or any behavior accountable as long as I agree with them on some level.

I really do wonder what you would think about one of the (many with a similar tone) asks that inspired this post.

Do you know how many anons I get with the same fucking attitude and the same fucking insistence that they’re right and I’m wrong and evil, and yet I’m somehow the perfect mouthpiece for their beliefs? What reality check is this supposed to be giving me? Please either stop assuming that everything I say is in bad faith or genuinely try to explain to me what the good content for my followers is in this ask. This is the behavior that I mocked in my post. I also have an old one that I think is somewhere in my drafts(?) where the evil behavior that they’ve seen among a bunch of proshippers that has made them hate all proshippers is venting about harassment from antis. The fake post I made mocking them is an amalgamation of those two, but you only get this one since I’m way too tired to go find the other one rn lol. If someone reminds me, I can reblog it with it later.

Also, I really can’t tell where I said in my post that I would tell these people to go to antiship blogs (other than my reference to a comment where I said that if all that people send to my inbox is how much they hate proshippers and basic proship ideology, then they should probably take that to an anti blog) instead of just deleting the ask, like I actually said in the post. The post that was really more of a way to let off some steam while getting some use out of the Tumblr polls that I practically never get to do anything with. Do you think that the person in those screenshots that I put above is more at home here than they’d be sending this to some anti’s blog?

But like to try to put myself in your shoes, you could’ve been having a shitty day when you sent this, you could be young, or hell, you could’ve seen someone say something similar to my statement recently while meaning this shitty completely different thing. Or maybe you’ve never seen my blog in your life and have no clue what kind of stuff I do/don’t post. My response might sound super defensive, and I hope that it doesn’t, and that I’m not jumping to conclusions, too. I’d hate to blow this out of proportion over what could easily be just a misunderstanding. If I’m being too harsh, sorry. I aim any coldness towards all of these bigoted ideas and the idea that I hold them, and not at you as a person, as I’m willing to believe that you’re an entirely rational person who just misunderstood me and lashed out at me bc of it. But if there is a next time, please try to give me the benefit of the doubt. I don’t ever intend to do anything harmful, and what I said wasn’t intended to imply anything like what you’re saying here at all. I’m not talking about proshippers venting. I’m talking about actual antis coming into my inbox with the “I’m like TECHNICALLY a proshipper, I guess, but I just despise proshippers and think that people who engage with certain types of fiction are inherently bad!!!” So unless you’re one of these people coming into my inbox, then I am NOT telling YOU to go to antiship confession blogs. And if you are… well, then you’re probably not gonna see this, since I’m going through and blocking all of these dickheads soon.

[solargeist]

I love how Xisuma just can not get on Xelqua good side and I thought I share my own story :] Every time my cousin looked at my brother she would start crying simply because his braces scared her. So I like to think that Xelqua doesn't like Xisuma because his mask use to scares him and he's never really gotten over it :P

Could be the helmet !

I have no design for Xisuma’s face, it’s just the helmet and then a balaclava under. Just eyes. Maybe that still throws Xelqua off.

Grian and Xisuma get along just fine, Xelqua sees that, and yet…… Lol

[seilon]

please don’t by k.will did more for the gays back in 2012 than any boy group can possibly do with fan service and crop tops in 2024

[swordmaid]

thinking about how profound it must’ve been for shri’iia when she first received scratch’s ball (woman who has never gotten anything for free in her life ever)

[luderailing]

Lat 🖋️