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silkling · 3 years ago

Note

Au prompts

No rush, just throwin some thoughts out

I really like your falsely accused au, any more of that would be consumed as if it were the finest chocolate

(More g1 ish) Prowl is SpecOps in some way not just a strat-tac mech (love me some BAMF Prowl)

Prowl has a secret identity, and his pseudonym is that of a reknown orchestral composer. Meanwhile Jazz thinks Prowl knows jack sh*t about music....maybe Prowl writes him a symphony as a surprise anniversary (could be bonding or maybe a post war milestone) gift? (This is indulgent fluff of mine that i think about but never actually write XD)

No worries, friend! The falsely accused AU will return soon! I’m debating whether I should make a long fic for the next reveal or keep it short like I did the first one. I plan to have things in this AU change the canon at large, so prepare for that. :P

As for your other prompts, how about I mash ‘em together? :D

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Prowl hadn’t always been involved in battle tactics. When he’d come online, he had realized that his tac-net was good for organizing and structuring and controlling anything large and complicated. Most bots assumed that meant a battlefield, or something else to that degree. It was why he’d initially joined the Praxus Enforcer Corps. He had excelled there, and his tac-net had helped him cut crime rates down to a tiny fraction of what they’d once been. But…after he’d done that, and his programs and procedures were in place and settled, things had calmed and he’d had nothing to do. He had hated it. So, in an effort to break up the monotony, he’d gone to view an orchestra performance. After that, he’d been hooked. He’d watched the conductor control and guide the flow of the music and the musicians, and his processor had roared to life.

The next day, he’d handed in his formal resignation from the Enforcers, and had been allowed to leave with full honors. His Chief knew he hadn’t been happy, knew he’d been stagnating. Highwire had only wished him luck before she’d sent him off. Then, Prowl had devoted himself to music. He learned all he could, and slowly, agonizingly slowly, he’d managed to work his way from a music writer, to a small time musician, to a small time conductor. And then he had had his first show as a proper orchestra conductor, small and non-essential as it was, and his tac-net had settled and quieted, it’s systems purring as it allowed him to direct the flow of the orchestra with perfect precision. He hadn’t known at the time, but his show had been watched by one of the most well-known and oldest conductors on Cybertron. After his show, Treble had approached him and introduced himself, and offered to take Prowl on as a protege.

He had agreed, and his next show had been bigger. He’d written the music himself, the orchestra he was conducting was much larger, and Treble had used his vast influence to promote it. That was the first time he’s taken to the stage as Baton. He had decided shortly after he’d begun training under Treble that he didn’t want to use his real name when on stage. He enjoyed his privacy, and if all of Cybertron knew Prowl as a conductor he wouldn’t get much peace. So, on stage, he was Baton, and as Baton he also used a temporary paint to change his colors and used some fabric to drape over shoulders and hips. It was enough to disguise him.

And to his delight, his first show had been a massive hit. His tac-net had enjoyed this even more, the larger scale giving him more to work with, more to control and direct, and he reveled in it. Then, after the show, Treble had revealed to the audience that Baton had written all the music that had been played that night, and with that single performance his career was set. Over the following vorns, he’d grown more and more popular, and he’d eventually finished his tutelage under Treble. As time passed, he’d quickly become the most well known conductor on Cybertron. His orchestra had grown too, and had become known as the largest on the planet. Prowl, or rather Baton, led a orchestra of over a thousand mechs and femmes through songs he himself wrote. He had loved every minute of it.

Prowl wasn’t an emotional mech. In fact, emotion was something he struggled with. He thrived on order and structure, and emotions were not organized or structured, but music…music was. And music was also emotional. Through music, he had been able to give his emotions the order and structure he desperately needed in order to express them properly. Prowl had loved his life as Baton. It wasn’t grand, and he didn’t serve much of a higher purpose, but he brought joy to his orchestra, and to his audience, and for him that was enough.

But then…the whispers started. Now, Prowl wasn’t a fool. Most mechs who hadn’t been involved in the inner workings of Cybertron would claim that Megatron had risen from practically nothing and started the war on on his own. He knew that wasn’t true. Megatron had risen from a well-established foundation, a foundation that had built itself long before he gunmetal warlord had even given thought to revolution and war. No, the war had started millennia before the rise of the Decepticons. It had started on the quiet whispers among the lower castes, it had started on the stirrings of the beaten down and the starving. It had started at the rising tide of outrage and horror in face of the Senate’s cruel and extreme punishments for any tiny hit to their authority. It had started in the discontent at the tighter and tighter stranglehold the Senate had began to employ as they grabbed for and more power for themselves, and more and more of the mechs in lower society suffered and died. No, the war didn’t start with Megatron. Megatron was merely the catalyst. If he hadn’t come along and done what he had, Prowl had no doubts that a full scale revolt would have occurred. The fuel for the war had already soaked into the roots of Cybertron. Megatron had only been the spark that lit the blaze,

Prowl had heard the whispers, the growing discontent. He’d seen how the civil unrest got worse with each passing stellar cycle. He knew it was only a matter of time before something in his life changed again. So, when Covert approached him, he hadn’t been surprised. She told him she was the head of an independent group of Special Ops bots, unaffiliated with any political group and who worked only to keep Cybertron as a whole safe and stable. They weren’t much liked by the Senate, since they were not under any mech’s control, but the Senate also couldn’t do anything about them since, apparently, the group had been operating as they had since before the Senate itself had even existed. Covert had told him she’d seen some of his shows, seen the way he directed the orchestra, and she had dug in and found his public records as Prowl. She’d read about what he’d done as an Enforcer, had read about what information there was available on his tac-net, and realized she needed him. She told him that the civil unrest was growing worse, that things were even more dire than they appeared on the surface. That she wanted him to join her, to train him as an agent and a spy, and she wanted him to use his tac-net and his other abilities to help keep Cybertron safe.

Prowl had floundered. He understood why she was doing it. His logic centers agreed that her points were sound, that it would be best for everyone’s future if he went with her. His tac-net ran probability outcomes, spitting out percentages at him of what would happen if he accepted her offer, what would happen if he didn’t, what would happen if the unrest grew to proper war and what would happen if war could not be contained or controlled. The numbers weren’t good. His logic centers had screamed even louder at him to accept. His emotional cortex had protested. He didn’t want to leave his orchestra, his music. But…he was needed. As much as he loved what he was now…he couldn’t let others suffer if he had a way to help. So, with a heavy spark, he had taken her hand.

The next day had come, and Prowl had announced to the world as Baton that he was temporarily leaving the music scene. Baton was having issues with his health, and until they were resolved he would not write music or conduct again. And so with the well-wishes of fans and his musicians alike, Baton faded into the background of Prowl’s spark, and Operative had taken his place. Once again, he had had to disguise himself. This time, he’d taken more permanent measures, a dark blue visor and a battle mask that covered the lower half of his face. A radical paint change, and even alterations to his armor itself to make him sleeker and slimmer. Covert herself had trained him, and shortly thereafter he had gone on his first mission. Prowl had found he had a natural aptitude for spy work. He was small, quick, and stealthy, and he had a knack for processing, deconstructing, and disseminating information. It didn’t take long for him to become known as one of the most accomplished SpecOps agents on the planet. It also wasn’t long before he took his first life. He still remembered that mech’s face. It haunted him, in ways his subsequent kills didn’t. After that, he had also been sent on the occasional assassination, though his work as a spy always came first.

And then, just has he had predicted…war.

It had erupted swiftly and violently, and it wasn’t long before his unit had been forced to make a choice. Most of the agents had allowed themselves to be folded into the ranks of Autobot SpecOps. Prowl, or rather Operative, had not. He had continued to act independently, knowing that if he joined the Autobots officially and his affiliation was known in the event of possible capture by Decepticons, it would make things worse, so he’d remained officially neutral. Though, most of his work had been for the benefit of Cybertron’s neutrals and civilians, with information tossed to the Autobots occasionally.

It was his acting in this way that allowed him to prevent a larger tragedy from occurring in Praxus. He had had to fight Soundwave to get to the information, and he’d taken out all the mech’s cassettes and shattered his optics in the resulting fight, and he had managed to get the information about the attack on his home city. He hadn’t been able to stop it, but he’d sent the information along with a warning ahead to the city itself and to the Autobots. It had allowed Praxus to evacuate all its Youth Centers and even a fair amount of its civilian citizens before the city was destroyed. He hadn’t been able to save his home from being razed to the ground, but his actions had saved the next generation of Praxus’s children.

It was shortly after that that Covert, now head of Autobot SpecOps, had approached him again. The head of the Autobot Tactical Division had recently been offlined, and the faction was starting to buckle and struggle in their fights. Prowl had known what he had to do. So, once more, Operative had retreated to the shadows of his spark, and Prowl had stepped forward as himself for the first time since his days as an Enforcer. Covert had taken him directly to the Prime, where she’d laid out his life story and explained the situation. Together, the three of the, had created two files for him. One, that detailed his life as Prowl and as an Enforcer, and everything he’d accomplished as one, which would be open for public access. The other, which contained the life he’d lived and the things he’d done as Operative, would only be a accessible to Prime and himself, and the head of SpecOps with previous permission from the Prowl of Optimus. Baton would not be put into any files at his request, since at the time he’d been a civilian. He wanted to keep his happiest times to himself.

And then, Covert had been offlined in a mission, and her second in command had taken her place. That was when Prowl had met Jazz. Their initial meeting had been….less than stellar.

(“So, yer the head of Tactics? Gotta say, I’m surprised an Enforcer managed to do anythin’ worth much to a military group like this one. Didn’t think workin’ petty criminals on the streets would translate to bein’ able to lead proper soldiers.”

Rage, quick and burning.

“And I am surprised a mech as carefree as yourself is capable of leading a group like SpecOps. Doesn’t that require delicacy?”)

After that, their relationship had been…rocky. It didn’t help that Jazz couldn’t access Prowl’s sealed file. Not that the mech necessarily knew the file was about Prowl, he just knew it involved the tactician in some way. Still, it had taken them a few vorns before they’d been able to patch up their relationship and work things out. And after that point…things had simply grown. Prowl had come to realize that Jazz was an easy mech to get along with. He was pleasant and adaptable, and he didn’t push beyond the Praxian’s comfort zone. He was also fiercely intelligent, and Prowl had been delighted to learn that the saboteur was actually a rather brilliant tactician in his own right. In fact, because Jazz understood emotions and the inner workings of a bots’s mind better than Prowl, it wasn’t uncommon for him to go to the Polyhexian for advice on his plans if he felt it was needed. It was also why he never took it too personally if Jazz ever criticized his proposed plans in meetings.

Things had kept moving forward, and forward, until…

(“Ya look real pretty under the stars, there, Prowler.”

“I believe I told you not to call me that.”

A frame, settling next to him.

“Ain’t gonna stop me, mech.”

“No, I suppose not.”

Silence, then a breath.

“Can I kiss ya, Prowl?”

More silence. A huff, and a smile.

“I would like that very much, Jazz.”)

Their relationship had taken work. They had been friends first, which certainly helped, but they were both mechs of secrets. Jazz’s secrets were a byproduct of his work, and Prowl’s a byproduct of his life. It had taken time for them to accept and understand that some such secrets are okay. Eventually, they had worked it out, and their bond had only grown. Prowl was startled at just how easy it was to love Jazz, just how easy it was to give his spark to the other mech and not fear it being hurt. Jazz was…a soft lover. He was gentle and doting and so tender it almost made Prowl ache. One of his favorite things was curling up into Jazz’s chest, the spy’s hands smoothing over his doorwings as they simply enjoyed each other’s closeness and affection.

It was peaceful. A type of peace he hadn’t known since before Operative. Perhaps, one he’d never really known at all. They were strong together, with Prowl as the Autobot SIC and Jazz the TIC. They had the trust of their Prime, and the respect of their soldiers. The Decepticons hadn’t had the upper hand in centuries. So, their next step was only logical, given how rare joy was in these days, and how little they knew of the certainty of their own future.

(“My Spark and your spark, forever as one.”

“Bonded together, until the stars wink out and the world collapses.”

“In this life and the next, I am yours, as you are mine.”

“For all of eternity, I shall remain at your side, and you shall remain at mine.”)

They bonded. Under the eyes of Optimus and with the approval of their Prime, they bound their very sparks, tying themselves together for the rest of time. They had asked to keep the information secret. Only the Officers on Optimus’s personal team knew. And so that way they stayed, until the war forced them from their home. Prowl hadn’t ever expected to wake, after the crash. But he did. And Jazz, too. Everyone had. So, the war continued, only now it was on a small organic planet rich with energon. Prowl was only slightly surprised that the scale and brutality of the war was much, much less here.

But then….things went wrong. They had been on Earth for several of the planet’s years when the DJD had come. Apparently, they were only there to drop off a traitor for Megatron to deal with. But then Tarn had decided he wanted to do his Lord one more favor, and…Jazz’s team had been captured on a supply run. The rest of the base quickly gave up hope. No one wanted to fight the DJD, and even if they did no one was sure there was even anything left of their comrades to rescue. Prowl knew, though. He still felt the echo of Jazz’s spark brushing his.

So, for the first time in mega-cycles…Operative roared to the forefront. Prowl returned to the room he shared with Jazz, opening the secret compartment behind his desk that not even Jazz had been aware off. In it, was everything he needed to become Operative again, as well as anything he had kept that had to do with Operative as a whole. He removed the visor from its case, clicking it onto his face, and his battle mask slid out in three pieces from the armor at his chin and cheeks to cover his mouth and nose. He grabbed the pain from the small compartment, covering his current colors in quick, sure movements. Then, he put everything back and retreated to the shadows, leaving the base and driving off.

He knew where the DJD’s ship was. He knew how they operated. They wouldn’t take Jazz’s team to Megatron until they had worthwhile information to go along with it. He also knew that Tarn was the only one who was on board, having done preliminary probing earlier that day. Now, it was time to act. He drove in silence, until he finally arrived at his location. It didn’t take him long to find a way into the ship. It was one of the external vents, usually used for pumping contaminated air out of the ship. If he was careful, he could force it open and sneak in.

Once he had entered the ship, he stuck to corners and shadows, doorwings angled upwards and sensors dialed up to their max in order to pick up the minute charge that signaled where any cameras were. Using that, the was able to avoid detection, until he got to the brig. He saw the team there, but more importantly, Jazz was there. They were all a little roughed up, and he knew he had to hurry. He had already sent a short message back to base informing them of his mission and telling them to come for retrieval. He knew he’d get into some trouble for his rogue actions, but at the moment he didn’t care.

Looking over the team, he realized his initial plan wouldn’t work. He had hoped to sneak them back through the ship, but they were all injured in some manner or another and he could tell they wouldn’t be able to pull their processors together enough to be as stealthy as they needed to be. Which left Plan B. Explosives. He pulled one of his favorite explosive disks from his subspace, setting the timer and sticking it to the far wall of the brig. He activated it, then hurried to open the cell door. At his reveal, three sets of tired optics locked onto him. Immediately, recognition flickered. They knew Operative from the stories, even if none of them had ever met him in person. He was a SpecOps legend, after all.

He gestured quickly, making a motion to where the explosive was ticking, and hurried in to help Jazz up. He was the most injured of the three, and Mirage quickly moved to his other side to help keep the saboteur steady. The four mech group hurried as fast as they were able out of the cell, and the explosive went off. It took out the ship wall, and then they were dragging themselves to freedom. The impact with the ground was rough, and he knew their time was limited. Tarn would be coming to investigate soon, and he had to buy time until the retrieval team arrived. He managed to get the three SpecOps mechs settled against a large boulder, just as he heard heavy pede steps approaching behind him.

He straightened, turning around and lifting his gaze to meet Tarn optics-to-visor.

“So,” Tarn hummed, tilting his head. “The fabled Operative makes his return. You know, it was always assumed you’d perished before the war left Cybertron.” He said smoothly.

He said nothing, expression unreadable behind mask and visor. His posture gave nothing away, either. Under the light of the sun, his deep blue and burnt copper colors seemed to absorb the light. His wings were held at a neutral angle, though they were tilted just so to pick up any signals or changes in the air. His hands were folded behind his back, and he merely stared at the larger mech in front of him.

There was a long beat of silence, and then it was broken by the sound of approaching engines.

Neither mech looked away.

He heard the sound of transformation behind him, and heard Ironhide’s gruff voice speaking to the three downed Autobots. It was as he heard movement indicating they were being pulled away that Tarn finally shifted. It drew the attention of the retrieval team, who up to that point had been more focused on getting their comrades to safety and had been ignoring the SpecOps mechs attempts to make them look at the other two bots present. He could feel the static of Ironhide’s surprise on his doorwing sensors, and he heard Hound let out a frazzled exclamation of surprise.

“Who-“ Ironhide’s began, but Jazz was the one who cut him off.

“Operative. That’s Operative.”

“Who?”

“The greatest spy Cybertron has ever known.” Tarn said, voice oily and dark. “Responsible for revealing Senator Crankshaft’s illegal activities, for breaking up the slave trading ring in Uraya, and most known for stealing the information from the Decepticons that allowed Praxus to save its Sparklings and Younglings.”

There was silence, before Trailbreaker’s voice could be heard. “Holy scrap, one mech did all that?”

“That, and much, much more.” Jazz spoke, voice rough. “Operative is a legend, ��Hide. And he may not be one of ours, but he is on our side.”

At that, he merely dipped his head in acknowledgment of his bonded’s words. He still didn’t remove his gaze from Tarn.

“Well, and enlightening as this was,” Tarn spoke, taking a step towards the Autobots. “I’d like my prisoners back now, though I certainly wouldn’t mind bringing more Autobot helms to my Lord.” he all but purred, one servo lifting.

It was then that he moved. The Praxian flared his wings, and the armor in his back shifted and made way for hidden boosters. They flared to life, and he sped forward faster than anyone could react, grabbing a length of metal wire from his sub space as he blurred towards Tarn. He snatched the ‘Con’s wrist, dropping his weight down to force Tarn over, and as he moved he slid between the larger mech’s legs while looping the wire around the caught wrist. In the same movement, he slammed his other elbow into the back of Tarn’s knee, forcing it to buckle, and then he twisted and threw his weight, tossing the purple mech to the ground with a heavy, hard impact.

Before he could move, he was rolling on his heels, a wrist flicking and sending a sharp knife into his palm from the sheath hidden in his forearm, and he used the hand still holding the wire to quickly loop the rest of its length around Tarn’s neck. Hand freed, he grabbed the arm the Decepticon was trying to use to get up, twisting it and forcing him onto his front with one arm trapped under his own weight, and pressed a knee to his spinal strut. He finished it by pressing the tip of the sharp blade to the back of Tarn’s head, right into a chink in the heavy armor and against the fragile protoform underneath. Like this, it would be all to easy to force the blade forward and straight into Tarn’s processor. It would kill him in an instant, and it was a maneuver he could pull off before Tarn would be able to throw him off, since positioned like he was, he could feel every shift and tense in the larger mech’s frame. The whole thing had taken barley 10 seconds.

“You will be taking no prisoners today.” he said tonelessly. “You will leave. I will not hesitate to offline your should you attempt otherwise.”

There was silence, and then a low chuckle rose from the trapped ‘Con. “My, I am surprised. It’s been a long time since I’ve been so soundly beaten. It seemed rumors of your skill weren’t exaggerated. Though, what can I expect, from the mech who offlined Sentinel Prime?”

He pressed the knife down harder, engine rumbling in warning as he tried to ignore the gasps from the Autobots behind them.

Tarn clearly got the message. “Alright, little mech. I’m leaving.” he agreed.

He stayed where he was for only a moment, then shifted off the larger mech. As Tarn stood, the blade flashed around him to slice through the wire, and then Operative was moving away.

“Go.” the spy stated, voice cold.

Tarn only chuckled once more, turning a speculative look on to the group in front him, before he boarded his ship. A few moments later, it took off.

“Did you really offline Sentinel Prime?” It was Hound.

He turned, then tilted his head. “I did.”

“Why?” Mirage’s voice was rough, his tone demanding.

“Sentinel was corrupt.” To everyone’s surprise, it was Jazz who spoke. “He not only was aware of the Senate’s actions before the war, he approved and even took part himself. He let the power of the Matrix and the Primacy go to his helm, and he stopped protectin’ and leadin’ Cybertron like he should’ve.” he rasped. “Prime told me. He said Sentinel’s death wasn’t the tragedy the media made it out to be. The Matrix showed him some o’ the stuff the old mech did, and apparently it would be enough to disgust even the Unmaker himself.”

There was shocked silence, and Trailbreaker’s voice was weak. “Seriously?”

“Sentinel Prime was not a true Prime. He was chosen by the Senate and by the Prime before him, not by the Matrix. Before Optimus Prime, there had not been a true Prime since the last of the Thirteen.” Operative revealed.

“How do you know that?” Mirage demanded.

His question was met with a stony silence.

The Towers mech bristled, looking ready to say something else, and then Ironhide’s cleared his throat. “Right. Well. We gotta get these guys back to base.” He turned to the Praxian. “What about you?”

“My mission is done. I will take my leave now.” he said. Then paused. “You will find your second in command back at your base.” And then he slipped backwards into the shadows of a nearby cliff and was gone.

“Wait, how the Pit did he even know it was Prowl who’s missing and sent that message?”

“It’s Operative, Hound.” Skids, the final member of the missing team, sounded tired as he spoke. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he knows every Autobot and Deception secret.”

========================

Back at base, the missing team had been patched up and were recovering in the medbay. It was midnight, and Mirage and Skids were deep in recharge. Jazz was not. He was waiting. Soon, a mech slipped from the shadows, blue and copper colors had changed to black and white, and the visor and mask were both gone. Jazz turned to stare are his bondmate approached, his optics unreadable behind his visor.

“So.” he murmured. “Yer Operative. I’m guessing that’s what’s in that file you never let me get into. Did Covert know?”

“She was the one who recruited me.” Prowl answered. His spark felt heavy and he couldn’t meet Jazz’s gaze. “I’m sorry.”

Jazz hummed, going quiet. “Not gonna lie, Prowler. I’m a little hurt.” he sighed. “But…I get it.” Prowl turned startled optics to his mate. “I’m SpecOps too, remember? I know how important secrets are. Plus, I can understand why you wouldn’t say anythin’. The war needs Prowl the tactician, not Operative the spy.” he mused. “Sure, Operative would help big time, but the Autobots can survive without him, we can’t survive without you, Prowl.”

The Praxian was quiet for a moment, and then his doorwings slumped in relief and he reached out to curl his hand around Jazz’s fingers. “I’m relieved. I was worried you would wish to have nothing to do with me.” he whispered.

Jazz softened. His visor slid away, revealing shining, open optics. “Never, lover.” he purred. “‘Until the stars wink out and the world collapses’, remember? Now pull up a chair and sit. I get the feelin’ you need the closeness as much as I do.”

Prowl did just as Jazz asked, once he’d gotten settled, he folded one arm on the edge of the medical berth, resting his helm on it and once more curling the fingers of his other hand into Jazz’s.

That night, the two bonded mechs recharged just like that, assured once more of their love and devotion for one another.

========================

A couple weeks later, and Jazz had been released from the medbay, given strict orders to finish his recovery in his room. He was on medical leave until such time that Ratchet said otherwise. Prowl had an plan, though. The anniversary of their bonding was today, and he knew his mate loved music of all kinds. He was ready to share his final and more treasured secret with the spy. But he wanted to do more than just tell him the truth. He wanted to show Jazz exactly how much he meant to him. He had a plan for that. He had spent the past many, many days writing a piece of music for the first time since he’d been forced to leave his life as Baton behind. Once he’d finished, he’d just needed a way to play it.

He didn’t have a Cybertronian orchestra, and the few Cybertronian instruments available wouldn’t be enough for a piece of this scale, which left…an Earth orchestra. And luckily for him, he knew exactly what do to. A couple years back, Prowl had rescued a famous human conductor, and had offered him a ride to his home. It was on the way he’d ended up revealing he too had once been a conductor, as his spark had been aching to reminisce with someone who understood, and the two had bonded. Zachary, the human, had been ecstatic when he learned that Prowl wrote his own music. He had told that Autobot that if he ever wrote something again, he would be glad and honored to have his orchestra play it.

Prowl had taken him up on the offer the moment he’d finished piece. They had organized it, and Prowl had even written in a piece for a Cybertronian instrument to be included, which he himself would play. It had taken days of practice but Zachary, the orchestra, and Prowl had managed to play the full song. It wasn’t anything like a Cybertronian symphony, but…Prowl had a feeling Jazz would love it all the same. They’d recorded the full piece for Prowl to take with him, and the Autobot had promised to write Zachary a song as well when the human had come to him after the performance, teary eyed and awed.

Now, it was the morning of their anniversary, and Prowl rose first. He had to get to work, but he knew Jazz was still bed bound. He simply wrote quick note, and left his gift on Jazz’s bedside before leaving. All day, his processor raced and raced. Would Jazz like the gift? Would he recognize that it was a Baton piece even if the instrumentation was different? Did he even know who Baton was? For once, Prowl found his work to be lacking, and by the time he was heading back to their room that night his logic center and emotional cortex were clashing horribly.

The door to his room opened as he stopped in front of it, and closed when he stepped inside. Immediately, blue optics slid to the form on the berth. Jazz was staring at him, visor gone and gaze intense. The mech slowly shifted out of the berth, and Prowl was frozen where he stood. Jazz approached him, and then he pulled the Praxian into a hard kiss.

When they separated several moments later, Jazz’s voice shook. “Did you know,” he whispered. “That Baton was my first crush? I saw his first performance, before his name was known to the public and before Treble took him under wing. I’ve loved him ever since. When he took a break, and then the war happened, I always figured he’d been offlined.” he whispered. “Then I met you.” he grinned, his expression so open and adoring it made Prowl’s spark ache. “And you became my first true love.” he leaned in to kiss his mate fiercely more before pulling back. “You know what that means, my spark?”

“What?” Prowl asked, voice soft.

“It means,” He purred. “That I’ve always loved you, since the moment I first saw you, even if I didn’t know you were you.”

Prowl blinked, then laughed, staticky and relieved. “You liked the music, then?” he asked. He hoped Jazz understood what he had been saying with the symphony. He’d written it from the spark.

Jazz just grinned, kissing him firmly once more before dragging him back to the berth. “It was perfect, lover. Just perfect.” he smiled. He got them both settled on the berth, tucked in close to one another. “And Prowl?”

“Hm?”

“I love you too.”

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evilminji · 1 year ago

Text

The best part? Is all this would take to resolve? Is one REALLY stubborn Amazon just... tanking the pranks. Because you KNOW, given it's Danny, they are all gross or uncomfortable but ultimately unharmful?

Like Mysterious Goo or cold slush. Spiders. Mud. Just a series of "ha ha! Got your spears! Now they're up this Tall Tree! You can't fly like I can and are inconvenienced by this Tall Tree!" Sort of things.

You know... until some hard ass, bamf of an Amazon goes "THATS IT! I don't care WHICH God he is! Let him TRY and smite me! This ends today!" And just stomps off to go stand, arms crossed, to tank his "jokes" and not react until he comes out.

Like?

?????

And she's just >:( "Are you done? Amused now?"

Aaaaand now he feels like he's Made Jazz Mad(tm). It's... not as funny when they don't curse and fight back. She's just standing there... dripping slush and mud... and he feels like a JERK.

Hunched shoulders, he uses a single respectful finger to make her intangible to get all the mess off. Then backs up and lands. Yeah. Yeah, he's done. Sorry, Miss.

And she? If fuckin TIRED if this shit. Runs the list. Are you Zeus? No. Are you-*continues by route* *runs out of names* *throws up her hands* Then who ARE you, child!?

....Danny?

She....might be connecting some dots. Tell her, Danny. What significance does gifting an apple hold? *blank, suprise test I'm probably gonna fail face* That... you... *clearing looking around for clues like that will help him* uuuuuuuh.... he knows this! Give him a second! W-which culture? Cause, you know, lots of different-! *the Amazon fold her arms again and raises an eyebrow* *Danny folds like a wet napkin*

I FORGET okay!? It's something to do with dating? Right? Or inviting people to meals? And which culture was it supposed to be?! He keeps getting his lessons mixed up! Look, all he knows is *proceeds to info dump about his situation, how he would LOVE to get the fuck off their island, as they wish him too, if he could figure out HOW*

Huh. And you say you're already dead? Well then. You should be fine. We kill men that come to this island, not souls. We're Amazons not barbarians. We won't kill you AGAIN. We just thought you were one of the gods trying to *sees innocent confusion on his wittle feral racoon face*...cause problems. Now, come along. You're still in trouble. *scruff the soul child*

You WILL be apologizing and fixing the messes you caused.

@hdgnj

Stuck on themyscria

Danny after finishing a gruelling mission for clockwork, gets stranded in the dc universe on themyscria, somehow unable to leave... he thinks its OK at first, he can treat it like a small vacation! there's a nice beach, fruit trees, he can go fishing and strangely he doesn't feel weak from the lack of ectoplasm in this worlds air.

However after a few brief encounters Danny decides to be extremly petty towards the Amazon's and pull pranks on them.

The Amazon's who have decided to kill him for being a man on the island (it doesn't help his case that he forgot aunty Pandora's teachings and what offering apples to women meant)

The Amazonians meanwhile can sense Danny's power and think if he's not mortal then he's probably Zeus or one of the other 'horny' gods in disguise.

(No turning into a goose here Zeus!)

Meanwhile Clockwork is confused, danny should have been back days ago but he can't find him anywhere... why is Pandora in his tower? Why is she grinning?

#dpxdc #dc x dp prompt

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inevitably-johnlocked · 4 years ago

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heeeey is there any fic where john play the violin? or instrument

Hey Nonny!

Ahhh, I don’t have many I’ve personally read, so I’ve included stuff I’ve filed in my MFL list too <3 Hope that’s okay! And a lot isn’t violin, but wheee why not everything I’ve got :P

As always, Lovelies, add your own recs if ya got them!

JOHN PLAYS AN INSTRUMENT

Sonatina in G Minor by SilentAuror (E, 22,574 w., 1 Ch. || Case Fic, POV Sherlock, Angst, UST, Sherlock’s Violin, Post-S3, Romance) – John has come back to Baker Street, but Sherlock doesn't understand the strange tension between them, even after he begins teaching John to play the violin at John's request.

The Baker Street Nativity by SwissMiss (E, 99,662 w., 23 Ch. || Nativity! AU || Teacher Sherlock / TA John, Pining, Sherlock POV, UST, Angst, Christmas, Music/Song Fic, Anal / BJ’s, First Kiss / Time) – Fusion between Sherlock (BBC) and Nativity! (2009 movie starring Martin Freeman). Sherlock is a primary school teacher and John is assigned to be his classroom assistant. Together, they are charged with putting on the school's Nativity play. What could possibly go wrong? Part 1 of The Baker Street Nativity Verse

MARKED FOR LATER

Stringplay by PrettyArbitrary (E, 3,219 w, 1 Ch. || Sherlock’s Violin, Kink, Music, Stringplay) – John secretly plays fiddle. Sherlock and his violin seduce him into a threesome.

White Satin, Silver Sequins (a continuation) by Saki101 (M, 3,468 w., 1 Ch. || Cross Dressing, Disguise, John Plays the Clarinet, Not S3 Compliant) – John writes about more than their cases. Excerpt: Time re-wound. My fingers itched to touch as though I’d never known the warmth and glide of you.

The Violin of Ruin and Favour Series by PizzaMan (T, 5,923 w. across 4 fics || Post-TRF, Sherlock’s Violin, Angst With Happy Ending, John Plays the Violin, Emotional Hurt / Comfort, Depression / Suicidal Mentions) – 3 years after the Fall and Sherlock comes back. During that time, John had learned to play the violin.

Suite for Violin and Clarinet by AwkwardAnnie (G, 9,165 w., 6 Ch. || Hidden Talents, John Plays the Clarinet, Fluff, Music) – John finds a clarinet in a charity shop and discovers that some things are better said with music. Eventual Sherlock/John.

I Could Try by Arcwin (T, 9,583 w., 5 Ch. || Greek Mythology Crossover || Post-TRF, Orpheus and Eurydice Myth, POV John, Pining John, BAMF John, Depression, Suicidal Thoughts, Horror, Angst with Happy Ending) – John is grieving Sherlock's death post Reichenbach until one day, he sees the violin case, and something inside him tells him to pick it up. Crossover between BBC Sherlock and the Greek tragedy Orpehus and Eurydice, wherein Eurydice is killed for her beauty and taken to the Underworld. Orpheus, being the son of Apollo (the God of Music and Medicine) travels to the Underworld to convince (via playing his lyre) Hades and Persephone to let Eurydice go. Orpheus then must travel with Eurydice behind him, not looking back, until they exit to the land of the living.

Out and Loud by paradigmfinch (M, 28,233 w., 8 Ch. || Popstar AU || Dancer/Ballet Sherlock / Singer John, Fluff, Falling in Love, Mutual Pining, Jealousy) – John Watson is a 22 year old pop star who's about to come crashing out of the closet. Sherlock Holmes is a reluctant fanboy auditioning to dance in his next music video. Part 1 of Out and Loud

Brooklyn Heat, Summer Jazz by Zigster (E, 41,820 w., 10 Ch. || New York Ballet AU || Jazz Pianist John, Ballet Dancer Sherlock, Modern Setting, Brooding Sherlock , Confused John, Non-Linear Storytelling, Sexual Tension, Angst, Alcohol / Pot / Club Drug Use, First Time, Not-Good Mycroft, Happy Ending) – "There was, however, one thing that made it easier to stay on his piano bench every day. One thing that kept John Watson showing up to class on time, every morning at ten with a large thermos of honeyed tea and a conviction to see a job well done. His name was Sherlock Holmes and he was the most confounding and extraordinary thing John had ever come across - the most exotic of birds and the most unattainable of men."

While the Music Lasts by gunandviolin (E, 44,645+ w., 6/? Ch. || WiP || Orchestra AU || Slow Burn, Jealous John, Angst with Happy Ending, Classical Music, Sexual Tension) – John Watson, a weary veteran of the professional orchestra circuit, settles into his new position as principal clarinetist for the London Symphony, hoping that he's left his worries behind in the States. However, his sudden acquaintance with the brilliant solo violinist Sherlock Holmes and the suspicious circumstances surrounding the death of his predecessor prove that John's troubles are far from over.

Silence by halloa_what_is_this (T, 44,993 w., 13 Ch. || The Piano Fusion || Victorian Sherlock, Dub Con, Voyeurism, Permanent Mutilation, Johniarty, Mute John) – In 1850, John is a mute young man forced to marry to save his father from indebtedness. His sister as his interpreter and his piano to keep him company, he travels to London to live with his husband James Moriarty. Without John's consent, James sells the piano to his friend Sherlock Holmes, who only asks for lessons from John in return. The lessons turn into a power play between the two when Sherlock proposes a deal: John may earn his piano back one key at a time, certain conditions attached. Part 1 of the Aborted Wings series

Queen's Philharmonic by Holmesianscholar (M, 69,785 w, 25/30 Ch. || WiP || Orchestra AU || Classical Music, Synaesthesia, Friends to Lovers, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Love Confessions, First Kiss, Romance, Fluff, Light Angst, Past Drug Use, Happy Ending) – There is a vacancy at Queen's Philharmonic Orchestra for Principal Clarinet. John Watson, a modest but talented clarinettist, returns to London to apply to the orchestra to pursue happiness and purpose in life. Sherlock Holmes, violinist and concertmaster at the QPO, is in constant search of a musician who can fulfil his need to create the most colourful music together. Join their rehearsals to be a part of this slow, sweet, lyrical journey that they embark, one note at a time :-)

#steph replies #johnlock fic recs #my fic recs #john plays an instrument #Anonymous

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icecream-and-gadreel · 4 years ago

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Chapter 1: Family ties

Series Summary: Jack goes missing days after his father betrays their family by joining another syndicate. Everyone suspects Lucifer but instead of sitting around wondering, Castiel goes to the best detective he knows: Dean Winchester. The cynical detective has lost his lust for life and doesn't want to make his miserable days anymore miserable by being caught between the two biggest crime families in the country. Ever persuasive, Castiel is able to recruit him and start a relationship that neither of them expected.

Summary: Castiel can't bite his tongue around his family anymore. Meanwhile, Dean thinks about retirement up until he finds that his agency has been broken in to.

Pairing: Destiel

Other characters: Samandriel, Sam, Gabriel, Jack(Mentioned), Lucifer(Mentioned) Max, Cassie(Mentioned) Charlie (Mentioned)

Rating: Mature

Warnings: Language, mentions of violence, guns, smoking, death mention, threats

Word count: 2800+

A/N: Thank you to my amazing beta @cajunquandry, I appreciate you making this fic sparkle! Anyways I am obsessed with Noir films and bamf!Castiel, so why not feed into both? Enjoy!

Masterlist

Three days missing

Castiel

Cigarette smoke fogs the room, the sound of jazz music combatting the chattering crowd. Sitting in the corner of the bar is Castiel, swirling his beer mindlessly.

It's driving him insane.

His family, all crowded around him, celebrates some meaningless victory and pretend like nothing is wrong. The absolute disregard for Jack's disappearance is enough to make him want to snap. But he doesn't. Instead, he swirls his beer and avoids the looks from his brothers. Samandriel stares at him from across the bar, babysitting a glass of water. He seems to be the only other person that gives a damn. Castiel begins raising to his feet, halting when Sam sits next to him. Sighing, Castiel sinks back into his seat.

“Hey,” Sam says, rolling his sleeves up. Castiel grunts in response, setting his beer down and leaning back in his seat.

“You came.”

“Yeah, uh Gabriel wouldn't stop calling the office so...” Sam shrugs, gesturing for the bartender. He orders a shot of vodka, clearing his throat. “You ok?” he asks, patting Castiel's back.

“Far from it,” he retorts, flicking his eyes to the other man. “He's gone. No trace, no signs, just vanished. I'd feel better if there was a body.”

Sam nods, downing his shot with a huff. “I get it –”

“Do you?,” he snaps, glancing over his shoulder before continuing. “All they talk about is 'loyalty' and 'putting the family first', but the moment it really counts they're nowhere to be seen,” he growls.

Sam nods. “No, I get it, I do,” he says, nodding once more. Before Castiel can respond, Gabriel is throwing his arms around them.

“Stop being a fucking buzz kill!” Gabriel whines, tssking his younger brother. Castiel shakes out of his grasp, whirling around toward the crowd. Gabriel offers him a bottle of whiskey, wiggling his eyebrows. “Live a little, baby bro.”

Snatching the bottle away, Castiel stands from his seat, gaining whoops and hollers from his family.

“Castiel –”

“My nephew,” he begins, cutting Sam off. The crowd goes quiet. “Our nephew has disappeared from the face of the earth.” Castiel swigs from the bottle, a river of liquor running down his neck. “Could be dead or worse.” He smashes the bottle against the ground and Sam flinches back, a look of concern crossing his face. “Excuse me if I'm not 'chipper',” he adds, a faux-smile on his face. The room is silent, even the music has stopped. Castiel stares around at the sea of shocked faces, his chest heaving as the anger bubbles inside of him. “You're all full of shit. Being with family only matters to you when it's fun!”

Sam stands from his seat, patting Castiel's back. “I think we should go,” he whispers, flinching when Gabriel clears his throat.

“Look, we all know Lucifer has him, can't take him from his dad now can we?” Gabriel asks.

They could. All they'd have to do is find the bastard, tell him to give Jack up, and take him home. Castiel considers telling Gabriel this, but heads for the door instead. He ignores the protests from his family, tucking his hands into his pockets and making his way down the road. He pulls a lighter from his pocket with a huff. He looks over his shoulder at the sounds of a car approaching, rolling his eyes.

“Need a ride?” Sam asks, easing the car to a stop. Silently, Castiel leans against the hood of the car, pulling a cigarette from his shirt pocket. “Come on, get in.”

“No, get out.” Sighing, Sam pulls his keys out of the ignition, sulking over to him with a cocked smile. “The detective,” he says, flicking his eyes up to Sam.

“My...brother?” Sam asks, shaking his head when Castiel nods. “It's not gonna happen.”

“He was able to get to Michael. I still don't know how he got close enough,” he says, resting a hand on Sam's arm. “What I do know is if anyone could find Jack, it's him.”

“It's not gonna happen,” he repeats, stiffening as Castiel squeezes his shoulder. “Dean doesn't deal with the mafia,” he adds.

“Please. It's like I'm the only one who gives a damn,” he says, gently rubbing Sam's arm. “I can't do this alone,” he adds. Sam melts under the touch, as he always does, and darts his eyes away.

“It's not that easy,” he mumbles. Castiel flicks his cigarette away before bracing Sam's other arm, a stone look on his face.

“An address. That's all I need. If he says no, then I'll leave,” he says. Sam rolls his eyes and gently urges Castiel's hands away.

“Only if you go back to the bar with me.” Sam points behind himself. “You owe me a shot.” Castiel hums, shrugging.

“Fine.”

–

Four days missing

Castiel stares down at the sloppily written address, squinting his eyes. The ink is smudged thanks to Gabriel spilling a drink all over the napkin, but he thinks he has the right place. He rubs a hand over his eye, trying to shake away his hangover. Never again will he challenge his overgrown lawyer to a drinking contest. He stares down at the address once more, glancing up when he hears humming. A man with caramel skin makes his way to the building, pulling out a set of keys. After opening the door, he disappears into the building.

Glancing around, Castiel draws his gun, jogging across the street and ducking into a nearby crevice. Minutes later the delivery man is reemerging. He sets down his sack of packages and sorts through the keys once more. Castiel creeps up behind him, pressing his gun into the other man's back.

“Don't scream,” he says, voice calm. The man obliges, slowly raising his hands up. “What's your name?”

“Max,” he grunts, looking over his shoulder with a sigh. “I don't carry my wallet, but I think someone ordered a blender,” he says dryly, nodding to the bag.

“I need to get into this building,” he says in a near whisper.

“You couldn't just ask?”

“Would you have let me in?” he retorts. Max shakes his head, sorting through the keys once more and opening the door. He leads Castiel inside, hands still in the air. “Come with me.”

“Why?” Max grows, shooting him a glare. Castiel opens the door to the detective's office, pushing Max in first. The room feels claustrophobic; the mess on the floor and desk isn't helping. It smells faintly of cigarettes and warm cologne. Castiel looks at each corner, noting that there aren't any cameras. He sinks down into the spinning chair behind the desk, gesturing at Max with his gun.

“I'm a very good shot,” he begins, opening a drawer and digging around. “But if I happen to miss, I will find you, and if I find you, things will be much less pleasant than they are now.”

“Wow, you're a blast to deal with,” Max says, leaning against the wall.

Castiel grabs a picture of a stoic man and a curly haired woman from the desk, his gun still aimed at Max. “I've been told recently that I'm not,” he says, furrowing his brow. They both share a solemn look. Dean, he assumes, looks far more intense than Sam described him. He flips the photo over, chuckling under his breath. 'The wife and I try to be serious for once. Didn't work. September '48'. he turns the picture once more, observing Dean before getting back to his main mission. Cameras. Bugs. Recorders. Anything a cop could use to get him caught up. He squats down, running his hand underneath the desk.

“...flies in.”

Castiel frowns, looking up at the source of the voice. His throat runs dry as he trails his eyes over the man before him. Black pants that cling to his bow-legs. A button up shirt with the sleeves rolled up, revealing freckle kissed skin. His face falls into a frown, his cherry red lips parted. Castiel forces himself to look away, glancing down at the picture.

Dean.

Dean

Dean tosses a burger on Sam's desk, a toothy grin on his face.

“Mornin' sunshine,” he cooes, gaining a groan from Sam. “Come on, grease is the hangover miracle cure.”

“I just need sleep and...copious amounts of coffee,” the younger Winchester groans, slowly rising from his desk. “...And to never drink again,” he adds, eyeing the burger.

“Yeah, leave it to the professionals buddy,” Dean says, shooting him a wink. Sam furrows his brow and unwraps his burger as he leaves his office.

“Any new cases?”

Dean hums, following Sam out and staring at the sky. The last case had ended with him locking one of the Novak brothers up, and sending another one running for the hills. The months to follow have been almost stagnant. “I think it's time,” he says. Sam bites into his burger, cocking an eyebrow at him. “You know, retirement. No more catching politicians in motels, just me and Baby.”

Sam scoffs. “Yeah, ok.”

“What? I'm serious!” Dean says, gesturing to the air. “Look at this, Sammy,” he says. The sky is blue with few clouds painting the sky. Cars are racing down the street, along with many people hustling on the sidewalks. “I don't get to enjoy this beautiful city anymore.”

Sam chuckles, glancing around. “Someone peed on this 'beautiful' sidewalk,” he says, pointing to a spot on the ground. Dean hops over it, staring at the stain as he passes. “But yeah, you're missing out,” Sam chuckles.

“Ha. I think it'll be good for me, though,” Dean says, stroking a finger along his jaw. “Solving crimes, angry convicts just waiting to catch me in a dark alley. I don't like it anymore.” Sam frowns, tossing the last bite of his burger into his mouth.

“All you've ever talked about is helping people.”

“Yeah, well.” Dean pauses, darting his tongue over his lip. “Just doesn't get me out of bed like it used to,” he says, glancing at his brother. The younger Winchester gives him his trademark puppy dog eyes, making him huff. “What?”

“Being cooped up in the house all day thinking of Cassie isn't healthy, Dean.” He speaks slowly, keeping his eyes locked on Dean's. “Neither is drinking yourself to sleep and waking up next to random strippers. The agency is the only thing that kept you sane,” he adds. Dean chuckles, his chest tightening at the mention of her. At the office. Sitting at home. It doesn't matter, the only person on his mind will always be her. He twists the wedding ring around on his finger, forcing out a laugh.

“You'd make a better shrink than a lawyer.”

“Fine, let's say you quit, what about Charlie? She needs the job and you know it,” Sam says. Dean purses his lips with a shrug. As he approaches his agency, his face sinks. The door is wide open, and on the side of the door sits Max's parcel bag.

“Wait here,” Dean grunts, gaining a perplexed look in return. Slowly, he pokes his head into the door, scanning his eyes over the room. Nothing seems disturbed, save for his door being left open. He scratches his scruff, eyeing the door to his office. Cracked open. “Max, you left the door open,” he yells, making his way toward his office. “Gonna let flies in...” his voice trails away at the scene before him. Max, standing in the corner with his hands up. A vaguely familiar man digging in his desk with a gun aimed at the delivery man. The man stares at Dean silently, blue eyes dancing.

“Go,” the man says, waving his gun at Max. He reluctantly walks out of the room, hands still in the air. “Are there any bugs?” he asks, voice rasping. Dean slowly makes his way to a bottle of whiskey sitting on the window seal, shaking his head.

“Had a couple roaches a while back, other than that, no,” he says, grabbing two glasses. He sets them on his desk, filling the glasses half-way with the liquor. “Dean Winchester. Am I looking at a new client?”

“I hope so,” he says, reluctantly tucking his gun into the back of his pants. Dean offers the man a cup of whiskey, sipping from his own. “This isn't how I imagined this interaction going.”

“I figure either you shoot me, or you pay me. Neither sounds bad these days,” he says, chuckling. The other man remains silent. “So...wife's cheating? Boss stealing from the company? What's the case?”

“A missing person, my nephew,” he says, making his way around the desk. Dean grabs a pen and a piece of crumpled paper, leaning on his desk.

“Fun. What's he look like?” Dean asks.

“Brown hair. About 5'10''. Twenty-two. Blue eyes...” He gulps down his whiskey, wiping his mouth afterward. “I just need to know that Jack is alive.”

Dean jots down a few notes, nodding to himself. “Right, and what's your name?” he asks. The other man pauses, looking to the ground. Dean stares at him silently, rolling his wrist when the man doesn't say anything. “You know, like the thing people call you?”

“Castiel,” he says, biting his lip. “Castiel Novak.”

Dean tosses the pen and paper, clasping his hands together. “There it is. I don't work with murderers. If you need a lawyer, my brother's always taking new clients,” he says, gesturing to the door. “Have a good one.”

Castiel takes a step closer. “Sam is the reason I'm here. I'm out of options.”

“Look, I feel for you, I really do but I'll be damned if I get involved with the mafia,” he says, holding his hands up and shaking his head.

“Who said anything about the mafia?”

“You do realize that I locked up Michael, right?” Dean asks. Castiel clenches his jaw, huffing.

“Jack doesn't deserve to be ignored because of what his family is 'allegedly' involved in,” he says,taking a step closer to Dean. “Name a number, any ridiculous price and it's yours.”

Chuckling, the Winchester crosses his arms over. “I don't take blood money.” He nods to the door. “See ya,” he adds. Sam jogs into the room, staring between the two men with raised eyebrows.

“Hey, what's up with Max?” Sam asks, frowning when his eyes land on Castiel. “Oh, you've met.”

“Yup. We met and now he’s on his way out,” Dean says, sipping his liquor before setting the cup down. Castiel pinches the bridge of his nose, chest heaving. Wordlessly, he pulls his gun out, aiming it at Dean.

“I don't think you understand the position you're in.”

“Woah, hey,” Sam says, holding his hands up to Castiel. “Let's calm down.”

“I don't have time for this. I need help, Dean.”

Dean cracks a grin, tilting his head. “I already told you my answer. Burn down my business, shoot me, whatever. I've got nothing to lose.”

“Yeah?” Castiel returns his smile, turning the gun on Sam. “Well, You've got him,” he says. Dean stands from his desk, his smile being replaced with a grimace. “Lay his life on the line, and I'll know you stand for nothing.”

“Castiel,” Sam says, hurt apparent in his tone.

“You love pointing that thing around, huh?” Dean asks, voice wavering. Castiel stares at him blankly, cocking his gun.

“Might I remind you that I've been accused of allegedly killing men for much less. Imagine what I'd hypothetically do to him to gain your cooperation, Detective,” he says. A look of hurt crosses Sam's face, and he turns his eyes to the elder Winchester, letting out a heaving breath. Castiel raises his eyebrows, turning his gun to the ceiling and firing off a round. “In case you thought it wasn't loaded.”

Dean looks between both men, swiping a hand over his face. When Castiel points the gun at Sam, Dean holds his hands out to him. “I'll do it,” he blurts, heart pounding in his chest. Smiling, Castiel de-cocks his gun, looking between both men.

“Thank you, I'll be here first thing tomorrow.”

Eternity squad: @sheinthatfandom @greenshinigamieyes @lipstickandwhiskey @feelmyroarrrr @bcarolinablr @mrswhozeewhatsis @mssunnyone

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theseathatsparkles · 4 years ago

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idea buffet 001

I wanted a place to put down the fic ideas I get but don’t always follow through on. So here we go. I’ll be putting ideas and prompts under the #ideabuffet tag on this blog.

Feel free to use these (with credit), and if you want me to write something lemme know in my ask box!

Bleach

1. Swiss Army Nemu - why does she have a drill arm, anyways?

2. Shinji listening to Jazz - no context just jazz

3. A series of interactions between Mayuri and Akon that I really need to work on - because they’ve gotta have some more backstory than what we’ve seen

4. Byakuya fights Nnoitra instead of Zommari

5. The one where Momo’s character gets an overhaul - maybe she takes Tosen’s place at Aizen’s side? Maybe she takes Gin’s? All I know is that I wanna write her as the bamf lady she really is.

6. The one where Aizen, Gin, and Tosen travel back in time to stop their past selves from ruining everything

7. Ukitake and Kyoraku scheme - in which they decided to get Byakuya and Renji together (I actually do have some content for this written lmao)

8. Starrk is a god - yeah. I read a fic on Ao3 about Starrk being the god of Hueco Mundo (I’ll link it if I find it) and was intrigued

9. Aizen is released from Muken at the end of his sentence. Almost everyone he knows is dead, and he’s basically a god at this point - I don't want to make this into another time travel story but. It’s got potential.

Marvel/MCU

10. yet another cliche fic in which Loki and Peter bond

11. (post-Avengers, pre-Dark World) Loki tries to launch a coup, and the Allfather orders Thor to take him to the human world as punishment. Thor takes him to the Avengers tower.

BNHA

12. Deku has AFO - not much context. I have a bit of this written but don't know where I’m going with it

13. Deku gets zapped by a Quirk. A Quirk activated by a rock. - what can I say, my friend requested this crackfic like a year ago

14. Deku joins the LoV...post-USJ - I also have some of this written/planned

Yuri on Ice

15. Viktor is dead. He's not gonna let that stop him from coaching the sexy Japanese skater, though - Viktor dies after Sochi and becomes a ghost

#Sparkles speaks #Idea Buffet #Bleach #marvel #mcu #bnha #mha #yoi #yuri on ice #Swiss Army Nemu

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theuntamedproject · 4 years ago

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"If the face says nothing, listen to the heartbeat" - Lan WangJi, Mo Dao Zu Shi (Weeks 3+4)

https://zhtheuntamedprojec.wixsite.com/theuntamedproject

... those who have read the novel know the real context of this line in the scene BUT taken out of context and used in a completely different (*cough* our) scenario..."If the face says nothing," translates to "Even if we seem calm on the outside,""listen to the heartbeat." translates to "we're so stressed to the point of ventricular fibrillation." (dunno if that's even a likely story but the overly exaggerated point still stands: we just handed our uni applications in and we're dreading admission tests and awaiting interviews...)

Quick overview

So aside from school work and university prep, TUP has taken up whatever spare moment either one of us has. However since Zara's Physics coursework began (good luck Zara!!) and both of us prepping for our respective admissions tests, we've decided instead of marching onwards with research on architecture and other food science related stuff, to settle on more relaxed Google seshes on MDZS (and totally not using this as an excuse to read the source text again) and beginning to design the buildings on CAD and paper.

So I'm going to introduce to you the barebones framework of what we plan to include in the design: characters, buildings and effects~ apologies in advance for not including the accents/tones in names (I cba tbh ;-; )

Characters

Because all these little dudes are just going to be cut out gingerbread men, we could include as many characters as possible (we did say we're making a universe are we not?). Those in italics are "maybe" characters depending on the dough remaining (or whether we like them to be part of the universe or not...) or how much gingerbread we're willing to eat ourselves (though huge shout out to everyone thats offered to eat our spare and broken gingerbread during materials testing - which I will get to a bit later :3)

Gusu Lan (the pretty sect)

Lan XiChen / Lan Huan (Sect Leader - simped so hard for his sworn brothers that both of them ended up dead)

Lan WangJi / Lan Zhan (repressed gay but we love him still)

Lan Yuan / Lan Sizhui (he's part of the Lan sect now goddamnit)

Lan JingYi (the most unLan Lan yet has the highest chance of being the next sect leader lmaoo)

Lan QiRen

Lan Yi / Lan An

QingHeng-Jun (Twin Jades' father)

Madam Lan (Twin Jades' mother)

Yunmeng Jiang (arguably the only "normal" sect here...)

Jiang Cheng / Jiang Wanyin (Sect Leader also an "angry grape" as put by Zara)

Jiang YanLi (OUR QUEEN)

Jiang FengMian (loved Wei Ying more than Jiang Cheng lol jk xd)

Yu ZiYuan (BAMF)

Wei Ying not included here since technically he defected from the Sect (; - ;)

Qinghe Nie (fans and sabers my bros)

Nie HuaiSang (Sect Leader - yeah, I can't believe it either)

Nie MingJue (noooooooooo)

Honestly, I swear this clan is either "big muscles or big brain?". If you have neither, you can't be part of their clique. I mean sect.

Lanling Jin (rich rich rich rich rich)

Jin Ling / Jin RuLan (Sect Leader - totally not named after Wei Ying's crush/ husband's family)

Jin GuangYao / Meng Yao (*smiles*)

Jin ZiXuan (peacock but JYL's husband nonetheless)

Jin GuangShan (gross)

Jin ZiXun (double gross)

Mo XuanYu (literally did not sign up to any of this. He just wanted to end his suffering at Mo Manor)

We decided against including everyone from Mo Manor since they literally died within the first few chapters of the novel / first episode of the drama so were kinda irrelevant. Also, we don't care about them like we care for the Lan Sect members either.

Off topic side rant, Zara has been on my case whenever I bring up Jin GuangYao. I have to say, he's way more lovable in the drama than in the novel (didn't really leave much of an impression on me in the novel, NHS did a better job at that). I'm here to briefly explain why this boy is misunderstood and deserved more than what he got (and also why you should love him because he deserves love).JGY is a poor soul who's goal in life was to please others because no one was ever satisfied with him. His mother wasn't satisfied. His father wasn't satisfied. Hell, even his sworn brother NMJ wasn't satisfied with him eventually. BUT GUESS WHAT Xichen the angel is the only person that showed any love or thanks to JGY that's why he didn't kill him in the end - he wouldn't kill people that actually cared about him. IF ONLY EVERYONE ACTUALLY PAID ATTENTION TO HOW CLEVER AND CUNNING THIS MAN WAS, THERE MAY NOT EVEN BE WENS THREATENING THE WORLD. end of brief rant.

Qishan Wen (too hot, hot damn)

Wen RuoHan (Sect Leader - could have taken over the world if his children weren't incompetent)

Wen Qing (half the reason why included this sect)

Wen Ning / Wen QiongLin (the other half of the reason)

Wen Yuan (WE NEED THIS BABIE ALONGSIDE SIZHUI OK)

Wen Chao (questionable)

Wen ZhuLiu (also questionable but less annoying than Wen Chao)

Rogue cultivators (including people we didn't really know where to put)

Wei WuXian / Wei Ying (Can work out how to cultivate resentful energy, fight against the biggest cultivation clans in the world and gain a formidable reputation as the Yiling Patriarch yet can't figure out that Lan Zhan has a crush on him. Makes it look like cultivating resentful energy is easy as pie.)

CangSe SanRen (Wei Ying's mother)

Wei ChangZe (Wei Ying's father)

Xiao XingChen (honestly, the nicest guy ever. Could rival Xichen in terms of kindness. But then again... where did that kindness lead either of them? Moral of story: screw kindness)

Song Lan (Wen Ning's dead buddy~)

Xue Yang (he was cool in the novel, a bit questionable in the drama ngl)

A-Qing (didn't report her situation to the police...)

Baoshan Sanren (without knowledge of her existence, Jiang Cheng may have given up on life after he lost his golden core)

Ouyang ZiZhen (I didn't know who he was at all from the novel (ie he left no impression) but since he's technically part of the juniors, we have to include him)

Wang Ling Jiao / Jiao Jiao (just so Wen Chao has a friend perhaps... I don't know if we're that kind)

Su She (ew. just. He's not our favourite. The whole thing could have gone smoother if he didn't exist)

Luo Qingyang / Mian Mian (that one girl that made Wei Ying think Lan Zhan was straight)

Whew! That's all the character's we've considered! We have yet to come up with individual designs for the clothes and what not but at least we know there are going to be straight up cutting them out using the gingerbread man cutters.

Also! let's not forget:

Li'l Apple (didn't sign up for any of this either)

Fairy (gift from JGY to JL, also good doggo)

All the bunnies in Gusu (yes.)

All the fans and sabers in Qinghe (it's part of their aesthetic)

Locations and Buildings

This section's going to be MUCH shorter than the previous one haha since we've basically come up with 5 main buildings and in 7 locations. We're planning these buildings to be architectural masterpieces (okay, that's a slight exaggeration but that's the point). These buildings will take SIGNIFICANTLY more time than the gingerbread characters and is the reason we've put so much effort into researching what would make the most stable type of building. This is because we've planned to mirror the buildings as close as possible to the drama. We haven't yet drawn 2D sketches as I've left that job mostly to Zara (sorry!) so it's sort of hard to describe in words but by next post, we hope to have these down~ (though please see the mood boards from Zara's post previously)~

Gusu Lan - Cloud Recesses

The Wall of Discipline

The Courtyard

The Orchid Room (the main classroom/hall)

Yunmeng Jiang - Lotus Pier

The Main Pier

Lotus Pod Lake

Qinghe Nie - The Unclean Realm

The Main Courtyard and stairs

Lanling Jin - Koi Tower

Koi Tower

Qishan Wen - Nightless City

Main building and stairs

Yiling - Burial Grounds

The Mountains (and farms/Wen settlements)

Demon-Slaughtering Cave

And of course, Yi City.

We don't know if we want to include any more places but we'll let you know if there are any changes to this list. Plus the effects of LEDs and other arts and craft jazz besides gingerbread, we plan to make sure each Sect get's their own spotlight~

Please enjoy our baby Cloud Recesses, they're going to grow up and be a fine specimen of society worthy of the Lan name :D

The plan going forward

Although unfortunately, things haven't gone totally to plan due to fairly busy circumstances, we still have some major events along the way before starting to build the whole thing (which would probably be around mid-to-end of December) which have indeed started preparing for. Including:

Material testing gingerbread and icing (ie finally, bringing our research to the real world) - a lot of gingerbread will be made, so thank you to the willing volunteers who wanted to eat our failed experiments!

Finding / creating a suitable recipe for the gingerbread people

2D and 3D sketches of the buildings

Designing costumes for the gingerbread people

Another thing that we kinda want to do is to make this project benefit the wider community (we wanted to set up a GoFundMe at some point and raise some money for charity~). But we don't know how to do that as of yet T-T . Any ideas, feel free to contact us and let us know! We want to help others through this project (if at all possible haha)!

#mdzs #update #characters #gingerbread #gusulan #yunmengjiang #qinghenie #lanlingjin #qishanwen #weiying #lanzhan

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ao3feed-brucewayne · 9 months ago

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The rapid growth of the Wayne family tree

read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/t5ulegd by Lunaml This is the best thing that's ever happened to Jason Todd. This is the best thing that's ever happened to Jazz Fenton. They absolutely cannot let their families ruin it. This wedding is going to happen come hell or high water. Here's hoping neither are on the guest list. --- Can you believe that this title wasn’t used yet? I checked – nothing. This is a continuation of “The rapid growth of the Fenton family tree.” “Better than equals” is between the two but can mostly be summarized by “they had sex it was really good” so feel free to skip if that’s not your jam. Words: 2561, Chapters: 1/1, Language: English Series: Part 3 of Rapid expanse Fandoms: Danny Phantom, DCU, Batman - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Categories: F/M Characters: Jason Todd, Jazz Fenton, Alfred Pennyworth, Bruce Wayne, Danny Fenton, Tim Drake, Dick Grayson, Damian Wayne, Dan Phantom, Danielle "Dani" Phantom, Vlad Masters, Maddie Fenton, Jack Fenton (Danny Phantom), Cassandra Cain, Duke Thomas, Tucker Foley, Sam Manson, Klarion (DCU) Relationships: Jazz Fenton/Jason Todd, Klarion/Dan Phantom, Danny Fenton/Tucker Foley/Sam Manson Additional Tags: Post-Graphic Novel: A Glitch in Time (Danny Phantom), rated T for steam, Fluff, Vlad Masters Redemption, Parental Vlad Masters, Alfred Pennyworth Tries to Be a Good Parent, Bruce Wayne Tries to Be a Good Parent, Jack and Maddie Fenton are Trying to be Good Parents, Neglectful Parents Jack and Maddie Fenton, Anger Management, Ghost King Danny Fenton, Ghost Obsessions (Danny Phantom), Ecto-Contaminated | Liminal Jazz Fenton, Ecto-Contaminated | Liminal Jason Todd (Danny Phantom), Halfa | Half-Ghost Jason Todd (Danny Phantom), Accidental Marriage, Wedding Planning, Midwest culture, Ghost Zone Culture (Danny Phantom), BAMF Alfred Pennyworth, Manners show down, Size Difference, Tall Jazz Fenton read it on AO3 at https://ift.tt/t5ulegd

#IFTTT #bruce wayne #batman #the caped crusader #the dark knight #dcu #ao3 #ao3feed

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niuniente · 6 years ago

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Do not be afraid of self-insert; everything you create is self-insert

I wanted to write all creators out there a supportive post about self-insert. This was inspired by an ask which I received some time ago. I got asked if the female lead in FUZZY comic was a self-insert. My reply was that no, but you can’t create anything outside of yourself. Everything you create has your fingerprint on or in it.

There’s absolutely NOTHING wrong with creating characters, stories and worlds from your interests, from your perspective! EVERYTHING is self-insert! Whether you do it intentionally or not, it is self-insert. Sometimes it is a big self-insert creation, sometimes it has only hints of you in it. Nevertheless, you are always present in anything you create; your wishes, fears, experiences, interests, likes, dislikes, personality traits, family life, studies etc. are present.

So, to show just how much self-insert there is in my creations, I made you a small list of both FUZZY and Demon Sanctuary and their characters. This is not a complete list and more will “inserted” as stories progress. Here is what is self-inserted from me to my characters and stories;

FUZZY

- Monster x Human relationship because yes monsters and yes monster romances

Female lead Irene (in the pic) - Irene is a seer working with divination. I am an oracle working with divination and earning partly my living with it - I have worked in business and marketing like Irene - I love blond female leads and am blond myself - Respects all life - Can work with multiple divination tools, but gets visions and messages without them too - Lives alone

Male lead Fuzzy (in the pic) - Loves yogurt, especially starwberry flavored - Friend of tiny birds and kittens - Behaves often like a cat, because I love cats - Draws like I do - Doesn’t like speaking (doesn’t speak in the comic) - Socially anxious and prefers to be with 1-2 persons only - Keeps things to himself but opens up to trustworthy persons only - Doesn’t fit in into his own society/questions it - Gentleman, as I appreciate real gentlemen - Matches with 1920′s-30′s jazz, which is one of my fave music genres - Obviously a demonic monster, as I love monsters - Unintentionally ended up looking like Nightcrawler - Race;Lempo, because Lempo is a Finnish Demonic God of Love and I’m Finnish EXTRA: Fuzzling/Buzzling - Inspired by Nightcrawler’s Bamfs, as they are cute - Also take inspiration from The Critters, which are my fave monsters. Little assholes!

A or R - Japanese-Scottish, as my soul is always at ease in Japan and in Scotland - Inspired by Axel (KH) and Reno (FFVII), both my fave characters - A punk, because punk aesthetic and music = yay! - Uses rifles and bras knuckles for fighting. I love guns. They’re beautiful. Bras knuckles are badass weapons. - Ice-cream enthusiastic, just like me. Makes his own ice creams - Plays dating games with his phone, which is also one of my hobbies - Due his work, knows lots of monster folklore, witchcraft etc. which interest me too. - Good at giving hugs, as hugs are important to me.

Loid - Professional antagonist, as I like antagonists and anti-heros the best - His name Loid is an acronym from Billy Idol, who is extremely important to me - 80′s aesthetic and minimalist interiors, my favorites too - Likes leather jackets; I have too many of them - Has hideous taste in outfits; I usually look the best in “OMG what is this shit!”-outfits - Bi-sexual, as I’m not straight either - His got same piercings as I do on his left ear - Prefers to be left alone and to deal with others as little as possible - hard to befriend with, harder to earn his loyalty; but if you do, he’s got your back - Would he fall in love, he’d be loyal to death - Disrespect him, and he ditches you immediately - Approaches things indirectly - Hates hassle, nonsense and messiness - Lives in a pent house in a metropolis, something I dream about - Magical being, who uses anything physical his body provides for spells, as I find human bodies extremely beautiful (both men and women, trans included!) - Sex is not a taboo for him - Haunted by his past; perhaps more traumatized than he realizes... - Likes sleeping and sleeps a lot - Needs time alone; introvert

Candy - Black woman, because diversity in humans is normal and black women are gorgeous - Probably has a girlfriend, just like my best friend does - Loves heavy music; I used to be an active metalhead - Also uses divination tools like Irene

DEMON SANCTUARY

- As Im a Finn, all monsters and demons are based on Finnish mythology and folklore (excluding Buzzling). All have Finnish names. - Hiisi speaks in Finnish Sign Language as I love sign language and learn words easily

Father Furmann - A priest because religion is one subject which interest me. Would I be a man, perhaps I’d gone and become a priest myself. It was one of the options I considered when I was a teenager. I hang in churches and temples (and cemeteries) whenever I travel. - Rehabilitates demons as exorcism, demons and possessions are again one of my fave subjects I have studied. - Covered with black and white tattoos as I love black and white tattoos - Has many of my fave tattoo themes on him; flowers on men, Virgin of Guadalupe, archangel Michael, skulls, demons. - Has an Aries sign tattooed on him as it is my sign - Used to do things alone by himself - Wants good for everyone and sees good in places where others might not - Also goes together with my fave music genre, 1920′s jazz - Can overwork and drain himself, doesn’t always know his boundaries - While his surname is a pun to Fuzzy, it is German origins. I visit Germany regularly and enjoy my stay there. - First name will be revealed later but it is also related to a concept which interest me. - Undercuts are my fave hair styles

Ilta (Evening in Finnish) / Currently still in progress - Designed after Aries as it is my sign - Has some similarities to Bleach’s Neliel, as I love her design - Has connections to witchhunts, which is my favorite subject in history. I have too many books of witchhunt... - If hurt bloodily, she will have her revenge - Curvy, as I like curvy girls and its my body type, too

Nyrkes / Currently still in progress - Has a human girlfriend because Monster Boyfriends Yay! - Possess a wide knowledge of different religions and philosophies, because those interest me greatly. Please, let’s talk about medieval heresies...! - Named and designed after the Finnish God of Squirrels and Hunting to honor my ancestors’ religion - Reads people and atmosphere like open book, though doesn’t let it show - Mohawks are one of my fave hair styles. - Wears cardigan which is similar to a cardigan my friend used to have - Cares for Eva but places his well-being first; something I had needed to learn (still learning) myself and what I want others to learn, too. Especially in relationships. You matter the most.

Eva - Named after Eve who, by current the Bible version, was tempted by Lucifer; a thing Luciferianists see as a positive thing. Also a concept which interests me greatly. - Is mistaken for something sweet and innocent, who needs protection against he harsh world. Couldn’t be far from the truth. - Doesn’t see eye to eye with her father. Keeps many things hidden from him. - Values her freedom.

SO, BE SELF-INSERT. AS MUCH AS YOU WISH. You can’t help it.

#long post #creativity #character creation #character creating #niu drawings

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moonlupine · 2 years ago

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Short DPXDC Prompts #339

Arkham breakout. Batfamily zooms over to see multiple knocked out patients and a tall redhead woman with a teal hair and going 1v1 against Bane and winning. (Jason’s jaw just instantly drops)

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at-the-exd-of-everythixg · 5 years ago

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Mahoghany x Kurt for weird babies

@thecorteztwins and @i-am-the-bamf since u agreed to be included in this! Okay so, I imagine Kurt kinda just found Mahogany with their baby and figured thay he'd give them both safety but absolutely did not realise he was letting a cannibal into the school. He's kinda horrified I'm guessing but I'm told Mahogany is cute when they're not eating people and Kurt probably thinks he can influence their kid a little. Not to mention that Magni is probably very affectionate to someone who looks like Kurt and they like his voice!

Name: Teddy. Mahogany wanted to name them "Kitty" but Kurt had a sinking suspicion it was over what he looked like rather than Mahogany being inspired by Kitty Pryde so he convinced them to Teddy.

Gender: Non-binary

General appearance: Looks almost exactly like Mahogany apart from thicker eyebrows and a more masculine looking face. Ends up 9'4 and copies Kurt's German accent because Teddy likes it so much and adopted Papa is adored. Tends to dress in button ups and skirts since they're so long. Hasn't got as many scars as Mahogany and Teddy enjoys sitting awkwardly and overall copying Kurt's stance. They're a handsome baby!! Big ass canines too.

Personality: Polite and sweet most of the time since Kurt taught Teddy manners but they still have a pretty big wild side to them and gets easily overexcited, which then causes them to sometimes get carried away. Teddy wants to please people far too easily and that causes damage sometimes or causes people to take advantage of them. They like swordfighting and listening to jazz music and Teddy adores being able to go on missions to the wildness. To home.

Special talents: Has the same abilities as Mahogany and its unknown if they have any other since Mahogany won't talk about the father.

Who they like better: Mahogany since there's often rights about the cannibal part and Teddy feels at home with them.

Who they take after more: Mahogany, though Teddy tries to be like Kurt as they get older.

Personal headcanon: Had a bad habit of biting Kurt's tail when they were a baby and even when they get older, Teddy likes cuddling up to Kurt and playing with his tail when he's upset.

Face Claim: Amal Sofi!

#ask #thecorteztwins #i-am-the-bamf #the monster of forgotten midnights (mahogany)#kid meme #honestly Kurt would either hate or love Mahogany i think??#it takes him ages to get them to stop calling him cat tbh #msnsns #enjoy incredibly fluffy wendigo babay!!!

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caffeineivore · 5 years ago

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R/J for BAMF and Charlie

For @apsaraqueen and @coppercrane2, follows this

The 18th Room is sleek yet dim, echoing the air of mystery surrounding Prohibition-era speakeasies but featuring all the modern amenities one would expect out of a trendy spot in New York City. Raven arrives at nine o’clock on the dot, because ‘fashionably late’ does not apply to everyday standards of etiquette, and furthermore, one does not turn up late on a reservation in Manhattan if one actually wanted to be able to enjoy one’s drink and food for that night. She’d offered to buy the UCLA professor, Jude Huntley, a drink for returning her bag in person, of course, and had given him the address to meet her up there that evening.

“Hello.” She hears his voice, warm and slightly gravelly, sound behind her, and turns to see the Good Professor, looking a bit less nerdy shaven and without the elbow patches, smiling at her. Weirdly, though the white shirt and dark gray blazer are certainly more appropriate night-out apparel, she thinks the look from earlier in the day had suited him more. He still wore the glasses, though, and the low lighting of the place glint off the lenses, shine brilliantly in his blue eyes.

“You made it. Good. They have custom drinks here based on what you like, and pretty good food.” It’s a bit of an abrupt greeting, but Raven isn’t quite sure what to make of Dr. Huntley and his actual presence in New York City for apparently no other purpose than to return her bag. When in doubt in dealings with the male of the species, toughness was always a good default to fall back on.

“It’s definitely some very cool digs. I can’t say that bars back at home look much like this. Like something out of an old movie, almost.”

They get seated, and both of them opt for the custom-made cocktails. Raven gets a smokey-sweet Scotch concoction with ginger beer and Angostura bitters, and Jude opts for something with gin and an orange twist. They share some small plates, and of course when Jude asks her about her day, she is not surprised. These are normal pleasantries, and no one truly wanted to pass a cocktail hour in awkward silence, but he leans forward and listens as though he actually cares, and that’s a bit more off-putting.

“Morgan Austen? You were negotiating a contract with her? No wonder you wanted to kill me for grabbing your bag by accident.” His smile, even apologetically full of chagrin, is lethal. “I can’t say that I’m hugely in favour of starting kids out young in the entertainment industry, but she seems surprisingly well adjusted whenever we see or hear her on the news.”

“She was born for this, and as exploitative as the industry can be, she’s got a good head on her shoulders, and I definitely don’t just mean all that shampoo-commercial blonde hair.” Raven’s mouth firms, and she squares her shoulders. “She’s a good kid, weird unorthodox Hollywood upbringing aside. Nothing’s about to happen to her if I have anything to say about it.”

“I understand what you mean.” There’s not even a hint of a patronizing tone in his voice, just simple understanding. “I can’t say that I get to know every single student who enters my lecture hall, but you always get to meet some, and you always hope that whatever they learn from you academically aside, they’ll remember you as a positive figure in their development as young adults. I know full well not all of them will go into a Chemistry-related field, but I hope no one hates me or my class, all the same.”

“Aren’t you going to be exhausted, going to your class tomorrow after flying in all the way from here?” That still didn’t make sense-- the fact that he’d crossed the entire continental United States to return her bag. Not that she was ungrateful, of course. Or that she was hating this time and conversation right now. Jude Huntley might be a virtual stranger whose life intersected with hers in the most random of ways, but he was... nice. In such a low-key, easygoing type of way that it lowered even her fierce defenses.

“Well, LA’s three hours behind, so it will still be early enough in the day by the time I get there that I’ll have a few hours to rest before having to stand in front of a bunch of grad students and talk about metabolism. And besides, I’ll have plenty of time to grade the rest of those lab reports on the trip back. There’s not exactly much to do on the plane, otherwise. I’ve already gotten a head start on them earlier today, before meeting up with you.”

That has her chuckling despite herself. “You’re in New York City and not during the tourist-mad seasons of Christmas or whatever and you’re holed up in your hotel room grading lab reports? You could’ve done a bunch of other stuff for fun.”

“I could’ve, but it’s no fun doing the touristy thing alone. I don’t exactly know anyone here aside from you, and I can barely claim that acquaintance, either, could I?”

“I don’t know, I don’t usually meet people up for drinks unless it’s somehow work-related. There are almost always too many fucking people, everywhere. At least it’s not a Friday afternoon happy hour in the Financial District. Banker Bro’s probably have a whole level to themselves in Hell waiting for them someday.”

“Well in that case, I’m definitely flattered, and honoured.”

Their food comes, and it’s undoubtedly his relaxed, no-pressure manner that makes her linger over her Scotch and stuffed zucchini flowers and the easy flow of conversation. Jude-- and since when did she start thinking of him by his first name on such short acquaintance?-- had been born and raised in California, though he’d lived in the Bay Area before moving out to SoCal for school, then work. They talked about some of the more problematic youngsters they’d had to deal with in their respective jobs, as well as the merits of the dollar slice vs. the daily special off the taco truck. Raven’s a diehard bagels and lox and coffee for breakfast type of girl, and declared smoothies and avocado toast to be faddish and overrated even if a great deal of the models booked with the agency seemed to enjoy them. Jude laughs and admits that he’s not much of a green juice sort of guy himself, but claims that the mythical long lines at In-n-Out are worth it.

At some point during their conversation, some of the other patrons start dancing to the jazz music playing in the background. It is definitely not the sort of place most people out on a date night would expect to dance-- no grinding, or DJ’s, or top 40′s here. The music’s something from the Gatsby era, and tastefully muted so that conversations at the tables and bar could still be conducted without leaning in and shouting. After a handful of sets, Jude holds out his hand, one blond eyebrow slightly cocked, and gives her that should-totally-be-illegalized smile again.

“I feel like I should ask you to dance. Of course, you can say no if you don’t want to.”

She’d consider this a move, coming from anyone else, probably. And it could very well be one. And really, she has utterly no business encouraging any moves from anybody on a weekday night, and certainly not some Chemistry professor who lived three time zones and close to three thousand miles away, here only for a night, and really not supposed to be here at that. But she can’t seem to summon up the resistance to that smile and those baby blues and the way he listens as much as he talks, and lets her hand land on his, palm to palm, let their fingers twine together. His hands are big and warm and a bit calloused-- rougher than she’d expect from some geeky science type-- and somewhere, deep inside her chest, her heart thumps out of rhythm and her consciousness whispers, almost self-deprecatingly, “Oh, shit.”

#R/J #apsaraqueen #coppercrane2 #senshi/shitennou #fanfiction #fanfic #sailor moon

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