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rasp-my-berry · 5 months ago

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a summer glowup pt. 2 // klitz x chubby reader

ALL CHARACTERS ARE 18+

unfortunately i got really high and forgot to add in the part where they make their relationship off and got straight to the smut. additionally, it has been a significant amount of time since my last work and i wold like to apologize ahead of time if you pick up on stylistic changes in my writing. i am very out of practice and only just got in the mood to finish this work,, so quality definitely isn't what it used to be. i also haven’t completely gotten used to tumblrs format so i’m sorry this is so ugly

i also have failed to proofread as always since my keyboard thinks its funny to mess w me rn. ill most likely come back and make some tweaks eventually. i always do lol

the rest of that first day was... weird to say the least. people who wouldn't usually give you the time of day, as if you were a regular stain on the wall, suddenly had some interest in you. was it because you spent the summer out of state? because you came back with an entirely new wardrobe? because you were suddenly confident, suddenly had interesting things to say?

that's ridiculous. you refused to believe it. besides, you didn't care what they thought. all you cared about was the trio of boys and your best friend. they were the only people you wanted to spend time with. and who could blame you? you'd only known them for all of highschool up until now.

by the end of the day, you were exhausted from all the attention you had been receiving. you wondered if this was how new students and anyone regularly receiving that much attention felt. it was awful.

but finally, the end of the school day. you could leave and go home, do whatever you want- oh, right!! klitz wanted to hang out after school! suddenly you felt nervous again. not that you knew why. you'd already kissed the guy, so he knows how you feel. what's the big deal? there is no big deal.

until, of course, you saw him approaching, with eli and matt in tow. eli had a smug grin on his face and matt was snickering at something you couldn't hear. klitz looked like a wreck. sweaty, shaky, and pale. scratch that last one. he's always been that pale. poor boy hardly ever sees any sun. you'd have to change that. get some healthy color in him.

"hi guys!!" you smiled, waving as you walked over.

eli smiled and waved at you, walking over faster than the other two. he was always like this. an overexcitable puppy, you liked to call him. you were surprised he didn't pee a little bit when he first saw you earlier today. he always seemed like the type to pee when he gets excited.

"hey y/n." klitz greeted nervously, his voice shaky. he was definitely nervous for whatever you had in store for him.

you grabbed his hand and pulled him closer, using your other hand to hold his arm and keep him at your side. "hey klitzy boo~"

matt greeted you and took his spot in the small circle you four were forming. "so, what're we doing tonight?" he asked.

"oh, sorry. klitz and i are gonna be... uh.. occupied tonight-" you started before eli cut you off.

"UGHHHHHHHH!" he groaned in exasperation. "you mean to tell me, we don't get to see you for a whole summer and you're gonna spend your first night back with klitz??? i always knew you wanted to ride him like a freak, but i never thought i'd see the day you would abandon us to do it!"

you had to laugh. you had to give it to him. eli's definitely funny. a giggle passed your lips and klitz started trembling. you just sounded so angelic.

"i PROMISE we'll hang out tomorrow! i just have some lost time to make up for with klitz." you defended. "besides, i bet you guys don't even know he kissed me this morning. that kinda changes things a little bit."

"HE KISSED YOU?" matt shouted.

"WHAT DOES THAT CHANGE??" eli's shouts overlapped matt's.

you laughed. "you know what i mean, right klitz? can you explain it to them?"

he sighed, hating to have to explain this to his friends. "yea, i kissed her earlier. and it doesn't change everything but it might just mean that... yknow... we won't be spending every day together.. y/n and i are gonna want private time too."

"WHY NOT?" eli started. "yknow i wouldn't mind watching you two do a little.." he started wiggling his fingers together from both hands, trying to make a sexual gesture??

your jaw dropped and you had to contain your laughter. "oh, stop it! only way you'll be seeing that is if we decide to tease you and send a video." you rolled your eyes.

eli visibly slouched, your words distressing him. he turned to klitz, grabbing his shoulders roughly. "klitzy.... klitzy, klitzy, klitzy..."

"what, eli?" klitz hesitated, scared of what eli could possibly have in store.

"OH BABIE PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE, PLEASE," eli dropped to his knees, tugging on klitz's pant leg and literally sobbing at this point. tears streamed down his cheeks like a waterfall and snot was collecting on his upper lip. disgusting. " YOU GOTTA FUCK HER, BRO! FOR ME!! FOR MEEEE!! RIDE IT, SUCK IT, LICK IT, SPIT ON IT FOR MEEEEEEE!!!"

people were beginning to stare, and klitz hated having people look at him. he would say anything to get eli to stop this tantrum. "yea, whatever, dude. i'll do her raw and hard just like you would want to..."

"promise?" eli squeaked, holding out his pinky finger.

klitz sighed, putting his pinky out as well and linking it with eli's. "i promise."

you couldn't help the giggle that escaped you. you wouldn't necessarily be upset if klitz followed through with that promise...

"well, we really should get going. we wouldn't want to be late for.... yea!!" you smiled, tugging klitz's arm and trying to get him away from the boys. "we'll talk to you guys tomorrow!! fill you in on all the details, don't even worry. it'll be like you guys were there!! promise!"

matt rolled his eyes. "what if we don't WANT-"

"THANK YOU!" eli sobbed, still on his knees. he turned to matt and began hugging his legs, crying into his knees.

taking a deep breath, you hugged klitz's arm, pulling him in the direction of your house. it wasn't a long walk, and not an unfamiliar one, either. ever since you had become friends with the tripod, everybody regularly got at everybody's houses. it wasn't uncommon for you to wake up to your mom telling you the boys were waiting downstairs. it was a little silly, actually.

"so, my parents actually won't be home tonight..." you started. "they wanted to visit my grandparents, so we've got the house to ourselves! we can do whatever you want."

"whatever i want?" he gulped, that nervous feeling rising up again.

you nodded your head. "yup!" and popped the 'p' as you spoke.

he hummed in thought. "well, we could watch that movie you were telling me about last time... or do our homework."

"homework?" you raised a brow. "i am not doing that shit. i'll get to it tomorrow."

he laughed. "ok, ok. how do you feel about the movie then?"

"i like that idea!! we've got some snacks at home so we can have fun getting a whole spread out!" you smiled.

once the two of you got inside, you let klitz raid the pantry and fridge while you ran around trying to find the dvd for the movie you mentioned to him not too long ago. once you finally found it, you sang victoriously. "finally!"

running back to the living room, you paused at the base of the stairs, watching klitz for a moment. he was sitting in front of a coffee table, setting up the snacks very carefully. he sat back for a second before leaning back and turning a bag of chips just a few centimeters over. he sat back and made a motion with his hands as if to say "stay."

you didn't want to startle him, let alone make him think you're making fun, but you giggled. "oops- sorry. it doesn't have to be perfect y'know. we're probably gonna mess it up anyways."

his eyes widened at that. at first he took it the wrong way, seeing only a sexual meaning in that statement. then he realized you were right. reaching for snacks and pulling them out of the bags would only result in a messed up sequence of what he originally laid out. he felt so silly for being so easily flustered.

"you're right. i just wanted it to look nice." he stuttered.

you smiled, taking a spot on the floor to put the dvd in. "well, i appreciate the effort klitzy poo."

he smiled and sat back on the couch, clearing his throat out of nervous habit. once the dvd was in, you grabbed the remote and took a spot next to klitz, instantly snuggling up in his side. he tensed up at that, fear and nervous thoughts instantly swarming his mind.

what if he smells bad? what if you can hear how fast his heart is beating? what if you can tell how nervous he is by listening to his breathing pattern? are you as nervous as he is? it doesn't seem like it. why can't he be as relaxed as you???

the movie started and you smiled, snuggling deeper into him. "you're gonna love this!! you like romcoms right?"

"o-oh! yeah! they're popular for a reason." he laughed nervously, and you giggled at how nervous he was.

a part of you liked knowing that you made him this nervous. another part wished he could just relax around you. you knew you would never judge him or anything like that. maybe he didn't know that.

about half an hour into the movie, HALF AN HOUR, there was a sex scene. at this point, klitz had finally relaxed and rested a hand on your hip, occasionally massaging the area subconsciously, as if it was something he'd done a thousand times (which he had. when you went shopping with the boys and it was crowded, he had a habit of holding and pulling you close to him so he doesn't lose you.)

klitz was already tense as it was, but you felt the feminine urge to tease him. with your free hand, you rested it on his thigh, running your thumb over it smoothly, slowly.

you could feel his thigh tense up under your touch and heard his breath get caught in his throat. he was holding his breath, watching you carefully. were you aware of the effect you had on him? could you tell? his hands were shaking and covered in a layer of sweat.

your hand slowly started massaging his thigh, moving up, up, up. you waited for a reaction. but he was focusing so hard on the movie and trying to block out what you were doing to him. he was gonna snap if this went on any longer.

your hand finally got high enough to where he couldn't take it.

he whined and stood up instantly, is if trying to get away before he embarrassed himself. "w... we should do something!!"

"like what, klitzy?" you asked, batting your lashes. "have anything in mind?"

his breath hitched and he could feel a heat pooling in his groin. he sighed. he knew exactly what he wanted to do to you, he just didn't have the confidence to get himself there. fuck it. yolo... or whatever. "let's get freaky."

did he seriously just say that. he could've said literally anything else. he was slapping himself repeatedly in his head, cursing himself for being so damn stupid.

"okay!" you smiled, sitting up.

fuck. he didn't think that would work. you're so pretty. he just wants to worship you, make you feel good in every way possible. "wait, wait, wait- actually???"

you sighed, standing and slowly walking over to him. "klitz, i think you fail to realize just how long i've been waiting for this moment. do you have any idea how long i've been infatuated with you?"

you rested your hands on his chest, slowly sliding them down, down, down to his belt buckle. you gave it a tug and sank to your knees. he could hardly breathe, hardly think. this was actually happening. this wasn't a dream, or some fantasy he was coming up with again.

"w-wait!!" he stopped you. "not like this. i wanted to please you."

your face burned in embarrassment and you shamelessly got butterflies from that statement alone. "oh!" you giggled nervously. but if he wanted to take charge, you would let him. "what do you want me to do?" you asked, standing again.

"just sit back on the couch. make yourself comfortable." he said, lightly nudging you back.

once you were seated he walked over, dropping to his knees before you. he stared into your eyes for a moment, just taking you in. you smiled at him, suddenly a little nervous. you didn't know what to expect from him. you were rigid, sitting up straight and staring down at him.

he offered you a smile back, before looking down. he grabbed your leg, kissing your knee through the pants you were wearing. you suddenly wished you had changed into something else when you had gotten home.

he kissed the top of your bare foot, running a hand along your leg under your pant leg.

he could feel how smooth your skin was, how warm it was. he could smell your perfume. the smell lasted forever, it always had, but this time it was intoxicating. he reached up, slowly following his hands with his lips, kissing a trail from your ankle to your knee. once he reached your thighs, he paused. he looked up at you, double checking that this was what you wanted.

you nodded your head. "keep going." you mumbled, afraid your voice would fail you.

he finally unbuttoned your pants, unzipped them, and tugged them off of you carefully. he stared at the panties you were wearing for a few seconds. he'd seen those before. they were your favorite.

you used to tease him by bending over when you wore skirts and turn around and say 'oops' when you saw he was behind you. just another one of those things he wished for so long you could've done in a different setting. but teasing each other had always been the nature of your friendship.

his breath shuddered, and it left goosebumps on your thighs. his hands were on your knees, gently pushing them apart to make room for his head. you didn't fight him, but god were you nervous.

he kissed your inner thigh, taking a deep breath as he did so. he continued to kiss inward, trailing from your knee all the way up until he was right in front of your clothed pussy. he kissed right at the hem of your panties.

you suppressed a whine. "oh, get on with it already, don't tease me."

he laughed nervously before finally pulling off your underwear. he grabbed a hold of your soft hips and pulled you closer. you were now barely sitting on the couch, your weight being supported by your arms. the closer he got to your arousal, the deeper your breaths became. klitz spread your legs farther, wanting a better view of you.

he could smell you, practically taste you. he'd never admit just how horny that made him. he loved the smell, the look of it all. his cock twitched in his pants, and he had to stop himself from groaning aloud.

he started by kissing you, right above your clit. you shuddered at the feeling, scooting a little farther out. "please, klitz, just- just-"

you would've specified what you wanted but his lips latching on to your clit kind of made you lose your train of thought. you couldn't help it. you moaned instantly. he hummed against you, dragging his tongue against your clit. reaching up, he sank two fingers into you, gently curling them upward directly onto your sweet spot.

your hands immediately found their way to his head, pulling him closer, cursing aloud all the while. "fuck- right there-"

your moans were enough to stimulate him. he loved the sounds you were making. anytime you moaned, he couldn't help but moan as well. you just sounded so hot, so needy. and knowing he was making you feel so good only urged him to do more, to do better.

you had no idea where he learned to do this. as far as you knew, he was as inexperienced as you were, not that it really mattered anyway. you were just startled.

almost desperate for breath, he pulled away. his glasses were fogged, and his hair was a little messed up.. practically the most arousing vision ever. he pressed his thumb to your clit, the two fingers inside you working their magic while you squirmed on the couch. you wrapped your legs around him, crossing your ankles where they met over his spine. you wanted to keep him as close as possible.

your arms were trembling now, beginning to buckle under your weight just a bit. you whined, the pleasure overwhelming you. you were getting close. you could feel a neediness build up in you, and you could hardly contain yourself.

"harder, faster, faster, fuck-" you panted, throwing your head back.

his free hand came up, kneading the plush of your thigh before trailing further up, under your shirt. he tenderly ran his hands over the soft skin of your stomach before finally finding your right breast. your moans deepened.

"i'm gonna cum-" you warned, your body bending to prepare for the wave of pleasure. he went right back with his mouth, removing his fingers so he could fully taste your pleasure.

he moaned against your clit, pushing you right over the edge. right as your moans turned to a scream, and you pushed his head farther into your pussy, he came as well, effectively ruining his pants.

he moaned against your clit, deeper, longer this time. the electric feel of his voice against your clit sent a shock of your spine, a small whimper leaving your lips. you panted, shocked by the overwhelming pleasure. your ears were ringing and you couldn't quite focus your eyes on anything. "klitz... i.. christ, that's the best i've ever had.."

you couldn't catch your breath for a solid minute, finally sitting up and running a hand through your hair. you noticed the spot on his pants and your hand flew to your mouth. "oh my god-"

he was still catching his breath. he pushed his still somewhat foggy glasses up, and eyes you curiously. "what is it?"

"did you..?" you paused.

he looked down and back up to you, his eyes now fearful. "i'm sorry! i know, it's, like, super pathetic and weird of me-"

"shut up, i think it's hot." you rushed. "did me feeling that good.. make you feel good?"

he nodded his head slowly.

"sick." you paused. "but are you gonna fuck me or are we leaving it at this?"

"whatever you want?" he looked up at you expectantly.

you smiled, batting your lashes at him. "i want you to ruin me. i want your dick balls deep inside me, klitzy."

his eyes widened, his jaw dropped, and his brows raised immediately. he didn't think you were capable of being so vulgar. especially in real life, compared to your texts. he gulped hard. fuck. he took a deep breath before leaning forward, pressing a kiss to the corner of your lips. he supported his weight on your bare knees, massaging and caressing the skin there.

you sighed dreamily, melting under his touch. your eyes fluttered shut and you smiled. "you don't have to treat me as if i'm fine china." you giggled.

"you're just about as precious to me." he murmured as he stood to sit beside you on the couch.

you nearly swooned aloud, the words alone giving you butterflies. you grabbed a hold of his hands, his soft, gorgeous hands, and pulled him closer to you.

you stared at each other for a moment, awkward and nervous silence settling between the two of you. you raised a hand up to his cheek, cupping it gently. he melted into your touch, sighing deeply. you leaned forward and pressed a short kiss to his lips.

he barely got the chance to kiss back before you pulled away and pressed your hand to his chest, running it along the whole of his torso, stopping at the hem of his shirt. you glance back up at him for a split second, noticing the way he's watching your hands so intensely. a smile pulls at the corners of your lips and you finally lift the shirt up and over his head, throwing it a short distance away.

once again, you ran your hands up and down his chest, feeling his heart beating rapidly beneath your fingertips. your smile widened, and you went further, further down to his belt buckle, undoing it with ease. his breath caught in his throat, nervous once again. you pull his pants down, leaving him in his boxers. you don't say anything, just scoot closer.

you hover over him, your hands on either side of his head, and press another kiss to his lips. "can i keep going?"

"please." he sighs.

you giggle a bit and finally go back to pulling off the final layer. you don't say anything but your eyes widen visibly. it's silent between the both of you for a moment, the movie filling in for your lack of words.

"is something wro-" he starts, before you cut him off.

"KLITORIS??" you shout. "WHY HAVE YOU BEEN HIDING THIS FROM ME FOR SO LONG???"

"huh-"

you scream into your hands. there's a panic in your whole body, excited to just devour his cock whole. "klitz, if i had known you had such a juicy, scrumptious, fat cock, i- UGHHHHH-"

you quickly composed yourself, taking a deep breath. when you looked back to klitz, you noticed just how red his face was. you smiled again and he began stuttering.

"um so anyways-"

"i'm gonna ride you." you said with a straight face. "and you're gonna hold me like this."

he gasped, a nervous chuckle following quickly after. "oh-! okay.."

scooting forward and putting your legs on either side of his hips, you grabbed his hands, placing them on your plush hips. his hands were trembling, and you asked again if this was what he wanted, to which he vigorously nodded his head.

you smiled, still looking down at him. his shoulders rested just above the arm rest of the couch, you were almost at perfect eye level with him. "are you gonna take your shirt off?" he asked. "you don't have to, but-"

you practically ripped your shirt off before he could even finish. he was in absolute awe of you. the illumination from the tv made you look almost angelic, looking down on him like this. you were glowing, ethereal. an angel.

his eyes trailed your body from top to bottom, admiring every inch. the way your tits sat, and your soft stomach, your amazing hips, and your thighs that had him weak in the knees. your gorgeous, wet pussy, just moments away from him. his cock twitched and it reminded him of what was about to happen.

"you ready?" you asked.

he nodded his head again, and you didn't need another second to think before slowly lowering yourself on his erection. you let out a shaky breath, looking down and watching to see how much you were taking in. klitz bit his lip, nearly moaning aloud. you were so wet, so warm. so perfect. his hands gripped your hips tighter than you expected. your breath shuddered slightly, your hands finding their place on his shoulders for support. you sank down as far as you could, finally releasing your breath once you stopped. it had hurt, just as expected, but not as bad as you anticipated. raising yourself up again, you started to build a rhythm as best you could.

your breath was unsteady, as were your legs. klitz could hardly bare it. any of it. he wanted to just grab you harder, move you to a rhythm he much more preferred. just absolutely destroy you. he whined suddenly, his fingers on your hips twitching slightly, their grip never loosening.

after a moment or so, klitz finally snapped, his grip somehow tightening. he lifted you and pulled you back down just how he wanted you to. his hips thrusted up into yours, meeting you halfway and creating harder thrusts. he moaned aloud, his breath shuddering slightly. he could barely take it. you were perfect. he felt as though you were made just for him. a perfect fit. you gasped at his sudden action, although pleasantly surprised nonetheless. but he didnt stop there, of course. he continued manipulating your movements at a rhythm he much preferred to the one you were moving to.

his moans flooded the room, louder than the movie you had put on. he was so glad he had finally plucked the courage to say something. he knew things wouldnt be the same after this, and he was perfectly okay with that. this is exactly what he's been dreaming of for years anyways.

he kept pushing and pulling, at first just quicker, but as time passed, you felt him pull you down onto him much rougher than before. you could feel his tip reaching deeper than you thought possible. you moans soon turned into slurred speech, begging him to go quicker, begging to cum.

he didnt want this to end so soon, though. still, he was kind to you, and did as asked. he helped you move quicker again, and began thrusting his hips upward, meeting you in the middle and bringing a roughness to the speed that was needed to push you over the edge.

he watched your body, the way it reacted to his movements, the way it rippled with every thrust. he thought you had never been more beautiful, your makeup smudged and smeared around your eyes from sweat and tears formed from pleasure. sweat glistened on your skin, but still.. gorgeous.

soon enough, he heard your moan get louder, and louder, louder. then he felt your body relax, your walls tightening around him, pulsing with your orgasm. it felt.. divine. klitz was in ecstasy, and he hadn't even cum yet. just watching you come undone made him feel just as good as you did in that moment. he moaned, his brows furrowed and jaw slacked open. you looked absolutely angelic when you were feeling the pinnacle of pleasure. he didn't stop there, though. he grabbed your hips and in a second you were on your stomach, ass up and all. you were nearly exhausted and completely drenched. not just sweat, but the liquid arousal between your legs. he wanted to devour you again, but first, he wanted to cum.

he lined his hips up once more, pressing the tip against your cunt. a shaky breath escaped him as he pressed further, slowly sinking deeper and deeper. once he was in as far as he could go, he released a deep moan at the same time as you. he pulled out and started working up his rhythm again. his moans grew louder and louder. you were still sensitive from your orgasm, and you could feel another rapidly approaching. you hoped klitz was as close as you so you could cum at the same time. his breath was sharp and shallow, but his movements never fell out of rhythm. you turned your head, trying to get a good view of his face. you wanted to see his face twisted in pleasure as he cums. breathy moans turned to whining as his orgasm came closer and closer. he could feel it building up inside him.

he looked down at you, taking in your figure once more. he didn't fail to notice your perfect ass, and the way it rippled in time with his thrusts. god, he thought, she really is out of my league. he couldn't stop himself. his dream girl was right in front of him and holy shit his dick is really inside her. finally, he couldn't take it anymore. he grunted, trying to catch his breath.

"god, y/n, i'm gonna cum!" he started moving faster, fucking you even deeper and harder.

you were getting close, too, the pleasure overwhelming you. tears welled in your eyes and you let out a sob as your orgasm came crashing down on you. klitz came too, your orgasm only bringing him more pleasure, just the right amount to push him over the edge. he pulled out just in time for the thick ropes of cum to shoot across your back. the both of you slumped over and took a minute to catch your breath. tears continued to stream down your face as you recovered from your intense orgasm.

once you could finally speak again, you spoke up. "fuck, klitz... i'm gonna want a lot more days like this, if you don't mind."

"anything for you." he sighed dreamily. he pulled himself up and turned to the tv as he scooched his way over to you. reaching for the remote, he pulled you closer to him. "we won't be finishing this, will we?"

humming a simple response as you shook your head, you snuggled deeper into his embrace with closed eyes. in his arms, you didn't struggle to relax. he was warm and his heartbeat was soothing. suddenly, your eyes shot open.

"we can't tell eli."

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double-u-qed · 5 months ago

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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.”

#my writing #transformers #tf prowl #tf jazz #jazzprowl #transformers fanfic #tf fanfic #what else...#maccadam

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wileycap · 12 days ago

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Crossover AU's I'll never write (watch as this one is the one that forces me back into Longfic) but I like playing around with: Zuko In Westeros.

Set after S1, a little after Cave of Lovers in atla, well before Jon Arryn's death in Westeros. You know he has to run into Ned Stark. Ned Stark is the only high lord who wouldn't have him killed/thrown into a dungeon, if we're being honest. Yes, obviously Zuko gets a new dad - I believe strongly in giving Zuko parents, like you would give an enthusiastic dog squeaky toys even though it keeps ripping them apart and making a mess.

I thought about Tywin, but - Tywin has no regard for honor. While Tywin would be very interested in making a vassal of this foreign prince with strange powers, for Zuko it would just be terrible. It would make a brilliant psychological thriller where you're waiting for Zuko to figure out what kind of person Tywin really is, and Tywin trying to stay one step ahead, but it wouldn't have Softness, and Softness is key here. Though: the comedy potential of Robert dying and Tywin immediately announcing that Cersei will marry the foreign prince is tempting.

There's also that Northerners are more superstitious and accepting of things like "the spirits dropped me here." The North is fertile ground for multiversal travellers.

In no particular order, here's a list of uncollected thoughts:

1. I don't remember Ned's character well enough to remember if he's the sort of person who would believe that Zuko showed "shameful weakness" or that Zuko is a coward. But I think it'd take about the space of one Regular Zuko Action for him to realize that Zuko is neither weak nor a coward and that it's a miracle he's still alive.

2. Building on that: Ned does have a good grasp of the realities of court life. He has a number of ideas on the reasons a king might want his son and wife gone after grabbing power. (Zuko does not take well to theorizing.) He also notes that anyone having an affair with a royal consort would be risking their life. Almost anyone. Add to that his uncle following him into banishment? Not contesting the coup and the murder of his father? He puts two and two together and gets 22: Zuko is Iroh's illegitimate son.

3. He takes Zuko out to a vast, open, snowy field to tell him that. It's a good precaution.

4. To the Westerosi, Zuko is obviously from the uncharted West. This makes a neat bit of sense for everyone involved, except for Zuko, who has had access to the maps and education of a nation that has steam-powered ships. Zuko wisely doesn't say much about it.

5. To Zuko, it's spirits. The spirits, representing authorial whimsy I guess, literally tell Zuko "guess what kid the age rating of your surroundings is about to go up" and yeet him. They also give him the Westerosi language, because frankly I'm not nor will I likely ever be good enough to pull off a learning the language-plot. At least not well.

6. Speaking of which? The thing that made this idea rotate around in my brain endlessly? The inciting incident? I thought about the bilingual struggle of literally translating a word into English and going "wait, that's stupid." (Or the other way around. Like guys, pineapple? Seriously? Pine apple.) And then I thought about Zuko realizing that his country, full of Firebending people, has a name that literally translates to "Fire Nation."

7. Okay this is me abusing the list format, I just wanted to break up that paragraph. But my fellow bilinguals, you get it, right? The word refers to the thing. You don't have cause to interrogate it. Until you forget it in English and you have to break it down into its components and you realize that the word is stupid. It's dumb. To Zuko, the word for his nation is one word. Which happens to translate to "Fire Nation", which Zuko thinks sounds ridiculous.

8. Dragons. "My uncle killed the last dragon in single combat" is an absolutely terrible thing for a Ned to hear, having it be followed by what boils down to "which is a shame, because I always wanted to ride one" is criminal. This is also a great reason for Ned to keep Zuko under wraps: while he doesn't look anything like a Targaryen, Robert might not care. Talk of a dragonrider - even a prospective one, even a hypothetical one, even one who just idly imagined it - becomes very dangerous when the rider in question can breathe fire.

9. Zuko would like to not be married to anyone. It seems that literally everyone wants otherwise. This vexes Zuko.

10. Zuko is not aware of exactly how groundbreaking Firebending is for the people of Westeros. Zuko is also not aware of how terrifying his descriptions of a vast warlike empire with steam-powered metal ships and legions of Firebenders are. Zuko honestly isn't trying to scare anyone. He isn't!

11. Everyone who gets a chance to talk to Zuko is terrified by the end. (Varys makes a special trip to the North and has a brief but illuminating - or at least he thinks it's illuminating - conversation with Zuko while in disguise. He comes out of it deeply disturbed.)

11.5 Hopefully no priests of R'hllor see Zuko. oh, shit, too late.

12. Ned thinks that maybe his ancestors who built the Wall were Waterbenders who retreated across the polar ice caps and ended up making a kingdom in the deep, deep North. He wouldn't be opposed to visiting an ice palace.

13. Firebending can kill White Walkers.

14. For maximum Soft, the Gaang is dropped in shortly before the end. Katara and Sokka are questioned about whether they know any Starks, by Ned. Ned takes Sokka's description of wolfshead helmets as proof that they are at least distant kin. Zuko is perplexed and a little offended.

15. I am drawing a huge blank on the Stark kids. I feel like Jon and Zuko would HATE each other, though. Robb would be respectful, but distant. Bran, I feel, would be cool with him, maybe the most out of everyone. Arya would be endlessly intrigued by him, but not necessarily like Zuko as a person that much. Sansa might hate him too, which would provide interesting common ground for her and Jon. Rickon... no clue. I don't have a good grasp on Rickon.

#atla #avatar the last airbender #atla crossover #asoiaf #asoiaf crossover #zuko #fic ideas #ned stark

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presidentogekiss · 3 months ago

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A Mess

This is my first attempt at writing some fanfiction (at 26 years old no less!). I honestly never thought I would, so much so I don´t even have an Ao3 account. But this game really inspired me to write, so I wanted to give it a shot. I´m sorry for any gramatical and spelling mistakes (english spelling will always be one of the greatest enemies of anyone learning english as a second language lol). I hope it´s not too bad, and I accept any feedback! If this becomes a habit I´ll figure out a more pleasent format hehe.

____________________________________________________________

Henry groaned a little, something between a growling badger and a baby deer. He was experiencing a very strange sensation at this very moment.

"You know, I was a little worried this wasn´t going to work, you know? I did this plenty of times on wenches, but I never tried this before in a man. I´m glad to know it works! - Hans said, in his usual cheery tone, as he went back to suckle Henry´s nipple.

It was clear he was being honest in his experience in the matter, because the movements his tongue made on Henry´s poor pap were full of intent and technique. Henry´s body felt it could melt as Hans slowly sucked on his chest, all the while slowly stroking his member under the heavy furs they were both in.

Of course, Henry wasn´t completely unexperienced in the activity. He had suckled on many a maiden´s tit. But he always thought that they allowed it mostly to indulge him, not because it felt particularly good.

But apparently, his body was way more sensitive than he had expected. He bit his lip and growled slowly with pleasure, and it seemed like Hans enjoyed hearing that, as he held Henry´s body even more tightly beneath the heavy furs that covered them, and he felt Hans´ own hard member pressing against his leg.

"Was this the objective of this 'hunting trip' all along, my lord?" - he said sarcastically - "So you could use me as a bed warmer? We barely caught more than a few hares today." - He was quite enjoying what Hans was currently doing with his mouth, but he couldn´t resist the urge to provoke him.

Hans took his mouth out of Henry´s poor sensitive nipple and looked up at him with his characteristic mischevious smile: "Of course not. We came here to take down a few stags. We´re not going home without at least a few trophies, I assure you! But it´s also very nice to be able to enjoy your company without any prying eyes nearby. A win-win!"

"Aye. And also because you enjoy fucking in the woods!" Henry provoked. "After all, isn´t this the same place you bought that girl Karolina? I sense a pattern."

"I do not! Well, maybe a little, heh" - he conceded with a softer smile. "It´s just so nice to feel the fresh air, isn´t it? No walls, no expectations for me to remember, just me and my very favorite peasent in all the lands" - he said as he laid his head on Henry´s chest.

It still felt a bit odd, he had to admit. Him and Capon. Not bad, but odd. He didn´t know the correct way to act around Hans sometimes. How does one treat a male lover, anyway? Like a typical courtship with a fair lady? No, that didn´t feel right. But it also felt strange to behave like two regular mates. Still, Capon wasn´t wrong. The furs were very soft, the candlelight was pleasent, the weather was calm and Hans´ body warmth was quite pleasent. He hugged the taller man tighter around his chest.

"So that time that we ran into those soldiers, the ones from Sigsmund´s army. Before Suchdol. Was THIS a part of the plan back then too? To seduce me like you did Karolina?" - he again provoked with cheeky smile.

Hans looked at his face and answered in a somewhat embarased tone: "I mean, not REALLY. At least not counciously. I really just wanted to spend time with you. I just thought, way in the back of my head, that maybe, after we got properly wasted, maybe, just maybe, SOMETHING could have happen. Some happy acident you know, that we could choose to forget the next day if needed. So as you can imagine, I was properly miffed when those fuckers showed up"

For some reason, when he said those words, Henry´s heart sank a little. The... thing that happened to them at Suchdol was very unexpected. He was caught quite off-guard for a second in fact. But hearing what the other man was saying made him realize how unlikely it was to happen at all. It could have simply puffed out of existence, like gunpowder without a flame.

And while he knew it would have made the current moment a lot less complicated, he felt sad at that idea. The idea of not having what they have now, even though Henry didn´t even properly know how to classify it, made him really sad.

"Well, no need to waste the opportunity a second time" - he said looking at the blond man´s face. He turned so his body and Hans could face each other directly, and kissed him softly, which Hans greedily accepted.

"Dully noted, my friend. I shan´t contain myself any longer" - he answered in between kisses, and gripped Henry´s body tighter. And it was a tight grip. Hans was a very fit man, the purest example of a warrior, and he could sense all of his muscles under his hands as he gripped him back.

Their bodies were now tight around each other like a knot, and their members were rubbing against one another and leaking, creating rather slippery and pleasent sensation, as they begun moving faster and faster.

"H-Henry, Fuck, I´m, I´m gonna..." his voice begin stuttering, as he struggled to form sentences.

"A-Already? T-That was quick" - he was also very close, but he couldn´t help but get one last barb in - "I hope Sir Hans isn´t so quick with the wenches in Kuttenburg. They´ll talk!"

"F-Fuck you, cunt" - he smiled from ear to ear and put his hand behind Henry´s neck, and pulled him for a kiss.

As they were kissing, Henry could feel his member throb harder and harder. And then suddently, he felt the orgasm come strong and hard like a punch, and he covered both of their chests with his cum, followed soon after by Hans.

"S-See? I won, hehe" - he said in a breathless voice, their bodies covered with fluid that belong to both of them, with no way to separate one from the other. A veritable mess!

"I guess you did, hehe" - and he kissed the other man. It was a confusing mess, ALL of it. But it wasn´t an altogether unpleasent mess, and Henry of Skalitz was happy to have made it.

#hans capon #hansry #henry of skalitz #kcd2

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wanderstarr · 2 years ago

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𝐀 𝐋𝐨𝐯𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐜𝐤 𝐏𝐮𝐩𝐩𝐞𝐭'𝐬 𝐀𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐬𝐢𝐬 : 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐮𝐞

wanderer x gn! reader ; no use of y/n ; 5+1 things format ; mostly fluff and humour

DISCLAIMER: i have never written an academic thesis before, but oh well.

brief cw for a scene where reader and wanderer beat up a drunk man :) also, it's implied that wanderer once had a past baby crush on niwa :]

[[ ao3 || next ]]

It started with aggravated assault. You know, as most love stories do. In the Wanderer's defence, he didn't instigate it on purpose, for once. Not that Buer would accept the excuse should he tell her such, but it's about the principle of the thing, after all.

It was a regular day in Sumeru, bustling with merchants and travellers alike. Buer had sent him to fetch her Candied Ajilenakh Nuts from the Puspa Cafe. Well, in truth she had just mentioned in passing that she was running low on her favourite snack, but it's practically the same thing, if you asked the Wanderer. He would have ended up making the trip either way. So really, it was a perfectly reasonable excuse if he was acting just a bit more irritable that day, thank you very much.

The room smelled of charcoal and a warm sugary scent, assaulting his nose the moment he stepped foot inside the cafe. He never was a fan of sweets. His footsteps fell soft against the carpet floors, the sound drowned out by the gushing water fountain and the chatter of customers. The message board was chock full of nonsensical scribbles and adverts as per usual, papers fluttering gently, held in place by their push pins.

As he stands in line to wait for his turn, he vaguely notes down the other patrons; most he did not recognise, but some did frequent the establishment enough for him to know them by name. There was Nayab, the laidback matra with an odd fixation on card game strategies. Iris, the sharp scholar who seemed intent on studying all things King Deshret. Izem, the weathered old man who took his coffee bitter, who was awkward in the prospect of a peaceful life. Of course, he only knew as much about these strangers thanks to the chatty nature of Sumeru locals, and his numerous errand runs involving Buer's sweet tooth.

When he finally reaches the counter, an unfamiliar face greets him instead of the acting manager. Come to think of it, he can't seem to spot Gata either. The new cashier, you, beamed politely at him.

"Good morning, what can I get for you?"

"Candied Ajilenakh Nuts." He drops a hefty pouch of mora on the register.

You carefully tilt open the bag, counting the amount he'd given, and your eyes go wide at the sight. "That much?"

He nods. A spark of recognition flashes in your expression.

"Ah!" you snap your fingers, "Enteka mentioned you might pop up. Candied Ajilenakh Nuts, coming right up!"

Just what has the acting manager been telling her employees? Well, it wasn't his business to know, and you seemed decently competent at your job. So long as he got the stupid nuts.

He was watching you work while he waited, when the doors of the cafe burst open.

"Eyyya..enteka!" A man stumbles in, face flushed in a sickly hue. His words slurred together into an incomprehensible mess. Great, a fucking drunkard.

He hears you mutter quietly under your breath. "Fucking drunkard."

Huh. Good to know someone shared the sentiment.

"Entekaaaarghfh.. whereryou.." The man wobbles up to the register. The other customers pinched their nose as he passed by; he reeked of cheap alcohol and dry vomit.

The Wanderer watched the drunk man wag a finger accusingly in your face.

"Yergh.. You're not Een..theyka!"

"Unfortunate for you, no. You must be the nuisance from last night." you smile tightly. The Wanderer sees murder in your eyes. The drunk man, however, remained oblivious as ever.

"Where.. where's she..?" the man swayed back and forth, craning his neck as if looking for the woman.

"That's none of your business." you stare him down. "I'm afraid I must ask you to leave, sir."

And of course, because demanding drunk bastards are rarely ever cooperative by nature, the man slams a fist rather pathetically and starts to yell. Nonsense about being lied to, about being led on and calling Enteka all manners of names that weren't appropriate for a family friendly cafe.

The Wanderer briefly considers intervening, but then you were all but leaping over the counter like a rabid dog, punting the man backwards with a heavy thwack. He, and everyone else in the cafe, stands frozen momentarily, bewildered by your sudden 180 from picture perfect employee to.. this.

"What the fuck?!" the man speaks clearer, sobered from the unexpected blow.

"That's for harassing my friend."

"I'll – hic – I'll fucken' report you!"

"Go for it then, coward." you scoff, and point towards the door. "Go on, leave. Make your report."

The man shuffles his feet, indignant, and you turn your back to return behind the register, but then the asshole goes for a foul ambush, and the Wanderer watches you turning a split second too late, and–

He yanks the man back by his neck, hand closed tight. Anemo energy rushes to his fingertips in warning. The drunkard writhes in his grasp.

"Some of us have important things to be doing." he hisses, and lets the man drop to the floor. "Stop. You're an embarrassment to yourself."

You have your mouth agape, eyes blown wide from the attempted attack, but you snap out of it quick. As the man struggles to stand properly, you're already fisting the collar of his shirt, dragging him to the exit yourself.

The man bellows in a last ditch attempt at retaliation. "Is this how you treat your patrons?!"

"Oh, I don't actually work here!" you reply cheerily, glaring daggers at the manchild. "In no way do my actions reflect on the service quality of Puspa Cafe™!"

What.

"What??"

"Bye now, you're banned by the way!" you chuck the man out onto the streets. An eremite from the corps of thirty seemed to appear from thin air, striding over to apprehend the man. You call out to the mercenary. "Thanks Rima!"

She nods back. "Nothing escapes my eyes."

You grin and shut the doors, turning to face the people in the room. "Sorry for the disturbance everyone, as you were!"

The customers relaxed, simmering back into their hushed chatter and quiet laughs. Whether they were grateful for your intervention or simply paralysed with bafflement, the Wanderer wasn't quite sure himself. You head back towards the counter, but pause in front of him.

"Thanks. For earlier." You dig the heel of your shoe into the carpet, somewhat sheepish. He catches the glint of a vision hanging delicately against your waist. He wonders briefly why you didn't use it earlier.

He huffs, looking away. "I just wanted the damn snack."

"Oh, right!" you gasp softly, snapping your fingers. "Oh archons I'm so sorry I'll get them right away."

True to your word, he has a large paper bag stuffed full of Candied Ajilenakh Nuts shoved into his hands within seconds. It smelled disgustingly sweet, just how Buer liked it.

"Thought you didn't work here." he comments.

"That's true, I don't!" you smile, and refuse to elaborate further. Not that he needed much explanation, he's guessed most of the story from your altercation with that drunkard. He supposes the acting manager would return to her work soon now.

He leaves, and thinks that would be the last he'd ever see of you. And if Buer commented on his distant expression when he returned, then he's liable to the right to remain silent.

He's proven wrong that same evening, when he finds you lingering in front of the Sanctuary of Surasthana.

"You." he deadpans, because he can't quite think of anything else to say.

"Me." you beam, much more genuinely than the first time you smiled at him. You're carrying a large container in your hands. "Good to know I'm not forgettable after all."

"Hard to be with the stunt you pulled." he shakes his head. "What do you want?"

"Yeesh, Enteka wasn't kidding, you're a real grump. Here." you gesture to the box you were holding. "Figured I owed a proper thank you."

He looks at the thing warily. "You're not trying to poison Lesser Lord Kusanali through me, are you?"

You laugh. "Oh yeah. Totally, I'm attempting to harm an archon and her aide via homemade Havalmadz."

He raises a brow. "Considering it's Lesser Lord Kusanali's favourite dish, it's plausible, you know. That's just more suspicious, idiot."

"Wait, really?" you squawk, looking genuinely flustered. "I assumed.. shit, I thought the Haval addict here was you."

You started to ramble your apologies. As amusing as it was, he wasn't that much of a sadist as people would believe. He sighs and takes the gift from your hands.

"Wait–wait, you actually want that?"

"Yeah, sure, whatever." Buer would certainly want it. He didn't indulge in eating as much, but you didn't need to know that. "...thanks too, I guess."

You blink once, twice, and your lips spit into a blinding grin, eyes crinkled in joy. The Wanderer feels his grip falter momentarily at the sight.

"See you around then!"

You leave, and he's left with ringing ears and a flutter in his chest and oh fuck no he was not going to go through this again. He blasts himself in the face with anemo, leaving his hair swept back and his hat skewered wrong. Snap out of it.

He wasn't dumb. He's felt this ridiculous emotion before, back when Niwa would hold their hands together in unfamiliar places, back when Niwa taught him in his gentle voice, back when..

Back when Niwa was alive.

He didn't know what it meant, back then. The feeling. Not that it made any difference, he was over it now, and all he can do is make peace with his loss. The loss of a companion dear to him, one of many.

Such was his curse, to lose the things he loved infinitely, watching them succumb to their mortality over and over through time. Such was his burden as an immortal puppet.

He clutches the Havalmadz in his arms. He's got Buer now, he supposes. A wise and intelligent conversational partner, an archon whom he was proud to assist, frivolous errands aside. He had his papers, his accidental academic career in the Vahumana Darshan. He had his awkward somewhat acquaintanceships with those people from the Interdarshan Championship, crazy event that it was.

Realistically, it was enough to fulfill him. He had no need for unexpected variables. He had plenty of things for himself now, plenty of theses to write.

In fact, he thinks as he retreats into the sanctuary, he'll write a thesis on exactly why he shouldn't involve himself any further with you, comprising the points he'd spontaneously thought of and will continue to think of. An antithesis, if you will (Archons, he should stop hanging around that Mahamatra). He'd like to think he was a man of reason, after everything he's been through.

Buer greets him from the centre of the room, her favourite spot to ponder.

"Hello, Hat Guy. You look like you had fun." She smiles serenely, though her eyes sparkle with delight.

He's stopped trying to get Buer to call him anything else at this point. He ignores the comment, and instead holds out the Havalmadz.

"Someone sent this for you." he says simply, but he knew Buer could read between the lines. He's heard that parents often have an instinct for that–not that he sees her as a parent or anything. She thanks him happily, and doesn't point anything out, to his relief.

He'll surely get over his fascination with you soon.

to be cross posted on ao3! later bc its like 1 am rn and im tjred. i'll probably need to edit this later. this got too long to be a oneshot, but it's much shorter than what i have planned for the android scara fic. just a little something to get me out of writer's block, bc i love describing fantasy settings hehe. still working out how to make aesthetic tumblr fic posts,, enjoy!

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tyramir · 8 months ago

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A Spoiler-Filled Rant about Veilguard

This isn't spoiler-intensive, per se, but there is one thought that has been rattling through my brain through the entirety of playing Veilguard. And it has to do with how villains are presented in Dragon Age: Origins and Dragon Age II, versus how they are presented in Inquisition and Veilguard.

(Minor) Spoilers to follow under the cut.

Dragon Age: Origins presents the Darkspawn horde as a traditional fantasy villain trope. It's easy to understand, easy to get the depth of the problem, but it's difficult to counter. Because the entirety of Dragon Age: Origins isn't about fighting the Darkspawn. It's about fighting the problems that get in the way of you fighting the Darkspawn.

You need to gather allies, and it's in the gathering of allies that you encounter your trials and Hero's Journey. And they are all poetic, in a way.

In Redcliffe, to recruit the local Arl, you find him poisoned, further complicated by his son being possessed by a demon. Your attempt to recruit a political ally with ties to the Chantry is confounded both by politics and blood magic.

For the Elves, self-styled guardians of nature, you find them at war with nature itself.

For the Dwarves, stalwart fighters bound by tradition, you are forced to decide for them to either break with tradition, or become enslaved by it.

There's a theme to each ally, and a cleverness to your struggles. And while the Darkspawn are your primary enemy, the end goal of the campaign, the ultimate antagonist of the story is Loghain, a beautifully written enemy (I refuse to call him a 'villain') because he is very complicated in his motivations and goals. He has reasons -- good reasons, albeit short-sighted and misguided -- for doing what he does. He is a patriot. And it is that patriotism that may ultimately doom his nation.

In Dragon Age 2, Meredith and Orsino are presented as the villains of the story. They have complicated motivations and reasons for doing what they do. Meredith wants to protect regular people from Mages and blood magic. Orsino wants to protect Mages from overzealous Templars.

But the antagonist of the story is ultimately Anders, your own party member, who knocks over the board and makes an overcomplicated mess into a veritable clusterfuck. He damns himself and all other Mages by purposely making himself the villain of the story to begin a war. He seeks to make himself and all other Mages in Kirkwall martyrs so that others around the world will unite under one banner, declaring, "No more."

Whether or not what Anders does is Good or Evil is for every individual player to decide. Even if you side with him and try to defend the Mages from the wrath of the Templars, you can still come to the conclusion that his actions were Evil. There's nuance. It's great. Dragon Age 2 has a lot of flaws and some disjointed storytelling because of its format, but where it succeeds is in the questions the antagonist forces you to ask yourself.

And now we get to Inquisition and Veilguard.

They both have Solas. And they use Solas as a crutch. Inquisition does it in a clever way. You aren't aware that Solas is the Great Orchestrator. You think the villain is Corypheus, a D-tier villain with boring motivations and cliched dialogue.

Inquisition would have failed as a narrative if not for Solas. Corypheus was a good villain for a Dragon Age 2 optional DLC. He was a shit antagonist for a full game. He was bland, his goals were bland, his methods of achieving them were bland, and his allies were bland. Everything he did was Generic Fantasy white bread bullshit.

And that's okay. Because he wasn't the Actual Antagonist. Solas was. And I've seen so many interpretations and theories and reads over the years on what really defines Solas, that I can't help to feel that most of them are at least a little bit true.

Is he an Elf-supremacist? Maybe. Does he look down on Humans and Qunari? Debatable. Is he 'just trying to fix things he broke'? Probably. Is he living in the past, unable to move on? You bet.

And then we hit Veilguard.

And we know the main villain of this game is Solas. It was originally titled 'Dreadwolf', after all. But Solas is stuck in a prison of his own making for the majority of the game. So, instead, we get Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain.

And honestly, these two... Elgar'nan is Corypheus 2.0. Ghilan'nain is What if Corypheus Was Also Hojo from FF7.

We just had this formula last game. It *barely* worked. And it only worked in the end because of a surprise reveal. Solas was a complicated antagonist, to be sure, but it worked ultimately because we didn't know he was the antagonist.

So, now we're doing the exact same formula as Inqusition. Present a Very Boring Villain as the surface antagonist, but because the stakes need to be higher, we are given two Very Boring Villains as surface antagonists. And to really hammer in that the stakes are higher, hey, remember how Dragon Age: Origins was about fighting an Archdemon in command of a Blight? Well, now we have two Archdemons. At the same time.

And that's what Veilguard is ultimately trying to do. It's giving you everything you've seen before, but upping the stakes and fewer moral complications and poetic twists. There's no dramatic irony to be had here.

Elgar'nan's entire character arc can be summed up with one phrase:

"WHat DO yOU meAn yOU do NoT All WAnT To bE mY slAVEs?"

Ghilan'nain's:

"WHat Do yOU meAn yOU do NoT All WAnT To bE eXPerIMeNTs?"

We are given two entitled assholes as villains, whining they do not instantly get total and complete dominion over the entire world and all of reality, and are expected to take them seriously. There is no pathos, no sympathetic motivations, no nuance, nothing.

The only depth to any villainous character we get is in Solas. And all that work had already been done in Inquisition. Veilguard coasts on that. Some part of me hoped that maybe Elgar'nan wasn't 100% evil. That maybe some of what he was saying and what he was doing was right. That maybe the war with the Forgotten Ones led him down a dark path of hubris and tragedy. That Elgar'nan was trying to save the world from horrors beyond our comprehension. That Ghilan'nain was preparing us for a war we could not win. The Forgotten Ones, or the Forbidden Ones, or some other grand threat, could have been presented as a Reaper-equivalent Mass Effect style antagonist that they were preparing us against. We could have had that story.

We didn't get it.

We got two selfish nepo-babies instead. And then that final conclusion to the Solas 'problem.'

I've said before. I like Veilguard. I am not here to condemn the game. I don't want to sound like I hate what we got. But damn, we could have had so much more.

#dragon age the veilguard #solas #elgar'nan #ghilan'nain

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green-crow · 5 months ago

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Needed a bit of a distraction and tried to write a short thing from a random prompt. Not my best work but wanted to share it anyway! Prompt pulled from @creativepromptsforwriting

Prompt #796

“Being on the run from both criminal organisations and law enforcement at the same time, was not what they expected to happen today.”

Crow knew she was fucked. Very much fucked, actually. Running away from Drago’s men after a tiny misunderstanding that may or may not have been a scam? Easy, she could manage that with no issue. Those guys were not the brightest; good at throwing a lasso and wrangling some wild horses, not so much at resisting her charms and keeping their gold and precious information to themselves. Her regular move would have been to lay low for a while, maybe stay in some random town for a few days, work at the local tavern and try her luck at the cards while her persecutors forget all about her and find another person to hunt down. The problem was that the sheriffs of the nearby towns were also looking for her. Unfortunately for her, robbing a bank while drunk and then escaping from jail was not really a favoured activity by law enforcement officers. So not only did she have a reward on her head once again, but she also couldn’t spend all that gold she just got or brag about it with fellow crooks. Great.

With a sigh, the bandit urged her horse along the vague dirt trail ahead, only dessert and the occasional rock visible on the horizon. Honestly, she had no idea where she was going or how long she’d have to wait things out, but she knew she couldn’t keep running for much longer. Boreas was tired; she could tell even if her horse had yet to complain, and their water supply was dwindling. To make matters worse, she had sent Pebbles flying up ahead to scout for any kind of water source nearby, to no avail. The small corvid was probably the weakest of the trio, so she had tucked him away in her pouch so he could at least rest from the punishing sun hitting his black plumage. And what a sun it was. Even Crow’s hat did little to protect her from the unforgiving heat; at this rate, she knew she’d dehydrate sooner rather than later. “At least if we die, our ghosts will be as rich as they come”, the bandit muttered with a wry smile as she cracked her neck, stiff from riding for so long. Boreas let out a huff, probably of resignation, but pressed on.

Things were not any better by the time the moon was up.

She wasn’t sure how, but a handful of Drago’s men had managed to track her down. Now, not only was she thirsty and tired, but she was also hurt; one of their bullets had grazed her shoulder. Thankfully, she managed to avoid them and ran away, but narrowly. Crow’s frown only deepened as she pondered on it. To think that she, a skilled bandit had been tracked down and surprised… Her shoulder wasn’t the only thing hurt after that encounter.

To make matters worse, Boreas was about to collapse, and her wound needed some tending to if she wanted to avoid infections. She had had enough of those. Her wound could wait; Crow was used to walking around with a limp or a messed up arm after a big fight, and it had been her fault for being so reckless anyway, but her horse? The Clydesdale had been walking and galloping, not to mention even fighting off some bandits. She shook her head. They had to stop and fast. So, as soon as she caught a glimpse of a small rock formation that could act as shelter for the night, she guided her horse in that direction and got ready for a night of barely resting in case any of her “friends” decided to pay her a visit.

A poorly heated can of baked beans later, Boreas and Pebbles were sleeping the night away as Crow rekindled the fire again. Nights could be dangerously cold out there, even in summer, and she didn’t feel like adding a cold to her ailments. She grabbed a stick and stoked the fire, her left shoulder complaining with a jolt of pain. The wound was deeper than she had anticipated, and she was starting to think maybe some stitches were needed. With a sigh, she grabbed her old flask of whiskey and took a sip. “One for pleasure, one for business”, she closed her eyes and poured some on her wound, immediately regretting the action as the open cut seemed to burn at the smallest of contacts with the liquid. The bandit bit her lower lip and closed her free hand into a fist, trying to quiet down any sounds coming from her mouth. “Bloody-! It ain’t enough to suffer wasting perfectly fine whiskey like this, it also gotta hurt? Give me a break” she grunted as she tried to clean her wound. At least if she could go to a tavern, get drunk and maybe find a pretty girl or handsome guy to spend the night with, the wound would hurt far less. But here she was sober, tired, and cold, that cut was all she could focus on. Well, that and those weird faint noises coming her way.

The bandit let go of her flask to instead grab her gun out of sheer instinct, and slowly made her way to one of the bigger boulders to use as cover. They were sounds of hooves, no doubt, but there was something else. A… wagon? Drago’s men wouldn’t be looking for her with that; too much of a hassle for just a lone bandit like her, and neither would the sheriffs. Curious, she peeked into the darkness, guided merely by those unexpected sounds. Crow couldn’t help but feel even more intrigued as she made out six figures on the trail, each on a different horse and with two pulling from a wagon. She couldn’t make out the finer details, yet she could tell they were some common folk, not bandits. Folks who, to her delight, didn’t seem too alert, instead chatting the night away. Guessing by the sound and movement, the wagon appeared to be loaded, or at least not empty, which meant supplies and supplies meant water, food, and possibly all she needed to patch herself up, not to mention extra stuff in case he had to stay hidden for a bit longer than expected.

With a greedy grin, Crow’s gears started turning, and suddenly, things didn’t look so bleak anymore. She whistled, a short command that made her horse open an eye and glance her way, not too happy about getting his sleep interrupted. “Bor-bor, I think we’ve hit the jackpot”, the bandit announced cheerfully as she grabbed some dirt and spread it over her clothes and face. For a good scam, she needed to look the part, after all. Damsel in distress would do. The horse neighed, not too interested, but got up anyway. Pebbles was startled by the sudden movement and flew to Crow’s shoulder for comfort. The bandit happily indulged the little corvid by scratching his head. “Let’s put on a show and scam some innocents, shall we boys?”

#Crow's my usual go to for prompts and this one was just too good not to make it about howdy train your dragon #scratched that itch in my head that was begging me to write anything bandit Crow related #not too happy with the result but eh #howdy train your dragon #howdy train your dragon oc #Crow oc #oc #writing prompt #writing #creative writing #prompt writing #oc writing

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thessalian · 1 month ago

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Thess vs More Office Mess

Two hours of overtime and we're still drowning. I mean, not as badly, but there's still a whole bunch of yesterday's reports waiting. Not as many, though, there were 109 of the damn things and now we're down to 30-ish, which on top of today's reports brings us up to an even 320. I left all of yesterday's longer ones, mind, because like fuck am I spending two hours of overtime doing so relatively few reports and honestly, the ones I did are the ones that people are bound to be asking about tomorrow anyway. Besides, if everyone else can leave ... well, particularly that one Monstrosity that got dumped back into the queue late afternoon and no one wanted to touch and I didn't pick up because I already had a personal queue full of Annoyance that took me to the end of my usual work day... Anyway, if they can leave it, so can I. FUCK. THAT.

Then there's the group email folder, which we're all supposed to be checking. We all have our allocated things to be checking - Goblin and I are on "people want reports", for example. However, we all check the emails that have consultants going, "This macro hasn't been typed; please get it done ASAP", which is common when we're this far behind. Which was fun when I realised that New Girl managed to ... well, pretty significantly fuck up, to be honest. Got an email with the lab number, couldn't find the report anywhere. Before asking the others, I checked the Archive, where the typed reports go. And what do you know? New Girl managed to type the specimen details and the clinical details but entirely neglect to type the actual report. So I just got it done and passed it on. Just ... for fuck's sake, guys.

Oh, and Temp's not the only one I'm catching with spelling mistakes. Seriously, we have a spell check for a reason, and it wasn't a bit of medical jargon, either - it was "posterior"! But somehow Violet forgot the S and didn't notice the red wavy line under it for the entire rest of the fucking report. I know accidents happen, but this is the bulk of our job and the least we can be expected to do is use the spell check the few times it actually fucking helps us.

Don't even get me started on the many, many doctors Out There who have no the fuck idea how to fill out a request form. I constantly feel like shaking one of our doctors and explaining, "THAT IS NOT AN ILLEGIBLE WORD; THAT IS THE DOCTOR'S SIGNATURE! HE JUST REFUSES TO USE THE FORMAT LAID OUT FOR HIM ON THE FORM!" Seriously, there's a space for his signature and a space for the specimen details but he just scrawls everything into the space for clinical details because ... I dunno, Reasons? And then there's the ones who capitalise random words, use the weirdest fucking spacing on things, or just entirely fall in love with the caps lock key when caps are not necessary. And guess who has to fix that?

...I wonder if the other girls fix that. I would bet money they don't.

So basically we're all in a collosal mess that I'm having to trail after the other girls to clean the fuck up. I mean, where I can, because I also have a job to do. This is exactly what I was afraid would happen when Scruffman handed all his work off to the rest of us and bogged off for two weeks. As in, exactly. It was going to be the other girls floundering, lollygagging, or both, and me left to do the clean-up.

I'm not nauseous anymore but my upper abdomen hurts because apparently spending all of the small hours of yesterday morning throwing up strained some things. And of course, fibromyalgia magnifies that shit. That is not helping the overall pain flare. Worst of all, I have the sinking feeling that this overtime is going to be a regular thing until Scruffman comes back because with the late May bank holiday coming up, someone is going to be in on Saturday again, same as they were last week. I'm going to have to keep an eye on that and if it's still a mess, there's my weekend buggered.

I know how I sound here, and I know all the things about "working one's wage" and "your job will take advantage of you if you let it". The thing is, while that kind of thing works for most jobs ... it can't work in medical. Not for the sake of the company, but for the sake of the patients. It's just a bugger that I seem to be the only one who remembers that those lab numbers and names represent actual people who may or may not be dying of cancer and need to know whether it's 'may' or 'may not' as soon as fucking possible.

Two weeks of this mess. I have to survive two weeks of this mess. Well, week and a half now, but...

#Thess has a day job

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cryptidsurveys · 2 months ago

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Wednesday, April 30th, 2025.

Started this yesterday, finished it today, just an FYI in case some answers don't line up. Do you ever judge people based on if they believe in God or not? Whether or not someone believes in God doesn't really tell me a whole lot about who they are as a person. I might make some general assumptions, but that's about it.

Do you ever brush your teeth in the shower? I think I might have tried it before and decided it was more trouble than it was worth.

Has your printer ever stopped working at the last minute and you had a paper due the next day? What did you do? I've probably experienced computer-related issues at some point, but I no longer recall how I would have dealt with them.

Are you sometimes scared to express your opinions in fear of what others might think? Yeah. I don't enjoy contentious debates or confrontations, and I'm a chronic people-pleaser.

Do you have a girl that is strictly a friend that isn’t related to you that you can go to? I could probably go to Riley and Liv with certain things, but there's no one who really fits that description.

Have you ever painted your nails on only one hand, forgetting about the other one or getting side-tracked? I don't think that's ever happened.

Have you ever tried sucrets? I looked it up and they're a brand of cough drops. No, I've never tried them.

Would you date someone that smokes? Yeah.

What about drinks? I don't think I would mind if they drank occasionally (maybe a few times a year, like I do), but I wouldn't want to date someone who drank on a regular basis.

Have you ever gone to one of those parties where everyone is falling around drunk everywhere? No. A bit messy, but nothing to that extent.

Are you “the good guy”, or “the bad guy”, or somewhere in between? I guess I'm somewhere in between.

Do you ever erase the numbers off of surveys just because they annoy you? I erase them because they mess up the formatting.

Person you like shows up at your house: you…

Last person you talked on the phone with? My mom. She called the day before Easter to see if she could come by and drop off some chocolate for me. We ended up sitting in her car and talking for a while.

Do you think you will have the same best friend a year from now? I don't see why anything would change.

Do you have siblings over the age of twenty-one? Yeah. My sibling is also in their thirties.

Will tomorrow be better than today? The volunteer appreciation dinner should be fun! I think Liv and Riley will be there, so that will be nice. I also have therapy in the morning and an appointment in the afternoon to get my driver's license renewed.

What do you hear right now? Someone mowing their lawn and the washing machine running.

What was the last thing to go into your mouth? A cigarette.

Do you usually tell people when you’re mad at them? Not usually. Not unless I trust them. Like, I could tell my dad, but I'm rarely ever seriously upset with him.

Honestly, how is your heart lately? I don't even know what to say.

Do you miss anyone? Yeah.

Are you waiting for a phone call? I'm not.

If an ex said they hated you, what would you say?

What would you do if you found out your most recent ex was in a relationship?

What do you think when someone kisses you on your forehead? Aww, not a forehead kiss exactly, but the other day, one of the kitties at the shelter put his paws on my knees and licked my face. :') <3

What do you usually do right when you wake up? Check the time, get a drink of water, go to the bathroom.

Are you looking forward to anything? Lol, snack time. I'm very food motivated. ;D

How late did you stay up last night? Not very late at all. I was in bed shortly after 7:00pm.

Do you truly hate anyone? Naw.

Would you ever get a tattoo? I already have several, but I have no current plans to get any more.

In the past forty-eight hours, have you hung out with a girl? If volunteering counts, then yes. I've "hung out" with Liv, Riley, Kristen, and River.

Were you happy when you woke up today? Ehhh.

If someone liked you, would you want them to tell you? No. It would be kind of awkward coming from anyone in my current social circle.

Would you rather go back a week or go forward? Back a week. There are things in the upcoming days that I want to experience, and last week was decent enough that I wouldn't mind repeating it.

Would you ever smile at a stranger? I usually do if we happen to make eye contact or whatever.

Who was the last person to text you? My dad.

What are you doing today? I was at the animal shelter in the morning, then I came home, showered, had lunch, cleaned the upstairs bathroom, and now I'm here. I don't have any plans for the rest of the day aside from maybe throwing in some bed stuff laundry.

Truthfully, is there someone you used to date that you miss?

Have you ever gotten burnt by a cigarette? Yeah.

Have you ever been so bored that you started drooling on yourself? No.

Do you brush your teeth right away when you wake up? Not right away, like I might lie in bed and listen to YouTube for a bit, but I will brush them before I have breakfast.

Do you have someone of the opposite sex you can tell everything to? Most things.

Want to get smashed tonight? No.

What time are you getting up tomorrow? I'm actually going to stop here for now, so I'll let you know when I resume this in the AM… Okay, I woke up around 6:00am, but I didn't get up and start my day until closer to 7:00am.

Are you happy with the choices you’ve made? I'm not happy with every choice I've ever made and I'm not 100% happy with some of the choices I've made lately, but I guess it's not too bad. Credit where credit is due for the positive efforts I am making.

Think back to last June; were you single? I was.

Have you ever made someone laugh when they were crying? I'm sure I have at some point.

Describe how you feel right now. I'm so glad I don't have a migraine because I have a moderately busy day ahead of me. Overall, though, my emotions as of late have been kind of…blah.

Would you date someone three years older than you? Yeah. I'm 36, so dating someone who was 39 wouldn't be a stretch at all.

Do you prefer to shower at night or in the morning? In the morning. However, I also shower in the afternoon and evening after animal shelter days.

Do you think more about the past, present, or future? The past.

Are you okay with the life you live? What once felt like amazing progress now feels like stagnation...

Could you handle living with the last person you texted? The last person I texted was my dad, and I do live with him.

Was the last book you read for fun, or was it for some type of assignment? It was mostly for fun, as a way to occupy myself during my lunchbreaks.

Have you accomplished any goals you set for yourself this year so far? Lol, the only real goal I set for myself was to work on self-love, but I feel like I've regressed in that area.

If you could go forward in time and see your life 5 years from now, what would you hope to see? Hopefully, a more evolved version of the life I'm currently living. I don't necessarily want to make any drastic changes; I just want to improve and expand upon the good things I'm already doing. Fill in some of my knowledge and experience gaps. Maybe have a stronger social circle.

Are there still movie rental stores where you live or have they all gone out of business? I don't know if there are any or not. I honestly don't pay much attention.

What was the last thing to annoy you or make you upset? Mmmm.

Do you think you would be a good match for your celebrity crush/es assuming you have one? Why? If you don’t have one, who was the last person you saw that you found attractive? I don't have any celebrity crushes, and I don't remember the last time I found someone attractive.

When looking for something to watch on TV do you tend to pick shows you know you like, or try new shows that look interesting even though you’ve never heard of them before? I don't watch television, but when it comes to YouTube, I would say most of what I watch is from channels I already know and like. I will occasionally stumble upon new channels that cover the same / similar topics, but I don't normally go way out of my comfort zone.

Have you ever been ditched by someone only to find them out and about with someone else? Not that I can specifically recall, but that doesn't mean it's never happened.

How old were you when you had your wisdom teeth removed? I still have them.

What is the last song you sang out loud? Maybe something playing on the radio at the shelter. Not sure what it would have been, though.

Where was the last job application you filled out sent to? The animal shelter back in 2021.

Have you ever been fired from a job? Not exactly...?

What do people tell you your voice sounds like? No one really comments on my voice.

What financial class are you? Based on my income alone, lower-class, but including my dad's, probably lower-middle class.

What poster is hanging closest to you? There aren't any posters in my room, but there are a few things hanging above my desk: string lights, a cat calendar, a birthday card from my mom, a watercolor painting of some yellow flowers that I made several years ago, two delicate tree branches, a stationery card, a necklace with a snakeskin pendant, and the Millie ornament Riley painted for me last Xmas.

What time did you go to bed last night? Already answered this above.

Do you watch any reality shows? Occasionally. Well, mainly reactions to them.

Are you more comfortable with men or women? I guess women because I spend more time around them. Also, I'm sorry my answers are so boring. I feel like my brain is made of mush. D;

Do you think you’re fat? I think I'm "too big" and often call myself "fat," but logically I know I'm not.

Have you ever borrowed money from someone and never repaid them? I don't think so…unless I wasn't expected to repay them…?

Do you have a pet cat? Two.

What is worse: physical or emotional pain? It depends on the pain in question.

If you had to get up at 6 AM tomorrow morning, would it be painful? I am up by 5:30am on most mornings and I woke up naturally around 6:00am this morning, so it wouldn't be anything out of the ordinary. I might still be a bit tired, but it wouldn't be painful. If anything, it would probably feel like sleeping in a bit.

How is your hair? It's getting too long again.

Who was the last person who called you? My mom, last night. We're going out to lunch and a movie with some of her friends on the 7th of May. I also felt bad because one of the reasons she called was to apologize for her lack of experience during my teenage years and to ask if there was anything she could do / we could do together to do make amends. I just want her to forgive herself and realize that she did the best she could.

How long does it take you to fall asleep at night? About an hour, but sometimes much longer.

How many people have you had strong feelings for in the year of 2012? One.

What are you doing for your next birthday? Not sure yet. It's too far away.

Would you go on a date with someone right now if they asked? No.

Do you believe that if you want something bad enough, you’ll get it? Depends. You can control your own actions and take steps to reach your goals, but that doesn't mean things will always work out in your favor. You can't control everything.

Last movie you watched? Wicked last November.

Who were you with? My mom.

Who came over last? The guy who fixed up our swamp cooler.

Have you ever wanted to be a ballet dancer? No.

Does your family keep tons of leftovers in the fridge? No. We do have leftovers occasionally, but our fridge isn't stocked with them.

Favourite FRIENDS character? That is, if you like it. Never really watched it.

Skullcandy headphones, yay or nay? No opinion. I've never used them.

Are you thinking of getting another piercing? Where? No.

Do you love when people remember little things about you? Yeah. Assuming they're good things and not embarrassing ones.

Do you ‘bless’ strangers when they sneeze? Mmm, no, not usually? I'm too shy.

How many phones have you gone through? I think I'm on my 5th phone.

Have you always lived in the house you currently reside in? No.

Do you think your future will be a good one? I hope I have what it takes to make it that way. There's still time.

#survey #surveys #personal survey #survey blog #random survey

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