#FR I HAVE A SINKING FEELING THAT THIS IS GONNA BE MY FAVOURITE AND I HAVEN'T EVEN HEARD THE WHOLE THING YET | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

hopefullystillatheatrestudent · 3 years

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i'm so excited about you taking asks again ahhhh okay so. if you'd absolutely had to choose. what would be your top 5 cockles moments, and why? thank you ily <3

here’s the thing: there are so many routes i could go down with this, because cockles moments come in all shapes and sizes and formats. these include moments from their panels, their bloopers, the footage we get when they don’t even know they’re being recorded, stories being passed down from photo ops & autographs(one of my personal favorite ways to get cockles, tbh, because they’re all insane), and social media(tweets to each other, instagram posts & comments, etc.).

SO! since many a list like this has already been made, and i want to stand out from the crowd, what i’m gonna do is definitively give the number one spot to each of these five categories.(i might even throw in honourable mentions because they’re so despicably in love that they warrant that. i really put my whole pussy into this, guys, i hope you’re happy.)

disclaimer: these are my own personal opinions. but that also means i’m right. so. enjoy.

number one: top cockles panel moment

so we’re starting off with a bang, because how do you even BEGIN to rank what atrocities jensen and misha commit at jibcon. every single one they’ve had is damning in it’s own right, for different reasons.

however, considering just how much unabashed fuckery they’ve given us to sift through, it’s a good thing i do have a personal favorite despite it all. it’s heartwarming, the sweetest thing i’ve ever seen, AND it’s jarringly cinematic - mainly because it has a whole ass arc to it that was years in the making. it might even be surprising to some people, but my favorite cockles panel moment, and what i consider the one that encompasses their entire gut-wrenching journey from 2008-2013 in the most sweepingly romantic gesture possible, is this one.

i want this burned into my retinas. i am not even joking. when i'm through with my explanation, let me convince you why this is thee most romantic cockles moment of all time.

first, some history: people call this the resume off, but many seem to forget the botched attempt at a resume off a year prior. and yes, you guessed it: it's during their break up. it's a juicy time period for a reason, guys. it came across as exceedingly one-sided and VERY awkward. let me refresh your memory as to just how bad it was, and just how hard jensen was trying and ultimately failing at winning misha over: the funniest part of the whole resume off in 2013??? every joke/bit had literally already been made/done. they were just going through the motions again, but the difference THIS time...is that misha reciprocated jensen's energy. it. is. fascinating. i want to get into it more detail in another post, and i'll link it here when i'm done, but the main takeaway, i think, and the main difference that showcases how much they've grown in a year, is that in jib 3, misha flat out refused to do an accent, and this time around, he indulges jensen for literal minutes. when i tell you they're crazy, they're crazy. i can't wait to actually dive into it later.

ANYWAY, the resume off culminates in this moment here. and, like, a million things happen in this gifset. actually, more like a million and one. the music starts playingneediremindyouthatthesongissingingintherain(h e l p), misha starts dancing, jensen 'perpetually fake grumpy' ackles lets misha think he's not going to join, misha sits down defeated, but no!!! that was jensen's plan all along(look at his stupid fucking smirk) and he offers his arm to his dance partner who immediately grins like a fool, jensen then leads misha into their kick step, they perfectly synchronise and let loose, and are then very clearly having the time of their lives, hanging off of each other with joy and ease. from their expressions alone i can tell that this moment is so. so. so. so! much more than what initially meets the eye. i mean-misha is fighting back the biggest smile i've ever seen. to me, it reads like jensen is offering something to misha, something that misha kind of gave up on expecting, and him offering his arm like that is like, a surprise to him in the best possible way(and it's so not platonic, let me just say that.) as soon as jensen did that, it ushered in a new era of cockles. this panel is jensen and misha's favourite for a reason, and i think this moment is the biggest clue as to why.

whew!!! ok. that took a lot out of me and that was only point one. moving on,

number two: top cockles blooper moment

cockles bloopers hold an extremely special place in my heart, because it shows just how fucking disastrous jensen and misha are. they are so goddamn infatuated with each other that they HOLD UP PRODUCTION ALL THE TIME TO FLIRT WITH EACH OTHER(???). let me repeat. let it sink in. jensen ackles; arguably one of the most professional actors on that show who puts everything he has into each scene, with mountains and mountains of notes to prove it: would rather hold up production to flirt with misha collins. this sounds fake. it's not. he does it. all. the. time. and here's the thing guys!!! i'm gonna let you in on a secret!!! misha loves it. he loveesssss it. on top of that-misha collins: overlooked because he's pranked and people assume he's unprofessional as well, but his only pranks are in retaliation/off-set, and he rarely if EVER causes problems if he can help it....lets himself get carried away when it comes to jensen making kissy faces at him!!! are you actually kidding me!!! i mean. misha. it's just a face. you've seen it a million times. i don't buy that it triggers something in you that strongly....you like it, and you like jensen's reaction. you can't fool me!!! lisa berry's face in that one gifset shows just how fed up the crew is with their gross, coupley boyfriend antics.

i could pull up so many examples. sooooooo many. but my favourite was sealed since the moment i saw it.

i actually already wrote an analysis on it but i can't find it :(((( which SUCKS because i really unpacked the whole thing. i'll try to summarise.

basically, a backstory is part of this too!!! jensen and misha both had a really really hard time with this scene(because it's explicitly romantic there i said it), they sat down for hours and poured over their scripts together, they were super super nervous going into filming, both of them, jensen especially, were super hard on themselves for their performances not being true to their characters but they both complimented the other's work(boyfriend moments fr). so, yeah. they weren't confident going into shooting. and how do they get themselves to feel better???? by cuddling each other, apparently.

a lot. a LOT. happens in this specific blooper. to the point that i saw it years before i knew about cockles and it raised all sorts of flags for me.

1) stop pulling my face towards your crotch(as a thinly veiled request that misha would, in fact, move jensen's face towards his crotch, considering it was jensen moving himself there in the first place. also, why so comfy down there guys???) 2) you're my baby daddy i know(in the most intimate voice i've ever heard please) 3) i know, i know, i love you too i didn't say i love you i know but you wanted to say it etc. misha's right, of course. that's what jensen meant.

it just reeks of comfort, familiarity and intimacy between the two, and it's a moment that is extremely sweet and silly at the same time. they're so <3

number three: top cockles found footage moment

WONDERFUL category. truly the culmination of the cockles experience. many people have said that shipping cockles doesn't work because 'they're just onstage you dummies!! they're playing it up for the audience!!!' here's the thing, love. i could not disagree with you more. once you climb your way up the cockles ladder, you soon learn that they are, in fact, playing their dynamic DOWN, not up. they really are just Like That™, and they could not care less about the paying audience, if we're being honest, considering how much time they take to giggle with each other and refuse to let the audience in on the joke. and i love them for it <3

anyway, my point is that this category is for all you naysayers out there, all you 'jensen and misha's relationship is just for show and is real life queerbaiting'(?????lordhelp???) oh yeah? ok, explain this.

he. he. he calls jensen sweetheart. literally enough said. there's nothing to really add here, except, misha and jared then immediately engage in damage control. jared's method is distraction and misha's is retconning('get out of the car, dude') this was what got me to buy into the cockles dumpster for GOOD good. you don't call your buddy sweetheart accidentally and sound so completely earnest while doing it! especially not when that buddy is jensen ackles!!! you think he would let any of his friends call him that? do you?

one more thing; if it was a slip of the tongue, little mouth thing or whatever, you think jared wouldn't have jumped on it immediately??? i can hear it now. 'did you just call him SWEETHEART???' yeah. that's what i thought. you know why he didn't? because it was too revealing.

number four: top cockles autograph moment

i mean, i think we all know what it's gonna be, and if you don't, well, do i have the piece de cockles resistance that is gonna send you over the edge.

if you haven't heard of this story by now, as a cockles, truther, i'm gonna go ahead and get you to read it, because there is no possible heterosexual explanation for any of it, and you're fooling yourself if you think otherwise.

spoiler alert: it's the story where phones weren't allowed in an auto session, jensen nuzzles himself in misha's hair, leans his full body weight onto him, holds his hand, etc. etc. i'm imploding just repeating this back, actually. also, just, the sheer amount of stories from photo ops where they tackle hug each other or slap each other's asses or sing romantic songs to each other or almost kiss is, frankly, a lot. if i could wish for anything, it would be to witness them in person.

and finally,

number five: top cockles social media moment

this one is super difficult, because there's obviously a lot to choose from. but you know what? full send, i'm going with this one:

i just. what to say about this. how often do misha and jensen watch sunsets together for it to qualify as ‘always’ ??? why are sunsets synonymous with their relationship??? that’s like??? a very romantic thing????? ‘this guy’??? the fact that it’s a CANDID??? i don’t know guys.

that could have been better but i am TIRED so. there you go rose ily

#cockles #cockles ask #liz answers #i really just. spend hours. writing about misha and his boyfriend.#why. why do i. do that #long post for ts

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ubemango · 4 years

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this tiny space (m)

note: There’s 9 days till Christmas but Fuck it!!!!!! It’s come early because I said so 😎 Welcome back tts universe, and welcome to ubemango teehee 💖💖💖💖

PAIRING. yoongi/reader GENRE. romance, parents!au RATED. M WORD COUNT. 3.2k WARNINGS. toys, shower sex, creampie, oral (f receiving) EXCERPT. Yoongi was always attractive—your sexy piece of ass, as you like to remind him often—and seeing the tight skin of his back when he undresses further makes the insides of your stomach churn in want: the kind that made you want to fall to your knees, grovel. You love having a kid, but it’s been too long.

The duckies are your daughter’s favourite toys to play with, right after Bboong the whale and the lonesome poop squeaky toy drifting aimlessly near the edge of the tub.

“Soonbok, what did I tell you about splashing?”

She slumps into herself, calming the wriggling of her arms. Her little bread rolls softening into the big-girl-arms you don’t want her to grow into just yet. “It makes mommy wet and it’s not niiiiice.”

“That’s right, baby.”

She distracts herself with the bubbles when Yoongi’s voice floats in from your bedroom. “Babe?”

“Mm?”

“Mom’s asking what time we’re dropping by.”

“Uh—” you wash Soonbok’s hair diligently as she hums a song to herself— “like an hour, I guess?”

“Okay—”

“MOMMY!” Eyes as wide as the moon, Soonbok screams in a sudden act of proclamation, tiny arms stretched above her head. She looks absolutely distraught. “Santa! Cookies? Cookies! We—We didn’t make cookies! Mommy mommy—”

“I know, Soonbok, you’re baking them with grandma tonight. Remember? Daddy reminded you today.”

“Cookies, mommy. We didn’t make the cookies!”

You reach for the basket sitting next to the tub, smiling silently at her worry. Yoongi likes to deny any accusation of her inheriting his dramatic nature but you know she didn’t get it from you. “You’re making them later, baby. Now, put your toys in here so we can clean up, okay?”

She does so without a word, grabbing the floating toys and placing them inside the plastic container. Thanking her softly, you give her a final rinse before draining the tub and toweling her off. She hates this part the most—it gets too cold too fast, and she’d gained the habit of running off naked into Yoongi’s arms when she was 2-years-old, prompting an especially exhausting goose chase around the room to get her into her clothes—so you dry her off as fast as you can, Soonbok’s tiny body shivering already, chanting: “Go, go, go!”

It’s not long before she’s in her pyjamas and bounding off to her daddy as you dry off the floor. It’s not nearly as wet as you’d anticipated, pride blooming in your chest as you think wistfully about how much older your daughter is getting: she didn’t even need to “clean up, clean up” the puddles on the tiles.

“Yoongi, can you help her pack?”

With that you hear a grunt and two heavy feet planting themselves onto the carpet. “Come, Soonbok, time to pack so you can visit Mama!”

A series of whooping and squealing follows the two down the hall. Soon enough Soonbok is packed and ready to go, her winter boots squelching on the thin layer of snow as she runs, her Pororo backpack bouncing along with her. Yoongi locks the door behind you, and stops you before you can head to the driveway.

“I have a surprise later.”

Your eyebrows shoot up. “I’m scared.”

“Have faith, little one.” He smiles wide, clapping you on the back, the beep of the car following. “I promise it’s good.”

Yoongi’s mom’s house is decked out in glowing Christmas lights; metres of every colour imaginable strung all over the window sills, garage door, and even the 13 foot pine tree sitting out front. Soonbok had always admired the effort her grandparents put into decorating, and questioned constantly if you would do the same for your house. You’ve forgone any sort of warehouse shopping for lights because Yoongi is cautious about the electricity bill, however, and Soonbok had claimed offense right away. She spit in your face the next second: “That’s shitty.”

(Yoongi broke his back laughing, and you had to claim the bad cop title that night when you scolded her. She’s a lot nicer now.)

Mama opens the door just as Yoongi places Soonbok down after lifting her up to press the doorbell. “My pretty granddaughter! You’re here!” She bends down and places a million and one kisses on your baby’s face while she squirms helplessly.

“Merry Christmas Mama!” Soonbok literally screams after breaking free from the barrage of obligatory Mama Kisses.

“Merry Christmas to you too, our pretty Soonbok.” She holds her hand, bringing her inside with a quick tut of stomp your boots so the floor isn’t icky. Soonbok happily makes garbled noises—she does this when she does something intensely—as she focuses all her strength into the soles of her feet as she removes the snow from her boots on the doormat.

“Oof! Oof! Gone! Gone! Gone!”

Yoongi looks at you with a disturbed face. “She’s so violent,” he whispers.

“It’s cute!”

“She’s like a mini bulldozer.”

“Yoongi.”

He pinches your wrist, then brings your hand to his mouth, kissing it.

“We’ll be back in two days, ‘kay baby?” You lean down once she’s finished stomping, pressing a kiss to Soonbok’s sweaty hair, pushing it away from her eyes. “You be good for Mama.”

“M’kay,” Soonbok says. “Will I—Will I miss you?”

You can feel Yoongi shake in laughter. “I don’t know, baby. But daddy and mommy will miss you so much.”

Yoongi is next. He steps forward, bending his knees slightly, putting his hand up in invitation. Soonbok doesn’t hesitate to highfive him. “You love daddy?”

“Yeah.”

“You gonna miss daddy?”

“Yeah!”

“You gonna kiss daddy bye bye?”

Soonbok leans into the cheek Yoongi presents to her. Places the tiniest peck with as much pout as she can muster. Mama gives you both a hug and a kiss, and ends pleasantries with quick motions of her hands to shoo you two away.

“Have fun! We won’t call you for help,” she says as she sees Yoongi about to interject. “Go. We love you.”

“Thank you Mama,” you say, and off you and your husband go, waving at your daughter who can barely reach her head over the window frame to see you leave as you settle in the car. You’re on the road with the radio low when Yoongi speaks.

“What time is the party?”

You check the clock on the radio: 7:02 PM. “Two hours, ish. Why?”

He hums. “Just wondering.”

Coming home with no screaming three-year-old is off-putting, to say the least. The lights turn on to a dull hum, fills the empty space as you remove your coat. Yoongi tosses his keys somewhere behind you, and promptly sidles up to your back. He leads with a kiss on the back of your neck.

“Feels weird,” you say.

“Hm?”

“Without her here.”

Yoongi squeezes you with his closed embrace. “I miss her already.”

You turn around and kiss him like no one’s watching; a reality just out of reach on any other day but very, very tangible now as you feel Yoongi press his lips insistently on yours. Hot intimacy long overdue and shortly lived when you breathe, “It’s—I’m just—like—waiting for her to pull on my pants or something.” You know it’s the most unsexy thing to say, but Yoongi’s tongue prods into your mouth anyway.

“Stop—talking about our daughter.”

“Sorry.”

He shrugs, then takes your hand. “Wanna shower?”

“Please.”

The mirror is already beginning to fog up when you come in with towels, placing them on the sink as you admire your very much shirtless husband. Yoongi was always attractive—your sexy piece of ass, as you like to remind him often—and seeing the tight skin of his back when he undresses further makes the insides of your stomach churn in want: the kind that made you want to fall to your knees, grovel. You love having a kid, but it’s been too long. (Soonbok had been battling a nasty flu over the past two weeks, allowing you and Yoongi virtually no time together.)

“You’re so hot,” you say.

Yoongi snorts. “Get naked.”

You do, quickly. The battering of the water soaks just right along your skin, Yoongi’s warmth following. Being in this tiny space with him fills you with a stupid amount of giddiness. Meeting under what feels like secret circumstances, a tryst you’re not supposed to indulge. He mouths a sigh along your shoulders. “Missed you like hell.”

“I know, baby. Pass the soap?” It’s the apricot wash he hands you. “Tired?”

“Nah.”

You scrub; Yoongi massages the suds in his hair. Stealing kisses to your neck when you don’t expect it. The water is scalding, but his touch scorches you. “Oh—what was surprise you were talking about earlier?”

“Mm. Finish up and I’ll tell you.”

It’s like fuel, his promise. He laughs at your rush to rinse off, bottles nearly bowled off in your haste. You know he won’t blame you for being too eager, though. The liberation that comes with being a parent with no immediate responsibilities makes you feel unbelievably sexy.

You spin to meet your front to his; chests hot, noses bumping. Arms melting into the soft of his shoulders when you reach around him. “Tell me!”

He molds his mouth onto yours in answer, hands searching for your ass before squeezing. “I miss you.”

“I miss you too, fathead.”

“Sit down here and let me service you, wife.” An easy command you raise your eyebrows to. The shower bench is distractingly cool against your ass. Yoong’s immediate drop to his knees brings your attention back. He lets you slide till you’re comfortable, grabbing the slick of your calf to rest beside his ear. “So I have, what—a little less than an hour and a half to make you cum?”

“Yessir.”

His fingers are pruned cold when they spread your pussy. “You’re delectable, I hope you know.”

There’s a tease of his nail on your clit, then the hard suck that follows. You shiver right into his touch. “Hhhh—God.”

The water from the showerhead rains steady on his back. A lustful dimension of steam and fogged-up glass. His tongue slides a dangerous path along your slit, taking the buck of your hips with the same enthusiasm.

His strokes batter your clit straight on, all his frustrations from not getting to pay attention to you the way he wants all honed in on the slick of his saliva. Claiming all your heat with his mouth, an intensity you try not to shy away from so you close your eyes instead.

“Yoongi—oh—!” He’s suckling like he’s starved. A nice reminder that your pussy is still his preferred meals for breakfast, lunch and dinner. Your thigh twitches with every pulse of his puckered lips, tips of your fingers sliding helplessly along the shower tile, no traction for your desperation.

“Oh,” you whine. Blearily seeing Yoongi with his own eyes shut tight, mouth sealed on your sopping sex, your nipples taut. His hair sticks to his forehead. “Shit—”

He groans into you. Switching gears and pressing his head deeper in between your thighs if only to assure that he gets every single drop of desire you have to offer. His head bobs with every sharp indulgence, tongue twisting fast into the wetness you offer, noises from your throat spilling faster than you can keep them down.

“I’m—close...”

He’s got either thigh on his shoulder in an instant. The unholy mixture of your arousal and his spit slides right down your ass, filth of it all squeezing your thighs to his ears. “Oh my god.“ The squelch is lewd, a sound only half registering through the buzz in your ears from how loud you’re getting. “Fuck, Yoongi, I’m—!”

It’s the last barrier holding the dam together bursting. Your orgasm rips right through you, the speed so alarming it’s all you can do not to buck his head off completely. The tightness at your cunt unfurling right into Yoongi’s waiting mouth, your hips grinding into his heat. Your eyes roll back with the collapse of your mind into ecstasy.

He doesn’t stop. Not until you’re panting through pleas, thighs trembling into a close. He fends it off with insistent hands.

“Yoongi, oh my God—please—no more—!”

The pop is loud when he loosens his suckling. “All I’d do, you know. This cunt?” He taps your pelvis affectionately, watching your come-down with a hunger he doesn’t try to hide. “The best.”

“Mhm,” you pant. “I’ll—I’ll let her know you think so kindly of her.”

“I’ll send a gift basket too. Cranberries, pineapples?”

Your legs are dead weights when you drop them down. “That’s good—I’m sure she’d like that.”

“Good.” He accepts the kiss you give him. Slow in your exchange, sticky with the taste of your tang.

The glide of his fingers along your chest is tentative. He’s careful with the squeeze of your tit, but you press forward with silent encouragement. It’d taken a while for you to warm up to Yoongi touching you like this, with the confidence to accept his attention. The part of motherhood that mangled all the youthful parts away from you consumed most of your sex life after having Soonbok, sucked especially out of what was once your pert chest, the smooth skin of your stomach. Yoongi was patient, though. You didn’t fuck with the lights on for a solid two months, and that was only until your daughter had learned to sleep through the night. “I still haven’t—I still have something for you, baby.”

You lick into his mouth. “I have the feeling we won’t be on time for the party.”

“Seokjin will understand the needs of a man who was desperate to ravish his wife after a two week dry spell—“

“Relax, wise guy,” you retort. “Show me what you have. I missed you too.”

Yoongi opens the door, reaching over to rummage for something in one of the baskets on the floor. He presents to you a—

“Vibrator? Yoongi that’s gonna get wet—“

It’s an annoyed look he sends you. “Made sure to get a waterproof vibe, genius. Now get up against the wall, my knees hurt and I’m—so fucking hard.”

“Should I face you?”

He shakes his head. “I—Will you let me fuck you here?” You realize belatedly that the water is, in fact, still running.

“I don’t think I’ll cum though.”

Tutting, Yoongi waves the vibe around. “I’ll make you feel good. Now spare some ass, please. Lube?”

“No, it’s—it’s fine.” The tile is a comforting cool on your forehead, stifling that warmth when the head of his dick presses against your core. Yoongi rubbing along your slick, closing your eyes at the near-foreign feeling of hitting it from the back because that’s just too loud in the cloak of a late night. He bottoms out with an ease that makes your fists curl tight.

“Oh—shit.”

“Feel good?”

“Yeah—oh. Please.”

Suddenly all you know is the pounding of the shower water, the pounding in all the right places. It’s dizzying, trapped in the fever of his drive. He buries his head in your neck, your name strangled in his throat. Then he puts the vibe against your clit.

The sensation is new, a shaking of your nerves that has you reeling. “Oh fuck.”

Yoongi rams his hips with vigour unmatched, breath stunted. “Shit you feel so—fuck how close—can you cum?”

“N-No,” you say. Or: whimper, because regardless, you feel light. The quiver of the wet silicone slips in his hold, too busy keeping the pace you’re both losing yourselves to.

He shuts the vibe. “Hold this, please.”

The faucets squeak shut. Yoongi slips out, a slow preamble to his haste when he nearly tears off the shower curtains, reaching for the towels you’d laid out. Drying you off isn’t as graceful as you’d like but neither of you are pressed for a complete towel-off at this point—he completely ignores your hair to dry off with the other just as quick.

It’s almost funny, him dragging you by the wrist from the warmth and straight into the cold air that hits too fast, but not as fast as Yoongi finding the mattress and pushing you down face first. He slaps your ass for good measure. “Sorry, I—holy fuck. Please let me make you cum.”

“In. In in in—”

He’s quick to fill you up. Yoongi pistons his dick like he’s never known a slower alternative. Testing your ability to keep up but your hips are locked with his grip.

Something’s missing. And you feel it—limp in your hand, the vibe shut off. It’s on with a shaky press of your thumb. You’re quick to introduce the revving where you pulse. You know Yoongi feels it when he swears. Landing a quick slap to your ass in retaliation but you love when he makes you take it. ”Shit, keep going.”

The skin on your ass stings. Moans in tandem with each smack of his palm. The toy digs deep in your clit, breath hitching because you feel it. You’re drowning in it. ��Oh god Yoongi—just like that—”

You hear him talk but it sounds like cymbals clashing, nothing coherent registering in your head. Just noise in the roughness of your love, the roar in your ears overwhelming any sense of using your tongue to speak so you mewl instead.

His hips are damp against your ass. The sound is nasty in all the right ways. It’s got your gut twisted in the absolute need to just—you just—

“Yoongi I’m—”

Both hands hold your hips up higher. You cum like this, crying into the sheets, suns and stars rearranging in the dark of your closed eyes when you succumb to the explosive relief. Dropping the vibe onto the sheets because you’ve lost all sense of a good grip, clutching the bed like it’s your lifeline. You bury Yoongi’s name in the sheets.

“I’m cumming—I’m cumming-—” he declares. He stutters in rhythm, pumping cum deep where you drip. Groaning low, fingers tight on your skin. “Oh my god.”

You reach down with shaky hands, shutting the toy off. “I’m dead. I can’t—feel my legs.”

Yoongi makes a choked noise. “You know when you cum I see the seventh heaven?”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“What’s it like?”

He pulls out, lets you collapse onto your back. “What, feeling you cum? It’s—euphoric.”

“Ooh, big words.”

“Only the best for—” he taps your pelvis once more— “the best pussy.”

“Come here, stupid.” Yoongi crawls over you, uncaring of the mess left all over your cunt. “Kiss me.”

He does. It’s languid, sweaty—the softness that comes post-intense sex. You feel a surge of adoration run through you when your legs tangle. “I love you,” you say.

He sinks his lips into yours again. “Same to you, momma. Now go pee, I’ll change the sheets.”

You feel a tug on your chest. “So sexy.”

“And I’ll dry your hair.” You feign a shudder. Yoongi smacks your ass in faux-haste. “Go. We’re late as it is.”

“That is not my fault!”

He tuts. “Go and pee so we can call Soonbok before she sleeps.”

By the time you’re prim enough to go on video chat, Soonbok has just brushed her teeth. “Hi baby. Are you ready to sleep?”

Soonbok is very focused on her dolls. “Yeah, mommy. I’m tired.” She says this like an overworked maid. A thirty-year-old tinge of exhaustion probably from changing and feeding her dollies, and you stifle a laugh. “Mama, I’m sleepy.”

“Sleep well, Soonbok,” Yoongi pipes up from behind you, just about to put on his jacket. “Be a good girl, okay?”

“M’kay daddy. You be good too, ‘kay?”

“Will do, baby.”

You say bye after Soonbok hands the phone back to Mama, exchanging good nights as Yoongi helps you slip your coat on. Seokjin won’t be too mad at your tardiness, you hope. Seeing the tired smile of your baby is all worth it. And Yoongi smiles, knowing you.

“I miss her,” he says. Pushing down the instinctual need to check the baby monitor, you press forward out the door.

“Me too.”

#bts smut #yoongi smut #bts scenarios #yoongi scenarios #ubemango fic #f: this tiny space

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dizzydancingdreamer · 3 years

Note

74,61,3,+1 because I’m invasive and I like this concept

For you I would answer every single one of these questions don’t even test me

74. What’s a song that always makes you happy when you hear it?

My favourite song in this universe is Drops of Jupiter by Train. When I was younger I used to think it was written about me. Someone really special to me once said “one day you’re going to look back and realize that this was you and I’ll ask you what it was like to touch the stars. Make sure you don’t leave any details out.”

Honorable mentions: If You’re the Coffee - The Arcadian Wild, I’m Still Here - John Rzeznik (my fave movie is Treasure Planet), Iris - The Goo Goo Dolls (the same person I mentioned above covered this song for me), You And Me - Lifehouse (I’m going to get married to this one)

61. Are you wearing socks right now?

No ;)

3. Grab the book nearest to you, turn to page 23. Give me line 17.

“What can they do to me? I’m an old man,” he repeated, nonchalantly surveying the circle that had formed around him. - Leo Tolstoy, The Raid

1. 6 of the songs you listen to the most.

I will not be using my spotify wrapped ones because those are all from depressive episodes and do not count lmfao. Also I was waiting for this question omg!

I’m going to exclude the ones I just said bc it’s more fun that way

1. I Think I’m OKAY | MGK, YUNGBLUD, Travis Barker

(I can’t put into words what this song makes me feel but look up the video where MGK explains what he felt while writing it and you’ll want to cry. This is my go to fuck everything song.)

2. the lakes | Taylor Swift

(In a word; ethreal. “I want to watch wisteria grow right over my bare feet 'Cause I haven't moved in years.” I have loved Taylor since a little girl. She was my first CD. She documented my life and this song is the epitome of my year. I love it. I love her.)

3. WHAT YOU GONNA DO??? | Bastille, Graham Coxon

(This is a bang your head masterpiece and that’s all I have to say about it. It’s a Kol Mikaelson “I’m going to burn your house down” anthem)

4. Thnks fr th mmrs | Fall Out Boy

(This one’s special, once again connected to the boy I spoke about above, but me and my best friend used to jam out to this in her jeep every time we were together, it was the only CD in her car and her car didn’t have an aux, we actually go in a car accident while listening to this song lmfao, nasty concussion, we’re both okay now, good times)

5. Oil On Water | Bastille

(This song sends me to a different planet. Bastille is one of, if not my favourite, artists. This song makes me feel everything on this earth. It’s exactly how I feel on a daily, it’s how I am, floating through life and picking up things here and there but never really sinking into the life itself. I’m an artist and this song takes everything that it means to be an artist and magnifies it. This song is art.)

6. Mr Red White and Blue | Coffey Anderson

(I can’t even explain this one, I’m a Canadian and I don’t really usually like country music but this one hit hard. Someone I’m really close to serves in the US Army and when I hear this song I think about him, I think that’s why it’s so special to me. It’s honestly a banger tho lmao)

#dizzy answers

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whats-the-story-tc · 4 years

Text

14th of February, 2020

“The One with the Long Way Home”

[THIS IS GONNA BE REALLY LONG, CUZ A L O T WENT DOWN, BUT THE ENDING IS REALLY GOOD. PROMISE.]

Another day, another flannel. And y’all know what’s funny? Yesterday, I said V has a shirt similar to what I wore. A day later, she puts it on. I hate her.

Physics first thing in the morning, and the teacher asked me to fetch some tests that we left in our classroom. As I went outside, and looked towards the teachers’ corridor, I spotted an oddly familiar wristwatch on an oddly familiar hand. I step back a little, so I can see the person in question better. Bingo, it’s V — and she was cutting paper. Blood froze in my veins as I walked away. I didn’t remember her promising us a test. Seconds later, I remembered that one of the younger boys I know from rehearsals told me they’re writing a test in V’s class, in second period. Thank God.

English with V. Turns out, she did have some papers for us, too, but it was only classwork. Didn’t take a minute to recognise the metaphors in the exercise. Meanwhile, V took her dice out of her pocket, twirling the bag in her hands and fiddling with its strings. “Uh-oh...” I muttered. “I’m just playing with it, don’t be scared.” she told me, with the trademark half-smile.

Turns out, my solutions were all correct. Sometimes, I explained them to a confused Art Friend before V could, but she didn’t seem to mind much. I think she’s used to me not having much control over my words. She lets me speak. But when she did get into full-blown story mode, when Know-It-All asked her something... things got interesting. V, sitting on the edge of her desk, looked at him when she started speaking — then turned to me. As in, looked me directly in the eyes all the while she was explaining whatever she was explaining, for about half a minute or so. It wasn’t easy to keep eye contact, but I managed somehow. I’m getting better at it. When she finished, she looked back at him briefly, before walking back to the blackboard. I didn’t know what to make of it. I still don’t. It’s been two days since, and I get butterflies thinking about it.

V asked us if we could recognise what kind of stylistic thingamajig this one quote was. After thinking a lot, as I recognised it, I just couldn’t find the word, I blurted out: “Metonymy!” “Why?” V asked me. “Cuz that’s what first came to mind!” I surprised V to a grin, the rest of the class laughing as well. “I wish it worked like that.” she said.

But here’s the funny part. Know-It-All had no idea what hoarfrost meant (it was in one of the quotes), and thought it was a plant. The look on V’s face... if eyes could kill, he would’ve turned to ashes. The poor woman was shocked. She fully pulled out her phone, googled that shit, and walked up to him with the image search results on her screen. I think Incessant Questions Guy also asked to see it, and, though I don’t remember everything she said, she definitely called him “City Kid”. I was howling with laughter.

Then I noticed. V types with only her right hand. The same way I do. I raised my hand immediately, and asked her “Sorry, off-topic question, but did I notice correctly that you type with only one hand, Miss?” I think she thought I was gonna call her out on it, because she said “Yeah. That’s what I got used to.” “Finally someone!” I answered. “I spent my whole life getting picked on for this!” She didn’t say anything, but someone else did. “Another similarity.” said Comparison Boy. Oh, the irony. Out of all people, it’s her having this in common with me. I think it would be easier to list our differences than what we have in common.

After V called Blonde Boy in the Back out on him doing fuck all in class, he didn’t take it very well. As we were waiting for our next class, I overheard him tell his friend “What’s going on with this [V]? She’s a dick, that one.” I had to physically remove myself from there so I didn’t say anything. Does discipline immediately mean someone is a dick these days? I’m afraid for my generation.

I don’t remember where my mood started going downhill. It must have been around homeroom, where things got pretty serious. Serious as in my stomach still sinks thinking about it.

V’s presence in the next period made it slightly better, but didn’t solve things completely. “You know what’s funny?” she turned to me and Pocketwatch Friend, after I said that the other class should get their own loudspeakers (which, as V informed me, they did). “That [this one teacher] thinks yours is free property! [The one she was plugging in] is the other class’, as they took yours, then [another class] took it elsewhere, and then [that teacher] took it like it was free property!” Bless her soul, she was so riled up.

Now, because these loudspeakers were a little different, V had to choose a different spot to sit. That very spot was the other side of the desk in front of ours — placing V in a way where she was facing me directly. Meaning I actually had to watch the film. As soon as Tatyana appeared with that extra ass hairdo, I said “Shame about that hair,” making V grin and repeat it immediately. And, when I pointed out that Tatyana is the only one wearing colour, my favourite absolute unit of a woman paused the film just talk about it, calling it a “good discovery”. I feel valid.

After class, I thought I’d be cute and help her out a little, and unplug the loudspeakers, as well as take them back to their original place, receiving a “many thanks” for it. As I told Pocketwatch Friend, whom I dragged with me, “I wouldn’t carry anyone else’s shit.” Not true, cuz I help everyone and their mothers cuz I can’t say no, but anyway. When I went back to our classroom, V was still there, giving the Onegin tests back to my classmates. Naturally, I went to check mine. “It’s always the names!” I said, looking at what I got wrong. “Always...” I heard quietly from the other side of the teachers’ desk. V wasn’t surprised. What did surprise her, however, that the actress playing Olga, Lena Headey, is the one playing Cersei in Game of Thrones. When Art Friend and I told her, she started grinning, all wide-eyed. “I didn’t even get that! You learn something new every day.” She was still grinning about it when she walked away.

After that, I started to think about graduation, totally randomly. What happens after. If V and I will stay in contact. How could I possibly ask her something like that. I kept spiralling into things, and took the longer way home, thinking more and more, until I pushed myself to the verge of tears for absolutely no reason at all. Honestly, though. I still don’t get why I did that. There wasn’t a reason.

But let me tell you what there was this evening — a school dance. There is always one towards the end of winter. And once I finished training, I ventured into the crowd. The day couldn’t end with me crying alone at home and writing a sad post on it. I wouldn’t let it. And this is where Fate kicked in, as everything, that happened from then on, was a string of coincidences aligning a very particular way, too particular for it to be coincidences anymore.

I walked around in circles, eyes sharp, making small talk with a couple people along the way, looking for her, but not finding her anywhere. But... that couldn’t be. Every teacher was here, even the ones who never attend anything. There was no way she wasn’t somewhere among all these people. And as I made my way deeper into the crowd, I spotted a familiar shirt. She was sitting in the very front row. A judge. Every class has to present something, you see, as there’s a contest every year, judged by teacher. Well chosen, I thought to myself. V always sees everything.

But this also meant, that if I wanted to talk to her, I’d have to stay until everyone is done, with either a dance or a video. Am I seriously staying until I haven’t spoken to her? Maybe. Fuck it, I’ll do it. You only live once. - I texted to Pocketwatch Friend. Are you sure this is what you want? - she replied. And no, I wasn’t. No matter what was happening, my eyes were on V. The scoring paper in her hand, the pen in her mouth, the way her shirt collar was open, exposing the nape of her neck... unreachable, now physically, too. On the verge of crying, I waited for my Dad to stop talking to my coach so we could leave. I couldn’t take another minute of this.

Outside, I told Dad that I wanted to walk the long way ‘round home, because “today has been a lot” and “I want to think”. Then Dad posed me a good solution, so I wouldn’t be alone: “Why don’t you walk me home then?” As soon as he told me there was cake at theirs, I was sold. I hadn’t eaten in a while by then, and I would’ve needed some energy for crying anyways, so it definitely felt like a good solution. And it definitely was good cake, even though I nearly teared up at the dinner table about five times.

It’s time to get going, and Dad offered to accompany me until I’m about halfway home. And when he left, I got an idea. I couldn’t simply walk past school without being sad, so... why not go back inside? I could still wander around on the dark streets, listen to sad music and cry afterwards, if I wanted to. But, as I said before, I wasn’t about to let the day end like that. And as long as there was even just half a percent chance that there would be a happy ending to my night, I owed myself that chance to try. I’ve gone mad. - I texted Pocketwatch Friend on my way back. And even though she was trying to talk me out of it, I told her to tell me one reason why I shouldn’t, aside from the pain. It has hurt before. I could take it. But I knew that no matter what she said, she couldn’t talk me out of it. I was already at the corner of the building. I was going inside.

I walked up to the bridge, and ran into Art Friend. Thank God, someone I knew, someone I could talk to about what was wrong! And, of course, she wasn’t the only one there. There V was, just so my heart could hurt even more, stood at the railing, not looking up from her goddamn phone. Now that I saw her, I suddenly wasn’t so brave anymore. I didn’t want to bother her, so I chickened out of going up to her, even though Art Friend tried to talk me into it. I refused and refused until V walked away. Fantastic. I’m literally so fucking stupid

We kept talking for about ten minutes after that, Art Friend and I, both of us venting about our love-related woes to the other, and chatting with a few other people along the way. I didn’t know whether I should stay or go, I felt absolutely hopeless and confused at that point. Nothing made sense. After asking my poor friend about five times whether I should stay or go, I decided to stay. At least until she came back. And she did come back.

V and A walked down the stairs together, both of them joining the people standing at the railing as the band, comprised entirely of students, was setting up downstairs. Now’s my time, I thought, and went closer to where V was standing. One of the teachers, who used to be my homeroom teacher at about the dawn of time, noticed me standing behind her, and offered to swap places with me so I could see better, which would’ve put me even closer to V, who was, for your information, still on her goddamn phone. I politely refused, but she wouldn’t have it, and so, I wound up directly at the railing, my Art teacher next to me, V just slightly behind us. I think you can guess how nervous I was.

I ended up talking to my Art teacher, discussing some stuff in a couple sentences. Bless, she’s the best person to talk to when you’re nervous, as she’s a right laugh. And then. V came closer, bumping into the Art teacher’s feet as she did. The latter barely even noticed, even though V said sorry, so V tapped her shoulder to say sorry again. And there we were. The music started, V wound up between us, so now, she was standing directly next to me. Jesus bloody Christ. So much for a healthy blood pressure.

Listen, guys. We all know V is clever. She knew why I was still wearing my coat. She knew why I was standing there and she knew why I was so nervous and why I didn’t say a word to her. That might be why she decided to speak first. The music was loud, so she leaned closer and just told me “Look at those two stupid seniors in the corner,” referring to two boys dancing in this classical, wobble-your-shoulders kinda club dancing style. She even imitated it, making me laugh, but she was grinning too. Down by the stage, the people started a train dance, which V just commented as “Unbelievable,” still grinning. Meanwhile, I thought it unbelievable that I’m the one she started talking to when I haven’t seen her speak to anyone else all night.

“How were the performances from the first row?” I asked her, subtly referring to the fact that I saw her earlier. She leaned closer again, hand in front of her mouth like she was saying something confidential, and told me “To be honest, I was a little scared of the girls dancing hip-hop.” “Who, the younger kids?” I asked her, laughing. “No, no, the guests.” Yeah, I probably missed those. Anyway. “And how was our clip?” I continued. “I thought there were too few of you in it, but it was really well edited.” “Yeah, [Boy who filmed it] is talented at this. I was only in it, so I didn’t have to go to P.E.” And as the band started playing a new song, I told V “[They’re] really good.” “Yeah, I want to film them.”

And she did. Understandable, I think she teaches half of them, and they were really good. After that, there was silence. She pulled out her phone, and, as far as I’m concerned, she was texting, meanwhile I got a few words with A who was standing nearby, and took photos myself. I decided, that when the song ends, I’ll leave. I got way more than I hoped for, anyway.

“I think I’m gonna go now.” I turned to V, once we gave them the applause they deserved. “Alright.” “And you, Miss? Are you staying until the end?” “Well, I have to.” “And why is that?” Maybe this one I shouldn’t have said, as it was painfully fucking obvious. “I’m supervising.” “Oh. Well, then, have a good weekend.” “You too.” “And keep holding on.” “Thanks.” My Art Teacher waved to me, smiling, as I walked away, and I waved back. Yeah. There’s a bit of a difference between how I like her and how I love V.

I went downstairs to say goodbye to Art Friend, and, just before I left, I looked back up at V, who was smiling. I’m not certain anymore, and I don’t want to write misinformation, but in that very moment, I could’ve sworn she was looking at me.

I no longer needed to take the long way home, I went my usual way. Even so, I burst into tears, but those were of relief. I trusted my gut, went through with it, and my night ended really well. Then I spent the rest of that night and the next morning calling my friends and telling them in even more excruciating detail what happened between V and I. To be honest, it still doesn’t feel real.

See, I still don’t know if there even is a V and I to begin with. But something has definitely changed in the past weeks, I feel it. But I’ll leave this up to you to judge. All I know is that I’m over the moon. Good luck trying to get me off.

~ S ♡

[Every story I share here, no matter how specific I get with my wording, depicts actual events from my own life.]

#not @ how this took me a whole ass day to write #tc #tcc #teacher crush community #female tc #female teacher crush

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anon-e-miss · 6 years

Text

A Matter of Convenience 8

It occurred to Jazz, rather belatedly that he had not planned for where Prowl was supposed to recharge. There was a sinking feeling in his tank. Maybe, maybe down the road recharging with the mech would not seem so nauseating, but right this nanoklik the Polihexian could not imagine doing it. Next ‘cycle, he would take the Twins to the store, and pick out berths for Blue and Smokey, next dark-cycle, Prowl could maybe borrow one of those. Sure, it was only delaying the inevitable, but that was not automatically a bad thing. For this dark-cycle, Jazz did not think he could just let the Praxian have the couch, the mech was fragging injured. He would have the berth, Jazz would have the couch, that would work. Unless his berth was too firm or too soft or… just what were Praxian berths like? Where they like Seekers or what?

He really had not planned this. Saving Smokey and Blue from a rotten situation, and in the same measure guaranteeing that the Twins would be cared for in his absence, had been all that had been on his processor. Jazz had not really considered what it would mean for him, neither had he considered what it would mean for Prowl. Though the saboteur had a reputation for winging it, his second and best friend could attest to long orns long planning sessions coming up to missions. There was no question Jazz was good at thinking on his peds, he did not go into his missions with nothing more than an endgame in processor. This? This situation he had thrown himself into? No, he had not thought this through at all.

Realistically speaking, he could still back out. Jazz could still pay for a lawyer, get some housing sorted out, and it would probably end up okay. But that would not solve his fears for the Twins’ futures should anything happen to him. His younglings were being so good, they seemed to really have latched on to the idea of having their Praxian friends as their quasi-brothers, and that might have been what was keeping the Polihexian from backpedalling. For some reason he did not yet understand, they seemed to need this, need Blue and Smokey, and so Jazz held his ground, and his glossa.

Prowl was silent. Maybe he was in pain, or maybe he was scared, or sad, or any number of things. His brothers had spoken about him to the Twins more than they had to Jazz. All the progenitor had ever really known about his creations’ friends was that they guardian, their brother was an Enforcer, a no nonsense mech whose job kept him away more and more. It had been Bluestreak that had murmured about missing Prowl, not even so long ago, quartexes, no long before their habsuite had been destroyed. They had been oddly silent about that, about the custody battle, about the death of their originator. As far as Jazz knew, they had not mentioned it to the Twins. Could their guardian have asked them to keep it quiet, or had they simply been too stressed to speak about it. That made the most sense to Jazz, because speaking about it would have made it more real.

“Um… we didn’t know what you like… Prowl,” Sideswipe said, looking at Prowl. He had a pair of cubes, one in each servo, Sunstreaker followed behind, carrying another two cubes. “Smokey said sweet… Hopes this is okay.”

“Thank you, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker,” the Praxian replied, he took his cube from Sides, as Sunny gave Jazz his. “I am not picky about my fuel. I have no doubts this will be fine.”

“Thanks, brightsparks,” Jazz said. “Ya don’t gotta worry ‘bout thinkin’ up all yer questions on the spot. Ya got time.”

“They never told us they were ‘sposed to be leaving,” the red twin said. “No until they should’ve been gone.”

“I do not believe Smokescreen and Bluestreak wanted to believe the court would rule against me,” Prowl replied. “They do not have fond memories of Barricade.”

“What if the court still says no?” Sideswipe asked. “Are you gonna accept it?”

“No,” the former Enforcer said. “I would, I will appeal if necessary, until they are with me… I suppose with us, permanently. They are Praxian in frame, but Iacon is their home.”

“What about you?” Sunstreaker asked. “Blue said you lived here for vorns, that’s why he never met you. You never went home? Not to meet your brothers?”

“I was not entirely welcome in their home,” Prowl explained. “I went to school in Simfur as a youngling, and attended the Academy in Iacon. Praxus has not been home to me for a very long time.”

“Because their origin wasn’t yours?” The brash twin asked. “That’s what Smokey said. We aren’t yours, that gonna matter to you?”

“No,” the Praxian said, and it was so unequivocal, Jazz actually believed it. “I will treat you equal to Smokescreen and Bluestreak. I am not fun, I am, however fair.”

The conversation went back and forth, no necessarily easy, but not tense either. A couple of time, both his twins questions took accusatory tones, but every time Jazz thought he might need to jump in, to act as moderator, Prowl even answers seemed to take the ease it off. He painted himself as a devoted, but imperfect guardian, and he may not have known it, but the lack of self-praise was earning him some points with the younglings. As their questioning eased off, the Praxian added his own: their favourite subjects at school, their favourite games with Bluestreak, and Smokecreen. Art was Sunstreaker’s favourite class, athletics was Sideswipe’s. It came as a bit of a surprise to Jazz that Sunny was actually truthful, but then he saw the flare to his creation’s plating and the defiance in his optics.

“I have great admiration for artists,” Prowl replied, and the progenitor was again surprised by the Praxian’s answer. “I have no creative talents to speak off.”

“What was you favourite subject?” The yellow twin asked.

“Science,” the Praxian said. “Followed by math.”

“Never heard someone admit that they liked math,” Sideswipe replied.

“I can assure you I did not admit it at your age,” Prowl said. The three Polihexians laughed.

“Probably wise,” Jazz said. “It was music for me. Hated lit. Never much cared much for analyzing poems ‘n stories.,. But I really hated math, those rules for rules… Gah. Ain’t be a great help to the mechlings, right?”

“You’re more hopeless than me,” Sunny said. “That’s why you have Mirage manage your credits.”

“Hey! I have a financial advisor,” the saboteur countered. “That Mirage picked out. And I pick his processor for stock tips… ‘N for the record, I can count!”

“Ya, you’re pretty hopeless,” the mischievous twin said, and grinned. “History is fr… is boring. It’s the same sl… over and over. I hate writing essays defending what some idiot thought was a good idea a millions stellar-cycles ago but was really probably pretty stupid.”

“Perhaps the next essay you are assigned, rather than argue in favour of the act, but counter argue why it was flawed,” Prowl suggested. “It will generally fit within the guidelines of the assignment, and a well crafted counter argument is infinitely better than a poorly crafted argument in favour.”

“Hmm,” Sideswipe hummed, and he grinned. “That’s an idea… Might ruffle some plating too.”

“I apologize, Jazz,” the former Enforcer said, looking just a little uncomfortable.

“Nah, I like it,” Jazz dismissed the apology. “Don’t want’em thinkin’ they gotta be puppets. What didn’t ya like?”

“Oration, and fine arts,” Prowl replied. “I am not an adept public speaker, and I have approved in adulthood, I was hopeless as a youngling. It you need assistance with your math assignments, or classwork in general, I would be pleased to assist.”

“Thanks,” Sunstreaker said. “Sometimes Smokescreen helps me. He’s not an after about it, so that’s cool.”

“I am glad that he has been able to assist you,” the Praxian replied.

“I know Smokey don’t like school in general,” the Polihexian said. “But since he showed me his last report card, ‘m thinkin’ it’s more ‘cause he’s bored.”

“Smokescreen does best when he is challenged,” Prowl confirmed. “He is not agreeable to doing work for work’s sake.”

“What about Blue?” Jazz asked.

“He struggles with public speaking, as I did,” the injured mech explained. “And he is not fond of athletics. I believe he is intimidated by his classmates, and the sports they play.”

“Funny thinkin’ o’m havin’ stage fright but now ’m thinkin’ he’s a nervous talker, ain’t he?” The saboteur said. "Maybe I can help’m a bit. Was on stage wit a lot o’ different mechanisms ‘n learned a few tricks.”

“He and I would be grateful for any assistance you might be able to provide him,” Prowl said.

It mattered that Prowl had expressed an interest in the Twins, that he had offered to tutor Sunstreaker, and oh how it mattered that he struck the progenitor as sincere. Jazz was second guessing his impulsive offer less and less. Though it remained to be seen how well this was going to work between him and the Praxian, he was beginning to really think this was, if not the right move, at least not the wrong one for the Twins. Richocet would attest to what a terrible student Jazz had been. Not because he had really struggled at all with the subject matter, but the stillness. Jazz had always been meant to move. The educators at the youngling centre had not liked his fidgeting, or his smart-aft commentary. He had been the class clown, even in music. The old classics were fine, but the former performer had always preferred groovier beats. They had learned to never give him solos, because he had always done his own thing, consequences be damned. Of course it had worked out well enough, Jazz had been a headliner, until he had decided he did not love life on tour, and when he and Free Wheeler had decided to bond, had decided to have a family right away, touring had seemed like a lousy idea.

Rather than miss the stage, Jazz liked being able to perform when the mood struck him, instead of when a tour manager decreed it. Adulthood had not stopped the Polihexian naturally inclination to thumb his olfactory ridge at authority figures. It was funny thinking of himself as planning to bond with one such mech. Though Prowl looked every bit the Enforcer, even without the insignas he would have only had stripped, he was a misfit, by his own admission, and misfits were exactly the sorts of mechanisms that Jazz had always attracted. Free Wheeler had been a pacifist at spark but a soldier by career. Mirage was a noblemech who preferred to work for a living, the list went on and on. When he thought of it that way, the former Enforcer fit his pattern.

“Power Run’s gonna be by in a bream,” Jazz explained to the younglings. “I don’t think it’s gonna be your scene. When he turns up, why don’t ya have a tournament in yer berthroom.”

“Sounds cool to me,” Sideswipe said. “Bet I’ll cream you, Sunny.”

“Don’t call me that,” Sunstreaker retorted. “I’m gonna wipe the floor with you. Like always.”

The banter escalated as the mechlings raised immediately for their berthroom, not bothering to wait for the lawyer to arrive to make their exit. Jazz smiled. To an outsider it would have seemed like the Twins loathed each other have the time. They teased each other mercilessly, and physically tousled maybe more often than most brothers. But for whatever reason, this was how they communicated with each other, it was how they loved each other, how they always had. This was one of the things that had actually survived the living Pit in Polihex. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe were still the Twins, still two halves of one spark.

“Math?” Jazz asked once the Twins had gone to their game.

“I liked the order and certainty of it,” Prowl replied. “Apart from metaforensics itself, my preferred subject at the Academy was statistics.”

“Ya like findin’ the answer,” the Polihexian said, considering the admission. “Student loans for the Academy woulda been brutal.”

“I took out private loans,” the injured mech explained. “Due to my progenitor’s income, regardless of the fact he was never going to assist me financially, I did not qualify for bursaries, or federal loans. It would have been insurmountable without merit scholarships.”

“Smokey’s made it out like ya got a processor like no other,” Jazz said. “Ya didn’t get a full ride.”

“I had poor marks in enough subjects to make that impossible,” Prowl revealed. “Athletics, and language arts were my worst.”

“Athletic, h’uh?” The saboteur asked.

“I refused to participate in team sports,” the Praxian explained. “Bluestreak is not wrong to be weary of overzealous or blatantly hostile classmates. I preferred not to be a target. My essays were always dull, enough to put a mech to recharge, according to my professor, and my public speaking was that much more atrocious, I did put him into recharge, on more than one occasion.”

“Bet ya had the facts right,” Jazz said.

“I did,” Prowl confirmed. “So far as my research led me. My progenitor may have wished me to be a lawyer, but I would have been a terrible one. There is a certain level of charisma required to excel in that function. He had it, as does Smokescreen, I am severely lacking. I had concerns it would hamper me in the Enforcers. I was not wrong.”

“’Cause even there ya got politics in play,” the progenitor said. “But if y’re right ‘n there’s a serial killer at work in Iacon, Enforcers got a duty to investigate, frag whether or not the victims are addicts or prostibots.”

“I may well be wrong, I do not believe I am,” the former Enforcer replied. “Friends or kin have reported some of those I believe have been murdered missing, others have never had their disappearances reported. Due to their lifestyles, and lack of Autobot ties, investigating their absences is not a priority to Enforcer Command. They have vocalized the belief on more than one occasion that they believe these missing mechanisms have merely returned to their Decepticon or Neutral brethen in other states.”

“I don’t know how much I can push, but I don’t like the idea mech can just disappear, ‘n no one’s botherin’ to look,” Jazz said. “Looks like a pretty big blindspot, somethin’ Cons could exploit if they ever noticed. I might be able to nudge the right mechanisms. At least, I can try.”

“I hope you are more successful that I,” Prowl replied. “Being betrothed to me may hamper your attempts.”

“Maybe from the Enforcers’ angle, but I got audials in Autobot HQ, ‘n those are the Bots I plan on nudgin’,” the saboteur explained. “You said ya got you casefile saved to your battle computer. Think ya might be willin’ to give me a condensed version?”

“If you have a datapad available,” the Praxian replied. “I have a sanitized report, detailing each missing mechanism, when and where they disappeared, where that information was available, and a timeline.”

“Sounds good,” Jazz said, and he pulled a datapad from his subspace, and handed it to Prowl.

The injured mech did not speak, there was no need to. He released a data cable from his wrist and plugged it into the datapad. As a matter of programming, his anti-viral systems scanned the datapad before dropping his firewalls enough to make a two way connection. Prowl already had the desired file pulled up from his orderly memory banks. Though he was confident that the report did not go into too much detail. It was always vital to keep some information back, in case the wrong servos got a hold of it, or if it was leaked to the press. Admittedly, the disgraced Enforcer had considered anonymously giving the report to the media but he had held back. It was his hope that his wrongful termination might be righted, when they finally had to admit they had a serial killer, at least one, preying on the transient mechanisms in the parks, if he spoke to the press, even anonymously, it would come back to him, and he would have to chance of serving any Enforcer unit ever again.

“There,” he declared, and returned Jazz the datapad.

“Ya got some serious processing power, don’t ya?” The Polihexian observed.

“I do,” Prowl said, there was no logic in denying it. “I have an eidetic memory. Even those memories I might erase are save within my battle computer. Very simply, I cannot forget.”

“Sounds like a burden,” Jazz replied. “We all got things we’d rather forget.”

“It can be,” the Praxian confessed. “I make the best use of it as I can.”

Prowl remembered, despite numerous attempts to erase the memories, he could not forget the medicentre in Praxus where his originator had died. As keenly as if he was still there, the Praxian remembered the sounds, sights and smells. Most clearly he remembered the scent of antiseptic, over rust. Corrodia Gravis had stricken his originator, and had spread rapidly through his systems. Camshaft had had no siblings, his procreators were long dead, and Goldfire’s systems were not compatible for the spark boost that might have slowed the disease, or put it into complete remission. There had been no time to search for a donor amongst friends or strangers. There had been on match, Prowl had convinced a nurse to test him, and he had been a perfect match for his originator, but the medics, and his progenitor had been unwilling to allow the second-tier youngling to boost his originator, arguing that he was too young, the possible complications to risky to chance. Risks be damned, he had been willing, determined really to save his originator, and to prevent him from wearing some nurse or medic down, his progenitor had barred him from the hospital, and Camshaft had died. As an adult, Prowl might have respected the medics’ duty to safeguard him, but maturity and reason still did not enable him to forgive those medics, or his progenitor, and he likely never would.

#a matter of convenience #maccadams #marriage of convenience #queen of tropes #tf jazz #tf prowl #fanfic

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