Challenge day 21
Title: It's More than a Feeling - Salva Me (21/30)
Day: Sept 21
Prompt: "A Reason to Believe"
Verse: G1
Rating: PG-13
Words: 908
Other Characters: Implied reference to Smokescreen.
Warnings: None I can think of
Summary: Free me to fly away. Salva Me.
Notes: For the Sexy September challenge @ prowlxjazz. Happy Anniversary to all in the pxj community, here's to many more to come. This piece is not beta read so feel free to correct me. This is based around my Art of Deception verse. Whether this is actually 'canon' to the story I am not going to tell. ;)
The were cycles when Prowl wondered why he was doing this. Why he invested so much time and effort, so much of his spark into what he was doing. He was no longer just a young mechling on the verge of adulthood trying to leave behind a shoddy life in the streets of Kaon. He’d undergone so much effort and subterfuge just to attain his adult upgrades and be accepted in the training program of the Iacon Enforcer department.
But each cycle spent in training he felt more and more the weight of his unwanted background getting on the way. Praxians had a certain reputation that he could understand, given the few examples of Praxian mechs he had come across in his admittedly short life, why his instructors and trainers in the department were particularly hard with him and he hated it. No, he loathed it with all the passion that burned within his spark. Why was he bothering trying to become an enforcer in Iacon? Why try to lead an honest life in a place that obviously did not want him?
The Iacon Academy was a safe haven so to speak, everyone, no matter its frame type, origins or social condition was welcomed if they could pass the rigorous tests. It didn’t matter what frame type a mech was, or were it came from. But it seemed that acceptance, or at least acceptance for a ‘stuck up Praxian’ did not extend to the Enforcers’ department. His colleagues would often taunt him during the grueling training, telling him to go back and guard the precious lives of the Praxians instead, to go back to stand around looking pretty with his perpetually polished plates so other higher ranking Praxians could use him as a mirror. They thought him fragile, weak, incapable of putting up a fight as if he’d just waltzed through the Academy skipping the physical courses.
If only they knew the life he led, of the many ways he could terminate each and every one of them before they even realized they were dead if he wanted to. Many times his darkest side asked him to just show them what a bad bot he could really be, but attacking his classmates would do little to liberate him from the past he sought to leave behind. If he had wanted to remain a criminal would have stayed in Kaon and would not have put up with this kind of discrimination. He would not be paying for the sins of mechs he didn’t even feel a connection with. Some cycles he really felt like giving up and drop out.
After yet another grueling session he returned to the small apartment he lived in on Iacon, it was just big enough and had all the basic appliances for a mech to live in comfortably enough without luxuries. The savings he accumulated during his less than honorable youth were kept safe and hidden away, using only the income he earned as a cadet to pay for his home and needs. It was part of living the honest life, but also part of a much bigger plan for his future if things would just go his way. He dropped down on the seat next to the large window of the small living room, rubbing his tired faceplates. What was he fighting to achieve? What reason he had to believe he could truly succeed here when everything seemed to be playing against him?
His answer came to him less than a breem later, when warm black fingers rested on a battered shoulder moments before the white forearms of another mech wrapped around his neck and he felt the weight and warmth of a chest against his side. Jazz was having an easier time than he was in relative terms. His own chosen profession was just as draining, but he had the advantage of being welcomed, wanted amongst his fellow trainees. Some days Prowl felt perhaps he should shift to Jazz’s field instead where perhaps his talents and knowledge could be put to better use, but he feared even there he would be rejected because of his heritage.
Jazz spoke no word as he rested his cheek against the top of Prowl’s helm, beginning to hum softly for him like he had done many times in the past when Prowl needed something to anchor him, to keep him going.
They shared the small apartment, both finding strength and a reason to keep believing in their hopes and dreams through each other. If Jazz faltered Prowl was always there to give him that little push. If Prowl felt like giving up it was Jazz who soothed him and encouraged him to keep on fighting.
“I know it’s hard,” Jazz murmured softly in between hums. “But when ya succeed, they’ll come t’respect ya. See you ain’t like th’Praxians they know...”
Prowl smiled softly, Jazz never said ‘if you succeed’, but rather ‘when you succeed’. Prowl knew Jazz believed on him and the feeling was so very mutual. For all the hardships life was throwing at them there were things to be grateful for, there were still things that were worth keeping up the fight and working hard to achieve. They could falter along the way but as long as they had each other to keep on pushing them to their goals they would succeed in the end.
They were each other’s reason to believe.
Day: Sept 21
Prompt: "A Reason to Believe"
Verse: G1
Rating: PG-13
Words: 908
Other Characters: Implied reference to Smokescreen.
Warnings: None I can think of
Summary: Free me to fly away. Salva Me.
Notes: For the Sexy September challenge @ prowlxjazz. Happy Anniversary to all in the pxj community, here's to many more to come. This piece is not beta read so feel free to correct me. This is based around my Art of Deception verse. Whether this is actually 'canon' to the story I am not going to tell. ;)
The were cycles when Prowl wondered why he was doing this. Why he invested so much time and effort, so much of his spark into what he was doing. He was no longer just a young mechling on the verge of adulthood trying to leave behind a shoddy life in the streets of Kaon. He’d undergone so much effort and subterfuge just to attain his adult upgrades and be accepted in the training program of the Iacon Enforcer department.
But each cycle spent in training he felt more and more the weight of his unwanted background getting on the way. Praxians had a certain reputation that he could understand, given the few examples of Praxian mechs he had come across in his admittedly short life, why his instructors and trainers in the department were particularly hard with him and he hated it. No, he loathed it with all the passion that burned within his spark. Why was he bothering trying to become an enforcer in Iacon? Why try to lead an honest life in a place that obviously did not want him?
The Iacon Academy was a safe haven so to speak, everyone, no matter its frame type, origins or social condition was welcomed if they could pass the rigorous tests. It didn’t matter what frame type a mech was, or were it came from. But it seemed that acceptance, or at least acceptance for a ‘stuck up Praxian’ did not extend to the Enforcers’ department. His colleagues would often taunt him during the grueling training, telling him to go back and guard the precious lives of the Praxians instead, to go back to stand around looking pretty with his perpetually polished plates so other higher ranking Praxians could use him as a mirror. They thought him fragile, weak, incapable of putting up a fight as if he’d just waltzed through the Academy skipping the physical courses.
If only they knew the life he led, of the many ways he could terminate each and every one of them before they even realized they were dead if he wanted to. Many times his darkest side asked him to just show them what a bad bot he could really be, but attacking his classmates would do little to liberate him from the past he sought to leave behind. If he had wanted to remain a criminal would have stayed in Kaon and would not have put up with this kind of discrimination. He would not be paying for the sins of mechs he didn’t even feel a connection with. Some cycles he really felt like giving up and drop out.
After yet another grueling session he returned to the small apartment he lived in on Iacon, it was just big enough and had all the basic appliances for a mech to live in comfortably enough without luxuries. The savings he accumulated during his less than honorable youth were kept safe and hidden away, using only the income he earned as a cadet to pay for his home and needs. It was part of living the honest life, but also part of a much bigger plan for his future if things would just go his way. He dropped down on the seat next to the large window of the small living room, rubbing his tired faceplates. What was he fighting to achieve? What reason he had to believe he could truly succeed here when everything seemed to be playing against him?
His answer came to him less than a breem later, when warm black fingers rested on a battered shoulder moments before the white forearms of another mech wrapped around his neck and he felt the weight and warmth of a chest against his side. Jazz was having an easier time than he was in relative terms. His own chosen profession was just as draining, but he had the advantage of being welcomed, wanted amongst his fellow trainees. Some days Prowl felt perhaps he should shift to Jazz’s field instead where perhaps his talents and knowledge could be put to better use, but he feared even there he would be rejected because of his heritage.
Jazz spoke no word as he rested his cheek against the top of Prowl’s helm, beginning to hum softly for him like he had done many times in the past when Prowl needed something to anchor him, to keep him going.
They shared the small apartment, both finding strength and a reason to keep believing in their hopes and dreams through each other. If Jazz faltered Prowl was always there to give him that little push. If Prowl felt like giving up it was Jazz who soothed him and encouraged him to keep on fighting.
“I know it’s hard,” Jazz murmured softly in between hums. “But when ya succeed, they’ll come t’respect ya. See you ain’t like th’Praxians they know...”
Prowl smiled softly, Jazz never said ‘if you succeed’, but rather ‘when you succeed’. Prowl knew Jazz believed on him and the feeling was so very mutual. For all the hardships life was throwing at them there were things to be grateful for, there were still things that were worth keeping up the fight and working hard to achieve. They could falter along the way but as long as they had each other to keep on pushing them to their goals they would succeed in the end.
They were each other’s reason to believe.