#where?

Blue liked to think of himself as adaptable. Nearly on par with Jazz if he did say so himself.

But this building Jazz had apparently just found and befriended was… weird. Mr. building was nice and all, giving them shelter and fresh food but it was…weird.

For one, his voice niggled at the back of his head like a bad itch, prickling down his neck with its familiarity. It’s just… he didn’t know why he recognised it. Maybe it reminded him of a celebrity he knew? Prowl certainly felt like maybe he’d star in a movie, his voice was smooth and serious, like a nature documentary narrator.

He giggles a little at the thought. He wasn’t quite sure why he found it funny, but he did.

“Penny for your thoughts, baby blue?” Chimes Jazz as he plops himself down opposite him. “Sorry Smokes.”

Smokescreen’s expression twists in equal parts startled and half-hearted annoyance as he scoots along the bench a little. “You had the whole bench.” He complains.

“Yeah, well.” Jazz shrugs and doesn’t elaborate, instead rooting around his pockets for- something. “Here, for the hangover.”

He tosses him a small, slender packet about the size of a sugar packet.

“What is this?” Smokescreen asks, turning the thing over in his hands.

“Hangover cure!” Jazz chirps, patting the man gently on the back. “Prowl noticed you nursing a headache.”

The blue haired man quirks a brow, “it’s still a little freaky how he can see us.” He comments, ripping open the packet haphazardly and pouring it straight into his mouth.

As Smokescreen shakes himself out, Jazz continues, leaning on the table to rest his head on his fist, looking amused. “Think it’s less see us and more feel us, ya dig?”

Smokescreen makes a face at that. “Never say that ever again.”

Jazz flashes him a fanged grin, “No promises.”

The back of his neck prickles a little.

They were being watched. Subtly, his eyes roamed the walls. As a sniper, he was expected to have 20/20 vision, and well, Bluestreak had a pair of the best eyes on the autobot forces, period. It didn’t take him long to find a camera pointed straight at their table, a small pinprick of red blinking periodically.

Bluestreak isn’t sure he’s imagining it when the camera inches ever so slightly in his direction. He just offers a smile, turns back to the group and tries not to think about it too hard.

“-Prowler ain’t that bad when ya get ta kno’ him, Smokes, promise.” Jazz was saying. “He’s a little awkward, sure, but he’s a real sweetheart. Caring, just knows how to make ya feel good.” He says wistfully, lying on the table with a dumb little grin on his face.

“Don’t tell me that.” Smokescreen says but smiles indulgently still.

“Nono, keep going.” Bluestreak encourages, just to bother him.

“Nah man, I just- love my boo, y’know?” Jazz sighs.

“Only you would fall in love with a building.” Smokescreen snorts.

“I think it’s cute!” Bluestreak protests.

“If you saw his avatar you wouldn’t say that.” He huffs, “not that I fell in love because of his avatar, but y’know, semantics.” He waves off lazily.

“What does Prowl’s avatar look like?” He asks curiously.

Jazz pauses, glancing over at the camera staring at them for a long moment, Blue would think he was comming someone if his hands had moved literally at all, but it stayed motionless.

“Real pretty lookin’” He drawls with an impish grin.

“So you’ve said.” Smokescreen says dryly, but his interest was piqued. He had gossip in his eyes.

Jazz smirks at him but obliges with a quick glance at the camera. The camera bobs once.

He smiles properly this time. “He’s got white hair tha’- ‘s kinda like yours actually, Smokes. But red instead of yellow.” He says, miming the two hairs he had dyed yellow (or in Prowl’s case, red) that framed his face.

“Huh.” Smokescreen acknowledges, tilting his head a little. “I got mine as a pair.” He remarks, “with a family friend. Blue’s brother. Don’t remember why, but I convinced him to dye his-” he says, gesturing vaguely before he’s interrupted.

Bluestreak could practically hear the record screech of his brain. “What.” He blurts out. “I have a brother?!?!”

Smokescreen blinks. Jazz blinks. “Ya forgot ya own brother?” He questions.

Realisation dawns on Smokescreen’s face. “Oh right, you were probably too young to remember him.” He says, cringing slightly. “Uh, yeah Blue, you had a brother.”

“I… I need to process this.” He gasps, holding a hand out as if to say ‘time out’. “Wha- what happened to him?”

Smokescreen sucks in a breath, exhaling slowly. “He’s uh, dead.” He says.

Ah. Visibly deflating, he says sullenly, “Of course he is.”

“Aw, I’m sorry baby Blue.” Jazz says sympathetically, reaching over to pat his hand comfortingly.

He shakes his head, smiling weakly. “No, no, it’s okay.” He assures, trying to ignore the crushing feeling of disappointment that welled up inside him. He had hoped… he didn’t know what he hoped for. Maybe that he didn’t lose his whole family? Even if it was a man he didn’t know? “I didn’t know him. It’s okay.”

It’s okay. It’s fine. A new (old?) brother? Psh, he’s heard bigger news. Like the bombs hurtling towards Praxus!

…Too much, maybe.

Adapt. He just had to adapt.

OH PLEASE THIS IS SO GOOD AKFKFUDIEJBFDNFKDJ

Soukoku casual outfits ~

Bonus:

well it killed its 3 suicidal characters, sidelined the women in favor of a "bigger story" that forgot its central theme of classism

BY KILLING THE OPPRESSED IN THE CLOTHES OF THE PEOPLE THAT OPPRESSED THEM.

It brought together a lesbian couple in a cell in a prison one of the lesbians was tortured in and depicted it as her kneeling infront of the rich woman because the show loves its show not tell. It brought in new characters and killed them off, they had no overarching purpose in the story.

punk red-haired Joe: