// Hi, I'm Rae, a 20 something goth lesbian and I finally made a pinned post for Prowl! You may know me from other blogs, like @silent-stalker (the main blog for this one, this is just a side) @silenced-no-longer and @allthesegentlesins (A tfp Nemesis blog that has a Vehicon OC side blog, and a tfp/tfa/sg Shockwave blog that has an sg Knockout sideblog)
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Hi, I'm Rae, and right now I desperately need some help! I was shorted on my latest paycheck and it me… Rae Rogers needs your support for E
Hey guys, I'm short on money right now and desperately need to get enough money to make my rent. Anything you can send my way would absolutely help a whole lot! I am also open for commissions!
He's been at his desk for the better part of six days. He hasn't gotten up once - getting called out to the battlefield doesn't count - and the last time he ate was about three days ago.
Prowl finally, finally gets up out of his chair to stretch, ignoring the sound of his back cracking multiple times, and then he blankly considers the reports on his desk again. Recharge, or stumble around and make an attempt to socialize and eat something that isn't rust sticks?
He grabs hold of the edge of his desk, claws shinking as they slide out, digging little holes in the metal, and arches his back as he stretches out the stiffness in his joints. The wires in his hips pull and twist, then relax. The plating along his spinal strut, just between his doorwings, flexes and bristles like a feline.
And then Prowl straightens up, flexes his wrists, retracts his claws, smooths down his plating, and sits down at his desk chair with a flick of his doorwings like nothing happened.
gasps because what if........ baby, little sibling for springer.........
If asked, this bitlet was not planned, nor wanted. But those that were there, that witnessed the panic and the scrambling, the way Prowl held her with a grip so tight Tarantulas had to remind him to be gentle, those ones knew while Lumen was not planned, she was very much so wanted.
Neither of them carried her, at least at first - the constructicons had been working, laying out a foundation for yet another building on the recovering Cybertron, with Prowl supervising, as per usual, and they'd stumbled across a young hot spot - and they discovered it by digging up a tiny, far-too-young newspark. The ex-enforcer had panicked, because of course he had, and frantically called his old partner. She'd know what to do, his frazzled processor had helpfully supplied; they' had Springer together, after all.
The advice of "keep her inside" was literal. Because of course it was. But what choice had he had? It was either carry the tiny newspark the rest of the incubation period or...well, Prowl was many things but he wasn't about to let one of the first newsparks of the postwar world fizzle out because he was too chicken to be uncomfortable.
He didn't think he'd...be so in love with her. He'd started calling Tarantulas just to update her, eventually just visiting. Showing her the horrible attempts at making bitlet toys that the Constructicons were making, nursery plans. Eventually staying the night to ride out carrying pains and bicker about names.
Eventually just staying.
Neither are sure if the...events afterwards affected Lumen. The slowly developing affection had overtaken bitterness and worn away at the sickly feelings of discomfort between them. Prowl isn't sure when he started sharing a berth - the first night he fell asleep on Tarantulas's couch and was too heavy to be moved, or the first night the newspark beating against his own had become painful enough to cause worry - but he does know that it the first time the bitlet seemed to calm down and let him recharge.
Lumen's emergence was quiet, and Tarantulas recharges through the whole peaceful event. She wakes to an absence of warmth at her side, and to Prowl holding a tiny, all black spot of a bitlet, curled around her like a particularly large cat. He barely notices when she reaches to gentle his grip.
Lumen, of course, looks quite like her Carrier, but with six impossibly bright yellow optics, and curled claws that, as a tiny bitty, she had enjoyed comparing to Tarantulas's. Her plating stays mostly black, with soft purple accents and a pale white face and the most adorable little pout that had her Carrier wrapped around her little finger. Her alt mode comes as a surprise - she'd had no visible kibble as a tiny bitlet - but it becomes quite obvious when they turn around after mentioning bath time to find a tiny praying mantis skittering across the living room and into a vent.
Lumen grows to be tall and graceful, a bright spot of dark light as she chitters and sweeps through the room with a confidence neither Prowl nor Tarantulas could have taught her. She adores her brother, and often hangs over Springer's shoulders and whispers judgmental things to him from the safety of Way Up There.
And as far as she's concerned, even though she grew to be taller than both of her parents, Prowl is Mam, and Tarantulas is Mama, no matter how old she gets.
The Constructicons are all godsires and she thinks its funny as hell how they dug her up.
Prowl, wanna share a snack? I got us some donut holes!
He should say no he promised Ratchet no more unhealthy snacking and someone else pointed out that his frame is getting a bit heavy duty - oh what hell, he’s probably going to die by angry Decepticon any day now.
Yes, Smokescreen, donut holes sound wonderful. Shall he come to you or is his office fine?
::Awesome! Don’t you dare move, I’m already on my way.::
And indeed, Smokescreen is running at top speed towards Prowl’s office, a box of donut holes in tow, and he plops in, with a wave, setting them down on the desk, on top of some important-looking paperwork, and sits on the other end.
There's just a long-suffering sigh from over the comms, but Prowl is secretly glad for a chance to avoid paperwork for once. He's been in here for days, sorting out Optimus's mess of reports - he's convinced that mech has never written a single damn coherent report in his life. Being able to focus on something that isn't a bunch of glyphs and words is a Primus sent break.
However, he does frown at Smokescreen for the placement of that box. Really? He's just. Going to move the box and reorganize that paperwork into a folder and away from potential harm, leaving the donut holes sitting in an empty space.
"Hello, Smokescreen. So, why'd you want to visit me out of all mechs?" There better not be trouble.
Prowl, wanna share a snack? I got us some donut holes!
He should say no he promised Ratchet no more unhealthy snacking and someone else pointed out that his frame is getting a bit heavy duty - oh what hell, he's probably going to die by angry Decepticon any day now.
Yes, Smokescreen, donut holes sound wonderful. Shall he come to you or is his office fine?
