NO ONE (that I can find in the Klaarg tag on ao3) has written a fic detailing Klaarg's last few months between Here There Be Gerblins and Petals to the Metal. He mentions they've been a terrible few months. No One Has Written Out How He Got To Be Imprisoned By The Hammerheads. I've decided to embrace this burden now that I've finished torturing Cecil.
If anyone has any thoughts on how our boy Klaarg fared in the interim, please let me know. I'm open to all suggestions. Also if you have a fic that Has been written about this, LET ME KNOOOOW
Posting days are upon as and the Transformers 2025 Big Bang is upon us! @tf-bigbang
I have started posting my dark and twisted mer!Jazz au on Ao3 and will continue to post chapters daily until it is fully posted on November 9th.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
Currently working on preparation for my WIP DreadRook fic, and decided to post my playlist for ease of access. Meant to follow the story tonally and lyrically, this playlist embodies their dynamic from beginning to end.
Whenever I get nice or thoughtful comments on my fics I take a screenshot and show my friends like an overexcited toddler showing their parents their drawings. If you even care
“Nah, nah, nah, you gotta keep yer thumb out an’ under-- if you tuck it ya might break it!”
“So like this?”
“Fuck me girlie, no, straighten out yer wrist! The hell are you doin, goin’ all limp like that?”
Paige, truly, did not know how they’d ended up on the subject. Somewhere between passing a bottle of Bobrov’s back and forth, however, it had somehow come up-- had it been admiration? Had she said something to Cait, praising her aptitude for turning faces into the visual equivalent of strawberry jam? Possibly, but somehow that had ended up on a critique of Paige’s own form... or lack there of.
No one ever taught her how to punch properly-- her education in self defense had come entirely from an elder brother who had taught her to utilize the naturally sharp points of her body; elbows and knees. Balling up a fist to throw hands was a masculine thing-- women slapped, men punched.
Corrected, she straightened out her wrist. “Like that?”
“There you go... now c’mon, right here.” Cait clapped her own hands together before turning them both towards Paige, palms out in an invitation to take a practice swipe. “Hard as ya can, you ain’t gonna hurt me.”
“Might if I miss.” Paige snickered, kicking back a swig of moonshine from the bottle before setting it aside, the glow of firelight making the scene swim. Cait had a smile on her face-- probably the biggest Paige had seen on her since she’d gotten clean. It made her eyes glitter.
The attempt of firing out and landing a fist in one of her open hands felt odd; an unpracticed and unfamiliar motion that her body engaged in with halting uncertainty. There were false starts to it, where Paige didn’t complete the swing and let out nervous laughter as she felt her face color up worse and worse whilst Cait waited for her to take the shot.
“C’mon, Paige, what’s got ya messed up?”
“It’s weird!” She defended, hands opening to press over her face, a drunken laugh sputtered into her own palms. “Okay, okay- okayokayokay, I got this- I got this!”
“Don’t tuck yer thumb!” Cait scolded as Paige balled up her hand again.
“I know, I know!”
They were both laughing. It took the edge off. Let Paige escape that weird hesitation and just take the swing.
The impact was solid. Cait caught her hand, fingers curling over hers.
