lostinthelightsofcybertron

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

Latest reblog reminds me of how much it pisses me the fuck off how every queer person alive has to adapt to the usamerican style of queerness lest we get shunned by the community for being too different. I bring this up a lot but bro that time I got death threats for having ele/dele in my bio bc "by using neopronouns I was making a mockery of REAL trans people" when those are literally just my pronouns in my native language, and when I said that I got hit w the "well you're on the internet so speak english" I HATE GRINGOS I HATE GRINGOS I HATE GRINGOS

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

I've been so busy I forgot to share the commission I got for Havoc!

The artist is Nessora on TikTok!

Here's the wip

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

"Oh you had a plague? Come back to us when you had a World War, brand new unconventional weapons, and a new international order."

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

Hello there! 🌸💫 I hope this message finds you in good spirits 💕

I’m reaching out with a humble request to help my family in Gaza. Could you please reblog my pinned post or contribute $10 to help us meet our basic needs and provide essentials for the children in my family? 🙏🏼

Your support, whether through sharing our story or donating, brings hope and relief to us during these challenging times. Together, we can make a difference. 🌼

Thank you for taking the time to read this. Your kindness means the world to us. 🌷✨💖

Reblogged

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

🌟 A Cry for Help: My Family’s Struggle to Survive in Gaza 🌟

Hello, my name is Areej Kassab. I’m a 27-year-old English teacher and writer from Gaza, and I’m reaching out to you with a heavy heart and a desperate plea for support. My family and I are enduring unimaginable hardships as relentless bombings devastate our home and our dreams.

We are a family of 15—10 adults and 5 children. Every day is a battle for survival. Food is scarce, humanitarian aid is not reaching us, and my little nieces and nephews go to bed hungry. Among them is my sister, who is deaf, and another sister who has a newborn baby. They, too, are suffering in this crisis, and I’m doing everything I can to protect and provide for them.

💔 A Life in Ruins The war has robbed us of everything: safety, peace, and even the hope of a future here. My family’s needs are basic yet critical—food, clean water, diapers for the babies, gas for cooking, and other essentials to make it through each day.

With rising prices and limited access to necessities, we are struggling to provide even the most basic items. My sister’s home has been destroyed, and we are working together to ensure everyone has shelter, food, and warmth.

✨ My Plea for Your Support ✨ I’m a writer, and I’ve been documenting the harsh realities faced by my community under siege. But words can only do so much. We need action, and we need help. Your kindness can save us.

🙏 How You Can Help

Donate: Every contribution, no matter how small, brings us closer to securing the essentials we desperately need.

Share Our Story: If you can’t donate, please share this post to help us reach others who can.

Your support will help provide food for the children, clean water for my family, and basic supplies to help us survive this unimaginable crisis.

Thank you for reading, for caring, and for standing in solidarity with us. Together, we can create a lifeline for my family—a chance to live, to dream, and to hope again.

With love and gratitude, Areej Kassab ❤️

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

Hello 👋, I hope you're doing well..

My name is Mahmoud, and I'm a 17-year-old from Gaza. The ongoing war has devastated my city, destroyed my school, and made daily life incredibly challenging.

Despite these hardships, I'm determined to continue my education and build a better future. I've been given a chance to study abroad, but I need help to cover the costs of leaving Gaza, as well as living expenses and other essentials abroad once the crossing opens.. 🙏

If you can, please consider donating or sharing, your kindness can truly make a difference, and thanks for your time. ❤🍉

https://gofund.me/bd3ccf0b 🔗

Https://gofund.me/bd3ccf0b

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

There should be a dp x dc ver of Danny's class stranded in the middle of nowhere and they are unaware that they are being recorded live for the entire world, with the superhero communities pressured to find them.

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

kny if the Kochos were the main characters

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

Like to charge reblog to cast

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

Knowing that trans women of color started the movement in the united states and were literally immediately erased and excluded from what they started is the most deeply jading knowledge.

It is the original sin of the so-called queer community and it damns it from the cradle.

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

cameroon

go to this random coordinates generator and say in the tags how you would fare if you were dropped where it generates without warning. i’ll go first i’d be dropped in the middle of the fucking south atlantic ocean and perish

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

this is currently the best image that describes my mood

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

Prowl/Rodimus and Human SO with bitty

Ask you shall receive! (At least on two of them because it got really long.)

Prowl

This… relationship starts off from the professional side since you’re the Earth Liaison on Cybertron and Prowl’s the (former??) Autobot SIC.

Prowl has a reputation. You know this. He knows this. Everyone and their armored cyberhound know this. Just as everyone knows it’s safer to keep this mech nearby to keep an eye on his machinations. Possibly.

He grills you to get a sense of Optimus’ (Orion’s?) whereabouts and whatever abdicated Primes do. You have to tease out his designs and keep track of his ins and outs. (Your upbringing makes you strangely suited to this task. After all, you were raised on dangerous games with vicious opponents and you’re not in the habit of losing…)

You more or less feed this workaholic cop car with sealed cubes from Maccadam’s since you don’t know if he actually leaves his office and hunger and anger are an explosive mix. Especially with this mech.

Wordplay. A lot of wordplays. Mechs side-eye you and Prowl because a lot of it could be suggestive. What?! It doesn’t help that you can keep such a straight poker face. You explain the innuendo away as a culture clash if mecha weren’t deployed at Earth and most of the ones that have been simply think you and him are far too straight-laced in that department.

Here’s one of the turning points:

“So you’re going to get me off?” You ask, teetering on the edge of Prowl’s desk.

It’s been a terribly rough week, everyone’s running on fumes on double-time, and it’s finally over. You haven’t been able to have a meal of actual solids, camped in the office with a sleeping bag, and had to use the building’s showers that doesn’t take in consideration for minibots. Prowl’s looking frazzled, too, and still hunched over the mountain of datapads.

“I’m coming.” He actually puts down the datapad.

“I hope you have more stamina than that, copper.”

A lot of people are confused by you and Prowl. Like is there a relationship?

Mecha have bets on what type of relationship, the extent of it, and how it’ll end and much to their amazement and grumbles it’s still an on-going whatever it is. Smokescreen and Jazz connected the Lost Light and Earth, respectively.

In the end, it’s Starscream that wins it all followed by Riptide. When pressed, the smug bastard says, “I have my ways.” Riptide made some lucky guesses; that mech has a weird turn of fortune…

You often have to sweep the apartment for bugs. You’re pretty sure it’s both Prowl and Starscream. You leave the ones in the living room to maintain appearances but definitely keep the bedroom free.

You tell Prowl of the pregnancy in the privacy of your flat, living room debugged for this visit, you slide over the datapad with scans and tests by a Camien medic and the pregnancy tests you got from the galactic marketplace. The silence is deafening as he goes through everything, sensor panels in a neutral position, face impassive. There’s a moment before he gets up and leaves, saying there’s work to do.

Prowl doesn’t come to work for the day, nor the next day, nor the next. Mechs are surprised and worried he actually taken up his PTO that he accumulated over the war. 

Your heart’s breaking.

It’s been several months of silence and you continue your life and duties. You go to work, go to Maccadam’s, enjoy the newly cultivated crystals at the park, and take the proscribed material for the developing newspark. Trophon recommends that you should start taking transfluid since they’re soon going to start outpacing your single input. That’s when Prowl fucking pings you and it’s just a set of coordinates and a date.

Ironhide knows the place. It’s in the relative rebuilt urban. It’s pretty quiet. Mostly populated by the better off Autobots and NAILS that want privacy.

The flat opens to you since it’s keyed to your biosignature and Prowl’s inside.

He’s staring at your abdomen, still the same with no noticeable change, and the late-night thoughts haunting your lonely nights grow far sharper when he says to follow him and Prowl just disappears down the hallway and into-

A nursery. There’s a nursery done in cool greys and blues with splashes of color through the furniture and decor and that urge to tear into him lessens as you brush over the bright pillows in the cradle.

The conversation goes like this:

“I need to break the lease on my flat.”

“That can be done.” A slight pause. Prowl goes behind you and settles his servos over your hips, leaning into you as he says. “Shall we break in this place instead?”

Neither you nor Prowl says anything about the incoming newspark. You already put in the paperwork and everything’s smooth until a mech made a comment about you getting heavy there.

“Well, it’s a fact of life. Bitlets need to grow after all.”

And instant bluescreen of death. Right there.

This information causes a lot of grief in the form of lost money and a new wave of bets.

Mechs find it hilarious and so weird watching you and Prowl flutter around each other, trying to get each other to do self-care.

The bitlet’s a messy eater. More interested in smacking the bottle around or painting with the gelled sparkling-grade energon. They’ll suck on their little fingers and fist when the latest masterpiece is finished.

The edible paints are a big hit with the little one and a big mess in the office and at home. 

Sometimes Prowl wakes up in the middle of the night and just watches the sparkling sleep in their cradle, snug in the thermal sheets, and drooling on the donut.

Prowl knows his crimes, sins, and all the things he allowed in the greater good. He doesn’t know how all that amounted to this, but there’s the prick of unease that something will happen to you and the sparkling.

He won’t let that happen. He’ll destroy those threats before that happens.

Prowl isn’t sure why to use a reinterpretation of those fairytales you love. Not the Grimm tales, but more from tales of magic, witches, and animal brides.

Neither you nor Prowl gives them crayons or pens for their inability to scribble on paper or blank datapad screens.

Starscream reached decibels of unholy rage because bitty found his capes and cartilages of the heavy-duty cosmetic, highly-staining oil paint.

“You didn’t tell them?”

“They know now.”

Prowl uses a mesh sling between his sensory panels to carry the sparkling in public, especially during working hours. It’s nice having them babble and chirp at everything and everyone, field bursting with sire here-joy-what’s that-hello. Sire protocols are very content at this.

Prowl’s more… approachable with a pair of bright y/c optics peeking over him and little hands holding onto a blueberry donut plush.

Prowl’s not going to say anything, but hearing and feeling his bitlet purr contently between his panels and having you watch on with such warmth is one of his favorite moments.

You and Prowl make it a take-your-child-to-work day if there are no suitable babysitters.

Sparkling likes to play fetch when they’re in the sling. Drop their donut, fuss, and have Prowl or you pick it up. They’ll sniffle if neither of you doesn’t get it but then squeal and drop it again because they’re a baby and it’s a fun game.

Whenever Starscream sees bitty in the sling, he wiggles his wings so they would get so excited and flap back and drop the donut.

The cold look Prowl sends him could freeze solid a lesser mecha’s innermost energon but sparkling would fuss so he needs to pick it up, at least after a scathing wing remark at the flyer and Starscream sends back a sharp reply.

If you, Windblade, or Wheeljack pick it up, then Starscream and Prowl would just have a standoff of silently roasting each other.

Prowl’s still Prowl. He’s going to leverage everything he got, especially his sparkling of weaponized cute. Look at this bubbly, waddling bundle of bitty! Cybertronians don’t have that particular optic hue!

Much to Prowl’s displeasure and your unease, bitty really likes Optimus/Orion.

Rodimus

Hits on you on day one much to Ultra Magnus’ consternation. Hey, he isn’t speciest! The fact that you’re beyond receptive to his advances doesn’t stop the three-hour ship-wide conference on sexual harassment and ahh the “cultural differences in linguistics”

You shot back, “Maybe one day, Hot Wheels.” because of the flashy design and hey he’s pretty gorgeous.

Dead. Silence. After that.

Apparently the term ‘Hot Wheels’ is super suggestive. Like damn son, you’re so fucking fine, I’ll destroy you right here, right now, any position type of thing.

After that introduction, the captain of the Lost Light flirts with you a lot and goes full throttle, including draping himself over your desk, trying to get ‘Hot Wheels’ again. You don’t, you call him over things.

To name a few, you’ve called him Hotman, Flameo, Mech Torch, the Chosen One, Fratboy, Ground Zero, Caliente.

You high-fived Swerve when he spazzed over the references.

Rodimus loves like he fights: fast, hard, and without thinking of all the repercussions….

You’re the responsible, cautious (to an extent. After all, you’re on a long space journey.) type. Rodimus is the adventure-seeking, ambitious go-getter. You ground him and he pushes you. 

Although a heavy partier and highly social, he does have those days when he just wants an indoor night with you.

Loves the saying, “Netflix and chill.” Both meanings.

He does have wandering hands that just love squeezing your sides and thighs and running over your legs.

He’s a full believer of starting the day off with a bang and ending on a good note.

You don’t know if it’s the Lost Light or Rodimus himself that attracts all the chaotic energy that could power a galaxy but Rodimus is the fucking definition of an absolute madlad.

You start to collect an immense amount of good luck items since the Lost Light often goes FUBAR and you would like to live to, well, see more space.

You and Drift bond over crystals and gems.

Rodimus teaches you how to hoverboard and while it’s not astroid-surfing, the views from upside are spectacular.

There are times when the LL docks at a station. You and Rodimus make it planetside to airsurf and wander around and he lets out a bark of self-deprecating laughter. 

“I’m fine, sweetspark. Just remembering things.”

This guy’s already a heater, so he runs hot when things get heated.

Racecars have some serious stamina. And apparently high sex drives.

Even stripped down to the protoform, Rodimus’ frame after sex feels like the underside of an overworked laptop, his fans are just as loud.

Whenever it gets too uncomfortably warm or near burning, you shift over to the showers to cool down. Roddy follows you, too, and steam immediately happens when the water hits him.

Really down for anything. New sex position? Game on. Temperature play? On board! Mummification bondage? Sure thing but let’s get the material from Perceptor. Pet play? He’s a baaaad pet racecar.

You don’t know if it’s a flesh kink or clothes kink because he loves peeling off your clothes one article at a time and getting his hands and lips on every inch of your skin. Kissing, sucking, lapping before dipping between your legs and giving it full attention.

It could be a texture kink since he’s revving and ready whenever you need to use an elaborate dress. He had fucked you so hard your vision went white and body turned boneless while Rodimus was still going strong, down to his protoform and the dress just hiked up and your heels digging into his aft.

Definitely has a pregnancy kink due to being Prime and he takes impending sire duties very seriously.

Over the course of the carriage, sometimes it gets too much for actual penetration, so he just presses your thighs together and sinks between them, shuddering as he spills pink transfluid on your thighs and swelling belly.

He’s very much like fire, his kisses are devouring and his hands leave you burning from the inside out and you can’t get enough of it.

On quiet nights, Roddy curls around you and rest his hands with yours on the bump. 

A couple times you woke up to Rodimus talking to the bump, telling them the schedule for the day and that they shouldn’t give their carrier a rough time.

Your datapad calendar is synched to his HUD, so he leaves a star on the calendar that details whatever’s going on their development.

Day XX: Ratchet finally picked up on newspark’s frequency. Stable and growing stronger. What a champ!

Day XXX: Newspark’s sentio metallico finally settled! Good-looking bitty right there!

Bitlet has very strong opinions, so if they see shiny polish then go and make grabby motions at the shiny mech, demanding to be held.

Officer meetings had to stop for a moment so bitlet could crawl and settle on the shiny mech. The few times it happened to newcomers, others around the Chosen One would scooch away because the poor fucker doesn’t know bitty’s heat standards.

Drift and Rung are their favorites. The first has different types of lovely crystal gardens and the second has ships that light up and zoom around.

Mechs start to remember Rung’s name and presence since he can safely distract sparkling from a distance. Bitty loves chasing those ships.

When there’s time on the planetside, Rodimus takes the sparkling joyriding with him. Bitty’s buckled up, having the time of their life, and you’re using the hoverboard, keeping up with Rodimus’ increasing speed.

Rodimus never felt so damn betrayed when even his own bitletlikes Thunderclash. You think it’s hilarious that Roddy’s fuming but you’re damn sure that the kid really loves the mech’s searing paint job.

When you heard that Thunderclash carried the matrix at one point, you told Roddy that the Greatest Autobot Alive maybe feels like Daddy 2.0 to the bitty. You cackle at the sheer level of shocked horror Rodimus sends you.

Rodimus feels far better when his child Flamed On and singed Thunderclash.

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

Optimus prime becomes a western highway ghost story.

If you’re driving in the dead of night along those long stretches of highway in the western US you might just encounter a lone big rig who will drive along side you for miles. The truckers will blow their horns as they recognize his custom paint and trailer the truck will slow its steady speed to match them. Those truckers with cbs say that there’s someone to talk to in there but he seams sad and lonely. No one ever sees him stop. Some say he’s an angel who will lead rescue workers to crashes at the dead of night. Those unfortunate enough to wander the highways at night tell story’s of the truck that stopped and got them somewhere warm and safe for the night only to wake in the morning with large sums of money in there pockets and a small note apologizing for the low sum. Children and parents smile as he always honks his horn when asked. The people of the western highways know when you see big red you’re always taken care of no matter who you are or where you came from.

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

an alchemy of ore & eu de parfum : how i imagine cybertronians react to human perfume (afab!reader) (nsfw!)

most of the lost light crew only knew about it in passing. rumor was that before the war, the wealthy would import organic plants from off-worlds to extract their oils: steam distillation, boiling, maceration. of course, it wasn't very popular when the planet's atmosphere lacked the proper gases. without volatile elements in the air like oxygen, the exotic scents hardly smelled like anything. it didn't stick against their armors the way it clings onto organic skin. so it became a short-lived experiment that barely dented the surface of the planet's long history of achievements. mechs, trying to replicate organic perfume. it sounded ridiculous.

until perceptor caught a whiff of it: phantom light, brushing against his olfactory sensors. he lifted his helm, finally compelled to tear his optics away from the datapad to look at the human liaison. he inhaled experimentally, failing to be discreet. embarrassed, you tell him it's the new bottle of body wash you've tried: a mixture of wild violets and pink hibiscus. do you like it?  he thinks of strange fragile flowers, drifting under the wind. perceptor nearly missed the question, slowly nodding as you leaned closer in worry. it took the mech a lot of self-restraint to not pull you flush against him when the new, alien fragrance hits him square in the chassis like a bullet.

minimus drags his human's wrist across his intake, peppering light kisses along the skin. it was where the sweet, smoky odor was strongest, luring him closer. with you sprawled across his lap: trembling, laughing at the ticklish sensation, minimus couldn't contain the small, helpless groan that escaped him. shamelessly tipping your chin down to press your lips against his. the fragrance of mandarin and jasmine, crowding the space between your bodies.  the scientist hovered above your shoulders, mouthguard grazing the junction where your neck meets your jaw. brainstorm tightened his grip against your wrists, pining it above your head. he wants to melt into you, to drown in the overwhelming scent of amber. tyrax, benzoin; he knows they're just a cluster of chemical reactions coming to life along the curve of your collarbones. bonds breaking and fracturing to release something tangy, saccharine. but you're telling him that bulgarian rose, sandalwood — foreign, outlandish names of floras he'd never heard about before was making you smell celestial ? he was the universe's biggest heathen, but primus, save him. you were wiggling underneath his frame, back flat against the pristine table. he says he wants to run a few experiments, noticing how your pupils respond by widening, skin prickling with excitement. 

he's trying to be gentle, servos encasing your hip to lower you down his spike. megatron watches as you take him, inch by inch. with your back pressed against his chest plate, he could feel the thrum of his spark against the line of your spine as it bows and curves in pleasure. as you spread your legs further to sink further, he rewards you with a kiss — brushing your hair aside to press his intake against the pulse point beneath your ear. and he tastes it, or rather, breathes it in. he didn't need to, but when your sweat mixes itself with the perfume you always wore: bergamot and peony, he inhales and loses himself even more.

the habsuite reeked of sex, and it crowded the air: humid and heavy, whirl's optic nearly offlined at how obscenely wet you were around his spike. already drunk on your pheromones. so when he lifted both your legs higher — up to his shoulders — to fit himself up to the hilt, whirl didn't expect to catch a whiff of your perfume around your ankles. you whined, a high-pitched, desperate sound, when he stopped thrusting to press his enstril against your achilles heel. that was enough for him to snap. he hoisted you up into a mating press, driving into you with a new kind of vigor. 'you did this on purpose', he emphasized by roughly grabbing your ass to push further into your already trembling cunt. causing you to moan into the dark. 'you knew we'd end up here. like this. filthy, little —'

sicilian mandarin and citrus musk. you made a mental note to yourself to wear the combination around your lover more often.

a/n : for @robot-horde because you're brilliant and left a comment on the tags of this post and it just inspired me to make more.

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

Rung, watching Rodimus and Megatron argue: Why do you keep making them fight?

Swerve: I like drama.

[lostinthelightsofcybertron]

A dancing drift for ur needs