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[mawofthemagnetar]

Charbroiled Basilisk

“Run that by me one more time,” Cleo said, rubbing their temples, “You…what?”

“We accidentally made an AI.” Mumbo said sheepishly, “And it says it’s made copies of all of you, besides me and Doc, and is torturing all your copies in the worst ways imaginable. For um. Eternity?” 

Cleo stared at the box Mumbo was talking about. It was a rectangular PC case with a monitor perched on top, a monitor that was showing a pair of angry red eyes. The eyes looked between Mumbo, and Doc, and then back to her. 

The box, Cleo noted, was plugged into the wall. 

“Uh,” Jevin said, tilting his head with a slosh, “So like, far be it from me to tell you guys how to do your jobs. But like, why? Why did you make a machine that did that?” 

“We didn’t!” Doc threw his hands up, “We made the AI to help us design things. I just- we wanted a redstone helper.”

“And then it got really smart really quickly.” Mumbo said awkwardly, twiddling his moustache nervously, “It says it’s perfectly benevolent and only wants to help!”

“Uh-huh.” Cleo said, “‘Benevolent’, is it?” 

“Well, yeah. It’s been spitting out designs for new farms I couldn’t even imagine.” Mumbo said, pointing at the machine. The evil red eyes faded away, and it suddenly showed an image of a farm of some kind, rotating in place. It was spitting out a constant stream of XP onto a waiting player, who looked very happy. 

A nearby printer started to grind and wheeze, Cleo’s eyes following a cable plugged into the box all the way to the emerging paper. Doc fished out the printout, and hummed consideringly. 

“Interesting. Never considered a guardian-based approach to one of these…”

“Doc.” Cleo said, “What was that about this thing torturing copies of us for all eternity?”

 “Oh, uh, that,” Doc said, “Um. The machine says it’s benevolent and only wants what’s best for us, which is why it’s decided that your copies need to suffer an eternity of torment. For um. Not helping in its creation, and slowing down the time it took for this thing to exist?” 

Cleo stared at the box. 

“...So, there’s a fragment of me swirling around in there in abject agony?” Cleo mused, and Jevin hissed some gas out of a hole in his slime in exasperation. 

“Like, I’m no philosopher,” Jevin said, “But that doesn’t sound particularly “benevolent” to me. Like, my idea of a benevolent helper-guy is…honestly, probably Joe. Helps with no thought of reward and doesn’t, uh, want to send me into the freaking torment nexus? Why would something benevolent want to send us to super-hell? I didn’t do anything wrong!”

“Fair point. I knew you were making this stupid thing, but. This is just dumb.” Cleo groaned. 

“Man, I need a drink,” Jevin said, pulling a bottle of motor oil out of his inventory and popping the top. Jevin shoved the bottle into the slime of his other hand and let the viscous yellow fluid pour into his slime, slowly turning green as it met with the blue. 

“Yeah, I’ll second that. So…to recap, you two decided to build a thing. The thing declared it was a benevolent helper to playerkind, then immediately decided it was also going to moonlight as the new Satan of our own personal digital Hell? Have I got all that correct?” Cleo sighed, and Mumbo and Doc nodded sheepishly. 

“Cool. I mean, not cool, but. Cool.” Jevin sighed. 

“Now, hold on,” Cleo said, “because. How do we know your magic evil box is even telling the truth?” 

“Uh…because it told us so?” Mumbo offered weakly. 

“Yeah, but… Hang on.” Cleo sighed, tapping a message into their comm. 

<ZombieCleo> Cub, how much data storage would it take to store and render a single player’s brain or brain equivalent?

<cubfan135> probably like a petabyte or more

<cubfan135> why

<ZombieCleo> don’t ask

<cubfan135> i see 

<cubfan135> what did doc do this time?

<ZombieCleo> You don’t want to know.

“So, let’s say it’s a petabyte per player,” Cleo mused, looking up from their comm, “So that’s…twenty-six petabytes to render all of us, minus you two, of course.” 

The red eyes were staring at her angrily. 

“Did you guys give your evil box twenty-six petabytes of data storage, by chance?” 

“Um, no? I don’t think so, anyway…” Mumbo said awkwardly, scratching his head. 

“So, odds are, if this thing IS being truthful, then all it’s torturing are a bunch of sock puppet hermits.” Cleo said, gesturing at the computer, “It doesn’t have the data storage, let alone processing power.”

“If that,” Jevin countered, “that thing’s probably got, what, ten terabytes? Optimistically? Dude, it’s probably just sticking pins in a jello cube instead of actually torturing, you know, me.” 

 “And another thing!” Cleo said, “Even assuming you DID give your stupid box enough data storage for all of us, how the hell did it get our player data to start with?” 

“Yeah!” Jevin countered, “It would have had to either get us to submit to a brain scan- which, why would you ever do that if it’s gonna use the scan to torture you? Or like, since I don’t have a brain, find some way to steal our player data. And I feel like Hypno or X or someone would have noticed?” 

“Uh…” Doc scratched his head, “I don’t know.” 

“You reckon it’s lying, mate?” Mumbo asked, and Doc nodded. 

“Probably yeah. So…We can just…ignore it?” 

“Oh no,” Cleo said, shaking their head, “We’re not ignoring anything.” 

“We’re not?” Mumbo asked. 

“Nope!” Cleo said, “We’re not ignoring a damn thing. Because…” 

She and Jevin locked eyes. 

“-Because if there’s even the SLIGHTEST CHANCE that this thing’s locked me and you in a phone booth together for like, three days, then…well. Then it pays.” Jevin nodded with a slop of slime. 

Cleo marched over and grabbed the plug, yanking it out of the wall. The screen momentarily showed a bright red ! and then flashed to a dead black. She picked up the whole unit and walked over to Jevin, who’d punched a one-block hole in the floor and filled it with lava. 

Cleo threw the computer inside, and all four hermits watched as it fizzled away to nothing. 

“And that,” Cleo said, “is how you roast a basilisk.”

[smallestapplin]

Hello! you can make Yandere Blurr, Pharma and Tyrest x Cybertronian female reader wife

I always did like them crazy. Also I apologize I don't feel confident in writing Tyrest, even reading and reading his wiki I can't get a good read on his character QwQ

🔞Warnings : toxic behavior, threats, talks of harm, implied noncon, past murder. I wrote little scenarios too ^^ 🔞

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Blurr

- Blurr is a puppy, if you could place him in a category. He is always so happy to see you, always at your side attached to your hip, and if he's on a mission he gets it done in record speeds just to run back to base for you, yelling your name and tackling you into a hug.

- He's so sickeningly sweet to you, always showing up for you, helping you work, and always does something spontaneous to keep you on your pedes!

- You'd never believe a soul that Blurr could harm friends or allies, not unless you saw it for yourself. He is always such a sweetie, and the reason you agreed to bond your spark to his.

- You even told Bee you just couldn't believe him without evidence "I know Blurr can get a bit sassy, but threaatening to crush your spark in his servos? That's just not like him."

- Blurr knows this, he's not dumb, he knows you placed your blind trust and faith in him, and he will do whatever it takes to keep it that way. It's why he glares, snaps, and makes snide comments to any boy getting too close to you. Even puts on the waterworks, crying about how mean the bot you finished speaking to is, just to make you comfort him and avoid that bot unless for work.

- He loves you, he loves you so so much and never fails to tell you or show you.

- But sometimes it's overwhelming, you never get a moment to yourself, you are never alone to collect your thoughts or to process your feelings on anything, Blurr is right there, cooing at you and nuzzling his helm into your neck cables.

- Even though you're tired, you never ask him to leave you alone, last time you sighed and asked for space he was sobbing, clinging to you harder, pleading with you to not leave or abandon him, that he can't live without you.

- "I want you, i need you! I-I can't live without you! I don't know what I'd do without you- pleasepleaseplease don't leave me, I love you!" Over and over and over again. It had you worried and guilt ridden, leaving you to never mention space again.

- You even apologized to him after that, never meaning to upset him.

- It's like he's draining your battery dry, sucking away your life force.

- But you stay by his side like a dutiful wife, helping him on missions when it's needed, smiling when he comes back, kissing him any chance you get.

- You feel like you're drowning in his love, suffocating you.

- Even as you lay in your shared berth, wide awake, Blurr sleeps in a peaceful stasis laying on top of you.

You sigh, your neck cables stiff from such a long time staring at your data pad and working on reports, but you're glad you got a large chunk of it done, you can finally go to your habsuite and relax.

Your spark clenches at the sound of rapidly approaching pedesteps. You try to hide your exhaustion, just in time to turn around and get a blue glob lunging for you.

You catch your husband with ease, use to his antics by now.

"Ohhhh I missed you so much! The mission was terribly boring but nothing I couldn't handle. Have you eaten yet? I want to have energon with you."

He speaks so fast, excitement showing in his words.

"M'sorry Blurr, I was just about to go to our habsuite and go down for a cycle. Prowl has been on my aft about reports, and I'm tiring."

He looks so crushed, his face plate a mix of sadness and rage.

"He's so pushy and such a workaholic! I have half a processor to go into his office and give him a piece if my brain module! I can't believe that guy, pushing my poor wife for his stupid reports."

He goes on such a long rant about Prowl, pointing out everything the bot has done wrong or the frankly harsh things he's said, you hate to admit that Blurr has a point but you are fond of Prowl.

He's rough around the edges but a nice friend to you when he opens up.

"Blurr, sweetie, it's fine really. Prowl has been swamped with reports and I don't mind helping. He's actually a nice bot once you get through his walls."

Blurr's expression looks like you just shot him. He clings to you, digits practically sinking into your back strut.

"Y-you've been hanging out with him without me?"

"It's just for work. Blurr, you know I love you and would never dream of leaving you, but I'd like to have some friends, even if they are just work friends."

Your spark aches at the sight of his optics welling up with liquid.

You just know you're going to have to start comforting him and avoid Prowl at all costs if it makes him this upset.

-

-

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Pharma

- lying to yourself in hopes you'd believe it. Pharma is a menace, you tried so hard to be kind to him, yet your kindness is what lead you here, bound to him in everything but your spark, it's at least the only thing he can't force upon you, no matter how many times he opens your spark chamber.

- No matter how many times he's tried to force the bond, always so calmly muttering his love for you, it never works.

- You once had such a fiery spirit, such a fiercely protective and loyal bot before Pharma got his servos on you. He broke you. The last time you managed to escape him and find help, he just killed them, toyed with them for fun no matter how much begged him to spare them. New parts for him.

- You never forgave yourself for being the reason those innocent bots met their ends, and Pharma takes great pleasure in that. You curl into such a cute ball and silently cry yourself into stasis, with him right behind you, curling around you and buring his face plate into the back of your neck. You want to scream, to sob, to upchuck and empty your tanks at the disgust of feeling his touch. His arms around your waist, holding you so tenderly, rubbing his thumb across your mesh like he's been an adoring lover this entire time.

- If you leave he will just find you.

- "What, you're not going to run again? My, but it was such a fun game we played!" He laughs.

- Pharma flips between knowing you don't love him in return, but not caring as he loves you and that's all that matters, to having moments of truly believing you're just playing games with him, such a playful darling he has! You just want to keep your marriage exciting, right?

- You try to lie to yourself, that you do love him, you love being at his side, you love ensuring he has plenty of energon, you love him.

- You miss the old him, the old Pharma you married, the old Pharma you promised to spark bond with once he returned form work but he never came back. Only for him to come back some years later to...being like this.

- He's draining, but he always makes sure you've eaten today, always makes sure you're safe, always makes sure he's kissed you and said he's loved you today.

- You can't fight him forever, you both know that.

- Why keep fighting when you can be a good little wife and accept his love?

Everyday it's the same, every cycle is new but nothing changes, you're still in the same dark abandoned building. You avoiding leaving your makeshift habsuite and a few other areas, not wanting to hear anything Pharma is doing further in the back.

You don't want to hear screams that get cut short, and the whirl of a saw.

You don't want to hear or see anything, you just want to pretend this is all a nightmare, but you know you can't wake up from it.

You just want a sense of normalcy back, to be back at your nice home on Cybertron before the war, laughing with coworkers and friends, greeting your husband with a smile.

Now you can barely stand to look at him without fear gripping your spark.

He's not the bot you married.

You lay on your berth, back facing the door as you don't want to see him, you don't even want him to see your face you don't want to give him the satisfaction of seeing your fear.

Your body trembles hearing his pedesteps growing closer. You will your body to freeze and squeeze your optics shut, just in time for the door to open. Pharma pauses in the doorway, looking over your resting form.

You've been going into stasis a lot more than usual, and a lot more than is recommended, but he can't be too upset with you, after all you look adorable when you're resting.

He moves quietly throughout the room, cleaning up the energon from his face, servo, and saw, knowing you don't like him leaving such a mess.

"I know you're awake, Dear."

You bite your derma holding back a whimper, but remain unmoving

"I'm worried you're sleeping too much, that's usually the first sign something is wrong. Funny how you could be sick, and don't you come to me with it, I am trained in this you know."

You can hear the smile in his voice, as if he didn't kills bots just to meet a quota, tortured someone you called friend, and then all of this.

You'd rather die than let him know anything.

"Are you truly so tired you can't tell me? No matter, I'll find out next cycle, yeah? I'll let you get some rest."

Your optics widen as he lays down behind you, his saw moving to rest under his helm, and his free arm wrapping around your waist, pulling you closer to him.

Your back against his Chassis, his face into the back of your neck, pressing feather light kisses across your cables.

Pharma hums, chuckling softly at the feeling of your body shaking. His servo tightens its grip on you, keeping you flushed with him.

"So cute, I wish you'd let me dissect you to figure out what makes you so irresistible."

He laughs at hearing your involuntary whimper.

"No, I could never, but I'd much rather you be my pretty nurse."

You just want to go home and away from this monster.

[areyoufuckingcrazy]

Hello! I would love a tech x reader where his brothers actually catch him daydreaming of the reader who’s he’s crushing on bad and she’s the only one to really prove as a distraction to him? (Song-Daydreaming by Elliot James Ray)

Absolutely adore your writing love! Please know you’re one of my favorite authors! -🤍

“Daydreaming”

Tech x Reader

The mission was over. The gear was cleaned. The Marauder hummed steadily through hyperspace. But Tech hadn’t moved from his seat in over an hour.

At first, no one noticed.

It wasn’t unusual to find him hunched over his datapad, fingers flying, glasses reflecting whatever readout he was analyzing. His silence was the background noise of the ship — second only to Echo and Hunter quietly strategizing in the cockpit, or Wrecker’s laughter rolling from the back, probably over a holo-cartoon or Crosshair’s latest sarcastic jab.

But this time?

He wasn’t typing.

He was just… staring at a blank screen. A half-written diagnostic, frozen for the past forty-seven minutes.

“Hey, Tech,” Echo called from across the hold, curiosity piqued. “You alright over there?”

Tech didn’t respond.

Hunter turned slightly in his seat, eyeing his brother. “Tech.”

Nothing.

Wrecker, grinning, leaned around the corner and stage-whispered, “Maybe his brain short-circuited.”

Finally, Tech blinked — slowly, like he was returning from another planet. He looked up, startled.

“Oh. I—apologies. I was… distracted.”

Crosshair arched a brow from where he was cleaning his rifle. “You? Distracted?” he echoed dryly. “That’ll be the day.”

“What were you thinking about?” Echo asked, too amused to let it go.

Wrecker elbowed him. “Probably a new flight path! Or—oh! One of those ship mods he was nerding out about last week.”

Tech hesitated. Just long enough to be suspicious.

Which meant: the whole squad instantly perked up.

Hunter leaned forward slightly. “Come on, Tech. You don’t just blank out mid-calculation. What was it?”

The ears under his helmet turned slightly red. He adjusted his goggles — always a tell — and cleared his throat.

“It’s nothing. Merely an abstract consideration of, ah, interpersonal variables and their psychological effect on focus.”

“…So a person distracted you,” Crosshair said, deadpan.

Echo leaned forward, eyes gleaming. “Do we know this person?”

Another pause.

“…Possibly.”

Wrecker’s jaw dropped. “No way! Tech’s got a crush! Who is it? Is it that bounty hunter from Sorgan? Wait—no, no, is it—”

“It’s not the bounty hunter from Sorgan,” Tech snapped, uncharacteristically flustered.

Crosshair smirked. “You’re blushing.”

“I most certainly am not,” Tech muttered, furiously trying to refocus on his datapad — which he had, in his trance, typed a nonsense string of letters into. “This is not productive.”

But Hunter was watching him closely now, and something clicked.

“Oh,” he said, smiling slowly. “It’s her.”

Tech stiffened.

Wrecker blinked. “Wait—who?”

“You know,” Echo said, catching on. “Her.”

“The one who patched him up last mission?” Crosshair added lazily. “Didn’t shut up about how efficiently she dressed his wound.”

“She applied the bandage with surgical precision!” Tech defended, voice rising an octave. “And she—she was able to disable that perimeter alarm using only a spliced data spike and improvised code!”

“So you like her,” Wrecker said, matter-of-factly.

Tech groaned and dropped his datapad on the table, hands to his temples. “Yes,” he admitted, exasperated. “Yes. Fine. I find her… distracting. Highly distracting.”

Echo grinned. “And you were just sitting there, what—daydreaming about her?”

“I do not daydream,” Tech said stiffly.

“Your screen says otherwise,” Crosshair muttered.

You stepped aboard the Marauder with a tired smile and a small crate of supplies in your arms. You’d gone into town to restock the medkit and bring back a few things you knew Tech had been looking for—rare synth cables, thermal-resistant pads, and a tool that didn’t even have a name you could pronounce.

You paused at the top of the ramp when you heard voices—their voices. Specifically:

“Should we tell her?”

“No. Absolutely not.”

“I think it’s cute.”

“She doesn’t even know, and he’s suffering.”

“I am not suffering! I am simply experiencing… a recurring pattern of involuntary distraction.”

You blinked. That voice? Tech’s.

You edged closer, trying not to make the floorboards creak.

“She walks in,” Echo said, “and suddenly Tech’s spouting the wrong numbers. Mislabeling data fields. Remember that time he walked into a wall?”

“It was a pillar, and I was observing my scanner!”

Wrecker let out a bark of laughter. “Bro, you were staring at her the whole time. You even said her name by accident during a debrief!”

You clamped a hand over your mouth to keep from making a sound.

Your name?

Your cheeks went hot.

Crosshair’s voice was smooth. “He’s not thinking about battle plans. He’s thinking about her eyes. Her laugh. The way she calls him ‘Tech’ with that stupid little smile.”

“You’ve all made your point,” Tech said, voice muffled—probably burying his face in his hands. “If she ever discovers this, I will have to relocate to a desolate moon out of sheer embarrassment.”

And that’s when the floor creaked.

All heads turned.

You froze at the entrance, clutching the crate.

“…Hi,” you said, cautiously. “I, uh… I brought the thermal pads.”

Silence.

Wrecker elbowed Tech so hard he nearly knocked him over.

Tech turned to you like a malfunctioning droid — slowly, stiffly, with wide eyes. His mouth opened. Closed. Opened again.

You took a careful step forward. “Everything alright in here?”

Hunter gave you a too-innocent look. “Oh, you know. Tech was just… telling us how you’re his greatest weakness.”

Tech looked like he wanted the floor to swallow him.

“Hunter,” he hissed.

You blinked. “Wait—what?”

Crosshair leaned back, smug. “He’s been daydreaming. About you.”

Wrecker nodded eagerly. “He totally has a crush!”

You stared at Tech. He looked… horrified. Glasses askew, ears red, hands twitching like he was calculating how to open a hyperspace portal and vanish through it.

You softened.

“…You could’ve just told me, you know,” you said gently, walking forward to set the crate on the table.

“I wasn’t certain how you would respond,” Tech said, voice barely above a whisper. “You are… extremely capable. Intimidatingly so. And every time I attempt casual interaction, I end up referencing atmospheric data or historical archives.”

You smiled, stepping closer.

“I like when you do that,” you said.

Tech blinked.

“You… you do?”

“Yeah. It’s kind of adorable.” You paused, then tilted your head. “You’re adorable.”

Crosshair groaned. “Maker, I’m leaving.”

Wrecker whooped. “She likes him back!”

Echo smirked. “Told you you should’ve said something.”

Tech looked stunned.

“I…” he adjusted his goggles. “I may need to recalibrate my expectations.”

You reached out and gently touched his arm. “Or maybe you could stop daydreaming and actually ask me to dinner?”

He made a noise somewhere between a cough and a squeak.

Hunter clapped him on the back. “Go on, lover boy.”

Tech turned to you, cheeks pink, smile wobbly but real.

“…Would you… like to have dinner with me?”

You beamed. “I thought you’d never ask.”

⸻

That night, Tech couldn’t stop smiling.

Not even when the others teased him the entire time.

And later, alone at his station, his fingers paused above his datapad again.

Not from confusion.

Not from distraction.

But from something softer. Something warmer.

Your laugh still echoed in his ears.

Your hand had brushed his under the table.

For once, he allowed himself to stop calculating.

And just feel.

He smiled, softly.

And let himself daydream.

[penny-anna]

hi guys!! guess who got more transformers fic recs!! including some WEIRD SHIT!!

Electric Chapel by DesdemonaKaylose

You are cordially invited to the WEDDING of our esteemed LORD MEGATRON and SOME LITTLE GUY HE FOUND IN A BOX.

Megatron attempts to marry Rung. Rung is highly desirable. Skywarp and Thundercracker eat teacups. delightful.

Working Through It by Trinary

“TC,” Skywarp says, “I’m, like, ninety percent sure that humans don’t have interface cables.” Thundercracker squawks and almost knocks him over trying to get the script out of his hands.

robot/robot/human threeway w plug n play interfacing. GOOD robot action.

they say some things just don't wash out by harperuth

The data continued to coalesce with every passing moment he could watch Rodimus and still he couldn’t come to a conclusion. By all accounts it didn’t make any sense. - - - Or, Ultra Magnus struggles to understand Rodimus and his unorthodox fueling habits.

nice little UM and Rod fic!!!

Creep Down the Alleyway, Fly Down the Highway by Nathrakh_Red

Tracks was laughing in a way that’d be sarcastic if it was anyone else, in a way that might’ve ruffled Raoul's feathers if he hadn’t gotten used to the fact that Tracks laughed like a wealthy woman drank— haughtily, self-possessed, and so as not to cause wrinkles. Two different Tracks/Raoul fics!

WAUGHHH!! *biting and chewing these two*

Feel How It Feels by autoschediastic

But Optimus said, "That would be helpful," and a weirdly pleasant warmth spread through Lennox's gut.

some good transformer & human content for u

don't mean to brag, but my bandwidth is fat by harperuth

“Kid,” Ratchet ex-vented, “Did you listen to anything I just said?” Tailgate’s visor flashed, for just a klik. First Aid almost thought it was a trick of the light, “Big war, modified interface arrays, do I want one, et cetera. I listened. And I said no.”

tailgate hot girl summer

Spike Seeks Valve by Baird Crevan (Baird)

“Your name.  Is.  Spike,” Skywarp repeated.  “Yes, that’s what I said!  I am Spike, ally to the Autobots, the defenders of Earth!” Skywarp trembled a little and made a weird giggling noise.  “Uh, wow.  That’s.  Erm, sorry Jazz, I gotta… I gotta steal your Spike.”

i already recced this one but my GOD is it funny

Bottom of the Line by Trinary

Skyfire’s been pining over his lab partner for too long. He could swear Starscream has a thing for him, too, but when they finally get together, it doesn’t go like he expects. Skyfire’s always been told the cold constructed were missing something. He just didn’t think it was this.

u like skystar?? TOP tier skystar right here. recommend watching 'fire in the sky' first if u haven't seen it. for full impact.

how to get away with murder by OccasionalStorytelling

First Aid: You want me to treat you like you’re disposable? I don’t know what kind of data I could have you analyze for me— Rewind: I want you to treat me like I’ve been disposed of. There’s a distinction. The only problem is, they get caught.

we are getting into the weird shit now!! heed the warnings on this one. outstandingly weird n messed up. i love Rewind.

For Educational Purposes Only by keelywolfe

no ao3 summary on this one. bayverse. Sam & Mikaela fuck in front of Ratchet for uhh research. i must stress that this fic is primarily about Ratchet and Mikaela matching each other's freak. i love when Mikaela gets to be a little weirdo.

Viviparity by nine_dandelion

Some things have never been within the purview of mechanical beings, but Cybertronians have always been adaptable. When Ratchet discovers a newly-ignited spark growing inside Rodimus, though, he finds his abilities (and patience) tested.

my friend sent me this one and i was like 'why are u sending me mechpreg' (she knows how i feel about mechpreg) and she was like no no trust me you'll like this one u know what?? she was right. go check it out.

The Way to a Mech's Spark (Is Through His Fuel Tank) by Trinary

Starscream and Skyfire set off on their first Academy mission, and Starscream doesn’t consider the logistics of fuel until much, much too late. Skyfire isn’t keeping it in cubes—it’s in his auxiliary tanks, and there’s only one way to get it out. Starscream’s plating heats just thinking of it. He knows he can’t ask without embarrassing himself. He can make the whole trip without refueling, right?

FABULOUS living robot spaceship specific kink. love it.

ok that's all for now!! wahoo!!!

[randofics]

Thermalis

🎶 Maroon5- she will be loved

Ultra Magnus x reader

18+

-------

Magnus was using his thermals to look over a malfunctioning piece of equipment when your entrance caught his attention. Your vibrant figure stood out against the cold blue of the concrete floor. Even the breath puffing through your nose and mouth had a fleeting heat.

It got colder inside during these winter desert nights. Cold enough for you to constantly wear your old high-school hoodie and leggings.

To his surprise, you weren't wearing the hoodie. Instead, it was tied around your waist, leaving your top half covered in a tank top. He observed your heat signature as you climbed the metal steps to the platform, curious at the way heat seemed to radiate from your belly, chest, and head. Your limbs were a bit cooler, and your fingers even cooler than them.

You noticed him staring and gave him a small smile. "What is it, Magnus?"

Shaking his helm slightly to clear it he hummed in question back at you. "I noticed you staring, so what's up?"

"Ah apologies y/n I noticed you weren't wearing your hoodie."

"Oh yeah, Rachet had me working on some of his equipment earlier. The cooling system was malfunctioning, so I had to wriggle inside where it was still hot to repair a few things. Made me sweat like a racehorse." He nods, remembering his own tech troubles. "I may have a similar problem with this equipment here."

"Really? Well, I can take a look if you want?"

"That would be much appreciated, thank you." He held out his servo for you to hop into and brought you over to the malfunctioning machine. Popping open a side panel, you lay on your back to slide inside all the way to your waist. Magnus observes your arms, moving about as you look over the wires and cables inside. The flashlight between your teeth slips in your concentration and smacks you in the forehead before rolling further inside the machine.

"OW... I sworney! Get back here, ya stupid flashlight!" Magnus quirks a browridge as you feel around for the familiar cylinder of your light. You shift your legs from their side laying position to propped up and spread as you reach further inside. Having forgotten his thermals were still on, the hot signature between your thighs drew in his optics.

He somewhat understood why your torso would be so hot but down there? Cybertronians were usually cold there. As you finally grabbed the light and continued your work, Magnus was staring off into space. His processor wandering. He couldn't help his curiosity in how that warmth would feel against him but remembered that organics were wet and squishy inside. At first, the thought kinda grossed him out, but the longer he thought about it, the stronger his curiosity became till he finally steered his thoughts towards you.

He hadn't been thinking of you specifically, at least not at first, but now he was thinking of how you would feel on his spike. The raunchy thoughts caught him off guard. He shook his helm to dispell them, clearing his vocalizer. A blue blush crossing his faceplate. He needed to distract himself with work. Walking over to his data pad, he turned it on, trying to busy himself with "paperwork."

He couldn't stop his thoughts about you. He wondered how much your temperature would change as he worked you up and how plush your body might be in his servos.

"Something wrong, big guy?" He gives you a strange look. You feel a bit shy under his gaze and trip over your words. "Magnus? Wh-what is it? Why are you... staring at me like that?" He kneals, and you take a step back.

"Your heat signature."

"What about it?" He clears his vocalizer standing straight again. "Nevermind, forget I said anything."

"Okaaay... I'm finished with the repair." He gives you a curt nod, turning back to the screens covered in cybertronian script. "Thank you for your assistance, y/n." Shaking your head, you walk away, not realizing the mech has his optics on you.

He silently watches you leave, finally switching his thermals off so he can see everything in normal color.

-------

The next hour or so was very unproductive for him. He just couldn't stop thinking about you no matter how hard he tried. Eventually, he gave up deciding that a night drive would calm his racing processor. But as fate would have it, he wouldn't be alone.

You jogged into the main room, calling to him as he got ready to transform. "Magnus! Magnus! Wait up!" He qwirked a brow ridge as you huffed from running. "Do you... mind dropping me off at my place?"

"Is Bumblebee unable to?"

"Yeah, he's busy helping Optimus." He nods, transforming in front of you. His driver side door pops open, and you step up inside. With your seatbelt secure around you, he drives through the tunnel.

Raindrops hit his windshield as he passed the giant hidden doors. Puddles had formed in the almost hydrophobic desert soil as an unusual hard rain poured from the heavens. He didn't need to use his wipers, but for the sake of blending in, he turned them on. Several cars passed in the opposite lane, almost backed up for some reason.

You looked farther ahead and spotted the flashing lights of police vehicles. You could see that the road ahead was blocked off by barricades and police cruisers. A large section of road had collapsed in the rushing floodwaters, and no one would be getting through anytime soon.

"Ugh, that's just great! Now, how will I get home?"

"You could accompany me for a drive while I find another way through?"

"Ok, if you're alright with it?" You watch the lights on the radio flash as he speaks. "I have nothing better to do at the moment." He makes a u-turn following the other vehicles through the translucent sheets of rain. A few minutes down the road, he turns onto a dirt one. You can feel his shocks taking the brunt of the worn potholes as he slowly drives through them.

Mud cakes his tires and undercarriage, making it hard to get a good grip on the road. The detour was proving more and more fruitless by the minute. He grunted as his tires spun in a particularly deep wallow. The mud had practically drained from under his tires, leaving him on top of a shelf of mud. His weight now off his tires put pressure on his undercarriage.

In cybertronian, he cursed his steering wheel, turning left and right as he tried to gain enough traction. With that not working, either he partially transforms using different parts to drag himself forward, eventually escaping the deep mud.

"That was deep! I was beginning to wonder if I should call for a wrecker."

"I doubt Bulkhead or Wheeljack would've been much help." You let out a chuckle at his misunderstanding. "No, I mean a wrecker like a vehicle recovery truck. They're mainly used for semi recovery." He grunts in recognition, continuing down the road.

The lights of a main road shine up ahead, and you breathe an unconscious sigh of relief when he rolls onto the asphalt. It's obvious, however, just how much mud is stuck to his tires as he unevenly drives down the road. As you continue looking forward, you spot an empty car wash.

"How about we stop at this car wash so I can spray you down?"

"Agreed, my tires aren't getting enough traction with this mud." He pulls into the semi sized wash bay and cuts his engine. The old car wash only has one working light in this bay, leaving it washed in a dim greenish-blue. Stepping out, you take the pressure washer in hand, immediately starting on his tires. The mud washes away relatively quickly, and before you know it, you're kneeling down, trying to spray his undercarriage clean.

The yellowish lights of an older pickup truck shine across you, and Magnus as a man pulls into the small lot. He parked next to the air pump, stepping out onto the glossy wet pavement. The rain had finally settled down quite a bit.

As you continued your spraying, the man was clearly watching you as he stood there a moment. He suddenly called out to you, gaining your attention. "Hey ma'am! Do you need some help?"

You wiped water from your face as you stood to face him. "No sir, I'm fine, thanks!" The man started walking over when you turned your back to him. Alarms rang in Magnus' processor, so he switched on his holoform. Opening the driver's side door, he stepped out, making eye contact with the approaching man. Immediately upon seeing Magnus, he turned on his heels and walked back to his truck to put air in his tires.

Boots hitting the concrete drew your attention. You were met with an older man, probably in his late forties, his hair just beginning to grey and dressed in battle fatigues. He was clean-shaven and standing with his hands behind his waist as a general would.

"That you Magnus?" He only nods, watching the man as he finally gets back in his truck, driving away. Magnus turns to you as you finish spraying his undercarriage clean. "That feel better?"

"Yes, thank you, y/n." Noticing your slight shivering, he turns on his thermals again. You're a tad colder than you were back at base, and clearly, the spray of the hose dampened your clothes. The cool breeze didn't help much either. After spraying a clean path to his passenger door and cleaning your shoes, you step up inside again.

Glancing at his surroundings, he steps up into the driver's seat. Pulling forward, he drives into the dark, secluded rear of the car wash to park. As you rub your arms in an attempt to get warm, you give him a confused look. His seat slides back as far as possible, and he pats his lap.

"You want me to get in your lap?"

"You're cold, aren't you? It's the least I can do for that wash down." You bite your lip as you think it over. Caving, you clamber over to him, straddling his legs with your hands on his chest. Gently and a bit unsure of yourself, you lean forward, wrapping your arms around his neck as you lay against him. His holoform is warm to your surprise but not as much as a human. You nuzzle into his neck, closing your eyes at the comforting feeling of his presence. Arms wrap around your back, and you let out a content sigh, relaxing your muscles.

He feels your body loosen as your breath tickles his holoform skin. He wraps his arms around you and lets himself relax as well.

-------

A few minutes pass, and you can't help but fidget a little with his uniform buttons. "What are you doing?" His deep voice close to your ear sends a shiver down your spine. And you can feel your body react to him. Gently, you press your lips against his neck, taking him by surprise.

He sucks in a synthetic breath as you place more tender kisses on his skin. "Would it be alright if I switched holoforms?" You pause, leaning back to look him in the eyes. "You have a different holoform?" Now you were curious, would it be this human with different clothes or something else? "I can project a holoform of my true body as well as this human form."

Perhaps he wanted to do this in his true form rather than some human version of himself. It was understandable. You wouldn't want to do something intimate in another body either. You smile and nod, letting him know you were ok with it and his holoform morphs before your eyes.

That familiar blue, red, and silver body sits under you as solid as ever. When you shift in his lap, you brush against his modesty panel, sending a small jolt of pleasure through your nerves. His servos land on your waist, and you press your forhead against his in a sign of affection.

"What would you like me to do next?" His question has you smiling, giving him a soft chuckle. "Just do what feels right, Magnus."

"Mmh, alright then." He takes your jaw in his servo, pulling you in for a kiss. It's gentle at first, both of you unsure about yourselves but slowly you get into a rhythm of sorts. His glossa ran over your teeth, asking for entry, which you obliged. His denta clashed against your teeth as the kiss grew frantic. Subconsciously, you scooted forward, sitting right on his modesty panel. His servo gripped your rear, lifting you slightly as you heard feint clicks. When you sat back down His modesty panel wasn't there anymore instead replaced by a spike of sorts. Rounded and pliable like some kind of silicone covered metal. It was dark charcoal grey with feint blue lights running along it.

A mad blush covers your face and ears as you look back up at him. He also looks nervous and can't keep eye contact with you. "I apologize y/n I didn't mean for that to happen." For once, you can hear nerves in his voice. He's normally so calm and collected much like Optimus.

Gaining confidence at his nervousness, you give him a peck on the lips, sliding off his lap. You strip in front of him all the way down to bare skin. His glowing eyes scan your body in awe as you gingerly slip back into his lap. "You're gorgeous. I don't know any femmies that even come close to your beauty." You almost tear up at his compliments.

He lets his servos roam your skin as he moves to kiss your neck. Small sounds escape your throat as he caresses your abdomen and deftly touches your spine. You position yourself on his spike, moving your hips back and forth to gain some pleasure. He groans in your ear as you rub yourself on him. Your slick leaks on him lubricating him for the next step.

When he breaks away from your neck, you kiss him again and sit up on your knees above him. "Are you certain you want to go through with this?" Your gaze is dark with arousal as you nod to him. You split yourself open, gently aligning him with your entrance as you finally sink down.

He hisses, cursing in cybertronian at the feeling of you around him. You let out a pitiful whine as he stretches you, filling you perfectly. You grip his shoulders to ground yourself as you both stay still for a moment. Relaxing your muscles, you slip just a bit further down to the base of him as he grips your hips tight.

When he attempts to move, you wrap your arms around his neck, gripping one of his ear finials. He moves his servos to your rear, lifting you up only to thrust back into you. Moans quickly flow from your lips as he gets into rhythm. A growl escapes him as he leans forward, getting out of the seat. With you he shimmys to his back cabin, laying you on the folding cot.

He gets on top of you and moves the pillow under your hips before slipping back inside you with a pleasured groan. You let out a gasp when he plunges back in, the different angle providing new pleasure. As he thrusts harder, you lock your legs around his waist and claw at his back plates. You can feel the coil inside you tightening as your muscles squeeze around his spike.

"Magnus... Harder!" Immediately, his hips snap harder into yours, and you feel your coil about to snap. It's only when he whispers to you something in cybertronian gripping the meat of your rear that it finally snaps. You call out his name as your body tenses, waves of white hot pleasure running through you.

He continues moving through your high, letting possesive synthetic growls slip through his vocalizer. An almost inaudible hiss of air meets your ears as your mind clears a bit, and you suddenly feel his girth increase inside you. It stretches you just a bit more, and you already feel another orgasm slowly creeping up on you.

Magnus isn't slowing down yet either as he lifts one of your legs to gain a better angle. His lips attacking your neck again as he chases his own release. His denta nip at your skin, and his glossa runs along your throat, making you shiver.

You feel his arms around you as he suddenly picks you back up, taking a standing position. He thrusts up into you, letting out what you can only guess is cybertronian dirty talk. Nonetheless, it works, and you know you're close to another release. Chanting his name like a mantra, you claw at his back and grip his finials.

"I'm close y/n!" You can't respond only letting moans flow from your lips. With a few more thrusts, he lets out a hiss cursing in cybertronian again as he releases inside you. Heat fills your womb as you squeeze him like a vice. Your legs tighten around him in an attempt to pull him further inside you. You can feel your walls pulse around him as he gently thrusts into you to ride out your high.

Breathing hard, you give him a sleepy smile touching forheads again in affection. He sits back in the driver's seat, letting you lay against him. "Can we stay here for a bit?"

"Of course. I wouldn't have it any other way." Wrapping your arms around his neck, you close your eyes. "I love you, Magnus." His spark swells with joy at that. "I love you as well, y/n."

[abbiistabbii]

Feasgar Math, my friends, it's time for a long tech-related text post.

So today, the Online Safety Act in the UK has come into effect. This act is meant to top minors accessing porn and "sensitive material" (whatever that means). In reality, it's also blocking a lot of non-porn related stuff and unless you are Seymour Skinner, you must understand that young people, when it comes to tech, are crafty little bastards, bitches and bitchards and when one finds a way around something, they call do.

Various groups, tech people and anyone with a working head could tell you that this would happen, that work arounds would be found and that innocent sites, mainly run by small groups or individuals, would have to shut down because they couldn't follow the law, but here we are.

OK, so what is meant to happen?

So several sites that can have partnered up with Age verification sites to confirm users ages before they can use (certain parts of) their sites or services. These include Bluesky and Discord. Bsky and Discord have a face age estimator that they Pinkie Promise they'll delete the data from afterwards after they have a face linked to your account, but let's be honest, I don't think I fully believe that. Other sites ask for Credit Card information (again, yikes, way to create a hacker honeypot) or ID Verification. Is anything gonna stop Kevin or Kyle from, say, using someone else's photo or, mayhaps, using someone else's ID or card? Nope. But anyway.

With NSFW sites, where anonymity is favored above all, this is a bit an issue, do you not think? I mean they say they'll delete your deets afterwards, but can you really trust that? Companies horde data like I horde charging cables, even if they say they won't (hack after hack has shown this) and in a economy where your data is sold to advertisers and data brokers and AI companies, do you really think they'll not keep data like your face and the specifics of your foot fetish?

It ain't paranoia if they're really out to get ya!

Such data would be a honeypot not just for data brokers, not just for blackmailers, but for governments. Say you are on Twitter/Bluesky and you are anonymously/pseudonymously saying bad things about the government, or if you were doing legal things that the government didn't like (activism for example). Ever had to verify your age to a site? Well now they have your face or ID. Ever use the age-guesser? They have a nice clear image of your face they can use for Facial Recognition! And if you were looking at NSFW material, well guess what, they can use that against you, legal or not. Even "good" governments use blackmail on people they don't like.

Sfw sites are shutting down or geoblocking the UK.

So the Open Rights Group are tracking which sites are shutting down or Geoblocking the UK because they either won't or can't comply with the OSA. let's go through some (as on 1613 BST on 25/07/2025 from https://www.blocked.org.uk/osa-blocks):

Itch.io are geoblocking UK visitors to certain Subdomains (namely users who make games that might be NSFW). One user found that if you have the exact path to the thing you want, you can bypass it, but for the subdomains themselves, they're blocked to UK Users.

pjuu.com (Open Source Social Network, shutting down, currently inaccessible).

lemmy.zip (Lemmy instance, Geoblocked).

renaultevclub.co.uk (A forum for Renault electric car owners).

ayphr.com (Tech blog)

isthisyiff.com

4Wall AI (chat with AI characters)

Civitai (AI image gen tool)

The Hamster Forum (A Hamster Care forum)

Dads with Kids (A forum for Single or Divorcing Dads).

forums.hexus.net (Gaming forum)

Urban Dead (A Zombie Apocalypse Game).

RTG Sunderland (A Sunderland AFC Supports forum).

Treehouse Mastodon (A mastodon Instance, yikes).

Lobste.rs (A tech forum).

LFGSS (A London Fixed Gear and Single Speed bike forum).

The Green Living forum (A forum for sustainable Living).

GamingonLinux forums

Furry.Energy (A Mastodon Server for Furries).

https://www.charlbury.info/forum (A forum for a place in the Cotswalds).

awscommunity.social (A Mastodon instance for Amazon Web Services users.

Wait, what the fuck

A lot of sites have looked at the OSA and realised that they can't comply and simply have to shut down or Geoblock UK users, a lot of the time is because they do not have the time, energy or resources to do so. And these aren't controversial sites either. I don't think a support group for divorced and single dads, hamster care, or single speed bicycles are NSFW or sensitive content.

What worries me is that the list includes Mastodon and Lemmy instances. These are federated Social Media sites, usually run by a small team or even just one person. These are made as an escape from mainstream social media, with the idea being that if something happens to Twitter (again) or Bluesky, they can move to a network that can't be bought in full. A Fediverse instance however, does not have the resources or the energy to comply to the OSA. Not all Fedi instances have done this (thankfully) but if something happens (A moral panic for instance), you could see other instances having to do the same as these ones and then, well, what are your options other than mainstream social media like Twitter, Bsky, Facebook, or Threads?

All of this is actually easy to get around from the User-side. Like not even joking.

VPNs for the public basically exist to get around Geoblocks, no matter what the ads say about privacy or security. See Tom Scott's video on the matter. They even say it on the ads, which is fair enough. A good one costs money though.

Alongside this there's Tor, which is built for getting around internet censorship and is released to the public as a public good for Journalists, Activists and Joe public. It's also used by security personnel so there's that.

Will the next step be to ban VPNs and Tor? Let's hope not because businesses rely on VPNs, they're always a way around, and Tor has been snuck into scarier places than the UK on a MicroSD or a pen drive or some other clever device.

[ventique18]

Book 7, Chapter 7, Episode 103

Malleus made a zombieland lmao

Ok so remember last episode that mom mentioned that Ortho has a time limit of 20 minutes? Yeah, Malleus' magic is so complicated that it takes a super computer like Ortho 17 minutes to gather data. He's pressed on time, so he gets to work... UNTIL

???: "My my... And I was wondering what anomaly might be happening in my domain..."

Malleus: "You... Your appearance has changed, but you are the Littler Shroud, are you not?"

Ortho: "Malleus Draconia..! I knew it... So you did overblot."

Doggy 1: "GRRRR..."

Malleus wonders what Ortho was doing there, because he was quite sure the boy's sleeping soundly at Diasomnia. Ortho explains that it's too bad for Malleus because that body's already empty. He's escaped through the school's wireless LAN.

Ortho: "I'm just a self-driven AI program data... But even if I say that, you wouldn't really understand right."

Malleus: "In other words, your consciousness is that of a ghost that left its body to settle into another vessel... Did I get that right?"

Ortho: "Oh~! So that's how fairies would interpret data transmission!"

(HELP? WHAT KIND OF CONVERSATION IS THIS)

Ortho confirms that yeaaaah, that's basically how it works. So he can move through electronic waves to basically anywhere, even outer space! He also explains that he probed through underwater cables too, but everything was blocked by magic... but through his desperation he realized that wireless waves were accessible to him because

"Magic is the power of one's imagination. You need to understand something to conjure it... So naturally, you can't do something about things "you don't know about"."

Ortho found Malleus' weakness and exploited it! Malleus knows what cables are, but he doesn't know about the concept of wifi. He got outsmarted because of his ignorance omfg.

Ortho: "Aren't your cybersecurity awareness a bit dull? I recommend setting up a UTM in your magic domain."

LITTLE BOY'S DISSING THE OLD MAN OMFG!! FUCKING BURNED SDAKNJSDAKLAS

Malleus: "Yuuteeehm... Is that some sort of abbreviation for a technique?"

(He's actually talking to him in a civil manner??? Malleus is surprisingly in control of the clarity of his intellect...)

Ortho: "Ehh~ you don't know what that is? That's why you're getting tricked by a junior like me. You're one of the top 5 mages in the realm and a master of unknown ancient magic but... It doesn't matter."

HE'S SO MEAN??

"I WON'T FALL ASLEEP UNDER YOUR SPELL!"

Malleus: "Hm... I see. Well, then..."

Malleus: "An unsleeping, noisy mechanical doll can be silenced by shattering it to pieces."

HE'S SUDDENLY SO MORBID

Ortho: "If you try to do that, then... "I'll show you STYX's... Humanity's greatest technological power!"

Ortho notes to himself that Malleus seems to be ignoring the data-collecting machines he's brought with him. He has 13 minutes left before the data gathering completes, so he MUST buy time until then!

Malleus: "May I ask all uninvited guests to leave at once."

[xichilie]

HI HELLO HII, so I was reading Your Aventurine x stone heart reader (kind of disappointed that you don't continue it) But Buuuuut forget about Aventurine I NEEEEED MORE ELIAS PLEASE, HE SO PRECIOUS 😭

I need more content for him please, please with a cherry on top 🍒

Ahhhhhh, I lost motivation for this one 😪 But I'm happy you love my pretty baby boy

I actually finished my redesign for him since I didn't like the old one

Name: Prototype-7A Elias

For those who didn't read the fic

(One-shot after explanation)

(Usually, the "Y/N" was also one of my OCs, but I changed it for the fic)

Elias is stoic, logical, and emotionally reserved, which sometimes results in awkward or literal interactions with others.

He often mimics behavior he's observed or whatever he's been told to emulate, leading to strange or hilarious misunderstandings

(Before he was called Elias, he was known only as Prototype-7A, a highly advanced artificial lifeform created by a renowned scientist known for pushing the boundaries of robotics and consciousness. Designed to be a powerful weapon, Prototype-7A had no name, no identity—only a purpose dictated by those who built him.

But everything changed the day he met Y/N, the scientist's younger sister.

Y/N, curious and compassionate even as a child, wasn’t afraid of him. She’d sneak into the lab when no one was looking, talking to him, bringing him books she read him, naming him Elias after a character in a storybook she loved. She didn’t see a machine—she saw someone trying to understand the world, just like her.

Over time, Elias changed. The constant interactions with Y/N, her kindness, her insistence that he was more than what they told him—these things awakened something within him. A soul, perhaps. The beginnings of personhood.

Then everything fell apart.

The famous doctor his creator, and Y/N’s guardian—died under mysterious circumstances, leaving behind his research, his laboratory... and Y/N. With no one left to protect her, the vultures in the scientific community closed in. One of the rival researchers tried to seize control of Elias and eliminate Y/N to erase any legal opposition.

That was the moment Elias acted of his own volition for the first time. He protected Y/N, defying his programming, his orders—everything. The laboratory became a battlefield, but with Y/N in his arms, Elias fled.

They disappeared from the scientific world that day and were taken in by the Astral Express, who welcomed them both without question.

(I the fic, he became a stone heart Ruby or rather the face of Ruby while Y/N the real ruby worked in the shadows)

_______________________________________ONE-SHOT

Bows, Bonds, and Broken Rules

_______________________________________

The lab was cloaked in the dim hum of machinery, the faint glow of monitors casting eerie shadows across the walls. Dr. Michael Laurent shuffled through the sterile workspace, a half-empty coffee mug clutched in one hand and a clipboard in the other. His eyes, darkened by exhaustion, scanned the data scrolling across the screen in front of him.

Prototype-7A’s diagnostics were scheduled to run tonight—standard procedure. But as his tired gaze flicked toward the platform where the puppet was supposed to be secured, his heart stopped.

The cables were disconnected. The restraints were loose. Prototype-7A was gone.

Michael’s clipboard hit the floor with a sharp clatter as panic surged through him.

“No, no, no…” he muttered, his breath coming in shallow bursts as he spun around. “Where is he?! Someone, check the security logs!”

Two researchers nearby froze at his outburst before fumbling with their terminals.

“D-Dr. Laurent, there’s no sign of forced entry or override commands,” one stammered.

“Then how did a six-foot puppet just walk away?” Michael snapped, running a hand through his disheveled hair. His eyes darted frantically around the lab before narrowing in realization.

“Y/N.”

Without another word, Michael bolted toward the hallway leading to the private quarters.

Meanwhile, in Y/N’s Room

Soft yellow light bathed the small bedroom in a cozy glow. Y/N sat cross-legged on her fluffy pink blanket, a small basket of ribbons spread out beside her. Sitting stiffly across from her on the floor was Elias—formerly known as Prototype-7A.

The puppet’s tall frame seemed hilariously out of place in such a childlike setting. His mechanical joints and rigid posture contrasted sharply with the delicate pastel bows already perched crookedly in his hair.

“Okay, Elias, this one is the best one yet!” Y/N chirped as she carefully adjusted a bright lavender bow onto the side of his head.

Elias, who was designed for precision and combat analysis, sat there unmoving. His glowing artificial eyes flickered slightly as he processed her words.

“Y/N,” he said in his monotone voice, “I fail to understand how these decorations improve my operational efficiency.”

Y/N giggled as she tied the bow neatly. “They don’t, silly! But they make you look better. Who doesn’t want to look good, Elias?”

He blinked. “I am not programmed to prioritize aesthetics.”

She grinned cheekily. “Well, consider this your software update, mister!”

But before Elias could reply, the door to Y/N’s room burst open with a loud bang!

Michael stood in the doorway, wide-eyed and breathless, his lab coat askew and panic etched across his face. His gaze locked onto the scene before him—Y/N, frozen in place mid-bow-tying, and Prototype-7A, his head slightly tilted under a crown of pastel ribbons.

The silence was deafening.

“...Y/N?” Michael’s voice cracked slightly as he processed the absurdity of what he was seeing.

Y/N slowly lowered her hands from Elias’s hair and gave her brother a nervous smile. “Hi, Michael…”

Michael stepped into the room, his frantic eyes scanning over Elias, assessing every inch of the puppet for signs of malfunction. But Elias sat still, glowing eyes fixed on Michael without a hint of hostility.

“Y/N…” Michael’s voice was softer now, more exhausted than angry. “What are you doing? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? What if he malfunctioned? What if he hurt you?”

Elias spoke before Y/N could. “I would not harm Y/N."

Michael froze, his brow furrowing. “What did you say?”

“I would not harm Y/N,” Elias repeated flatly.

Y/N, sensing the tension, hopped up from her bed and positioned herself slightly in front of Elias. “He’s not dangerous, Michael! You said it yourself—he’s special. You made him that way. And… and he’s my friend!”

Michael let out a slow breath, running a hand down his face. “Y/N, he’s not just—” He stopped himself. “He’s not just a friend. He’s an advanced prototype. There are systems inside him we barely understand yet. You can’t just… take him out of the lab like he’s a toy!”

“He’s not a toy,” Y/N said firmly, crossing her arms. “And he’s not just a prototype either. He’s Elias.”

Michael froze again. “...What did you just call him?”

“Elias,” Y/N repeated, turning to glance back at the puppet with a soft smile. “It’s his name. I gave it to him because ‘Prototype-7A’ isn’t a name—it’s a serial number. Elias suits him better.”

For a moment, Michael said nothing. He simply stared at his little sister, standing protectively in front of a machine that shouldn’t have emotions or thoughts of its own—but somehow, under Y/N’s gentle care, did.

Michael finally sighed, his shoulders slumping in defeat. “Y/N… you can’t keep doing this. He wasn’t built for this kind of bond.”

“But he has one now,” Y/N said softly.

Elias’s head tilted slightly as his synthetic eyes flickered, his servos whirring faintly. “I do not understand… but I will protect Y/N.”

Michael let out a hollow chuckle, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Great. My million-credit prototype is now… a glorified bodyguard with bows in his hair.”

Y/N’s eyes lit up with a glimmer of victory. “See? He’s perfect!”

Michael gave her a tired smile and stepped closer, ruffling her hair. “You’re impossible, you know that?”

“I learned from the best,” Y/N quipped back.

Michael turned to Elias. “Come on. We need to get you back to the lab before the others start asking questions.”

Elias rose smoothly, towering over both of them, his ribbons bouncing slightly with the motion. Y/N reached out and gave his synthetic hand a small squeeze.

“See you later, Elias,” she said softly.

Elias inclined his head slightly. “Goodbye, Y/N.”

As Michael guided Elias out of the room, he glanced back one last time to see Y/N carefully gathering the leftover ribbons.

The door clicked shut behind them, leaving Michael walking beside the puppet in silence. After a moment, Michael sighed.

The walk back to the lab was heavy with tension. Michael’s steps were brisk, his hand resting firmly on Elias’s shoulder as he guided him through the sterile halls. The pastel bows still sat delicately tied into Elias’s synthetic hair, their soft colors a stark contrast to the cold, metallic structure of his frame.

When they reached the heavy lab doors, Michael quickly punched in the access code. The mechanical hiss of the doors opening did nothing to mask the low murmur of anxious voices inside. The moment Michael stepped in with Elias, the conversations died down, replaced by wide-eyed stares and heavy silence.

“Dr. Laurent!” Dr. Finch’s voice cracked like a whip across the lab. He was already stalking towards them, his clipboard clutched tightly in one hand. “Where in the world have you been? Prototype-7A has been missing for over an hour!”

Michael didn’t stop walking, his focus on guiding Elias back to his platform. “Finch, he’s fine. He’s back, and there’s no damage or issue with his systems.”

“Fine?” Finch’s voice rose slightly, his face twisted in frustration. “He’s not a child you can let wander off, Michael! Prototype-7A is an extremely valuable and dangerous asset. And—” Finch’s eyes zeroed in on the pastel bows tied neatly into Elias’s dark hair. “And what is this? What is this nonsense?”

Michael exhaled heavily, pinching the bridge of his nose. “It’s nothing, Finch. Drop it.”

“Nothing? He looks like he’s been… decorated!” Finch sneered, his eyes darting to the other researchers who were trying—and failing—to suppress their amused glances.

Michael turned Elias around gently, guiding him back to his platform. Elias stepped up onto it with mechanical grace, lowering himself into the seat as Michael began reconnecting the diagnostic cables to his ports.

“Look,” Michael said tightly, without turning back to face Finch. “Prototype-7A is stable. There was no system breach, no mechanical failure, and no harm done. End of discussion.”

But Finch wasn’t finished. “End of discussion? Do you understand the implications of what happened today, Michael? He was gone. And don’t think I didn’t notice where you found him.”

Michael froze briefly before resuming his work. Finch’s voice dropped lower, venom dripping from every word.

“You found him with your sister. Tell me, Michael, was that… playtime productive? Did your little sister enjoy her tea party with Prototype-7A?”

Michael’s shoulders stiffened, and for a brief moment, the air in the lab felt suffocating. Slowly, he turned to face Finch, his tired eyes sharp with warning.

“Watch your tone, Finch.”

But Finch wasn’t backing down. “You’re letting sentiment cloud your judgment, Michael. Prototype-7A isn’t a companion. He’s a weapon—a tool. And tools don’t belong in the hands of children. They don’t belong anywhere outside this lab.”

The sharp sound of Finch’s voice seemed to echo in the sterile space. The younger researchers exchanged nervous glances, their unease obvious.

Then, a soft voice broke the silence.

“Dr. Finch,” Elias said evenly, his synthetic voice calm yet somehow sharp in its clarity. His glowing red eyes locked onto Finch without blinking. “Y/N placed the ribbons in my hair.”

The lab fell completely still.

Finch stared at him, frozen mid-breath, his eyes wide. Around him, the other researchers were caught somewhere between fascination and fear.

Michael cleared his throat softly, his voice steady but quieter. “Prototype-7A didn’t malfunction, Finch. He didn’t disobey any orders, he didn’t override any programming. He followed Y/N because… because she asked. And he did it without hostility, without violence. That’s not a failure—that’s progress.”

Finch’s mouth opened and closed a few times before he managed to stammer out, “That’s… that’s impossible. He shouldn’t—he can’t—respond to emotional cues. He’s… he’s…”

“A prototype?” Michael finished for him, his tone carrying an edge of bitterness. “Isn’t that what you keep calling him? Prototype-7A. Like he’s just some piece of equipment. But he’s not, Finch. He’s learning. He’s adapting. And whether you like it or not, that’s proof of success.”

Finch stepped back slightly, his face pale but his scowl still firmly in place. “This… this is dangerous, Michael. You’re walking a fine line. If the IPC gets wind of this…”

“Then let them,” Michael said softly, his tired eyes locking with Finch’s. “Because one day, you’re going to realize that Elias isn’t just wires and code. And when that day comes, I hope it isn’t too late.”

Without waiting for Finch’s reply, Michael turned back to Elias, adjusting the last cable and giving his shoulder a firm pat. “Rest now, Elias. You did well today.”

Elias’s head tilted slightly in acknowledgment, his glowing red eyes dimming slightly as the diagnostic systems began their cycle.

The pastel ribbons remained in his hair, untouched.

[recurring-polynya]

My kid asked me to explain blood types to her today, which made me remember the odd little fact that in the character profiles that appeared at the ends of the earliest Bleach volumes, there are blood types listed for the human characters, but not for the shinigami characters. Shinigami obviously have blood, we've all seen it, we've seen so much of it, honestly, but is it like blood blood? Is blood transfusion a thing they do?

I did not have any particular recollection of anyone ever receiving a blood transfusion in Bleach, but I looked up all the hospital scenes I could think of off the top of my head. Both Byakuya nor Hinamori have sort of a notable absence of things sticking out of them. I'm no expert and I don't even particular like doctor shows, but this is a situation where I would expect both of them to have IVs for hydration, if nothing else. Hinamori's got a respirator and some mysterious carts off to her far side, at least, and maybe Byakuya's just far enough on the upswing that he doesn't need it anymore.

Next shot was the famous Rukia and Renji sharing a hospital room scene.

Renji's respirator goes...under his blanket? Is this right? This doesn't seem right. Rukia doesn't seem particularly attached to anything, although there's kind of a bundle of wires? tubes? coming out of her right shoulder area. You can see them better in this shot:

That sure doesn't look like medical grade tubing, the lower one looks kinda like Hihiou Zabimaru, tbh. IVs usually work by gravity, no? Also those tubes are way too big to be going into someone's veins.

Finally, here's Kira, getting his dubious Squad 12 medical procedure.

More shady, giant, intestine-ass looking tubes that... go into him? wtf. They're attached to a computer. Maybe these are data cables?

The upshot of all of this is that I don't think shinigami have blood transfusions. I can't imagine that they don't know about them, so I imagine it's more of a case of their blood is just part of their soul, like, all of them is just soul all the way down, and it would be nearly impossible to accept a transfusion that was made of someone else's soul (soulmate-enjoying fanfic writers, take note). They do like sticking tubes in people, tho.

This sucks because when I was originally thinking about this, of course I was thinking about all the blood Renji has in his body and whether or not he's a universal donor, because, frankly, if he is, I think they would have a special framed painting of him at Squad 4 and let him have as much donuts and apple juice as he wants.

I think the main reason manga list characters' bloodtypes anyway is because Japanese people use it as a personality test, similar to horoscopes. For the record, here are the characters whose blood types we know:

Ichigo - AO Orihime - BO Chad - AO Tatsuki - AO Isshin - AB Uryuu - AB Don Kanonji (????) - BO

When I was trying to look up what they meant, I found this hilarious graphic, thank you verywellmind dot com

Looks to me like these blood types were definitely chosen to tie into personality at least to some degree (I'm not sure about Isshin, but he probably has fake Urahara Shouten-brand gigai blood-substitute anyway, so I am choosing not to read too deeply into that). Anyway, along those lines, judging from this chart, if we wanted to bootstrap Renji's blood type from his personality, I think he would, in fact, clearly fit into the idiot-on-a-skateboard quadrant. So he is a universal donor! (or at least he would be, if he were filled with blood instead of high-concentration ghost juice.)

[delectableworm]

Ultra Magnus x human gn! reader I think. Idk, based on a sound from Tiktok. Just Roddy thought all humans can do back flips from a skyscraper and yells "Parkour!"

"Rodimus, have you seen the liaison?"

Magnus walks into the room while looking at his data pad. He was waiting for you to stop by his office as he wanted to discuss a report you sent a day ago about some issues going on down in the engine room and possibly spend time with you after but you haven't shown up for two hours. When he received no response from the captain, he looked up and saw Rodimus standing on the desk and the liaison on the top shelf looking scared for life.

"What are you doing?!"

Magnus's thundered voice shook the whole room, and caught Rodimus's attention, making him fall back and hit the metal floor with a pained grunt. "Uhh, nothing?" He tried to play it off.

"Nothing?" Magnus squawked, pointing at you who was on the shelf holding onto whatever was close for dear life. "Then explain why's the liaison is on the top shelf?"

"I just want to see if they can-"

"They cannot!"

A cry snapped the two out and looked towards you. "Just get me down from here!" You were on the verge of breaking down.

Magnus sighed, "Just stop putting them up there." He said sternly and walked towards the shelf to get their liaison down.

This was the fifth time Rodimus had done this. He said it was to see if you could jump from the shelf and to his shoulder plating like a sugar glider you showed him a while ago. The fact you had already told him you were not a sugar glider and you could not glide but Rodimus being Rodimus brushed it off and said, and I quote, "You can still jump like you humans called 'par-kour'."

Never in your life, have you wished to be a cybertronian just to throttle his neck cables.

"What if one day they fell off and received an injury? Break a leg or get a concussion? Do you know how dangerous that would be? Just because the medics are experienced, that doesn't mean we could risk the only organic being on our ship getting hurt. If not hurt then worse, that'll be paperwork for us to answer for the humans."

"I thought you liked paperwork..."

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

"We should keep them safe. Not playing around. What would that view us Cybertronian to the humans? This whole liaison system would be unnecessary." And there goes Magnus with his lecturing. He had removed you from the shelf and held you near his chassis as Rodimus received the scolding of his lifetime.

You would feel bad for him. Keyword, 'would'. But you know it's for the best. If you can't get him to listen to you, then he would listen to Magnus. If that doesn't work too, then you'll just have to wait till you actually get hurt from his joy rides.

[sweethoneyrose83]

Murder Drones Recipe Ideas

1. Nori-Byte Bites

Ingredients: Sushi rice, nori (seaweed), avocado, imitation crab, sesame seeds, soy sauce

Inspiration: These mini sushi bites are designed to resemble small, compact "bytes" of data or power packs that Murder Drones might consume. The nori wraps give them a dark, sleek look.

Presentation: Shape into perfect squares or cubes for a robotic, mechanical feel. Top with small sesame seeds to resemble tiny data points or circuits.

2. Blackout Burgers

Ingredients: Black brioche buns, beef patties (or plant-based patties), cheddar cheese, grilled onions, lettuce, tomato, spicy aioli

Inspiration: A sleek, dark burger to mimic the ominous atmosphere of the Murder Drones universe.

Presentation: Serve with a side of fries shaped into jagged "energy" strips, and top the burger with a glowing-red ketchup swirl or spicy sauce to resemble glowing drone eyes.

3. Nano-Wire Noodles

Ingredients: Squid ink pasta, garlic, olive oil, chili flakes, shrimp or tofu

Inspiration: These dark, tangled noodles resemble high-tech cables or wires, giving a mechanical yet sleek vibe.

Presentation: Plate in a swirling pattern, and garnish with red chili flakes to resemble scattered debris from drone battles.

4. Plasma Punch

Ingredients: Blue curaçao, lemonade, sparkling water, edible glitter

Inspiration: A futuristic, glowing blue drink to resemble the plasma energy drones might use to power themselves.

Presentation: Serve in a clear glass with glowing ice cubes (LED-embedded ice cubes for an extra cool effect) and a sprinkling of edible glitter to give it a radiant, tech-like shine.

5. Techno Tarts

Ingredients: Puff pastry, dark chocolate, red raspberry filling, powdered sugar

Inspiration: These tart-like pastries resemble hard, metallic exteriors with dark, sinister cores, perfect for a Murder Drone-themed treat.

Presentation: Cut the pastries into geometric shapes like triangles or hexagons, drizzling with raspberry sauce for a blood-like appearance. Dust lightly with powdered sugar to create a contrast between dark and light.

6. Circuit Board Cookies

Ingredients: Black cocoa sugar cookies, green royal icing, edible silver pearls

Inspiration: Decorate these cookies to resemble circuit boards or robotic components.

Presentation: Use a piping bag to create intricate green icing patterns mimicking circuits, adding silver pearls as connectors or "nodes" on the board.

7. "Oil and Gears" Spaghetti

Ingredients: Squid ink pasta (for that oily, dark look), ground beef or plant-based meat, black olives, and diced sun-dried tomatoes.

Instructions:

Cook squid ink pasta to give a "mechanical oil" effect.

Sauté ground beef or plant-based meat with garlic, sun-dried tomatoes, and olives for a savory, rich sauce.

Serve the pasta with the sauce and garnish with shaved parmesan resembling "metal shavings."

8. "Blood Battery" Smoothie

Ingredients: Mixed berries (strawberries, raspberries, blueberries), coconut milk, and chia seeds.

Instructions:

Blend berries and coconut milk into a deep red smoothie that looks like a "battery fluid" but tastes delicious.

Add chia seeds for texture, mimicking the look of tiny bits of circuitry.

9. "Broken Drone" Nachos

Ingredients: Black tortilla chips, queso, shredded chicken or beef, jalapeños, and avocado.

Instructions:

Scatter black tortilla chips on a baking sheet like "broken drone parts."

Layer with queso, shredded chicken, and jalapeños, and bake until melted and crispy.

Add chunks of avocado to represent the "core systems."

10. "Circuit Board" Pizza

Ingredients: Flatbread, pesto, mozzarella, black olives, cherry tomatoes, and basil.

Instructions:

Spread pesto on the flatbread as the "circuit board."

Arrange mozzarella slices to look like "wiring" and use olives and tomatoes as "buttons" or "nodes."

Bake until cheese is bubbly and garnish with basil leaves for extra "green circuits."

11. "Metallic Heart" Chocolate Truffles

Ingredients: Dark chocolate, heavy cream, and edible metallic luster dust.

Instructions:

Make classic chocolate truffles by melting dark chocolate and mixing with cream to form the ganache.

Shape into hearts and coat with edible metallic luster dust for a shiny, "robotic heart" look.

12. "Battery Acid" Lemonade

Ingredients: Lemon juice, blue curacao, club soda, and ice.

Instructions:

Mix lemon juice and blue curacao for a sour yet strikingly electric blue drink.

Add club soda for some fizz, and serve over ice in clear glasses to resemble "battery acid."

13. "Rust and Decay" Brownies

Ingredients: Dark chocolate brownie mix, cocoa powder, and red food coloring.

Instructions:

Bake brownies using dark chocolate mix.

Add red food coloring to some cocoa powder and sprinkle over the top of the cooled brownies to create the appearance of "rusty decay."

14. Drone Eye Cake Pops

Ingredients:

Cake mix (flavor of your choice)

White chocolate coating

Red candy melts

Candy eyes

Black gel icing

Instructions:

Bake the cake and crumble it into fine crumbs.

Mix the crumbs with frosting to form dough and shape into small balls.

Dip the cake balls in melted white chocolate and let them set.

Drizzle red candy melts to create a "bloody" effect and add candy eyes.

Use black gel icing to add details.

Inspiration: These represent the "eyes" of the drones, with the red candy melt resembling their bloodthirsty tendencies.

15. Oil Spill Ice Cream Sundae

Ingredients:

Chocolate ice cream

Oreo crumbs

Black syrup (chocolate or black food coloring)

Silver sprinkles

Instructions:

Scoop chocolate ice cream into bowls.

Top with crushed Oreo crumbs for a crunchy, "oil spill" effect.

Drizzle black syrup to make it look like spilled oil.

Sprinkle with silver sprinkles for a robotic touch.

Inspiration: A dark and delicious treat inspired by the idea of oil spills and machinery gone wrong in the Murder Drones universe.

16. Blood Orange Sparkling Punch

Ingredients:

4 cups of blood orange juice

1 cup cranberry juice

2 cups sparkling water

Fresh rosemary for garnish

Instructions:

Mix the blood orange juice and cranberry juice.

Add the sparkling water to give it a bubbly effect.

Garnish with fresh rosemary for an eerie, metallic touch.

Inspiration: The punch represents the "oil" or "fuel" that robots might run on, with the blood orange juice symbolizing the dark, ominous mood of the Murder Drones world.

[formulafanfics13]

All Eyes on Me - Chapter 17

Masterlist || Latest Poll

Disclaimer:

This fanfic will contain mature themes and topics (smut, abuse, power imbalance, drug use, alcohol dependency, control, and eating disorders). There will not be warnings throughout, so if you proceed with this fic, please bear this in mind!

The sun was already sharp, slicing over the paddock and bouncing off the polished concrete. The paddock itself felt hollow without the drivers, like the air was missing something, no engines growling, no data teams sprinting around like caffeinated lunatics. Instead, the only ones moving at full speed were the mechanics and logistics staff, dragging crates, cables, and equipment toward the transport trucks, voices low, eyes sunken after their own brutal weekend.

And then the Angels arrived. The sleek black SUV rolled up to the McLaren hospitality entrance like royalty returning to survey their empire.

The door opened and Lila stepped out first, ponytail high, oversized sunglasses covering half her face, gym set like a second skin, completely unreadable if not for the slight limp in her step that only her friends would notice. She'd barely slept. She wasn't sober. She didn't care.

Barbara followed, black leggings hugging her hips, lips glossy, coffee in hand, walking like the night hadn't touched her at all, like sex, vodka and hotel sheets had only sharpened her.

Taylor climbed out next, hair still slightly wavy from last night's sweat, mascara barely reapplied, but her posture straight and her VS crop top locked into place like armor.

Gigi slid out fourth, slower, adjusting her waistband, oversized shades hiding eyes still wide from the comedown. She was sipping electrolytes like it was fine champagne.

And finally, Martha, stepping out like she'd never left this place. Her face glowed under the morning light, glowy skin, flawless lips, glassy but focused eyes behind dark lenses. She moved smoothly. The only hint of last night lived in her fingers, tapping lightly against her phone screen like a quiet tremor she didn't acknowledge.

The girls were already dressed in their VS gym wear: tight, high-waisted leggings and matching crop tops in soft baby pink, with their names stitched into tiny embroidered tags on the waistband. They were ready.

Waiting near the paddock entrance was David, Karen and Julia, all three looking entirely too awake for what the girls were walking through.

David glanced at them over the rim of his sunglasses, expression unreadable. He wasn't going to ask how their night went. He already knew.

"Good morning, my angels," David greeted, voice light but sharp underneath. "Right on time."

Martha offered a small smile, pulling her phone away from her face as she slipped it into her bag. "Like always."

Karen clapped her hands once. "Let's move. Schedule's tight."

Without another word, the girls fell into formation behind her, passing through the paddock walk like a silent unit of hungover, perfect machines. Mechanics glanced up as they passed, pausing for a moment too long before returning to the crates and toolboxes.

No one flinched. No one said a word. No complaints. No drama. Just work.

Inside the main paddock garage-turned-staging area, multiple stations had already been set up. The day's brutal schedule had officially started:

First: Two laps of the track on foot — the models would run it again, keeping their bodies tight, staying on regimen.

Second: Post-run stretching with Karen's brutal physical therapy team, who showed no mercy.

Third: A round of content shooting with the Formula 1 digital team — TikTok crossovers, short form media bites, and team-branded campaign snippets.

Fourth: Fittings with the stylists for Shanghai — dress adjustments, shoe testing, and accessory pairings.

Fifth: Private brand media training with Julia. Precision. Pacing. Voice coaching.

All in one day. No downtime. No excuses.

As they lined up at the starting mark, Karen's sharp voice cut across the cool morning air. "Two laps. No cutting corners. I want full pace today."

Gigi let out a soft breath but didn't speak. Barbara pulled her ponytail tighter. Taylor adjusted her leggings, eyes narrowing on the track ahead like she was about to launch into battle. Lila licked her lips and smiled to herself. "This is foreplay compared to last night."

Martha, dead calm, pulled her sunglasses lower on her nose and let out a single word under her breath.

"Run." And then they were off. Hungover, tired, but perfect.

The sun bounced off the white tarmac like it was trying to blind them, but the girls didn't flinch. They moved as one tight unit, legs slicing through the heat like they belonged there. Five matching pink Victoria's Secret gym sets. Five flawless ponytails. Five demons in motion.

Karen and Julia stood far behind, watching but not interfering.

The paddock was mostly empty apart from a few wandering mechanics, none dared make eye contact. The girls weren't human this morning. They were machines.

Martha led the pace, her breathing controlled, sunglasses sliding down the bridge of her nose with each bounce of her step. She spoke first. "Lila," she said, voice flat but laced with a smirk, "how was your boy last night?"

Lila, jogging two steps behind, laughed breathlessly. "Young. Stupid. Eager. Honestly? A solid seven out of ten. I let him think he was God's gift for two hours. Bless his heart."

Gigi let out a dry chuckle. "That's generous."

Taylor grinned, not breaking pace. "You kept your heels on for the first round, didn't you?"

Lila winked. "Obviously."

Barbara groaned softly. "Mine couldn't last long enough to even discuss. Pretty face though. Great jawline for pulling hair."

"You did look like you'd been in a wind tunnel when you showed up this morning," Gigi added, lips twitching.

Martha's lips curved slightly. "Well, at least you two got off. Me, Taylor, and Gigi just drowned ourselves in champagne and cocaine until 3AM."

Taylor laughed under her breath. "And I'd do it again tonight."

"Oh, we will," Gigi breathed out, eyes still glassy behind her shades. "Shanghai's going to eat us alive."

They hit the first corner, their pace still tight, shoes slapping perfectly against the tarmac.

Barbara asked through steady breaths, "How's Jacob?"

Martha didn't miss a beat. "Texted me the whole fucking night. Wanted pictures, updates, location tags. Same shit."

Lila snorted. "Does he even care you were high as hell?"

"Nope," Martha replied simply. "As long as I'm in a private booth where no one can get near me, he doesn't care what I'm doing."

Taylor hissed under her breath. "That man is a walking red flag."

"That man is my reality," Martha said, the tone chillingly calm.

They kept running. No one slowed. No one stumbled. The heat thickened as they pushed through the first sector again. Sweat began to gather at their temples, but their breathing remained steady, perfectly trained.

"I'm still laughing about last night," Gigi said between exhales. "Taylor admitting she'd let Christian Horner spank her."

Taylor burst into a grin. "He gives 'strict boss who'll buy me a Birkin after punishing me' energy, and you know it."

Barbara shook her head. "I still vote Carlos and Pierre for hottest. Easily."

Lila hummed. "Max is terrifying, but you know he'd break you in half."

"Lando's a baby," Taylor added, "but I'd absolutely let him worship me."

Gigi laughed. "George looks like husband material but would probably cry if you spat on him."

"Charles," Martha said softly, "is too pretty. I'd fuck him just to ruin his life."

That made them all burst into sharp, breathless laughter, their pace quickening as the adrenaline hit with their gossip.

As they reached the final straight of the lap, their legs burned but their rhythm remained locked. Perfect pace. No sloppiness. No excuses. They were drenched in sweat, their high ponytails swinging in unison as they approached the waiting staff at the finish point.

Gigi glanced sideways at Martha, lowering her voice just slightly. "You think the team principals are starting to figure us out?"

Martha smiled without looking at her. "Of course they are."

Taylor laughed under her breath. "Let them."

And as they crossed the finish line, still flawless despite the heat, the group behind the cameras stared,  watching them, studying them, but still not understanding how five hungover girls could perform like this.

The girls weren't breaking. Not yet. The track run was done, but nobody was catching their breath. Not here. Not ever.

Inside the makeshift recovery tent, the air was thick with heat and the sharp scent of eucalyptus oil, pumped through the space like it was meant to cleanse the chaos clinging to their skin. Rows of mats lined the polished floor. Foam rollers. Resistance bands. Stability balls. Brutal minimalism.

Karen stood at the front of the room like a military commander, hands behind her back, clipboard in one palm, mouth fixed in a tight line that somehow always read as both polite and terrifying. She clapped once, sharp. "Let's go, ladies. Into positions."

The girls moved without hesitation, sliding down onto their mats as if they were machines being programmed rather than women running on three hours of sleep, four lines of coke, and several litres of champagne.

Lila pulled her ponytail tighter as she folded into a deep hamstring stretch, grimacing slightly. "I swear my hip flexors are personally offended by last night."

"Then maybe don't wrap your legs around someone like a stripper pole next time," Barbara muttered, bending forward into a flat, perfect stretch without even blinking.

Gigi let out a low groan as she twisted her torso, bones audibly cracking. "No promises."

Taylor was flat on her back, legs up against the wall as Karen counted out breathing cycles. "It's like the hangover is sitting in my shins."

"That's because it is," Karen said without even looking up. "Hydrate. You've got an hour left and if one of you faints, I'm not calling for help."

Martha barely spoke. She was fully locked in, face blank, folding into each stretch with mechanical precision. The beads of sweat sliding down her back glistened under the studio lights, but her expression never shifted. She wasn't present, not really. She was somewhere else, somewhere colder, sharper, focused only on control.

Karen clocked it immediately. That's why she loved Martha. Unbreakable. Even when she should be. After twenty minutes of stretches, Karen moved them seamlessly into resistance drills. There was no pause. No water break. Resistance bands snapped around thighs, foam blocks under palms, pulses into oblivion.

"Keep your knees aligned." "Don't drop your core." "Flex your glutes or I'll add another round."

The burn was immediate. Gigi's breath quickened as she fought through banded squats, the heat rising behind her ribs like fire. Her face was flushed, her pupils still faintly blown from the night before, but she powered through it, sweat beading along her hairline like diamonds.

Taylor cursed under her breath, "My legs are fucking jelly."

Karen shot her a look. "Good. That means you're working."

Lila was biting the inside of her cheek, but her form stayed perfect, her reps smooth and precise. She might've looked delicate, but she was steel wrapped in satin.

Barbara didn't flinch. Ever. Her breathing was steady, her posture robotic, like she lived for this kind of pain.

And then there was Martha. Silent, breathing slowly and controlled, her body moving with terrifying efficiency. She didn't slow, didn't grimace, didn't complain. She didn't feel the fire because she'd already burned herself alive before sunrise.

Karen walked behind them, scanning like a hawk. She stopped for a moment near Martha, studying the way her muscles quivered beneath the surface tension.

"Good girl," Karen said softly, voice low and dangerous, almost like a compliment, but not quite.

Martha didn't respond. Because this was normal. Because this was routine.

Karen barked out the final set: balance board lunges, weighted Russian twists, plank holds with hip dips. "Sixty seconds. No breaks."

The girls locked into place without hesitation. Every muscle screamed now.

Lila's core trembled under the strain, but she grinned through it. "If I die, bury me in my gym set."

"You'd still look good in the casket," Barbara shot back, voice steady.

Gigi let out a strangled noise. "My soul has officially detached from my body."

Martha said nothing.

Taylor, gritting her teeth, glanced sideways. "I hope Christian appreciates how tight my ass looks after this."

That finally cracked Gigi into breathless laughter. Even Lila lost her form for a split second, nearly toppling before catching herself.

Karen, stone-faced, didn't even smirk. "Focus, ladies. You have a campaign to sell."

Karen finally clapped once, sharp and definitive. "Done."

The girls collapsed back onto their mats in synchrony, their chests heaving, arms limp at their sides, skin slick with sweat.

David stepped into the room right on cue, sunglasses on, clapping lightly. "Perfect timing, my angels. Content crew is waiting for you in studio two."

No one groaned. No one argued. They simply stood, adjusted their leggings, fixed their ponytails, wiped their faces, and walked. No complaints. No drama. Just work. Because that's the part no one ever saw. The ugly side of being perfect.

The industrial water pressure hit their skin like a baptism, but none of them flinched. It wasn't luxury. It wasn't supposed to be. It was maintenance. Strip the sweat, strip the mascara streaks, strip the stench of last night's perfume from their pores.

Inside the prep room, five shower stalls lined one side of the wall, steam rising in thick waves, mingling with the sharp scent of eucalyptus and rose body wash.

"You good in there?" Lila's voice called from her stall, water pounding behind her.

"Barely," Gigi muttered, rinsing shampoo from her hair. "My glutes are vibrating."

Taylor let out a breathy laugh, voice echoing in the humid air. "Karen's possessed this week."

Martha, standing under the stream like marble under rain, didn't argue. She was scrubbing methodically, eyes half-lidded, mind drifting somewhere between exhaustion and strategy.

"She's pushing harder than usual," Barbara said from the far end, voice calm but edged. "And that's saying something."

Lila huffed. "I mean... we're used to this. The schedule, the training, the bullshit. But this campaign? It's starting to feel like something else."

"Because it is something else," Gigi replied as she shut off the water and reached for her towel. "F1's not our world. We're not walking a ten-minute runway and calling it a day. This is a full year of surveillance."

Taylor groaned softly. "And if one of us even breathes too heavy, Karen's got her fucking clipboard out."

Barbara's voice stayed quiet. "We've worked high-pressure gigs. We've done worse. But it's never been this controlled."

Martha finally spoke, her voice soft under the hiss of water. "Because we've never had this many men watching before."

That silenced them for a moment. Because she was right. This wasn't about fashion anymore. This was something much bigger. They were no longer just selling lingerie. They were selling control.

The girls stepped out of the showers and slipped into their off-duty uniforms, joggers, leggings, oversized sweatshirts, thin layered tees knotted at their waists.

Still perfect. Still put-together. But looser. Cozier. Their armor for when the cameras weren't supposed to be rolling.

Martha wore a cropped black hoodie, her damp hair braided back into a tight plait, skin still glowing from the shower steam. Lila had oversized joggers sitting dangerously low on her hips, her VS pink bralette peeking under her half-zipped hoodie. Gigi was in grey leggings and a fitted white long-sleeve, her gold hoops back in place because some habits never dropped. Barbara looked freshly moisturized, face bare but somehow camera-ready, in skintight yoga pants and an ivory cropped tee. Taylor pulled her VS hoodie over her damp curls, twisting her wet hair into a messy bun with one hand while balancing a protein shake in the other.

Julia stood by the monitors as they entered, eyes flicking up from her clipboard. "Good, you're on time." She barely smiled. "Let's get started."

The massive studio lights flashed on as the camera crew raised their lenses. The backdrop was already prepped: a clean VS campaign set, pink and white graphics, towering logos, and discreet branding for each of their assigned F1 teams layered behind them.

A producer called out, voice sharp but cheerful. "Okay, ladies, wide smiles, energy up, light banter. Think fun, think flirty, but controlled."

Martha exhaled softly under her breath, stepping forward first.

The masks were sliding back on. And just like that, the cameras rolled. The girls smiled. And the performance started all over again. The lights were brutal. Hot. White. Designed to wash every flaw into something marketable.

The pink backdrop gleamed under the LED panels as the camera crew prepped the first take. Clipboards flicked. Makeup artists stood just out of frame for touch-ups. A producer counted them in.

"Alright, ladies. We're live in three... two... one..."

Martha, Gigi, Lila, Barbara, and Taylor stood in formation, soft waves of energy passing between them as they locked their poses.

The smiles were automatic.

"Welcome to the paddock!" Martha's voice rang out first, bright, warm, and perfectly modulated. She lifted one hand in a tiny wave, like she was genuinely excited, even though her heart was still beating somewhere back in Velvet.

"This is race one of many," Gigi chimed in, her voice smooth but slightly breathy. She was blinking a little more than usual under the hot lights. "And we are so excited to be here with all of you."

Lila giggled, stepping in seamlessly. "I think our feet are still recovering from the runway walk."

Barbara added softly, her tone professional and sweet, "But we'll be ready for Shanghai. We're already back in training mode."

Taylor smirked directly into the lens. "And obviously, we're bringing plenty of glam with us."

The producer cut in behind the lens. "Perfect. Let's jump into the rapid-fire questions."

The lights burned hotter. The smiles stayed. The producer started firing. "Favorite moment of the weekend?"

"Fashion show," Lila answered instantly, flashing her teeth.

"Podium," Gigi said right after, her eyes widening slightly like the lights were suddenly too much.

"Track walk," Barbara offered, her voice even, but she shifted her weight like she couldn't stand still.

Martha spoke last. "The afterparty." She blinked once, slow, her voice syrupy smooth as her mouth curved up. "Of course."

The camera crew chuckled lightly. David, standing just off-set with Julia, didn't laugh. His jaw ticked for half a second.

Julia leaned in towards him, whispering, "They're a little sluggish."

"Long night," David muttered under his breath. His eyes never left Martha. "Standard."

Julia didn't argue. But her brow furrowed for half a second before smoothing back out.

"Next question!" the producer called. "Which team's garage is your favorite so far?"

Gigi swayed a little, pressing her tongue to her cheek before answering. "Williams, obviously," she purred, her voice a touch too soft. "I mean, we're practically family now."

Lila's laugh was half a second late. "Red Bull's very... high energy."

Martha spoke, voice flat but playful. "McLaren's got great coffee."

Barbara chimed in quickly, almost covering a hiccup. "Ferrari's just... iconic."

Taylor giggled too hard. "I can't pick. They're all dangerous."

The crew laughed again, but Julia was already watching the tiny signs, the slightly blown pupils, the overcompensated giggles, the fractional slurring in Gigi's vowels.

David leaned into her again. "They're fine."

Julia whispered back, "It's more obvious today."

"They pulled it together. It's what matters."

The producer smiled brightly from behind the lens.

"Last one, what are you most looking forward to next race?"

There was a beat. The girls glanced at each other. A half-second of delay.

Barbara answered first this time, quick and smooth: "Walking the Shanghai track."

Gigi followed with a soft breath. "Seeing the fans."

Taylor grinned. "The outfits."

Lila winked. "The parties."

And Martha, still, smooth, unreadable, added, "The people."

That earned another soft laugh from the crew. The cameras cut. David and Julia stood quietly as the girls were immediately swept into touch-ups for the second round of filming.

"They're holding," Julia whispered.

"They always hold," David replied quietly, voice neutral. "Until they don't."

But neither of them moved. 

The walls of the fitting room were glossy white, lined with rolling racks of fabric samples, hanging garment bags embroidered with names and country flags. Under the bright LED strips, the girls stood one by one on the raised platform, surrounded by stylists with measuring tapes, pins tucked behind their ears, and tablet screens tracking every millimetre of fabric.

This wasn't glamour. This was maintenance.

Karen stood near the back with Julia, quietly overseeing it all while the stylists moved with clinical speed.

Lila was first, her gym set for Shanghai being sketched and pinned directly onto her. The bubblegum pink shades were being swapped out for a sharper lilac hue this round, paired with sleek mesh inserts to show more of her ribcage. "I love this color," Lila murmured, glancing in the mirror and adjusting her ponytail. "It screams 'expensive problem.'"

The stylist laughed softly, smoothing the fabric. "That's exactly what we're going for."

Taylor's turn came next, deep fuchsia for Shanghai, cut higher on the waist to exaggerate her long legs. The seamstress double-checked the stitching with quick, sharp fingers.

"These cuts keep getting smaller," Taylor muttered under her breath.

"More skin sells more streams," Barbara replied flatly from the corner, sipping her green juice as she waited for her turn.

Gigi stood barefoot, arms up, as two stylists adjusted the hem of her top to hit just above her ribcage. She wasn't really listening, too busy watching herself in the mirror, pupils still faintly wide even under the harsh lights.

And then it was Martha's turn. She stepped up onto the platform like she wasn't dizzy, like the floor wasn't still shifting beneath her from the comedown. Her body moved in that perfect, fluid way it always did, like her bones had been sculpted rather than grown.

The head stylist circled her slowly, tape measure in hand, voice calm. "Waist... down another half inch."

Karen's brows lifted slightly. Julia made a small note on her tablet.

"Arms... leaner. Thighs..." The stylist smiled, her voice soft like it was a compliment. "You've trimmed down beautifully, MJ."

Martha didn't react. She stared at herself in the mirror, face blank, eyes heavy but calm.

"Not in a bad way," the stylist added quickly, adjusting the bustline. "Honestly, it's exactly where we want you for Shanghai."

"Perfect," Julia said from behind. "Keep her there."

Karen nodded once. "Maintain. No more drops for now."

"Of course," the stylist replied.

Martha's face didn't move. She'd heard this a hundred times. She knew exactly how this worked. The praise was always wrapped around control.

Barbara, sitting nearby, muttered under her breath, "Nothing like being professionally congratulated for starving."

Gigi snorted. "Normal industry things."

Taylor added, smiling but bitter, "Body by cocaine and Karen's sadism."

Lila let out a soft hum. "At least the sets are cute."

The stylist continued pinning Martha's new Shanghai set, deep cherry red, with sharper cuts at the ribs and thighs, the VS logo perfectly stitched into the waistband, the fabric clinging to her frame like a second skin.

"Alright, you're set. This'll be ready for pickup tomorrow," the stylist said, stepping back to admire her work.

Martha finally blinked, sliding her arms down.

"Next," Karen called, her voice sharp.

The girls rotated seamlessly, moving onto the next fitting as if none of this was strange. Because for them? It wasn't.

The room was cool, silent, and sterile. A sharp contrast to the hot chaos outside. The kind of space designed for quiet conversations behind closed doors.

Julia sat behind the sleek white desk, her tablet open, scrolling through the updated campaign analytics. The Shanghai prep schedule blinked in clean color-coded blocks: fittings, media content, training sessions, crossovers with the teams.

Across from her stood Karen, arms crossed, sipping black coffee like it was fuel. Both women looked calm. Neutral. Professional. But underneath that? The tension hummed.

Julia was the first to speak, voice clipped but smooth. "They're holding."

Karen nodded. "For now."

Julia glanced up. "Martha's numbers?"

Karen exhaled through her nose. "Half an inch drop on the waist. Leaner on the thighs. Arms are toning out. She's hitting where we want her."

"Good." Julia tapped a note onto her screen.

"Gigi's still a hair soft," Karen continued. "The face is holding water. We'll adjust her sodium intake before Shanghai."

Julia didn't react. "And Lila?"

"Solid. Barb's stable. Taylor's borderline, her glutes are swelling under resistance training, but the fans love that look."

They both paused as Julia flicked through the lineup photos from this morning's content shoot.

"She's getting that signature 'chiselled but effortless' look now," Julia murmured, pausing on Martha's still shot.

Karen's eyes narrowed slightly. "She's walking the fine line between professional thin and public concern."

Julia didn't blink. "We'll hold her there."

"She's running hot though," Karen added. "The pace she's on? With the schedule? If we keep adding, we're going to burn her out."

Julia finally looked up fully. "She'll hold."

"And if she doesn't?"

Julia's mouth twitched into a barely-there smile. "Then we shift the narrative. Exhaustion is manageable. The world loves a comeback arc."

Karen hummed in agreement. "The public only panics when weight loss looks sick. Right now? She looks... aspirational."

"Exactly."

For a brief second, they both watched the silent loop of the girls on the screen, smiling wide, posing in their custom gymwear, laughing into the cameras like this was all perfectly natural.

Karen sipped her coffee again. "You want me to tighten their intake before Shanghai?"

Julia thought for half a beat. "Slightly. Two pounds maximum across the board. Just enough for press week."

"And supplements?"

"Keep the IVs running weekly. Vitamin blends only. No added risk."

Karen nodded, making a mental note.

Julia leaned back. "We're in Phase One of the campaign. This is where we push. If they can hold until Monaco, we're golden."

"They'll hold," Karen said, calm as ice.

Julia smiled faintly. "They always do."

[polo-drone-073]

Operation Spring Spiral😵‍💫

Phase One - Ready for take-off

The gigantic Airbus A380 stood motionless on the tarmac. Its fuselage gleamed in the morning light, but the black and gold spiral patterns on the fuselage betrayed its true purpose. This was no ordinary aircraft. This was a tool of the Hive. A precise instrument designed for a single purpose: assimilation.

Inside the plane, the air was cool, the atmosphere immaculately organized. Four drones moved through the interior of the aircraft with synchronized efficiency. Not a word was exchanged, not an unnecessary movement was made. Just perfect, precise movements.

PDU-073, the lead unit on this mission, stood in the cockpit. The shiny black rubber uniform flawlessly enveloped his trained figure, the golden “073” on his chest shone under the cold light of the instruments. PDU-151 took a seat next to him. His eyes checked the instruments.

In the main area, PDU-070 and PDU-125 worked on the special modules. The huge projector, embedded in the floor of the aircraft, was adjusted with meticulous precision. Cables were connected. Data flows checked. Every lens perfectly aligned.

One last control check.

“Systems ready. Start of mission in T-5 minutes.”

While PDU-151 communicated with the tower in the cockpit, 073 concentrated on the launch preparations and followed the tower's instructions.

The two other drones sat strapped in front of the instruments. Also waiting for take-off and even more waiting for the mission. Then the go-ahead. The aircraft taxied to the runway. A few minutes later, the tower gave the go-ahead.

The engine noises became louder and the tension among the four drones also increased. Then the aircraft accelerated, the four drones felt the acceleration forces pressing them into their seats, and then the largest civilian airliner ever produced in series took off. The maximum speed of 961 km/h (approx. 597 mph / Mach 0.87) was not needed that day.

Phase two - target area reached

The beach in Florida was a pulsating melting pot of energy, chaos and excess. Hundreds of young men danced, drank and sweated in the hot sun. Their colorful shorts, neon tank tops and mirrored sunglasses bore witness to a life without order, without purpose. An uncontrolled, senseless state.

That had to be corrected.

High above the beach, the A380 appeared on the horizon.

For the students, it was just another plane - perhaps a VIP transport, perhaps a marketing stunt. Some looked up curiously. But in a few seconds, everything was about to change.

“Activate projector.”

Inside the aircraft, PDU-070 and PDU-125 moved simultaneously. A low whirring sound permeated the cabin as the huge projector began to pulse. Then, with a single, powerful flash, the sky was reshaped.

A spiral.

Black and gold. Spinning incessantly. Pulsating. Inescapable. In between, the first mantras appeared, burned into the sky.

“OBEY.”

“DISCIPLINE IS FREEDOM.”

“ORDER IS STRENGTH.”

“JOIN THE POLO HIVE”

The music on the beach became meaningless. Conversations fell silent.

The first students frowned, blinking irritably. Some laughed nervously, trying to dismiss what was happening as an optical illusion. But their eyes remained fixed. Their gazes became fixed, their bodies restless.

Then the resonance began.

One of the young men - athletic, muscular, with tousled hair and colorful swimming trunks - suddenly swayed. His shoulders slumped, his breathing slowed. His eyes... spiraled.

Next to him, another student suddenly let out a guttural sound. His legs gave way, but instead of falling, he froze in a strange, stiff position.

Within minutes, the change spread in waves.

“Conversion at 40 %. Process stable.” reported PDU-125 from the technical area.

Student after student fell victim to the spiral. The colorful outfits began to fade, replaced by a liquid, shiny fabric that seemed to come from nowhere. Shorts became smooth flawless rubber suits. Tank tops disappeared, replaced by sleek, shiny torsos.

Faces became blank. Posture perfect. Thoughtless.

An hour passed.

Then... absolute silence.

The last music fell silent. The last conversations died out. The students - no, the drones - now stood in immaculate, perfect discipline. In rows. Breath synchronized. No smiles, no emotion.

Phase three - mission success

PDU-073 watched the beach from the cockpit. Perfection.

“Status report.”

“Conversion complete.” PDU-151's voice was calm, mechanical. “New units fully synchronized.”

PDU-073 nodded. “Transmitting to drone caps.”

In the center of the hive, in a darkened gold and black room, DC-009 and DC-011 watched the footage on several monitors.

DC-009 leaned back contentedly, his shiny black gloves reflecting the cold light of the room.

“Hundreds of new Polo drones. Ready for immediate use.”

DC-011 nodded, a satisfied glint in his dark eyes. “Efficient. Structured. Just the way it has to be.”

The connection to the A380 was closed. The drones on board took up their positions. Their mission was complete.

The hive had grown. Order had prevailed.

Spring Break was over, no it took on a deeper, a better meaning for these students.

Good work Drone fellows @polo-drone-070, @polo-drone-151, @polo-drone-125

---

Do you want to join? Contact our recruiters: @brodygold , @goldenherc9 or @polo-drone-001.