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dresshistorynerd · 7 months ago

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The Morrisian case against fast fashion

Today I discovered that H&M made a William Morris collection some years ago. The heath death of the universe can't come quickly enough. We can stop now. Satire is dead and we killed her.

It's not just the whole concept of H&M using William Morris' designs for their fast fashion which is insanity inducing, but also the critical response it garnered. Like sure, people did realize this is insane and there was a lot of think pieces about it at the time, but I read several of them and they all seem to still miss the point in spectacular way.

The basic premise of these think pieces go along the lines of: "Would William Morris spin in his grave with a speed of light because of the H&M collection of his designs? A difficult question indeed. William Morris was a complicated man. He wanted art to be affordable to everyone. Isn't H&M affordable? That kinda fits. Though probably he would have some concerns about H&M's practices."

On the surface - yes - but like in reality - fuck no. There's no nuance in this particular issue. He talked about many times what he though of the H&Ms of his time, the retailers selling poor quality industrially produced "fashionable" bullshit. We know exactly what he would have thought of H&M. Here's couple of quotes from his 1884 lecture "Art and Socialism", which makes it very clear.

"It would be an instructive day's work for any one of us who is strong enough to walk through two or three of the principal streets of London on a week-day, and take accurate note of everything in the shop windows which is embarrassing or superfluous to the daily life of a serious man. Nay, the most of these things no one, serious or unserious, wants at all; only a foolish habit makes even the lightest-minded of us suppose that he wants them, and to many people even of those who buy them they are obvious encumbrances to real work, thought and pleasure. But I beg you to think of the enormous mass of men who are occupied with this miserable trumpery, from the engineers who have had to make the machines for making them, down to the hapless clerks who sit day-long year after year in the horrible dens wherein the wholesale exchange of them is transacted, and the shopmen, who not daring to call their souls their own, retail them amidst numberless insults which they must not resent, to the idle public which doesn't want them but buys them to be bored by them and sick to death of them."

He is describing the birth of consumerism, which was taking form during his lifetime in the late Victorian Era, which fast fashion is the extreme logical conclusion of, and he fucking hated it. He specifically railed against endless consumerist products, which H&M is the perfect representation of. It was definitely not the art and beauty he believed everyone required and deserved. He makes the distinction often.

"Now if we are to have popular Art, or indeed Art of any kind, we must at once and for all be done with this luxury; it is the supplanter, the changeling of Art; so much so that by those who know of nothing better it has even been taken for Art, the divine solace of human labour, the romance of each day's hard practice of the difficult art of living."

"And here furthermore is at least a little sign whereby to distinguish between a rag of fashion and a work of Art: whereas the toys of fashion when the first gloss is worn off them do become obviously worthless even to the frivolous—a work of Art, be it ever so humble, is long lived; we never tire of it; as long as a scrap hangs together it is valuable and instructive to each new generation. All works of Art in short have the property of becoming venerable amidst decay: and reason good, for from the first there was a soul in them, the thought of man, which will be visible in them so long as the body exists in which they were implanted."

When he thought of popular Art he thought of the craftsmanship of the common people. The art people have made from useful everyday objects with skillful handicrafts. This is what he means by "divine solace of human labour". It's not reverence of Puritanical work ethic, on the contrary, it's the reverence of creation, of the earnest joy people feel when they get to express themselves through their creative pursuits. He certainly didn't believe in work for work's sake, work needed to be worthwhile and enjoyable. He summarized his own position on what labour should be thusly:

"It is right and necessary that all men should have work to do which shall be worth doing, and be of itself pleasant to do; and which should he done under such conditions as would make it neither over-wearisome nor over-anxious."

He urged his middle class audience to reject consumerism (the lecture was for a very much middle class atheist society):

"For I say again that in buying these things: 'Tis the lives of men you buy! Will you from mere folly and thoughtlessness make yourselves partakers of the guilt of those who compel their fellow men to labour uselessly?"

I think it's glaringly obvious H&M and fast fashion in general is what he would consider luxury. Rags of fashion that are just churned out and discarded without thought and produced by compelling people to labour uselessly. It's not popular art that's made by workers and craftsmen, who are able to express themselves through it. There's no agency for the abused workers in H&M's sweatshops, they are not expressing their joy of creation, they are simply labouring uselessly.

Morris didn't shame workers for buying affortable things even if they weren't Art with big A, because that's the problem he despised the whole economic system for, for taking away the popular Art from people, making it inaccessible, and selling back mass produced products with very little practical or aesthetic value. So I don't think he would have problem with people who can only afford fast fashion today. They are the victims of capitalism too, because Art has been taken away from them. But the idea that some of these think pieces had that perhaps the H&M's Morris collection can be good actually if you squint, that H&M has the capacity to bring the art and beauty Morris advocated for for the people, is level of stupidity that's hard to express in words.

Morris didn't believe anything made with exploited labour could be truly beautiful, truly art. In his 1879 lecture "The Art of the People" he put it like this:

"That thing which I understand by real art is the expression by man of his pleasure in labour."

The way I understand this, is that art is communication. Through it we communicate feelings, ideas and thoughts, that is it's purpose. So for that communication to work, for it to be imbued with message, the person making it needs to feel passion and love for it's creation. How can there be love and passion if the hands making the garment belong to a tired exploited worker who has no agency what so ever in their work and can only think about survival to the next day?

Beyond the fundamental exploitativeness of H&M and fast fashion, this collection would still get zero points on aesthetic values from Morris even with his own designs. Because the work itself was such an important part of art for Morris, good design was nothing without good craftsmanship. Good design in his mind was always relative and dependent on it's purpose.

"For everything made by man’s hands has a form, which must be either beautiful or ugly; beautiful if it is in accord with Nature, and helps her; ugly if it is discordant with Nature, and thwarts her; it cannot be indifferent." (The Lesser Arts, 1877)

Here when he says nature, he means the nature of the thing that is made - basically it's purpose and function - and the nature of the materials it's made from. Basically, the design must always be made to bring out the function of the art and the qualities of the material it's made from, not fight against them. This is because he believed handicrafts were uniquely suitable for expressing the love of creation, therefore superior labour, and to really bring out the qualities of the craftsmanship and enjoy the creative process, the design should be suitable for that craft. The other side, which was the joy of using and experiencing art, required the craft to be selected for the suitable purpose. Using poorly functioning furniture for example is not very enjoyable, nor is using clothing that's made from materials that are not suitable for the climactic conditions it's supposed to be used in.

H&M of course utterly fails in this. They use Morris' designs in fully unsuitable ways. They print patterns made for example for wall papers on poor quality fabrics with synthetics dyes they weren't made for. This line from one blog post I came across really got me: "Therefore, without cheapening the artistic value of Morris’ designs, H&M’s collection offers an unparalleled potential for accessibility to them." No. Fuck no. They do in fact cheapen Morris' designs in every single way possible. Literally this is atrocious.

Despite the popular depiction, Morris wasn't in fact against industrial machinery or industrial art even, or at least he wasn't once his views on art and politics matured. He did think technology was useful, but he thought the people should use industrial methods for the benefit of all, not be enslaved by the industrial machine.

"I have spoken of machinery being used freely for releasing people from the more mechanical and repulsive part of necessary labour; and I know that to some cultivated people, people of the artistic turn of mind, machinery is particularly distasteful, and they will be apt to say you will never get your surroundings pleasant so long as you are surrounded by machinery. I don't quite admit that; it is the allowing machines to be our masters and not our servants that so injures the beauty of life nowadays. In other words, it is the token of the terrible crime we have fallen into of using our control of the powers of Nature for the purpose of enslaving people, we care less meantime of how much happiness we rob their lives of." ("How we live and how we might live", 1887)

However, he thought that the designer should approach it the way they approached any craft, by designing for the strengths of the machine work.

"But if you have to design for machine-work, at least let your design show clearly what it is. Make it mechanical with a vengeance, at the same time as simple at possible. Don't try, for instance, to make a printed plate look like a hand-painted one: make it something which no one would try to do if he were painting by hand..." ("Art and the Beauty of the Earth", 1881)

He did use some machinery for fabric and wall paper printing, but he was very intentional about their use. Still his designs weren't made for the type of methods these modern H&M machinery uses and he did for example use natural dyes. Particularly insulting is that some of the H&M clothes are made from viscose, rayon made with viscose method. Viscose method is extremely toxic and is known to cause long term health consequences for the workers and the people in surrounding areas. This has been well proven knowledge for ages. William Morris' wall paper factory in the beginning used the typical method used at the time which involved arsenic, but once he learned this could pose risks for the workers, he changed the method. Many of the new synthetic dyes were toxic at the time, which is the major reason he so favoured natural dyes, known to not cause health issues for workers or pollute the environment.

The question many of these think pieces about the H&M Morris collection posed was, would Morris disapprove and should we care? The first part of that is very easy to answer. Yes. Of course Morris would disapprove. He is currently powering the whole of British Isles with purely the kinetic energy his grave-spinning produces. Should we care though? If you care about Morris' art, if you want to see more of that kind of art in this world, you should care. Morris' art is not about the superficial qualities. Copying his designs and aesthetics and styles, will only lead to hollow imitations, that are exactly what he described the rags of fashion to be; as the shininess of novelty wears off they will reveal themselves to be soulless, useless and utterly empty. This collection is just that. To see more of the kind of art that makes you feel like his art makes you feel, not just something that reminds you of that feeling, you should focus more on the way the art is made and less on the specific aesthetics. If his vision of labour and art was realised, all art produced of course wouldn't be loved by every person, but all of it would be loved by someone, even if that someone was just the maker. And that would be more worthwhile than every single rag of fast fashion.

I will stop William-Morris-posting now and return to my thesis.

The full texts I quoted here:

Art and Socialism The Art of the People The Lesser Arts How We Live and How We Might Live Art and the Beauty of the Earth

#william-morris-posting #fashion #fast fashion #william morris #a&c #arts and crafts movement #fashion history #history #textiles #textile history #sustainability

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b1asho · 25 days ago

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Inspired by this post!!!!!->

https://www.tumblr.com/paradoxbeta/784635153350852608?source=share

Attraction is very subjective human-to-human, and so obviously things get even more subjective when different species weigh in.

This is kind of an insane question to pull on a xeno, because most of them do not think of humans in that way at all. But if made to think about it, you could get some results. These are just random examples from random people, but the general idea is that they focus on stuff that we don’t immediately view as an instant appeal/something worth looking at.

The wider consensus is that it’s a little weird (or gross and unnatural, depending on who you’re talking to) to find another species attractive, but relationships do happen. They’re just fraught with a few more problems than the average couple.

Some other misc info:

Prectikar are by far the least interested in humans attraction-wise. We’re too unnerving for most of them.

Kixeli ears are a lot like frog ears (aka smooth and flat. The earrings they have are attached to the loose ring of skin around them.)

The Sundyne guy is speaking using an implant, which is why the speech bubble is coming from his neck in the second image. You can also tell he’s with egg from the bright yellow sash covering his back(where they are contained). Compared to the other guys, humans are kind of “hard to tell apart” since there’s no particular color or exposed body part that immediately signals if they’re male or female (Kixeli have their skin markings, rossetians have their horns, Dorest and Rox look drastically different, Prectikar are close but they tend to wear clear gendered jewlery for identification purposes). A human with things like thick clothing or body fat can make it less obvious “what they are”, something that a Sundyne would find unnerving.

As you can imagine, GEIA’s thoughts on humans are uhh complicated. She’s very normal about them.

“Met arch” is a Drecu term for addressing your lead Rox (sort of like“my leader” ), and their up-tilted heads+ little antenna tap is an affectionate gesture.

Rossetians have hair that’s similar to an earth mammal, but it’s Only on their privates and in Tha Pouch. So they have a very strong sexy connotation for it. rossetians and humans are pretty similar, and Rossetian/human relationships are also the second most common inter-species pair!

The most common inter-species pair is humans and muttreazik (because most muttreazik are raised by humans and look like humans with a few quirks.) Things get really complicated really fast, though, when we start talking about the low-congruency guys who don’t have a human body plan.

#found the post I saw that made me make this lol #alien species #original species #xenobiology #speculative biology #rossetian #kixeli #prectikar #Sundyne #Drecu #Muttreazik #spec evo

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pyxxiestyxx · 5 months ago

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Class-D

"Umm....?"

You stare at the affini sitting across from you, who is sipping casually from a large mug of tea. She had grown close to you over the last year, but the last few weeks in particular had been...more? She suddenly seemed intent on pushing you towards florethood, and more specifically towards one of the more...simple lifestyles.

'There are as many ways to be a floret as there are florets', as the saying goes. You considered yourself an outgoing and independent type, one who had (with effort and support) gone far, despite any neurodivergencies that often ground progress to a slow crawl. But the way Ea would look at you...the things she said...well, like what she JUST said, for example.

"I'm merely suggesting that you give it a try, dear. No contracts, no implants...unless you want those. I'm referring to something a bit simpler."

You frown, crossing your arms. "And what exactly do you have in mind, Ea?"

A brilliantly red flower blossoms before your lips, the needles tip glistening green. "I give you a Class-D, of course. One that prevents those pesky inhibitions and falsehoods from getting in the way. And then you and I can chat a little, and I may ask you to do a few things, to see if they make you feel good. Is that really so dangerous, sweetie?"

"I..." Yes, of course it was...was what you wanted to say. But if it really was just a Class-D, then it wouldnt change your mind. They were there to reveal the truth, and the truth of the matter was that you were capable and competent, and it's about time she figured that out. Sighing, you roll up your sleeve and extend your arm, wincing as the injection slips into your skin. The verdant drug travels up your arm and to your brain, and an....interesting feeling seems to settle on you. Not the fresh-out-of-a-dryer blanket of a Class-A, but a slightly warm sheet, perhaps. You blink a few times, then look at Ea expectantly.

She gently snaps her fingers at you, then points at the floor next to her seat. "No no, darling. We aren't going to one-half ass it here. I intend to show you what I mean, through actions as much as words."

You gawk at her, blushing furiously. "But...but I don't want to do that!"

"Why?"

"It's embarrassing!"

Ea tilts her head, a coy look passing through violet eyes. "The only one who thinks it is embarrassing is you, petal. No one else in this case will care in the least, and you already know what I think you need." She smiles. "If it helps, just think of it as me...coercing you into it. If anyone asks, you can explain that you didn't have a choice here."

You squint your eyes at her, but your gaze soon follows her arm down to her pointed finger. Crumbs, she really was serious. You look around the cafe again, noting how the others weren't even looking your way.

Blushing, you let yourself go limp, flowing off the lip of the seat and into a kneel as you shuffle towards her spot. When you arrive, you keep your gaze firmly fixed to the left, your hands grasping themselves out of a need to hold onto something.

You wait for her to speak...but she stays silent. She waits until you give in, until you sneak a glance at her, and only then does she cup your cheek in one large hand as she whispers, "Good Pet."

"I...y-you...it-" she slides her hand over your mouth, preventing the words from haphazardly tumbling out.

"Sweetheart, I said we would chat. I never said you would get to use people words~"

The hand returns to your cheek, a thumb gently brushing across your lips as she smiles triumphantly. "Now then, pet. You are a wonderfully skilled sophont, make no mistake. But a trained pet is still a pet, honey. And not everything trained into you is Good."

You open your mouth to protest...only to let the words die in your throat at the warning in her eyes. Instead, the softest little slip of a whimper manages to drip from your tongue.

Ea smiles wider, her other hand joining the first on your head as she begins to pet you, long firm pulls of her fingers through your hair. "You know that you push yourself too hard, don't you? That you keep moving, because the inertia is part of how you stay upright. You need the constant motion, because you're worried that as soon as you slow down, you'll topple over and shatter."

You try to deny it. You try to disprove it. But in the end, you are forced to admit it to yourself:

She's right.

She gently brushed a tear from the corner of your eye, softer than the petals of her flowers. "But that needn't happen, honey. Not if you have an Owner to care for you, and hold you close, and keep you safe. You know this too, don't you?"

You did. You do. And it hurts. And it heals.

Your eyes make a desperate plea towards her, though for what, you aren't sure. She seemed to be waiting for it, though, because her eyes glow golden ichor. "And so, since you are being honest with me, I shall be in turn with you. I will not wait a single second longer to give you what you want, need, crave. You are my pet, honey. I will Own you, I will train you, I will condition away any independence and wrestle your thoughts into simple submission. I want you to speak the truth, now. Use those cute little words to present the desires nestled in your heart, pet. I will take them as thanks, as a promise, as everything...

"You're mine, pet."

Her hand brushes one last time over your head as it makes its way to the back of your neck, tracing a line where you know the implant will soon reside. You shudder as she presses down, down, Down, pushing your face into her vines as you finally are honest with yourself and admit what you realize you always wanted, always needed.

"Yes, Miss."

#human domestication guide #hdg #microfiction #pyxfics

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3liza · 9 months ago

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i would really love to do a big quantitative study on breast implants and income for a very large sample of women and also cross compare to women whose breasts got larger just from weight gain or pregnancy or for no particular reason and sort the data by area of employment. been thinking about this a lot lately because big tits are a huge disability in most fields both physically and socially but there are also several areas of employment where a $10,000 boob job probably pays for itself in a year and I bet a lot of that data would be surprising

edit: the key here would be objectively measuring breast size to body size ratio and not just sorting by self reported cup size, which we already know is incorrect for most women. the study would have to involve actual lab measurement and one of the benefits to the participants would be actually getting a correct bra size for once

edit 2: breast size ratio vs objective breast mass would also be a really interesting way to sort data.

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kwillow · 2 months ago

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Jocosa gives her son lessons in wielding magic... though despite her best efforts, he grows up learning this particular lesson the hard way.

And, naturally, this was inspired by a question I was sent -- lore rambling below the cut.

Spells aren’t so cleanly divided into utility/combat/etc in this world. Chocodile has already made an excellent overview on how magic functions in Amaranthine, but the short of it is that a mage learn and use any type of magic, whether that be slinging lightning or moving objects or healing wounds or whatever else, but they require extensive knowledge of the forces at play, and it requires intense mental fortitude, quick calculations and precise control to wield it effectively.

Unfortunately, Theo is an inconsistent and erratic magic user. While he often uses magic for small, delicate tasks, like lighting candles or moving a book across a desk, channeling greater amounts of magic is a risky proposition. Theo's thought-scape is akin to a turbulent ocean or volcano about to erupt, and this is a detrimental quality when you need a clear, focused mind to keep your fireball in your hand instead of bursting all over your very flammable furniture.

When riled, as he would be in a combat situation, he’s as likely (or more likely) to get overloaded and immolate himself as he is his opponent. He has no compunctions about using magic for combat, in fact he'd relish the opportunity to use his innate "superiority" as a weapon against his "lessers" but it would be dangerous for him to try (which isn’t to say he wouldn’t attempt it out of desperation or impulsivity, but he'll suffer for it). After implanting the catalyst stone into his hand, his power is amplified -- but not his control. It might be safer for him to stick with weaponized pens.

The exception to Theo's issues with controlling magic is healing magic, which has become his specialty for good or for ill (ironically, more for ill). He wishes he could pluck the strings of pure magic, playing it like a harp as beautifully as his mother did, but for the life of him, he can’t seem to elevate himself above the crude matter of blood and bone.

#...I was going to go into why Theo finds healing magic more intuitive and controllable than other forms of magic #but this is already quite long #so I will have to save that for another time...!#side-note: Jo would be younger in that flashback than I am now... that's scary #side-note 2: i realized i should probably dress jo in a different style of dress than normal to reflect that panel being in the past...#turns out I do not care for the look of 1870s women's fashion #I miss the 1890s leg-o-mutton sleeves :(#my draws #asks #theo #jo #amaranthine #anthro #dark fantasy #etc etc etc

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benihana-circumcision · 9 months ago

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well ok if we approach this w an attitude of aellan numbers-whore analysis i do seem to have outsized success (at least ... for my locale) so maybe if i went to straya i'd just be the norm and thus only have average performance. the american has yet to encounter bunnings swag

unironically believe i would have done numbers if i was an aussie instead of an american. i think my lesbianism is much more compatible w/ the oz mode than the american one. gut feeling. i'd be running roughshod

#note: i have never set foot on that particular continent #i just watched a lot of Big Lez as a kid and i think it implanted the same personality disorder tht '00s weebs had for japan

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bumblehoneybee · 6 months ago

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Hi, could you write about post-crash curly falling in love with a nurse who is taking care of him back on earth?

A Simple Touch

You were nervous when it wasn't you doing the work. That was immediately obvious, especially when your long day shift was handed over to the night shift nurse. Curly admittedly preferred you too, perhaps because he usually slept through the night, and therefore found himself in your company more than anyone else.

Besides, he liked your care. Your hands were gentle, voice soft but not in a way that made him feel like a child. You cared, and it was obvious in how you (gently) corrected the other staff that had to handle him and how you gave a seemingly unending list of responsibilities to the night staff. Curly appreciated it.

But what he really liked was you, not just your care.

You didn't let him rot away in a bed -- "That's how people get bedsores, Mister!" -- and you forced him out of isolation. Curly felt the most human when sat in his wheelchair being driven around the medical ship. He met the crew, watched them interact with you, some stern and polite, others teasing and joyful.

One particular crewmate, claiming to be your very best friend, always would lean over and make snide comments to Curly behind his hand, as though that would stop you from hearing him. It hurt to laugh, but he couldn't help it when you'd get pouty and snide right back, lamenting about how the two of them were teasing you.

He couldn't wait to get his voice back, to tell you his name, his story, to confess his sins to you and hopefully still remain your friend. The world had to know what he did wrong, but he didn't want to tell anyone but you first. Only you, who had seen him and his best, his worst, and everywhere in between.

But sadly, before he could get his voice, he had to get his limbs.

You were cheerful in your explanations, something about neural links and blood-driven motors. A beautiful combination of medicine and engineering, you chirped, as Curly picked out the designs he liked best. It meant that not only would Curly be able to move, but feel too.

A miracle of modern medicine.

The man installing the first set of prosthetics, the arms, was thankfully easy-going. He soothed both Curly's hisses of pain during the implementation of the bases as well as your nervous hovering and fretting. Once it was done, though, the arms could come out for a quick test.

They started with the right arm. At the instruction of the engineer, he lifted and lowered the prosthetic. He rotated his wrist, he bent his fingers, he made gestures. Nothing was too heavy, and any pain was just residual of the installation.

"Perfect," the man hummed, scribbling down notes on some sort of tablet, "then let's move on. Your sensory nerves should be connected, so you should be able to feel with your hand and fingers." He paused, and gave a warm grin. "What would you like to touch first?"

Curly didn't even need to think. Without hesitation, he reached out to where you hovered just behind the engineer. You immediately responded, scurrying over to Curly with furrowed brows and twitching fingers, only to jolt when his new hand brushed your cheek.

Instinctively, you leaned into his palm, your own hands coming up to cradle it. Curly could hear the engineer chuckling at him, but it didn't matter. He could feel the soft warmth of your skin, his fingers just barely brushing up into your hair. It was all he ever imagined, a simple pleasure now so overwhelming for him.

The heart monitor still rigged to his chest from the implantation started to beep faster and faster. Your smile only accelerated it more.

And for the rest of the testing period, your nerves were seemingly vanquished, Curly's as well, so long as his new hand was twisted up in yours.

#i could write a novel about nursing curly back to health #both in a sweet fluffy way and a toxic codependent way #mouthwashing curly x reader #captain curly x reader #mouthwashing curly #curly x reader #mouthwashing x reader

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missshirophantom · 11 months ago

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Yandere Alphabet Sebastian Solace

From the author: hello everyone. I apologize for the abrupt disappearance after the first posts. There was a lot of shit going on in real life. And now especially, especially when I almost had a panic attack. This post... a small attempt to somehow cope with all the emotional problems. Ahem, I apologize for the mistakes, because English is not my native language and I used a translator. Yes, and I just got over it now... Tears, that's it. If I feel better (and a positive reaction will be enough), then I will write a small sketch using this post.

Warning: dr#g use without consent, threat of broken bones, threat of bondage, slight isolation, hint of c#nnib#lism. If you are for the fact that yandere Sebastian is gentle or dark, then you are absolutely not here. The author does not approve of the above written in real life.

Affection: How do they show their love and affection? How intense would it get?

— Due to so many years of literal torture and DNA implantation, Sebastian has forgotten how to show love and affection. At least, that's what many people imagine.

— Thanks to vague memories of his past, he often gives "gifts". These are usually very rare deceased marine life that he found while exploring the complex. Most often, he drags soft objects such as pillows and blankets to another person.

— It is worth considering that he will often be... Biting his beloved is not strong, of course, but deep enough and in prominent places so that the bite mark remains as long as possible.

— In rare moments, Sebastian can clamp his beloved with his tail and hands, preventing them from moving. Such moments last quite a long time — from several hours to even days. But don't be afraid, he will feed you.

— About feeding... Sometimes Sebastian intentionally brings dead marine life and forces the beloved to eat them raw, saying that he did not find a normal meal for you, and that's all he found, and there is no necessary equipment to cook.

— And I. Don't even think about giving up this "meal", because he can get very angry at you the longer and more persistently you refuse.

Blood: How messy are they willing to get when it comes to their darling?

— This case can be described as follows: rarely, but aptly.

— Sebastian hates people, especially getting dirty in their blood. But when the threat is directed either at him, or at the beloved, or at his refuge, then... Yes. It's better not to see it. In particular, you don't need to know where that poor guy's body goes next.

Cruelty: How would they treat their darling once abducted? Would they mock them?

— Despite his hatred of people, which he skillfully hides by contacting them in his store, especially if you are a person yourself, but in moments of his bad mood, Sebastian can mock you. Especially when you are trying to escape or are somehow stubborn, protesting against his actions and the like.

Darling: Aside from abduction, would they do anything against their darling’s will?

— It all depends on how his beloved behaves. If they try to escape more than once, he will give them a "medicine" in order to keep them in a sluggish and weakened state in the shelter.

— Well, he also locks them in a shelter while he goes out to get supplies. For good behavior, they may not even tie you up and tie you to the railing of the stairs.

Exposed: How much of their heart do they bare to their darling? How vulnerable are they when it comes to their darling?

— It's not much... It is difficult, especially when Sebastian vaguely remembers his life before his arrest and experiments.

— But if he is in a good mood, he can talk about his past. Especially about his cat, whom he misses.

Fight: How would they feel if their darling fought back?

— Definitely an annoyance. And the stronger and longer the beloved resists, the stronger his irritation, turning into anger.

Game: Is this a game to them? How much would they enjoy watching their darling try to escape?

— Sebastian does not consider this a game, even though he finds it funny to watch the escape attempts of the beloved and their plans for this. But still, he is serious that even for the sake of his "fun" he does not allow another to escape.

— So, yes. the DNA of the same white shark, which awakens in him the instincts of pleasure over the attempts of another to escape.

Hell: What would be their darling’s worst experience with them?

— Oh, definitely quite strong and a decent dose of "medicine" if the beloved misbehaves for too long. Sebastian rarely uses physical punishments. Except when he is very, very driven. Then he will definitely break a couple of bones in his legs.

Ideals: What kind of future do they have in mind for/with their darling?

— Sebastian just doesn't know. The arrest and experiments forced him to think about the present, not the future. Especially when there is a looming danger over him because of his mutations. And not only that.

— But somewhere in the tender moments with his beloved, he definitely thought about having a family with them. And also a safe place where they both don't need anything and no one bothers them.

Jealousy: Do they get jealous? Do they lash out or find a way to cope?

— As long as the other person does not speak directly and flirt, or God forbid, does not try to touch the other, then Sebastian is ready to be patient. And if any of this happens, he immediately throws this person out of his store and forbids him to come back. Believe me, this is the mildest thing he can do in bouts of jealousy.

Kisses: How do they act around or with their darling?

— Believe it or not, but it's pretty good, let it depend on the mood. Sebastian definitely likes to hold his beloved with his tail and sleep in this position, curled up in the "nest". Bite them, thereby marking them. As it was written above, he gives, albeit sometimes gloomy gifts: dead marine life, someone's bones. But it's definitely nice to get the same pillows and blankets from him. On particularly "lucky" days, he may even bring some simple puzzles, blank paper, and writing supplies. Or even the clean clothes of the employees! And also, as it was written, he definitely likes to watch the beloved eat the food he brought.

— However, do not try to annoy him in any way or, God forbid, make him angry. And even if nothing serious happens for the first time, it's better not to push your luck.

Love letters: How would they go about courting or approaching their darling?

— He will definitely compose a little poetry and read it to you. But mostly his love language, if you can call it that, is gifts, not particularly frequent physical contact, as well as... preening when Sebastian's mood is definitely high. He likes to mess with the hair of his beloved, untangling tangles with his claws and cleaning them from dirt. But it's definitely somehow caused by injected DNA and getting some instincts. Well, Sebastian can also be a good gentleman.

Mask: Are their true colors drastically different from the way they act around everyone else?

— Yes. Quite a lot if you continue to test his patience.

Naughty: How would they punish their darling?

— It varies depending on how much his patience is exhausted. If he speaks from the most harmless to severe punishment, then it goes something like this: stronger and deeper bites that leave a scar; short-term deprivation of food; small doses of "medicine"; medium doses; a large dose; broken bones, usually legs.

Oppression: How many rights would they take away from their darling?

— Freedom, defined. Sebastian will definitely lock the beloved in the shelter while he goes on business. But even without that, he still has no intention of letting them out of his sight, especially when they are not the first to try to escape or behave badly.

— It will also definitely monitor your meals with extreme care and sleep patterns.

Patience: How patient are they with their darling?

— Surprisingly, he is quite patient. But even such patience has its limits.

Quit: If their darling dies, leaves, or successfully escapes, would they ever be able to move on?

— Sebastian will refuse to believe that their beloved has died. By that time, he will have time to get very attached and it will be a blow to him. So be prepared for the fact that he will simply lose the remnants of his humanity and will babysit your body by locking himself in a shelter.

— Well, if it's an escape... It won't be difficult for him to find you. He knows this place like his own... "Five" fingers. Plus, his senses are highly developed, as are his newfound instincts.

Regret: Would they ever feel guilty about abducting their darling? Would they ever let their darling go?

— Definitely not for both questions. And even if Sebastian hated people and if you are a person yourself, he will not let you go.

Stigma: What brought about this side of them (childhood, curiosity, etc)?

— After the accusation that he did not commit, years of experimentation on him, torture, as well as the loss of some memories, you evoke in him... Something really different and new, amidst all this hatred and irritation. This feeling made him relax a little, feel the warmth in his chest and just made his barely controlled instincts calm down.

— You can say that he is really curious. Plus... Years of loneliness in this cruel situation are making themselves felt.

Tears: How do they feel about seeing their darling scream, cry, and/or isolate themselves?

— Definitely a confusion. Why do you want to come back at all? There, on the surface, you will find a much more cruel world than here, next to it. Yes, the conditions here are not so good, but it is much better than sitting behind bars in a dirty cell or, God forbid, being a test subject of these disgusting people.

— Despite the confusion, Sebastian understands these feelings. But he definitely didn't want to watch the situation worsen. He will definitely give you "medicines" to let you forget, but he will not work hard with it. After all, Sebastian does not want to be like the people who conducted experiments on him.

Unique: Would they do anything different from the classic yandere?

— Not really.

Vice: What weakness can their darling exploit in order to escape?

— It's definitely that Sebastian has become a monster, without a shred of humanity. Despite everything, he still misses the time when he was human, and these words will infuriate him. Plus, the same flashlight or flash in sensitive eyes. This disorients him for a few seconds.

Wit’s end: Would they ever hurt their darling?

— Mentally? Not much. Physically? Quite a lot, and it depends on how much you've exhausted his patience.

Xoanon: How much would they revere or worship their darling? To what length would they go to win their darling over?

— It depends on a lot of things. From the time you are with him, situations have occurred, especially those related to your life. The longer you stay with him and the more situations there are related to your life, the more he will begin to take care of you. But as for the conquest, this is another story and much longer, because Sebastian lost that normal part of himself, acting on the basis of instincts and vague memories.

Yearn: How long do they pine after their darling before they snap?

— It depends on the situation.

Zenith: Would they ever break their darling?

— Oh, Sebastian, which is a little surprising, will try to prevent this. He doesn't want a man like you to become even a little bit like him.

#roblox #pressure roblox #sebastian solace #yandere sebastian solace #yandere sebastian #sebastian solace x reader #yandere sebastian solace x reader #roblox x reader #pressure roblox x reader #x reader #gn reader #yandere #alphabet #yandere alphabet #yandere oneshot #oneshot

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cozzzynook · 1 year ago

Note

Rodimus having no idea he's a tank carrier because it's so rare and was outlawed way before he was born. Tank carriers are seen as a legend because no one has ever seen one. Because of this Roddy has no idea he is one.

Due to starvation and constant stress his coding has never turned online. But when he's on the Lost Light he feels safe and makes a home for himself. Especially after he bonded to Drift and Ratchet.

His coding activates and he becomes sparked. Except no one knows including himself. He thinks his symptoms are from bad energon, stress, not sleeping enough.

Ratchet knows something is wrong but when he scans him Rodimus comes up as fine because his equipment isn't made for tank carriers.

When he starts showing they all dismiss it as him eating more and no longer starving.

Then one day his valve starts leaking and he feels a horrible cramping feeling. Drift and Ratchet are busy working and he doesn't know what to do.

He lays in bed panicking as energon leaks out and he's in so much pain. He has no idea what's happening to him.

I love this ask so much. I’m making a long fic out of this.

The first memory in his processor was not like the first memory of other bots on cybertron.

His very first memory file was deeply embedded and locked within a personal file beneath a personal file that did not belong to him but another he did not know.

Two mechs who he never knew designations of, could not find a single photo or holovid of nor could he ask another who they were.

All he had to go on was this memory chip implanted in his mind with a first view of both himself and two others. A shared memory file, a gesture long passed and well hidden within Nyonian culture he dare not speak to another out of fear of experimentation and functionalist backlash that remained even after the fall of Cybertron.

A mech laying in a bundle of soaked blankets on a hard floor covered in fluids that looked to be in deep pain but smiling at him. As another looked worried beyond possibility as they just as equally gazed down at him touching his helm with a sensitivity he’s never even knew the most delicate wire deep medic to have.

A touch he’s never once felt comfortable giving to another in fear of their reaction.

Their species didn’t call for such delicacy and as such it was deemed an insult to be given. Seen for the weak really.

He didn’t understand what was wrong with him for the two mechs to treat him that way when the second mech that held him was the one in such pain.

His memory core always warmed and saddened at the sight of the two and he’s never been able to figure out why.

All he knows is that the two were whispering words and pushing feelings into his spark that he’s never figured out nor been able to talk about. Rodimus isn’t sure why this memory plays from time to time during the course of his life but it has.

Always at a pivotal moment.

When Nyon fell at his own servos.

When he was shot and killed by Megatron, becoming Rodimus Prime.

When he went to find the knights of cybertron and when he encountered the Djd and time traveled.

The day he almost lost his crew and ship only to bargain for their ability to keep said home on the promise of searching out materials and fuel for Cybertrons restoration and to keep Megatron off world to give their people time to settle and rebuild their lives.

It was a shot in the dark but thankfully his flames were incessantly bright and his finish wasn’t so bad either.

The memory flux always played during pivotal moments, though annoying no Starscream and Windblade and Bumblebee so they’d say yes was not a pivotal memory flux moment. It was a pivotal personal record of his. That particular memory flux only happened when a huge moment was happening.

So why on in the galaxies milky debris was he getting memory flux after memory flux night after night ever since he started fragging conjunx Ratchet and Drift?

The two were conjunx to each other and he was just a fun time short fling that they felt bad for and kept around. He didn’t like saying it out loud or thinking about it but he knew it was true.

The two would grow bored of him eventually and when they did he hoped he could handle it.

Maybe that was why he had the memory fluxs lately?

They were going to leave him.

Maybe he should beat them to it? Rip the adhesives off and get it over with? Play it off so it won’t hurt so bad in the future? Salvage what he could so it wouldn’t be so painful in the long run? Should he just up and leave? No. That might hurt them even if they wanted to be rid of him. Maybe he should just…slowly separate himself? That could work. Right?

He tried excusing himself that same night when the two came back.

He didn’t even make it out the habs door when Ratchet grabbed him by the waist and demanded in his usual grouchy tone for Rodimus to spill what was wrong.

He…burst out in tears after trying to pull himself free of Ratchets grip for a solid five minutes only for Ratchet to lift him with ease and set him on his and Drifts laps on their couch. Drift put two digits on his chin and turned his helm holding optic contact and suddenly he was crying telling them he’ll leave and its okay that they don’t love or want him. He’ll just leave and they never have to think about him again for as long as they live.

That..—that got him a very confused and concerned set of optics and em fields that didn’t know what to do at the sudden burst of emotion coming from their intended conjunx.

Rodimus was able to slip free of their hold and stand but the two were a lot quicker than he was at the moment and they grabbed hold of him before he could run off.

The two of them were completely confused by Rodimus sudden influx of emotions and tears and the insecurity they thought was majority replaced by reassurance.

They can admit they should’ve conjunxed him already but they were truly waiting until they landed on a beautiful planet to conjunx him, not just floating in space. Although, knowing Rodimus he probably would be fine with that. Maybe they should just conjunx and spark bond with him while they floated through space? If thats what it took to assure their intended conjunx and make him happy, they’d do it. But they also knew he deserved more than a rushed mating ritual.

“Roddy, we love you. We don’t want anyone else. We just want to wait until we’ve landed to conjunx you.”

“Kid, please, no more crying. We can talk about this,” Ratchet was not one for tears no matter how many patients he’s seen breakdown, it was never his strong suit. But seeing Drift or Rodimus cry? It physically tore his spark apart.

It seemed Rodimus couldn’t even stop himself from shedding his optics and so the two led him into berth where he curled into the both of them and buried his face ashamed and embarrassed and still so genuinely hurt and afraid. His emotions felt stronger than a normal em field should and Ratchet waited until Rodimus was deep in recharge to scan him fully from the tips of his helm flares to the sole points of his pede tips.

Every single scan he could think on came back normal.

His spark was its usual difference to the average spark readings since his spark was traumatized at what his files describe as a delicate developmental stage. It was an extremely rare occurrence to appear on file and it was never added more detail than that given their government never wanted even their medical staff to know what happened under the circumstances of safety. He’d done some digging once, he found it meant they emerged from the spark with dysfunction. He never got more than that and knew anything else would mean his offlining and so he worked with what he had.

Ratchet informed Drift of his clear readings and Drift looked as if he couldn’t believe what Ratchet was telling him.

“Maybe he needs to see Rung?”

“As if the kid will willingly go to a therapist,” Ratchet rolled his optics as he fought the urge to ignite a smoke tube. “We keep an optic on him,” Ratchet finally said after a long moment, “we can’t be obvious about it either. Don’t want to aggravate whatever this is,” he huffed with a shoulder drop.

For now they knew Rodimus wasn’t in immediate or any danger for all they knew but it was safe to say something was going on and they knew to handle it with extreme care and caution.

In the following weeks they found Rodimus was often tired.

Taking the time to recharge in multiple bursts within his office after actually completing his work, he would curl into a protective ball of sorts and recharge. He abstained from his usual meteor surfing activities which greatly pleased all of his crew but worried Drift and Ratchet past this quadrants moons. Rodimus never liked passing up the chance to meteor surf for anything let alone for recharge.

Multiple scans yet again from Ratchet and nothing.

His spark was still its normal unusual pace and his frame was healthy minus the minor nutrient deficiencies. He was in good health and it bugged the two to no end since they could only watch their intended recharge throughout the day always exhausted and slowing in pace. Rodimus would drop into a deep, snoring sleep that scared the two since he never snored and didn’t wake no matter how hard they shook him.

But no matter how strange this new tiredness was, neither Ratchets nor First aid or Ambulons scanners could pick up anything being wrong with Rodimus.

Eventually the two had to accept that this was a new norm for their intended and so they began to carry a blanket and pillow in their sub space so they could have Rodimus safely recharge on them instead of his desk.

Rodimus didn’t seem to notice how exhausted he always was but the crew did and they expressed concerns to which Ratchet said Rodimus scans were normal. Many figured it was his lack of self care catching up to their captain finally but Drift and Ratchet felt differently. They just didn’t have proof but they just knew it was something else.

Things only became stranger when Rodimus suddenly didn’t like his usual brand of energon anymore. Sure they knew he never really liked any energon specifically since he was so used to starving during the war and when he lived in Nyon. But now he purged at the smell and sight of certain fuel foods, cubes and drinks.

That made Ratchet lay him down in their berth that Rodimus began to pile soft blankets onto that admittedly did make recharge a lot better. Though the two weren’t originally a fan of the pillows they couldn’t say a thing when they saw how comfortable Rodimus slept on them. Especially now that he was purging at the smell and sight of energon he usually never had a problem with.

Rodimus relationship with energon wasn’t the best but that was because he’d consume fuel even if he didn’t like it. Now he couldn’t do that. He couldn’t even be in the same room as most fuels which terrified Ratchet and Drift who immediately noticed Rodimus getting smaller. They were one nano klik away from taking a pod and bringing Rodimus back to Cybertron for Ratchet to do an invasive frame search on him when the two accidentally drank their energon around Rodimus.

The mechs tanks growled something fierce and his optics were becoming static with tears as he looked from their energon to them as he held a servo on his tanks that somehow had a small swell to it even though Rodimus hadn’t eaten in almost a month. They were quick to rush their mugs of energon to him and when he grabbed both and poured both into one mug and drank the fuel eagerly, they were smiling so happily when he was able to finish it and not get sick.

Ratchet did a thorough scan on Rodimus when the mechs back was turned and he was drinking another mix of both Drift and Ratchets fuel in the sword mechs arms while Drift rubbed his spinal strut, Ratchet was shown a clean bill of health. It left him silently fuming as he felt like he was failing Rodimus but Drift gave him a look that told him to focus on their current success of Rodimus finally being able to fuel again.

From that moment the two were more than happy to see Rodimus drinking fuel made for their frame types. He always mixed it saying it was disgusting if he didn’t and neither argued since they wanted him healthy and fueling. So when he began to gain weight in his aft, thighs and tanks they didn’t complain one bit.

Ratchet wasn’t sure why he was gaining weight in those areas only and he wasn’t sure why Rodimus was steadily gaining the most weight in his tanks or why it was round and heavy with no jiggling. He can admit he was happy their intended wasn’t wasting away but he was concerned about Rodimus getting even more tired as he fueled more than before while having mild frame pain.

The frame pain with no readings as to why sent him over the edge making him growl with a deep rev of his engine and he was throwing a wrench through the wall before he knew it. The action scared himself and Drift but it scared Rodimus even more making the mech try hiding his optics as he slightly waddled from the room with an apology.

Ratchet tried stopping their intended but Drift interrupted and told him it was okay.

“This is..stressful and scary..you throwing the wrench through the wall is fine Ratty. But whatever is going on with Roddy.. is making him sensitive..we should give him a moment and you need a moment too just like I do.”

Ratchet hated when Drift was right.

He scrubbed his face plate with his servos and vented heavily. Nodding his helm, Ratchet went to drop heavily onto their couch as Drift went off to the training rooms most likely. For a while Drift can let loose and use his claws and fangs to get his frustrations out while Ratchet can let himself ignite his smoke tube and forget everything for a while.

They were both worried about what Rodimus was doing and they commed Minumus to check the cameras to keep a detailed optic on their intended which was immediately bypassed with Minumus going to sit with Rodimus to keep a much closer optic on the mech since he was worried for him as well.

Rodimus went to the lower decks with Minimus and sat near the heated oil where he felt his frame relax and some of the pain slip free. He told Minimus he could leave which got him a blank stare so he rolled his optics and asked if Minimus could get him the new blend of energon he preferred to which the mech did but ordered him to stay where he was.

Rodimus hated how he had to follow that order seeing as he now needed help to stand since his tank was getting too heavy for him alone to raise himself.

He just really wanted a moment to sort himself and pretend he wasn’t scared. He knew something was wrong with him. He knew it wasn’t normal to be drinking Drift and Ratchets blend of energon that wasn’t made for his frame type and it wasn’t normal to be this exhausted to the point he was tired even after a nap or deep sleep. Not to mention his frame was uncomfortable now and his tank was heavy like something weighed him down.

He wasn’t an idiot, he knew Ratchet was scanning him when his back was turned and when he was sleeping. He knew Ratchet didn’t know what was wrong and he knew Drift and Ratchet were extremely worried about him. He tried not to let his emotions and em field get the best of him but he often couldn’t keep the emotional flux to himself. Ratchet and Drift were incredible at dealing with them but he wished they didn’t have to.

Venting deeply, he shifted his hips a little to try and find a more comfortable position as he dropped his shoulders and sniffled.

He didn’t want to cry right now and he wished he wasn’t stressing Ratchet and Drift out but he couldn’t help it. He didn’t know what was wrong and the memory flux he now had every night was not helping.

It seems the last time he was truly stress free and beginning to fuel at proper times of the day is when this all started. A reward of sorts for following a healthy recharge and fueling schedule was a passionate two days and nights in berth with his intendeds.

He wonders if he somehow messed something up during that time? If he knocked something a-loose or he was sparked?

He laughed at the impossibility of the second option. Ratchet would’ve seen that and he was barren anyway.

Their people had hot spots for sparklings or carried within their spark chamber until it was time for the new spark to emerge and they were placed within their frame that the sire built.

His spark was desolate in that regard.

It wasn’t fit to house another spark and furthermore he didn’t even have the sparkling sub compact spaces. He would never be able to feed them nor grow them.

When he first found out he was…inconsolable and clawing at his frame from crying out of anguish and frustration. He couldn’t understand what he’d done to deserve being barren and he couldn’t fathom why it bothered him so much in the first place. He’d found out during his time living in Nyon and that place was in no way suitable for a sparkling. That same night he was plagued with the memory flux he could not decipher but knew meant something was coming.

Not long after Nyon was destroyed by his own servo at the acceptance of his people.

It hurt.

It still does.

Even now so far from home, cruising along the galaxy further from what he’s done he was pained by his past and the current situation he couldn’t help but feel was his fault even if deep down something was nudging at him telling him it wasn’t his fault.

He placed a servo on his tanks off instinct and allowed himself to listen to that odd buried feeling he recognized as a type of coding coming to light in his processor. He felt it whenever he was near a sparkling but pushed it down and ignored it until he’d forgotten it. After learning he couldn’t have a sparkling he pushed anything to do with them away. It was too painful and while ignoring it hurt he couldn’t help but do it. The fear of exploring it far outweighed his need to divulge in the curiosity.

“Here, Rodimus. Your energon,” Minimus handed him the heavy mug and he gratefully accepted, keeping a servo on his tanks. He felt…at peace and his tanks softened at the gesture and his nerves didn’t feel so high strung anymore.

“I just want to be alone right now Mins. Please?”

There was a moment of quiet that encompassed the room and he was grateful for Minimus sitting further down with his back turned as he began to talk to his own conjunx quietly. He could hear Megatron asking about him and he silently sent an apology message to both mechs who returned it with Minumus telling him vocally not to do so and Megatron responding the same.

Neither faulted him for being, sick? He didn’t exactly feel sick but he felt off and tired while also feeling..normal in a way? Now that he wasn’t purging and could fuel again he felt better, a lot better, but the pains and exhaustion that his weight gain granted him reminded him things weren’t normal.

He consumed his fuel, rubbing his tanks as he sat against the low heat boiler— well low heat for him, he was still a fire mech at spark—and drifted in and out.

Eventually exhaustion won over and he was recharging mostly comfortably until he felt someone place a servo on him and he woke with a mild start shielding his tank with the servo that hadn’t left its spot.

“Its just us kid, its okay,” Ratchet soothed, vocal cords scratchy and deep as always, hints of tube smoke on his breath as he bent down to lift Rodimus up.

Rodimus tried pushing him away and protesting but Ratchet grouched at him making him laugh.

“I’m not that old kid, my knee struts can pick yer aft up easy,” Ratchet smirked as he lifted Rodimus with his knee struts cracking a little. Rodimus felt guilty for having Ratchet pick him up when he felt it should be the other way around but Ratchet flicked his spoiler making Rodimus stiffen and clench his thighs together. Ratchet assumed immediately he was in pain but the moan Rodimus struggled to capture left Ratchet’s optic ridges raising and his dermas lifting with them a moment later.

The scent of slick was wafting into the old medics olfactory sensors and soon he was sending an image capture to Drift who pinged him back not a full klik later ordering they get back to berth where the two could reconnect with their intended and reassure each other that things would be alright.

Minimus was long gone by the time Rodimus was on the elevator with Ratchet nipping at his helm flares making him almost drip beyond his modesty panels.

Drift was right at the elevator doors pouncing the two with greedy fangs that left bite marks on both their neck platings. His servos were about ready to take rodimus and Ratchet apart in the public empty space until Rodimus fidgeted and pushed him forward so they could reach their hab sooner.

“Please,” he moaned once inside their door even as an unknown mech hurried past blushing at their heavy em fields, “please, overload inside me.”

Who were they to deny his sweet cries as they laid him on the berth, mindful of his tanks and sensitive spoiler that fluttered so much it ruffled the sheets and helped him arch up his frame as he slid open his modesty panel. Valve dripping and swollen with slick and charge that tasted heavy and sweeter than cyber nectar during the summer heat.

Drift and Ratchet’s panels retracted so fast it hurt when their spikes pressurized and fanned the warm air.

They couldn’t even get themselves to attempt foreplay with their beautiful intended.

Spikes slipping past swollen folds and deep biolights that glowed impossibly magnificent.

The medical officer in Ratchets coding couldn’t help the subtle scan he did on Rodimus as the mech cried from feeling their spikes slip inside him at the same time. His exterior node just as swollen as his interior nodes, valve cycling down on both the spikes that were struggling not to overload early inside the heated plushy walls that weren’t as tight as he felt they should be. They were warm, wet, swollen and greedily taking everything they had to offer even after months of being untouched.

He wasn’t so lost in the pleasure he couldn’t file that for later but a look from Drift told him he wasn’t as subtle as he’d hoped and he relayed the information. Neither were at all able to stop pumping their spikes inside Rodimus until they were buried hilt deep and the tips of their spikes were touching a wet bulge that opened and allowed them deeper inside.

It was something neither Ratchet or Drift had but Rodimus always had it. The very first time they fragged it scared Ratchet a bit but when he found nothing wrong on his scans he left it alone. Now he wonders if he should’ve investigated it more thoroughly.

“Ah, Ratch, Drift, please, oh- please, overload inside me,” Rodimus cried, writhing on their engorged spikes that pushed roughly into his swollen node and squelching flesh that gave way to the two and only the two.

Ratchet and Drift put their thoughts to the back of their processor as Drift lifted Rodimus’s leg carefully to reach deeper within and make Rodimus lift himself closer to the swords mech who purred. Fangs digging blood from Rodimus’s neck cables as he felt Rodimus and his tanks push into him and grip his shoulder strut so hard he dug his digits until the paint chipped and metallico lightly bled.

Ratchet didn’t appreciate feeling left out and used his digits to tease along the seams of his chassis, both servos finding the hooks and unclasping the tight chest panel that gave way to heavy chest pouches that were swollen and sensitive to the air hitting them.

Rodimus cried out half over loading from the exposure and light brush of his dark nozzle against Drifts plating and Ratchets delicate touch. The medic took note of the changes and something flicked within his optics that he found within Drifts.

They both couldn’t stop themselves from apologizing to Rodimus who cried static as he painfully overloaded the moment Drift buried both his and Ratchets spikes as far as they could within Rodimus valve past the valve caps and into something they’ve only ever felt in Rodimus. As Ratchet gripped Rodimus’s pouches and twisted his nozzles making him release an ocean of charge from his valve and fizzle out his optics from over stimulation.

The two were soft as they kept pumping into Rodimus but they couldn’t find it in themselves to stop as Ratchet checked his systems and helped Rodimus wake up.

Little speedster was fragged past his capabilities that night as he was stuffed with overload making him feel fuller than he now typically did.

Scan after scan on himself and Drift that came back normal with a high in nutrients they were pouring into Rodimus valve was all Ratchet got and all Drifts internal scanners told them. Rodimus’s scans were reading normal with signs of exhaustion that the two felt a little bad about but strict berth rest under Ratchets orders left Rodimus’s readings normal again save for the faint pain readings that Rodimus told them was discomfort.

After that he was confined to the berth and their hab where his tanks grew steadily and it was attributed to him fueling so often and recharging so much.

It was two months later that Rodimus was alone in their hab suite, tanks feeling tight and more than just uncomfortable. He wondered if fragging every day while stuck on berth rest was the reason. He couldn’t help how charged he felt. Ever since they left the lower decks two months ago he was constantly in need of their spike and would cry until he got it. At first it was concerning him but when Ratchet found he was just overly charged but needed nutrients that their frames were overly providing and pumping into him, things were a bit calmer and the two weren’t so on edge.

He was surprised the two finally left to their shifts after waking to Rodimus shifting uncomfortably and struggling to get up to use the wash racks. His tanks were heavier than he liked admitting though the two knew since they’d lift it for him when he stood up to take the weight off for at least a solid klik.

It seemed today that wouldn’t work seeing as it hurt to have either of them touch his tanks.

He actually flinched when Ratchet put a faint digit on his tank to see what was wrong. He groaned shifting away from the mech but asked for his help to the wash rack while apologizing. He didn’t mean to worry them but his waste compartment felt painfully full and his tanks were beginning to cramp into his back plating and his spinal strut was stiff and twitching with bad nerve flares.

He decided to stay in berth after using the wash racks with an audible sigh of relief much to the twos panic.

He was uncomfortable, felt swollen in a way he hadn’t while his frame was changing and his tank felt like it dropped the moment he let himself drop back onto their nest.

“Roddy, we’ll be back within an hour at most,” Drift assured more so himself and Ratchet as Rodimus nodded half way and breathed deeply through the discomfort.

“Comm us immediately if something changes,” Ratchet ordered, it was funny, he was getting so many orders thrown at him when he was co captain of the ship. He couldn’t bother to find the orders anything but endearing since they were worried about him.

“I’m gonna try and sleep,” he told them as he shifted deeper into the pillows that he now used to sleep sitting up since it was too uncomfortable to sleep laying down.

He wasn’t going to be able to sleep, he knew that, but they didn’t. He wanted a moment alone to work through the pain without either of them panicking. He hoped whatever this was would be finished before they came back. Ratchet was heading to the medbay to get the next few days off while Drift was just doing the most important part of his new shift that’d only take thirty minutes at most before he was racing back to their hab.

He felt guilty for making them worry but they told him not to think about that, he took those words to spark when he felt a staggering pulse of pain contract around his hips and across his tanks making him flinch and stutter a vent.

His servos instinctively rubbed circles along the sides of his tank as he vented shakily and slowly laid back into the pillows until he felt another pulse ripple along his tanks and a heavy weight crush against his valve panel that seeped through his modesty panel.

His optics were wide and confused as he felt another pain grip him by the tank and twist at him until he was gripping his own tanks venting harshly feeling as if something within him was strangling his insides with how tight they became.

He punched out a breath of nothing as his windpipe struggled to do anything more but flex at his strained attempts to inhale as his tanks lurched and dropped fully.

He didn’t have a clue what was going on or what was happening to him and he didn’t have time to figure it out when he suddenly felt his tanks squeeze tighter this time before suddenly letting go and his modesty panels slid open without his permission. Releasing a flood of fluids that gushed until it seeped into the berth and made a puddle around him.

He felt his frame getting a momentary break and he rushed the best he could to sit forward but his tanks were in pain and too low for him to do more than shift to his side where he got stuck when another pulse of pain wracked his frame and he felt something within his tanks shift and he punched out a yelp of pain as he gripped the soaked sheets feeling like his insides were being torn apart.

He tried to focus on breathing when the intense feeling came to an end but he could feel another one slowly building and he was cramping in this position so he rocked himself on shaky and weak arms until he was on his servos and knees with his valve burning in the exposed air and moisture coating his frame as he began to overheat.

The pain came in another wave and this time he was slightly prepared as he grit his denta and grunted the best he could as he vented harshly when it was over.

His vision was blurry from tears building and he swayed on all fours as the next intense pain slammed into his frame feeling worse than the last.

The next pulse of pain lasted longer than the others and he wondered for a moment if this is how he would die? Why did it have to be so painful? What did he do to deserve this?

The memory flux he long associated with dread came to the forefront of his processor and he bent down sobbing as he thought this was really how he would die.

He’d die from intense pain until his spark gave out and he would never know what the memory flux meant or who the two mechs who plagued his entire life were or what they were saying.

He sobbed into his arm as he felt another painful pulse ripple through his tank and this time it made his spinal strut seize and he coughed up nothing, struggling to vent as he let his upper half collapse into the ruined sheets and pillows feeling his spark tighten from the ongoing pain and he closed his optics. He didn’t want Ratchet and Drift to see him like this but he didn’t want to die alone. He didn’t want to die at all.

“Oh my sweet spark, I’m so sorry we have to leave you like this,” a voice he didn’t know spoke to him and looking around the room with bleary optics he couldn’t see another bot but the voice persisted, weak as he felt, loving in a way he never knew possible and so comforting he almost forgot the pain he was in.

He felt another large wave of pain crash into his systems and notifications popped on his hud in his native dialect he’d long forgot was different than standard cybertronian glyphs.

His memory flux came to the forefront as he struggled to vent and gripped his tanks as the pain pushed him over the edge to the point he felt he was being ripped from the inside out that he let a strangled yelp turned cry free into the pillow and his arm as his memory continued to play.

Everything was fuzzy and he couldn’t really hear anything beyond the memory flux nor could he stop himself from letting the bond open allowing Drift and Ratchet to feel his pain, knocking them still and breathless as they struggled to gather themselves and their systems that had to reboot from the unbearable torment suddenly unleashed from Rodimus’s end of the bond.

“My sweet spark, you look so beautiful,” the exhausted mech that looked like he did said breathless, while cuddling him in a bundle of blankets, “one day you’ll understand why we had to leave you and one day you’ll be able to decipher this memory we pass on to you. But for now it will only come in silence as a warning for when you need it. Be it good or bad,” the mech that was built like him and carrying a large tank spoke tiredly before kissing his helm with the help of the mech who had his colors.

“We love you so much sweet sparkling. But it’s dangerous now with the functionalists hunting mechs like you and your carrier. So we have to leave you with a trusted amica who will take great care of you, our beloved sparkling.”

The two mechs were crying and kissing him as much as they could like always but this time he could understand what they were saying and it made his spark melt and tighten.

“We love you sweet spark and every time you flux in recharge and see us it’s our warning of safety and love to you. You will only know our words and voice when you have a sparkling of your own so you know whats happening to you sweet spark.”

“We’re so sorry we can’t be there to love and take care of you. We’d give anything to see you grow and give you everything your spark desires. But we were caught and now all we can gift you is life and this memory.”

“My sweet bitty,” the mech the same color as him cried, “i’m your sire and I love you so much.” He sobbed for a new reason as pain wracked his frame, he could half understand what they were saying but the pain was unbearable and he felt something move inside of him that made him terrified and yelp.

“Always know this my love,” the mech who physically looked like him cried, “just know we love you and we never wanted to leave you,” the mech cried as a loud bang sounded and shouting started.

“We love you sweet spark,” the other mech spoke before standing and shooting at a mech who barged in. He watched as the mech who looked like him tried to get up and run only to fall and cry in pain, shielding him.

The mech who was his color shouted and used their frame to shield the two of them and a hole was blown into his spark for his efforts. He cried feeling a piece of him he never knew be ripped away and he watched as the mech holding him pleaded for his sparklings life and to do whatever they wanted with him.

The mechs remained silent and the mech holding him was shot in the helm.

A final act of love was the mech wrapping their arms around him to shield him from the fall.

The memory ended with the sounds of what he now knew to be his cries before ending and he opened his tear stained optics to his berthroom where he was alone.

His professor was half putting together what the memory flux was until he felt another sharp pain ripping his attention painfully and he let out a strangled cry as he felt pressure begin to lower in his tanks and the door burst open to their hab and a rush of pedes barged into the room before halting.

The sounds of vents heaving and the shocked em fields wrapping around him didn’t take his attention for long.

He felt another wave of pain rush him and he gripped the sheets tighter feeling his frame rock at the pain as he tried to alleviate the worst of his pain.

“Roddy!”

Drifts cry and Ratchets heavy pedes broke him from his pain and he felt relief at no longer being alone as he sobbed allowing Ratchet to begin checking his valve panel hearing him curse the worst he’s ever sounded as he let it slip that what came from Rodimus was fluid he didn’t know mixed with blood.

“Frag! Ratty whats wrong with him?!”

“Damnit Drift I don’t know!”

That made the room grow silent as Rodimus panted, accepting Drift lift him up and lean his weight onto the swords mech as he panted. Optics close as he felt a moment of relief.

He felt disoriented, overheated, tired, exhausted and in the worst pain he’s ever felt.

He shifted a little when he felt the beginning signs of pain coming and he knew he couldn’t handle being on his back or sitting half upright as he was so he shifted himself and Drift and Ratchet immediately asked him what was wrong.

“End..bed..end..” He panted the words out hoping they understood and when the two began to carefully move him to the end of the bed, he thanked them the best he could before gripping Drifts servo and squeezing in pain when another painful pulse rippled through his entire body making him grit his denta in a long whine and groan that turned growl at the end.

Ratchet was frantic running scan after scan as Drift tried to tell him to breathe and while he understood, he was tired and overheated and the words weren’t helping. For some reason he felt like he needed to have his knees on the berth and he needed Drift holding his front or at least up there with him.

He was shifting before he realized, stopping when another painful pulse stabbed him this time making him whimper and cry in embarrassment as his waste tanks opened and he pissed himself.

Ratchet was still scanning him frantically and got so angry he ripped the device from his arm and began to feel on Rodimus’s chassis plating near his spark before stopping to help Rodimus shift so he had his knees on the edge of the berth and Drift was holding him from the front while Ratchet held his sides and thats when he felt how tight they were. He’d never experienced anything like this and he was terrified because he didn’t know how to help and he was terrified they were losing their conjunx.

Drift was shedding tears as he tried to soothe Rodimus who held onto him and gripped his servo at the next painful pulse. Something about this one felt different and he was still apologizing out of breath for pissing on himself while Ratchet and Drift were trying to soothe him that it was okay when he felt something kick, actually kick, him from the inside and move down making him gasp out a sob.

He couldn’t breathe out the word, what, fast enough before another heavy strangled tightening gripped his tanks and something in his processor told him to bear down, the same voice of the mech who looked physically like him, and he was suddenly gritted his denta on the next pulse as Ratchet held his sides and Drift his front while holding him up in a close hug.

Rodimus gripped Drifts servo and bore down feeling something move down and he stopped venting as he did so, letting his whole frame sag once he stopped and thats when Ratchet moved down after Drift yelped from how tight Rodimus gripped his hand.

“Kid, whats wrong, talk to me, please,” Ratchet got down and looked at Rodimus valve when Rodimus suddenly bore down again and Ratchet didn’t know what to do so he let him.

He felt Rodimus’s tanks and felt that the top was hard, harder than what was physically possible for their species and he felt fear spike up in him all over again. He was running so many scenarios in his processor that he all but blue screened for a klik when Rodimus bore down once more and screamed, as he put a servo on his valve and his optics popped open with new tears.

“Roddy! Whats wrong?! Roddy?!”

Ratchet gently moved Rodimus servo, the first movement he’s done this past hour that wasn’t bearing down in pain while he sat uselessly behind him watching, and felt along the swollen and painful looking valve only for his optics to bulge out when he felt something.

“Primus! Kid! What is this?!”

“Fuck Ratchet! What is it?!”

“I don’t know! But it’s coming out!”

Rodimus gripped Drifts servo again and struggled to bear down. He was exhausted and the pain was too much. This was too much.

“Kid? Kid! Ya gotta stay awake! For whatever this is ya gotta stay awake!”

“Roddy? Roddy! Wake up Roddy! Come on wake up!”

He groaned feeling the two lower him onto the berth on his back and he whined feeling pain wracking him worse than before as Drift slapped his face plates to wake him up and Ratchet pressed on his chassis opening it up and lifting his nozzles to keep his spark going.

“Tired,” he barely got out as his vision went in and out.

“We know Roddy, we know. But you gotta wake up and then when this is over you can sleep as much as you want but for now you gotta wake up!”

“Come on kid! Don’t do this to us! You gotta wake up kid! You gotta live, please!”

Rodimus felt himself intaking air as Ratchet made his spark strengthen and he felt their tears on his face plates making him open his optics.

He hated seeing them cry and he hated being the reason…maybe he could try one more time?

He pictured the mech who looked down at him with so much love and the mech who first laid eyes on him as the other mech screamed and soon he was screaming too before cooing.

‘Huh,’ his processor felt something click but he didn’t through the exhaustion.

He shifted himself tiredly and with their help he sat up and shakily pulled his legs up and put a servo on one knee when Ratchet lifted them for him and he felt Drift sit behind him, putting his legs beside his to help them stay up. Rodimus gripped his servo and Ratchet stayed near his valve as he put a servo on his tanks feeling how impossibly tight it had become as Rodimus inhaled and pushed.

Pushed as hard as he could feeling something move further down and suddenly it felt like he was on fire the second time he bore down.

He couldn’t stop the agonizing scream he let out.

It didn’t even sound like him.

The sound of it stunned the two mechs with him and before he could apologize or do anything besides let his spark spin, he was pushing again feeling something press against his valve as he screamed bloody murder.

He was sure he crushed Drift’s servo with how tight he was gripping and shaking it but the mech didn’t say anything, just held him and let him crush it as he pushed again and heard Ratchet gasp as if Primus himself had gifted them something wonderful.

“Keep..keep pushing kid! Keep pushing! Its..its..yer almost done Rodimus, oh primus, yer almost done,” he beamed catching the two off guard.

Rodimus was too busy pushing but Drift was able to ask, “ratty? What is it? What is…primus..”

Drift could see past Rodimus since he was the taller of the two and he could see why Ratchet was crying and smiling for an entirely new reason.

With a vocal shattering shout, Rodimus gave the last bit of strength he had into this one last push and he felt the ring of fire covering his valve and frame slip free of him and dropped into Drift’s frame crying from an over abundance of emotions.

Nothing registered to him for a nano klik until he pushed out something that felt squishy and thick and he heard Drift and Ratchet gasp and then…and then a cry rang out in the room. A cry that made him open his optics and start crying for an entirely new reason.

He struggled so much to lift himself but Drift did it for him and Ratchet brought the crying, screaming, flailing, little bundle to him. Allowing him to cradle them in his arms and look at them. Really look at them as he held the reason his frame changed. The reason they worried for a year and some months. The very reason he was in endless pain for so many hours.

A sparkling.

A real, crying, tiny, strong engine sparkling that was all protoform and no metallico just yet.

Flailing little arms and legs in his hold, with unclear optics that looked just like Drifts shape and Ratchets color with beginning helm finials like Drift and heavy weight like Ratchet.

A sparkling.

Their sparking.

“Oh my gosh..Roddy..you were sparked..all this time you were sparked…”

Drift looked at their sparkling like they hung the stars and Ratchet hadn’t stopped crying since he realized.

“We have a sparkling Ratty! We’re sires! Oh my gosh we’re sires!”

Drift’s em field was drowning the room in happiness just like Ratchets and all Rodimus could do was cry in happiness as he held them.

“My bitty,” he sobbed, “you’re my bitty,” he wailed hugging them close. Finally understanding the memory flux.

“I love you so much,” he cried, “I love you so much,” he sobbed, kissing their helm and counting their digits before looking at their spark. It looked exactly like his own.

He felt fear and the two were on guard thinking he was having another when he shared the memory flux through the bond.

They suddenly understood his fear.

It was kept quiet and only high command and first aid knew that Rodimus had just emerged a sparkling from his tank.

The two cleaned their berth as Rodimus held their sparkling, allowing them to feed from Rodimus nozzles that began to leak energon milk. Megatron stood guard outside with Minimus listening on their comms as Ratchet scoured the forbidden archives and found information on tank carriers and how functionalists offlined them all save for a few. They hid their existence and didn’t teach medics about them. Thats why Ratchet couldn’t detect them and thats why Rodimus didn’t know.

Ratchet said a whole slew of words none knew existed and when he left to call the high council, they knew many would disappear for a while.

The crew was alerted that a sparkling was on board but not how they emerged.

Rodimus was immediately confined to berth rest and Ratchet manually checked him over while he was asleep.

Drift was holding their sparkling as Ratchet gave Rodimus an actual diagnosis and planned for a special energon diet to make up for the metals he was low on that their sparkling soaked up.

“He really grew a sparkling and we didn’t even know,” Drift let their sparkling grab hold of his digit and laughed quietly when Ratchet stole their sparkling with a smile.

“They’re beautiful,” Ratchet smiled, going with Drift to lay beside Rodimus who was knocked out cold.

“I’d do anything for them,” Drift smiled, kissing their delicate helm.

“We owe the kid big time,” Ratchet half joked.

“Absolutely,” Drift smiled, inhaling the scent of their sparkling with Ratchet.

A grumble from Rodimus and the two rubbed the side of his tender tanks and he sighed going back to sleep.

“I can’t wait til he wakes up. Then we can think of names,” Drift whispered giddy.

“Let the kid sleep,” Ratchet smiled kissing their sparklings tummy, “he’s more than earned it.”

“Mm yeah,” Drift smiled, “he has.”

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