mimsymandibles

[mimsymandibles]

Another year, another batch of hatchlings, another thousand or so games of Sit on Sire. Hypoxia’s spark has never been fuller.

“Where are the Smalls? This one does not see Smalls. No Smalls sitting on this one.”

[mimsymandibles]

It’s practically become tradition that at some point during the summer, the youngest hatchlings will ask about the strange colors and lights that hack and crash across the night sky. Pox always answers them with the same warmth,  never tiring of it.

“Those lights and noises will not harm these little ones. They are far away, and will not come into the territory, and the organics make them for the same reasons we like to call loudly after the sun goes down.”

“Oh! To let the hive know that hive is together, even if the sun does not come back?”

“Yes!

[mimsymandibles]

By the way, who wants to learn an insecticon greeting? Do this to every insecticon you know and you’ll get friends fast!

/LOUDLY YELLS OUT MATING CALL/

[mimsymandibles]

The hatchlings come, as they have every year. And as always, Hypoxia loves them at first sight. It doesn’t change when he gets a look at the first to break the shell...it doesn’t when he sees the last, and his spark plummets in his chest.

Sometime around their second litter, the old fear of passing on his deformed wing slipped his mind. He began to think that his and Little Male’s children would always fly easily and quietly, unburdened by his imperfection. 

He apologizes to the tiny, fragile hatchling, plating wet and faintly emerald green in the light. He nuzzles the soft shell, where the wing is crumpled, and assures them that they are, in fact, just perfect.

[mimsymandibles]

Egg time is always an exciting time, even when it comes late in the season. It’s never lost its magic for Pox. It never will

When Little Male is away from the nest, he eagerly jumps to his duties of tapping in. He warms the eggs, turns them, and cleans them, chittering a seldom ceasing stream of affectionate nonsense to the hatchlings within; how adored they are, and how everyone can’t wait to meet them, and how he hopes the weather will be warm and clear the day they break into the world. 

Chuffing with soft laughter, how he hopes they’re beautiful like their Carrier, and not ugly and battered like him.

[mimsymandibles]

The geese that haven’t wisely elected to nest somewhere not inhabited by giant metal insects have started to emerge with their downy babies in tow.

Hypoxia wishes them all warm nesting, which clearly doesn’t alarm them at all.

[mimsymandibles]

The hive wakes up to its third consecutive day of warm weather! Time to scream!

[mimsymandibles]

Pox! Tell us another hive story?

“Once, there was a foolish Hive who dug a den where the soil was bad. The soil did not keep out the rain. It did not let crystals grow or pearls thrive and it invited mites and rust and scraplets. The foolish Hive had a good and clever friend who came from a good Hive, and they explained why it was important to have a good den, but the foolish one did not listen. 

Then the rains came and the den caved in, and all the food and bedding were spoiled. The foolish Hive dug his way out, and learned his lesson, and the clever friend’s Hive let him stay and groom the old ones because he was very good at grooming. This is the end of the story.”

[mimsymandibles]

“Why is there snow? This is not the way of things!”

[mimsymandibles]

“Groom a small friend with the mouth.”

[mimsymandibles]

“Yes.”

mimsymandibles:

“Feeding the hive comes first. If the hive is well fed, intruders should be killed and buried where the soil is bad so that the soil will be good and rich someday. Claws and teeth should be eaten. This is the way of things.”

Straight over their helm.

“Someone. Broke. Into. My. Home” Trepan said slowly. “Would. You. Like. The. Remains. For. The. Hive?”

[mimsymandibles]

mnemoiisms: If we have someone who broke in to our home, can we smelt him down into snacks as food for hive?

“Feeding the hive comes first. If the hive is well fed, intruders should be killed and buried where the soil is bad so that the soil will be good and rich someday. Claws and teeth should be eaten. This is the way of things.”

[mimsymandibles]

Hypoxia’s Valentine’s Day Tips

Scraplet grubs and energon pearls are very good gifts that are also for eating

Dance very well

Always be grooming

SCREAM

A good nest for two is warm and deep

[mimsymandibles]

idk if y’all americans and that know this, but in Australia instead of snow at christmas we get these lil shiny bugs everywhere and they’re attracted to the christmas lights and we call them christmas beetles

and despite being australian they don’t bite or anything they just crawl around on your hand and it’s such a good and pure feeling and yeah

[mimsymandibles]

It’s a beautiful day for a blizzard, and that means one thing.

Insecticons shuffling around cloaked in fluffy coats of white, broken only by the puffs of steam emitted from their vents. If it weren’t for the gleam of their visors, they’d resemble bulgy ghosts

[mimsymandibles]

Little Male nuzzles Hypoxia as they listen to their offspring singing. "This one is surprised no hunter has come for hive. Even with Hypoxia and Cyrat."

Hypoxia nuzzles back warmly, idly grooming his mate’s head and neck.

“This one thinks they would have come now, if they planned to come. This one wonders about it.”

[mimsymandibles]

Klondike and a few of the yearlings are currently above ground, warbling and singing in their off-key ways. Klondike had never stopped her ritual. The yearlings are both imitating her singing and Cyrat/Hypoxia's territorial songs.

Hypoxia’s spark wells with happiness to hear them. He chitters encouragement of their beautiful singing voices, glowing with paternal pride.

Meanwhile, they’re bringing down property values for the distant mountain towns, who suspect Wendigos.