#GALAXY MIND DESIGN YES

[moobrvoobl-moobmoob-oobmpoobroom]

I know I joke a lot about Alex being a pathetic white boy poor kicked puppy uwu malewife but at his heart, he really just hates to see people hurt. he hates to hurt people and hates to see them hurting. he hates people who hurt other people. he’s been hurt and doesn’t want anyone else to feel like that. in the rebel au, he defects from the empire because he saw how they were hurting the people they were supposed to protect. he’s been through so much and still finds it in him to be empathetic to the pain in others.

[hawkinasock]

haiii pls spill abt ur chimera yq ideas... i have my own (https://www.tumblr.com/waterfrontcomplex/758520749229277184/dunmeshi-chapter-37ep-17-spoilers-look?source=share)

i also drew my own idea of him (swallow + abundant deer)

Yes ofc!! I'm so happy that someone else has had this idea too, it has so much potential. I want to see all the chimera Yanqings.

Mine looks like this. I actually didn't have a design drawn out for him initially, so I had to whip something up quickly. That's why it took me so long to answer </3

Originally, he had a more swallow-based design.

I still really like it, but I changed the lore a lot, so I made the new one, the current au, which goes something like this:

(CW for blatant body horror, descriptions of digestion, as well as brief details regarding real world animal death)

Here's my idea. Like most aeons, Lan The Hunt has emanators that carry out their will. One of these emanator's is currently unnamed and without a solid design yet. It has an animalistic appearance in my head. Imagine Feixiao's inner beast, or the Mourning Aix from WuWa. That'll give you the best reference.

It travels the cosmos, tracking down and eliminating the Abundance. it does this with the use of extremely powerful olfactory cells. Even with galaxies separating them, the emanator can detect abominations through smell alone, and when it finds one, it will consume it to ensure it cannot possibly regenerate.

Suffice to say, it's very good at its job, and Yanqing, unfortunately, is not an exception to their heightened senses. Surprisingly to no one, Abundance Yanqing coexists with this au, and he is immediately recognized as an abomination when the emanator is in proximity of the Luofu. Yanqing is unaware of his status as an spawn of Yaoshi, so when the devourer of monsters (working title) visits the Luofu, he never would have expected it to turn its eyes onto him.

To say the Luofu is thrown into chaos when one of Lan's emanator's eats a Liuetenant of The Hunt is an understatement. The emanator insists no mistake has been made and it is justified through Lan's divine will. It actually shifts the blame onto Jing Yuan for assigning an abomination as his Lieutenant in the first place, citing incompetence on his part. Kind of a shitty thing to do after eating the man's son but okay...

Not long after, the emanator starts to... change. It begins experiencing sudden and visible signs of mara: bouts of aggression, delirium, and eventually flora and fungus sprouting from its flesh. It's incorrectly concluded that Yanqing's death was a result of early unset mara in the emanator, and Jing Yuan decides the emanator has to be killed via decapitation, such is their duty as followers of The Hunt.

You can probably guess where this is going.

So, you know how bones are capable of fusing together or into other objects during the healing process? Like that deer that was shot by an arrow and the ribcage actually fused itself with the arrow? That's essentially how chimera Yanqing is born.

As an abomination, Yanqing is capable of postmortem regeneration, and as an abomination that is particularly favored by Yaoshi (in my delusional mind) his regeneration capabilities far exceed that of the average denizen, and one this emanator's digestive system was not capable of overriding.

Much like how that deer bone fused with the arrow, Yanqing's body begins the process of fusing back together after partial consumption, and during that process, he inadvertently fuses with the emanator's body, which triggered those mara symptoms. Additionally, because there had also been remains of other denizens in the emanator's stomach, they were unintentionally included in the revitalization process. This, in the end, gave the chimera's body the claws of a Borisin, the wings of a Wingweaver, and the head of a human (his body structure is also the same as the Houyhnhnm, but that's obviously a coincidence on my part lol).

The flowers and mushrooms don't really serve any other purpose besides looking pretty and emphasizing his connection to the abundance - his power is so palpable that life is literally sprouting through his skin. I just think it's kinda neat.

Anyways, in terms of psychological aftereffects, Yanqing himself is still there. However, his sense of self is muddied and most of his memories suppressed. Because he's at the head, he's in control of his own movements and actions. Usually, he's completely docile, but in the face of people currently trying to kill him, he becomes confused and scared, and fights back in self-defense. He's also experiencing prolonged dysmorphia from his new form, which causes him greater confusion and even pain.

For Jing Yuan? I think everyone would agree he wouldn't want to kill Yanqing. He believes there's still a way to reverse Yanqing's affliction, even if the Ten Lords insist otherwise.

Currently I don't have an detailed outline of what happens next. My current ideas are similar to yours actually, where the disciples take an interest in Yanqing for whatever reason, be it desperation to stop the Luofu from killing him and seeing him as blessed by Yaoshi, what have you. It could honestly go a similar route as Dvalin's manipulation by the hands of the Abyss. If I were to give this au a happy ending, I could incorporate the Viscorpus' ability to shapeshift and have Yanqing hone that ability, allowing him to regain his human form.

That's all I have for what was meant to be a short, detailed summary </3 All these asks always end with me yapping, forgive me. I've had this au cooking in my head for so long now, and I'm glad I have an excuse to spurge about it now.

(p.s. pls make more of your chimera au, I would eat it up)

[mortuarywriting]

Falling into Place

Ao3 Link - [First] - [Next Chapter ->]

All things considered this isn't what you were expecting to wake up to when you went to bed. One minute you're on your phone, trying to pass out, and the next? You're here. You've had some interesting greetings in your life, but dropping about six feet and having twelve guns leveled at your face? That takes the cake

Warnings:

Reader Insert, Plus-Size Reader, The Author Regrets Everything, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Isekai, canon divergence Look we're gonna dig into the implications of omegasverse changing bits and pieces of history as well as addressing whatever the FUCK is happening as CoD's history. Idk man Godzilla is canon and nobody bats an eye at that fact and you think I'm gonna be normal about that? No

You could be having a worse day, you think, as you stare at the interrogation table you're cuffed to. They could've shot you the second you fell the six feet from the sky into a random army base. That's a very real thing that could've happened.

But no, you just had a dozen guns pointed at you in one moment and a slew of questions you didn't have satisfying answers for.

No, you had no idea how you got there. You'd been in bed tooling around on your phone and then you were falling.

They asked who you worked for, and were not impressed by your mundane answer. You didn't work for some pmc or intelligence organization. You asked them to their faces if they thought you could pass a PT test if you tried. Not that they answered or appreciated your point, mind.

It was only after you gave them whatever identifying information you had that things got… spicy.

"I would love to tell you what this designation of yours is if you tell me what you mean. Is it like a classification of civilian versus enlisted? Is it physical? Is it your horoscope? I don't know what I don't know," you explain again for the Nth time. You didn't wanna play twenty questions but here you fuckin were, captive audience and all.

The man asking you questions had lost his charming good cop look. He was getting more and more annoyed on this one, "your designation," a demand, not a question and sure as shit not an answer.

"Again, would love to tell you! I don't know what you mean! Feels like some kinda Star Wars thing," you grumble the last bit to yourself but the man cocks his head.

His eyes narrow, "what are… Star Wars, you said?"

You blink owlishly, "beg pardon?"

"Star War. Clarify."

It's your turn for your brow to furrow, and furrow it does, "Star Wars? As in the multi-billion dollar franchise created by George Lucas and eventually sold to Disney," your tone is questioning, just shy of asking if the guy lived under a rock but his expression didn't let up and the last thing you needed was bad cop, so you continued, "the story of what happened a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away? The political space series of movies versus Star Trek's more scientific and discovery based longstanding TV show? Nine major movies and the Clone Wars before Disney sunk their talons in. Like yeah we got more shows and movies that expanded the universe but they also cut out decades of book contributions in their acquisition and that kinda sucked. But yeah, that Star Wars?"

"Nine movies," his tone is disbelieving, and now it's your turn for your eyebrows to raise, "can you name them?"

You nod, "well yeah. Do you want them in episode order or release?"

His brows furrow, "did they not release in order?"

"In a sense? Three trilogies, 4-5-6 back in the late 70s early 80s, then 1-2-3 in the late 90s early 00s, and 7-8-9 through the teens. So order, yes, just… not a cohesive one."

"Release, then," he leaned back and crossed his arms, a position you'd love to mimic if you weren't cuffed to the table for… an indeterminate period of time now, actually.

"A New Hope, The Empire Strikes Back, and Return of the Jedi-"

"Woah now, empire? What's a jeddy?"

You give him a blank look, trying very hard to mask your disbelief as you look between him and the mirror behind him. You look at your reflection, take a deep breath, and- "sir would it be easier for you to maybe check the internet?"

He seemed to bristle, nose flaring and looking at you expectantly.

You just… kinda sat there. You tapped your fingers together on the desk and kept the eye contact he was intent on. It took a good minute and him getting progressively pissier before you simply ask, "would you like the other movies now?"

You didn't expect an explosion of movement from the man. He downright snarled and slammed his hands on the table as he burst to his feet, the sudden change sending his chair screeching back before falling with a clatter. You leaned as far back as your cuffed hands would allow, eyes wide and a panic rising.

Both of you turned to look at the door when it slammed open with a barked, "Williams!" 

The man who opened it reared back a bit, "Christ, layin' it on a bit thick," he groused, his tone sounding more like someone chastising a teenager for using too much Axe body spray. He smoothed his posture back into something casual as he fanned the air dismissively with a hand, "cap wants you to take a walk."

Your interrogator- Williams, apparently- stares at the man in the door, the two locking eyes before the one in the door straightens from his purposely relaxed posture. You watch the both of them, noting the shoulders tensing as the two just. Staring at each other? Eventually the guy who'd been grilling you looked away and stormed out, the man in the doorway letting him slip out easily enough before turning a charming look back to you.

He took a minute to fan the door a few times to get newer, blissfully cool air in before he entered the room, "sorry 'bout him. He really did a number in here," the new guy tsked before closing the door quietly behind himself.

Your brow furrowed even as you slowly relaxed a bit, had this Williams guy like… farted or something? A nice quirk of ventilation keeping you from smelling something abhorrent? Either way you simply shrug as he walks in and tips the chair back up, sitting and giving another reassuring smile, "how you doing, love?"

You opened and closed your mouth a few times before simply settling on, "I'm a bit… whelmed? This has been," you give as vague a rolling gesture as you can without your cuffs rattling too badly, "a lot? And I have no idea what just set him off either?"

It's the man before you's turn to quirk a brow, "no idea?"

"If I knew the answers to his questions I'd've given 'em by now. I don't, though, and then he just started staring? And hell I just thought it was some kinda macho 'I can stare the truth out of you,'" you pitched your voice lower and pushed your shoulders out for a second to mimic the douchebag behavior before settling, "so I kept eye contact because I'm so out of my depth I have no reason to lie at all and now…" you trail off, gesturing around the room, "all that."

The man nods slowly, "alright love, could you tell me about the last five years?"

Your brows furrow, "oh fuck, 2019 was five years ago wasn't it. God, time is an illusion. Anyway, you want what I was doing leading up to and through the pandemic?"

You think he might've startled for a second but he simply moved to scratch his chin, "mhmm. Just your thoughts on the last five years is all."

So… you ramble. Because he was nice and not prodding or asking weird questions. You talk to him about your job before the pandemic, how people thought covid was just a flu until the death tolls kept climbing, how tons of governments dropped the ball on a local or country-wide level and how that kicked back onto your life, and then the absolute crapshoot of the last election cycle, the shitty 'oh no this is the new normal everything is fine' behavior that has lead to surges and cycles of a fucking plague and so on. He simply nodded, gave some sympathetic hums and winces appropriately at your experiences.

"And did you go back and watch Star Wars through that? Or other things Disney owned?"

And, well, that was a weird way to phrase it but you shrugged, "the mouse is just shy of a monopoly and not one that anybody can take that down so… yeah, I guess? They kept putting shows out and expanding their Star Wars universe so that's been kinda neat to watch but not just them, no. Couple other games and stuff like that to keep me busy, too," you kinda handwave and shut up because panic rambling to MILITARY PERSONNEL is probably not your smartest move in hindsight. Especially when you don't know his name. A+, self.

You tap your fingers against the metal table as he looks at you, "and you said covid has a long term effect of ruining people's senses of smell and taste?"

You nod slowly, "yeah, dude? It's one of the biggest warning signs for most people? Like if everything starts tasting like it was made by a middle class white mom who keeps shoving random letters in her kids names you should swab? That kinda shit?"

What rock has this guy been living under? You were pretty sure the military were supposed to be way more familiar with this shit all things considered, but you've been wrong before.

It was his turn to give you a bit of a wide eyed look before he poorly covers a laugh, "alright, that's fair. I need to go talk with my captain," he hooks a thumb over his shoulder to the window, which didn't surprise you that there had been people back there. He offers a reassuring smile as he stands, humming idly as he pushes the chair back in. He pauses mid-step, "you mentioned that there were cards…?"

You find yourself nodding slowly, "yeah it was important and you couldn't fly or go to certain places if you didn't have one for a while. Should still have a picture of mine buried on my phone," you really didn't wanna get another first-round of covid shots, you REALLY didn't wanna repeat the 24 hours of suck for no reason.

"Cool, thanks," he flashes another charming grin before he slides out of the room.

You lean back in your chair, what an odd guy. Nice though.

-------

"Right," Gaz says as he opens the door to Price and Ghost, "either our mystery guest is off her nut or she's legitimately from somewhere and somewhen else."

Ghost and Price look at each other before turning back to Gaz, this… complicated matters.

Well, it's not like you hadn't given them information to identify yourself. They'd dig up who you were one way or another.

-------

You stare blankly as the nice man from before gives you a sympathetic look, "what do you mean I'm dead?"

Behind him is a guy you're not sure if he's just fuckoff huge or if he's just moderately huge and it's forced perspective.

You don't think it's forced perspective.

You are absolutely trying not to panic spiral.

You are absolutely doing a horrible job at that.

"Well," he opens the file before him and there's a news article, proudly proclaiming "Locals Die in Horrible Freak Accident" like that's not some form of you that was looking like some smear on the pavement, "there's this. Fingerprints match up. Can check for dental if you're really curious."

"Were there even any teeth left after that," you mumble as you take and read the offered article. Seven people were involved, the pictures used are mostly flattering. Hell, you almost don't mind what pic they used for an alternate you but… "that's certainly not the pic I would've wanted. Maybe this me had different tastes?"

You take the time to actually read through the article. It's not helping because for as much as you stare at the page you're not absorbing any information. Some form of detachment, if this was really you? You'd died. A different you but a you nonetheless. You died and you're reading how it happened. There was a lot to unpack in all this and you just needed to put the suitcase away for now. You'd much rather throw it away at this rate.

You were rapidly coming to the understanding that you and Toto were not in Kansas anymore, and there wasn't a convenient yellow brick road to get yourself back home. No easy way to get the hell out of Dodge either. Was it Dodge or the O.K. Corral that was in Kansas? No the O.K. Corral wasn't in Kansas- Dodge was though, that's right. 

This analogy was getting away from you and some part of you figured this was just your brain trying to protect yourself but… wait, wasn't this a metaphor? There wasn't 'like' or 'as' or goddammit not again.

You recognize some names here and there but largely everyone involved were perfect strangers. The article doesn't cover if it would've been slow or quick. You hope for the smear that it was quick. Smears like that don't happen slowly, right? Well, not unless it's like a dramatic slide down a window, but not usually across pavement like that.

Still not sure how you feel about all of it. Bit morbid being confronted with your mortality like that.

Certainly answered a lot of questions about your theoretical passing you never thought about. Like if the obituary for you in what you know to be your own home and world is just as… really kinda just mediocre as this. Have you really done nothing of note for an obituary? Damn.

You kept pouring over the article, each pass bringing new words into focus that help connect the picture a little bit, but… Something repeated in the article made you pause, "two alphas, four betas, and an omega?" 

There was no decent way to ask about that. Any questions invoked from here would border into dangerous territory better kept between yourself and a private browser history. You knew what you were about but there was no fucking way.

"Their designations," the nice man whose name you still hadn't caught explains, "mostly explaining their secondary gender."

You look at him owlishly. You pray to whatever God might be listening that you wake up shortly. Or that the earth below your feet opens up and swallows you. Whichever comes first, the mortification will snipe you otherwise.

"Please tell me this is an elaborate joke at my expense," you are very quiet as you are trying to get really cool with a lot of things really quickly.

"Negative," the big fucker in the back practically growled and you knew that voice would do things to you if you weren't half stepped out of your own body. 

You missed whatever his followup was but your brow furrowed when you checked the date on the article, "I've been dead for months? That…" you let the paper fall from your hands. Everything about this is wild at best and very overwhelming at worst. 

A lot of this qualified as worst.

You look up at the two, missing the odd look they shot at each other as you try to pull yourself back together, "so now what? You've got a not-a-smear of me that fell from the sky onto a secure military base, and where I'm from we didn't have," you paused to gesture between the paper and the two soldiers, "dynamics was it? That was just a fanfiction special."

"Fanfiction."

The way he said it was so carefully neutral you paused, "oh my god without Star Trek to popularize fanfiction and the fan community, how has fandom evolved? Is fanfiction a thing- well, yes, it does fanfics have been a thing since Dante Alighieri wrote the Divine Comedy and even before- well, the question is more if it's still popularized? Are there still the wattpad fics of- I am getting so off track. What exactly is the next step?"

You look from the nice man to the big fucker and back, neither saying anything but looking at you with careful blankness.

You felt like you were being weighed and measured in their eyes.

You hoped to anyone listening that you weren't found wanting at least. Not when you're in the shit situation it looks like you ever so increasingly fell into.

"Considering I'm. Not smear. And very much not from here? Are blanks a thing? Or is that what a beta is I'm," you trail off, brow furrowing, "fuzzy. On the whole thing. The flavor of understanding, dynamics, and population skew tended to be dependant on the author's level of horny."

The did get a bit of a snort from the pretty one before you, the one in the back tilting his head just so as the pretty one spurred you on, "okay please don't take this the wrong way, you have given me nothing to go on but A/B/O and-" a finger was raised in question to that, you quickly explaining, "the fanfic shorthand for the universe without being a mouthful. Anyway- I've seen population numbers being roughly the same across the board, I've seen alphas and omegas at roughly 1% of the population of society on either end, I've seen alphas at about 5% and omegas at 1%- those ones are usually the most horny I swear.

"And it's all over the board, no consistency- sometimes it's betas are infertile, sometimes they're the straightman to the comedy that's an alpha and omega trying to woo each other without being too horny to function. Sometimes it's a sliding scale where being beta just means you're more the more middle-ground regulated hormonally with alphas and omegas being the opposing ends of a spectrum. Can you please say something and give me a fucking break because my panic rambles are probably like. Some kinda prejudiced. I'm still not over the 'I'm supposed to be a smear on the ground we don't even have dental images of to confirm who it is anymore' nugget you dropped on me. I think I'm doing well for this"

You would rather not tell them that as soon as you're out of this box of a room you were gonna be curled up in a ball and unabashedly weeping. That was none of their business.

The pretty one gave you what you're sure was supposed to be a reassuring smile but the quiet stretched just a bit too long. You looked from one to the other before leaning forward, "is this supposed to be soothing in some way? Because it's just a bit of an extended awkward silence and that's uh-"

It was the big one in the back's turn to give an amused snort, the pretty one looking bashful, "right, sorry, we uh-"

You jerk a bit, "wait, was that supposed to be some scent thing," you really didn't wanna say pheromones and potentially dig yourself into a deeper, more awkward hole based on Horny Pseudoscience.

Pretty rubbed the back of his neck, "something like that. You really couldn't smell anything?"

You know the exact Face you're making. It's very much your 'I have told you this and I'm getting tired of having to repeat it' face. You can tell he clocks it but for the record, because to your mortification this has to be recorded, you simply give a succinct, "no, I haven't smelled anything. Not from you, not from him," you jerk your head towards the big fucker, "and not from douchebag from be- Williams! His name was Williams. Nothing. Really had no clue why you were fanning the door when you came in."

You sigh, rubbing the heels of your palms into your eyes, "okay. Assuming I'm not about to be put into past tense a second time. Do we have any idea what popped me out here?"

The sentences are stilted, you know you're getting more rattled the longer you're here but sue you alright it's been the worst six hours of your life here.

They just continue to look at you, pretty keeping a polite almost customer service look as big one just stares unceasingly.

"Right. Okay. Am I going to be reintegrated to society or is this," you gesture around the little room as much as you can, "looking like my home for the foreseeable future."

No change in what you can see of either's expression, and you just sag. Deep breath in, deep breath out, "cool. Alright. Well. I know nothing of how biology is altered here, I'm not sure how that has impacted changes throughout history, and frankly I don't know what your pop culture has done. I'm assuming math and written languages are largely the same but in all fairness I don't know what I don't know."

You just stare quietly at the table for a bit longer before looking back at the two of them, "is there anything else you need because I can feel the freakout creeping up and while I know there's no real privacy, uh…"

The pretty one looked back to the big one, at some point you're sure you'll get some sort of names but for now? Now you watch the big one nod, the pretty one give you a polite smile and some vaguely polite bullshit your brain is swiftly going too far out to hear.

You only hope that whoever is behind the mirror is polite enough to look away as you put your head down on the table and give yourself the opportunity to, just this once, cry. As a treat.

[Next Chapter -> ]

[novafire-is-thinking]

Speculative Analysis: Why TFP Soundwave is so Terrifying to His Fellow Cybertronians

Time for an essay on why I think TFP Soundwave might have chosen his current cryptid form���electrical tentacles and all. There’s a TL;DR at the end, so feel free to scroll down first and then decide if you want to read the full thing.

This will involve cross-continuity speculation, centered around TFP / Aligned but with some IDW / MTMTE lore thrown in. This could also loosely apply to Bayverse Soundwave, but I won’t be focusing on him. I’m confident you all can infer the potential implications for that version of his character by the time you reach the end.

Okay, so I’ve seen several fellow TFP fans speculate about why Soundwave went from beefy gladiator to bonafide cryptid. Some say it could have been due to the loss of his horde of “minicons” (the term used in ‘Exodus’ by Alex Irvine). Others think it was just Soundwave’s way of adapting to the direction of the war by taking on a form that would give him the best strategic advantage in his position as Megatron’s communications officer. I agree with the latter, but I think there could be more to it than that.

As we see in the flashback for Ratchet’s story and the TFP Titan comics, Soundwave had his current frame type, armor, and alt mode back on Cybertron:

[Sarcastic Soundwave: Superior]

In the real world, Soundwave’s design is based on the MQ-9 Reaper military drone—an earth-based aircraft, but I’m not going to address that small discrepancy since it’s not relevant to this analysis. Skinny, cryptid drone Soundwave existing prior to his arrival on earth supports my theory anyway.

“Can’t we throw a tarp over him? He’s creepin’ me out.”

-Bulkhead in Minus One

On the surface, Bulkhead’s comment and Smokescreen’s subsequent response seem like an interaction between a couple of Autobots who are unnerved because they’re familiar with Soundwave’s reputation—Bulkhead more so than Smokescreen since the latter had probably not seen Soundwave up close in action before coming to earth. However, I think some of Bulkhead’s fear might have been due to an entirely different reason: Sparkeaters.

While reading MTMTE #3, my eyes were met with this lovely sight /s :

[Hey, wasn’t the energon eater in Rescue Bots called “Sparky” too? I guess it’s a cross-continuity tradition to call life-sucking parasites “Sparky” at least once.]

Terrifying? Yes. But I stared in horrified awe at this abomination and thought, “Wait. One. Fragging. Minute. I’m having a galaxy brain moment.”

Mind. Blown. Their overall sharp, jagged appearance, their thin, but formidable frames, their prehensile cables extending from somewhere inside (fuel lines for the sparkeater; multipurpose tentacles for Soundwave). I was—and still am—fascinated by the uncanny resemblance.

[Now who’s Sparky?]

It’s true that sparkeaters aren’t confirmed to be canon in the Aligned continuity, but their existence isn’t denied either. We got something similar with the zombie Terrorcons, but those were a new phenomenon produced either by Megatron’s blind ambition and stupidity or Knockout and Starscream’s lack of forethought and scientific restraint. For the sake of where I’m taking this, let’s assume that sparkeaters, as defined by IDW, do exist in the Aligned universe. What would this mean for Soundwave’s disturbing choice of frame/body type? Why choose a visual motif so strongly associated with death and disease?

One word: Mimicry

Mythologically, historically, and medically, sparkeaters are inseparable from death and disease. Their very existence instills fear in most Cybertronians. What better way for Soundwave to strike terror into the sparks of his enemies (and potential enemies) than to take on a physical form that resembles the sparkeater—something that has been known to kill normal Cybertronians using a deeply disturbing, painful, and even sacrilegious method? Even though the initial shock of seeing a “sparkeater” show up during or around a fight would have dissipated once the Autobots realized it was mostly cosmetic, an impression would have been left. Coupled with his spy capabilities and gladiator-style prowess in combat, a message would have been sent: Be afraid. Be VERY afraid.

And there you have it, folks! Another reason to love Soundwave’s design.

Bonus:

I could see Soundwave being called a few things by allies and enemies alike: “The Decepticon Sparkeater,” “Soundwave the Sparkeater,” or just “The Sparkeater.”

An interaction between two Autobot scouts:

Scout 1, over comms: “You there, kid? Who is it? Who did Megatron send this time?”

Scout 2: “It’s The Sparkeater! He’s here!”

1: “You mean Soundwave!? Do you have a visual?”

2: “How many ‘Cons do we see walkin’ around looking like sparkeaters??? Of course it’s Soundwave! And yeah, I’ve got a visual.”

1: “Aw, hell. Things just got a whole lot more complicated.”

TL;DR: Soundwave may have put more thought into his appearance than is obvious. He may have opted to look like a sparkeater as a way of sending a highly effective warning.

[cozzzynook]

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.”

-

[theother-victoria]

LOVE IS CONCOCTED FROM ESTERS AND KETONES- CH. 00: PROLOGUE

NOTES: I hope this chapter gives you an idea of the setting and what's to come!

TAGLIST: @tragedy-of-commons, @mitsvriii, @harque, @nariism, @vxnuslogy, @akutasoda , @flowery-jazz , @gabile18 , @khoncore

Somewhere within the heart of the universe lies a perfumery on an unremarkable planet, its simplicity belittling its fame. From its exterior, it looks like any other shop on the street. Simple, with a cute sign and clean exterior. They’re closed on Mondays but for the rest of the week, they open at ten am on the weekdays and close at six pm with extended hours on the weekends. 

The inside, however, tells a different story. It’s far more spacious than the outside would lead one to believe. The poor, overworked air purifiers can be heard running 24/7 to prevent the air from becoming suffocating. The shelves go as far back as the eye can see and are stocked with bottles of different colors, sizes, and designs- each of them hefty and works of art in their own right. Each of them have different scent profiles and all of them are handcrafted by the enigmatic owner who formulates and tests each scent in the lab located behind the shop. 

… The test subjects just happen to be the two shop assistants who are more than happy to be their boss’ guinea pigs. 

The shop itself is split into three sections- male, female, and unisex. Perfumes are arranged based on the fragrance family- fresh, floral, woodsy- before being further arranged by notes- green, fruity, gourmand- since people often walk in wanting to smell like a specific note, which the owner and shop assistants are happy to work with. However, there’s a rumor that you’ll get the best results when you come in with an idea, a concept, in mind. 

“I want to smell like worn, old, musty jewelry that’s probably tangled.” There’s a scent for that.

“Do you have anything that smells like a day at the fair as a kid?” Yes, there is.

“How about a warm rock?” Second display case in the unisex section, fifth shelf down, third bottle from the left, the green one. 

There’s also the option to get a custom-made fragrance, although it’ll carry a heftier price tag than the already-pricy wares. But for many, it’s a small price to pay for something that’s uniquely personal to them. 

All of this has led to celebrities, politicians, and other rich and famous people from across the galaxy to flock to this store, which has been the biggest reason for the store’s meteoric rise to fame. It started off as the name being shared among circles and it gradually rippled out from there until it reached the level of renown it has today. Celebrities often quote a bottle from the store as their signature and/or favorite scent in interviews and the paparazzi always snap a bunch of photos whenever a particularly high-profile person leaves the store with a bag in hand. 

Rumor has it that the advertising benefits for the shop are top-tier too, which is why they practically jump at the chance to promote the newest scents. 

But while the shop’s fame is undeniable, there isn’t much known about the owner. They’ve dodged the media’s questions ever since the shop’s popularity exploded and even the two assistants don’t know much besides what’s publicly available. It seems as if they intend for things to stay that way as well. 

Not only do you want to keep your secrets close, but you also want to preserve that sense of monotony that comes with running a business for as long you have. Wake up, get ready, open the store for business, and handle the various customers that come into the shop until closing.

But unbeknownst to you, there’s a wave of new customers coming, each with their peculiarities that you’ve never quite had to deal with before, and they’re interested in more than just your wares.

Keeping your inventory stocked and your heart guarded is your modus operandi for running your business. But between running your business, staying on top of orders, and dealing with these new customers… this may be a difficult task to follow for the foreseeable future. 

the taglist is open for this series and the rest of my works!

@ theother-victoria, do not copy, repost, modify, translate, or feed to ai

[moonlight-prose]

✧ STILL OF YOUR HAND ✧

a/n: i think this is the only fic i've struggled to title all kinktober. it took me thirty minutes to figure it out, but i can always count on hozier to help me out. so this is messy. honestly it was written in a 4am haze of simply wanting to finish, and i never read it back. so i have no idea if it's okay. but either way enjoy my loves.

day twenty-three - restraints | kinktober 2023

summary: "din was always scared he would hurt you. always tentative to give into your desires of being taken apart roughly, because he was a gentle person when it came to you. his life revolved around violence, yet when it came to this—you—he was anything but that."

word count: 1.9k+

pairing: din djarin x f!reader

warnings: EXPLICIT SO MINORS DNI, restraints, rough sex, p in v sex, din fucks, dirty talk, yet another man who runs his mouth but we love him, dom!din, yearning, no editing cause it was 4am and i lost part of my sanity.

Two weeks ago you’d proposed the offer to him in the middle of sharing a meal. He was in the middle of hunting a bounty; a way to pick up some extra credits while you traveled. The question wasn’t scandalous. At least to your standards it wasn’t. Yet there still lay some apprehension between the two of you about where you boundaries lay. How far you could truly go with one another when it came to sex.

Din was always scared he would hurt you. Always tentative to give into your desires of being taken apart roughly, because he was a gentle person when it came to you. His life revolved around violence, yet when it came to this—you—he was anything but that. And you thrived off it. You loved him and everything he gave you, but the prospect still remained, still continued to flicker in the back of both your minds.

“I want you to cuff me later tonight in bed,” you had said while drinking your caf. While the words came out simple, matter of fact and as if you were discussing the latest news of the galaxy. That’s not how he took them.

Din choked on his spit.

“Cyar'ika?”

You glanced at him over your mug, lips twisting up into a soft smile. “Yes?”

He was silent for a moment, body shifting where he stood and you wondered if he was hard beneath his suit. The question lingered in the air, waiting for a response, but Din was never one to outright tell you things. He was ever the silent man you met on Corellia a year ago. That didn’t seem to change as time went on. You simply learned to read him better.

“Din…”

“You know where the binders are,” he replied at last. His voice was rough through the modulator, body stiff and waiting. It seemed that your request had affected him more than you expected.

With a sharp intake of breath you nodded, slowly walking away from him and towards where he kept his weapons. The doors swung open with a loud creak, echoing in the ship like a fucking blaster bolt being shot off. Or perhaps that’s how you heard it in your head. You didn’t have much time to ponder over it, because there they were. Hanging neatly on the wall. An unassuming thing used on his hunts.

The same binders he had used on fugitives and criminals.

Suddenly the air felt thick with heat in the ship, your mouth dry and eyes dark with lust at the thought of him using them on you. There was always an understanding between you and Din. He liked control. Or at least most of it. Yet you always remained a part of the equation—always there to tell him what you wanted, what worked for you.

With these…you were officially out of the equation.

You felt your heart rate rise, excitement fluttering through your body. Grasping onto the cold metal, you ran your thumb over the slight design on the side. Merely bolts holding pieces of metal together, but the sight alone made your head spin. Digging your teeth into your bottom lip, you turned to head back towards the small cargo area.

Only to ram right into a very broad, very hard Mandalorian. With a soft yelp, you stumbled back, nearly landing into his weapon’s hold if it wasn’t for his hand shooting out to grasp your waist. Dragging him back to his body with a quiet grunt. The binders hung loosely in your hand as he cupped your face, tilting your head up to face his helmet. For a moment you swore you could feel the burn of his eyes on your skin.

“I found them,” you said softly, body humming beneath his touch.

His hand clasped around your wrist, removing the metal from your hold. “Turn around.”

“Am I your bounty Din?” you teased, sliding a hand up his beskar clad chest.

Only for him to whirl you around so quickly you barely had time to gasp in a sharp breath. His hand slammed against the button that shut the weapon’s hold, your body being pressed to the doors within moments. Your eyes fluttered shut, cheek rubbing against the cold metal as he reached for your wrists. The audible sound of the binders locking shut echoing in the small area.

His helmet pressed to the back of your head, a sigh leaving his modulator. “Cyar'ika. Is this…Is this what you want?”

“Yes,” you breathed, pushing yourself back against him—the outline of his cock pressing against your ass. “Maker, yes.”

He groaned, his hips pressing forward and grinding up into your body. “You want to be my bounty?”

“Fuck,” you breathed. The throbbing between your legs was growing by the second. Yet no matter how much you pressed your thighs together, you couldn’t appease it.

“Is that what this is?” His hands grasped at your pants, popping open the button before he tugged them down to your thighs. Dragging your already soaked through panties with them. “Maker you’re fucking soaked.”

His gloved fingers spread you from behind, taking in the sight of you dripping down your inner thighs. You shifted, whining softly as he took his time sliding his fingers through your slick. Coating the leather of his gloves thoroughly. He’d fuck himself with them later. Tasting what remained of you off the fabric, but for now he watched as his fingers found your clit. The sound you made was loud enough to echo off the walls.

“You wanted me to treat you like my bounty?”

You cried out softly, canting back onto his hand. “Yes. Fuck Din I do.”

His other hand reached up, gripping onto your hair and dragging your head back. The cold metal of his helmet pressed against your cheek, your breath no doubt fogging up the sides of it. But all you could focus on was the two fingers sinking into you, dragging along your walls. He growled when you grinded down onto his palm, a weak moan drifting to his ears, causing his cock to twitch.

“Dirty girl,” he groaned. “You need more don’t you?”

You nodded, teeth digging harshly into your lip until you tasted copper. You wanted to kiss him. To taste him, but this was all you would get for now. Later in the darkness of his cabin, he’d indulge in taking his helmet off. He’d kiss you as many times as you wanted.

For now you’d take this with open arms.

“Need me to fuck you.”

“Yes,” you whispered, your thighs trembling as he dragged his fingers out of you quickly. “Oh fuck. Din please—”

The sound of him fumbling with his pants silenced you, dragging a moan from your throat. You nearly crumpled against the wall when his cock slid through your folds, the head of it nudging at your clit. A high pitched whine came from you, hips dragging along the length of him and soaking him in your slick. But Din knew that this couldn’t end so quickly.

He grasped onto your hip, stilling your movements until you were pressed fully against the wall. The cold seeping through your clothes.

“You wanted this cyar'ika.” Lining himself up, he nearly lost it at the way your pussy fluttered around his tip. “Wanted me to fuck you like you’ve been running from me. Needed me to hunt you down.”

The words continued to spill free, unable to be reigned in and it nearly sent you over the edge from that alone. Din filling you in one smooth thrust brought you right there. A sob tore from your throat, knees giving out and if it wasn’t for his hold on your body, you would have hit the floor. He moaned brokenly, hips right against your ass and arm latching around your waist.

“Fucking perfect,” he spit, helmet digging into your shoulder blade. “Always feels so fucking good. Fucking made for me.”

“Din!” you mewled, hips canting back to get him to move and with a deep breath he finally gave in to your request.

The pace was ruthless. Quick and deep, each thrust shoving sounds you’d never made before from your chest. It was the opposite of every soft touch he’d given you. The bruising grip on your hip sent pain flickering through you, igniting the pleasure like a match to a flame. You felt your chest swell, head going hazy with the bliss that quickly filled you. And it just kept going.

He fucked you hard. Grinding his hips up with each forceful thrust, until he heard it. The squelch of your slick echoing in the space. The audible slap of his balls against your clit mixing with it. He felt his body fry—the strings that usually kept his sanity together now fraying to their breaking point.

“Can you feel me?” he asked, sliding a hand around to your pelvis, pressing down right above your mound and as if you were electrified, pleasure rocketed up your spine. “I’m so fucking deep inside of you.”

“Oh—fuck—”

Tugging your head back to his shoulder, he placed his slick covered fingers at your lips. “Suck.”

And you did without question. You took his fingers with a happy hum, sucking them into your mouth as if they were his cock. Your taste burst across your tongue, heady and tangy. He groaned deep and guttural as his body began to grow taut, balls drawing up painfully, but if there’s one thing you understood about Din…you always came first.

In everything.

Ripping his fingers from your mouth and gasping at the string of saliva that connected him to you, he dropped them down your body. Sliding them along your clit with ease. A sob was wrenched from you, fingers digging down on his arm as he rammed into you with quick stunted thrusts. Shoving you towards the very edge.

One pinch of your clit between his fingers and a deep grind of his hips sent you flying. A cry of his name hitting his ears as you clamped down around his cock, soaking him as your body writhed in his hold.

“Fuck yes,” he hissed.

Grinding up into you, he felt the white hot burn of his release rush through his body. He cried out against your shoulder, pressing his body against you completely. You were shoved up against the wall with nowhere to go, but you had never felt so safe. So content to remain right where you were. He came down with a sharp gasp, the last of his cum spilling into you, sending a warmth through your body that elicited a soft moan from your lips.

“You never answered me,” you slurred, body lax against the wall.

He huffed, hands sliding along your hips—soothing the places he’d held you too hard. “No.”

“No?”

“Don’t pout,” he replied, pulling from you with a rough breath.

You grinned, letting him collect you in his arms. “‘M not pouting. Just thought you wanted me to be your bounty.”

“You’re more than that,” he murmured, hand pressing against your stomach gently. “You always have been.”

Giggling, you felt the high of your orgasm begin to fade slightly, bringing you back to reality. “You say that as if I wasn’t your bounty once.”

“Cyar'ika.” The warning was clear in his voice, tingeing with something you never touched on, but the box had been opened.

You simply turned slowly in his hold and placed a kiss on his chest. “Have I mentioned how glad I am that you never took me in?”

He muttered under his breath, but still held you close. You’d have to ask him about it later, but for now you let it go. Accepting his soft response of me too as a final answer to something bigger.

[cerise-on-top]

Hi! Hope you're having a lovely day ✨️

Valeria and Gaz with a fashion designer s/o! Dressing them up and using them as a practice model to test new designs... this has nothing to do with my need to put Valeria in a suit, ofc not

Anon, you're so galaxy brained for wanting to put Valeria in a suit in all honesty! She'd look so good in one because women always look good in suits!

Gaz and Valeria with a Fashion-Designer!S/O

Gaz: He’d honestly be so flattered you wanna use him as a practice model. Don’t get me wrong, he’s a very pretty man and he’s well aware of that fact, but he didn’t think he’d ever get that sort of privilege. The first time you measure him he’s a bit confused, but complies, asking you with a chuckle about what you’re doing. However, as soon as you present him with a jaw dropping suit that leaves every other one in the dust, he’s a big fan. While he may have supported you from the very beginning as soon as he heard that you’re a designer, his support skyrockets as soon as you present him with the first piece of clothing for him to wear. He feels so very fancy wearing it. He may be used to wearing fancy clothing from time to time when invited to certain occasions, such as weddings, but he never really paid much mind to that sort of thing. Once you’ve put the first article of clothing on him, he’ll ask you if you wanna use him as a practice model again at some point. Only if you feel like it, of course. He hopes you’ll say yes, he loves how creative you are and the things you create. You’re a lovely designer who puts their heart and soul into it all, and it shows. Although unprompted and despite it being a bit silly, he’ll also pose and do that one walk models do where they sway their hips. He feels pretty in your clothing. If he can afford it, which he likely can, then he’ll even buy some of the things you’ve made. And yes, he will 100% wear them as well, doesn’t matter if it’s a fish tail or if it’s a shirt with a dragon on it. He unironically loves it and will wear it whenever he can.

Valeria: She chuckles a bit when you ask her to put on some clothing you made. Valeria is a very attractive woman, and she knows it, so she’s not at all surprised when you ask her to put on a suit. She’s worn those before, and every time she has she was turning heads left and right. If you blush while seeing her in a suit then she’ll chuckle and trap you against the wall before letting you continue whatever it was you were doing. Like Gaz she wholeheartedly supports you, and she’ll own every single article of clothing you’ve ever created. While she may not have the time to wear them all every time, you will catch her wearing your creations from time to time, if there’s no danger of them tearing. Valeria’s glad that you trust her enough to want her to try on all your prototypes and will gladly pose like a professional model for you and you only. The first time you measure her she, too, would be a bit confused and would ask you regarding what you’re doing, but afterwards she’s more than happy to model for you whenever she can. She doesn’t have a whole lot of time for that, but the things you do for love. If you ever want a real, professional model, she can arrange one, though, it’s no problem for someone like her. Besides, she has a pretty good eye for fashion as well, so she can give you some hints regarding what could look good and what might be a complete no go. You don’t have to do as she says, but she will point it out if you do. If she ever does find herself having the time and there’s a fashion show that shows some of your clothing, then she’ll watch it and jokingly tell you that she looked better in your clothes than all those models did. If you ever need some creative inspiration then I’m sure Valeria can help you as well, she’s seen plenty of things and is always more than happy to help you. Besides, she can get just about anything as well, so you really don’t need to fret if you wanna feel the fabric of something yourself.

[jam-showtoonz]

School doodles-

I’m on study leave currently.

Yes there are now more math book drawing. Yes my teacher saw me doing this. No I did not get in trouble.

It pays to be the kid that doesn’t talk and does their work. Kinda

—

Here are 3 of the void people- Star, Blue & Cosmic/Nova (she goes by 2 names)

(Yes Nova is purposely made to look slightly like Earths old design)

—

Then we have Lunar! And the date above him showing when I did this. (I’m British btw so it’s day then month)

—

Old C design idea vs new C design idea . Don’t mind what’s behind them

They totally weren’t meant to be evil and manipulative only for some tall Galaxy looking being to show up and say no to the narrative- what-

They are a tired parent and hate who they were meant to be.

—

Bad maths with some doodles.

Ngl the turned Voidger design isn’t bad in my opinion. Yes it is the one that attacked Solar, also baby Voidger- they are much more dangerous than fully grown ones.

—

More Void people!-

Solstice, Eclipse & Lunar design ideas

Solstice and Eclipse are from the same dimension whilst Lunar comes from different one-

Easy to say that Eclipses and Lunar didn’t have the best first meeting since both their dimensions followed closely to the main one.

They get along better now. (Also Lunar does have his star powers)

Eclipses body was made from scratch. Whilst the other two has their body’s upgraded/repaired

—

DOODLES!! Also Dazzle

Idk why my French teacher trusted me with a highlighter

—

I made a new void person- they are the small one I did in redy-pink highlighter. I made them purely because on the droplet Au @potatotato-26 made. I love them. I also made droplet doodles of all the void people- except C and Galaxy- because the droplet au has taken over my mind.

I’ll post those at some point-

The among us was done by one of my friends- he’s great.

[sevencolorsatlast]

Reverse Isekai SAGAU - Your Favorite Character Misses You (Part 1)

Part 1 (You're Here!) || Part 2

Edit 1: Added more headcanons! I've missed some details I had on mind ;w;

This wholesome idea came up out of nowhere after reading a bunch of Imposter SAGAU reverse isekais whereas a bunch of characters yeet themselves into the Creator's/Player's world to apologize for killing them at the first place.

What if, by chance, they ended up in your world while you were away for a very long time? Not really you being an Imposter or anything; it’s like the game telling you “Remember your favorite character you often play as? They actually miss you a lot. I’m gonna send them to you pronto!” then they just appear out of nowhere and scare the living shit out of you as they land in your house.

Other Notes: Default SAGAU / GN!Reader / Headcanon / +400 Words

Due to the sudden teleportation, they usually have items on their hands (an open book, a pen, a musical instrument or even their weapon) or look like they are going to who-knows-where, frozen in mid-walk/mid-run. 

It’ll take them a while to get them accustomed to the modern world. Now, there will be a lot of room for creativity here!

Examples: they call you "Your Grace/Your Excellency, etc." and you keep correcting them to call you by your name because you know people will give you weird looks if you and your fave are in public; teaching them what an internet meme is; they can practically borrow your/your old relatives' clothes (if it fits them) or outright steals from someone else if they are cunning enough that can get you into trouble; asking what are the names moving vehicles and you can (1) tell them what they are called (2) troll them by calling it something ridiculous and they repeat after you with a puzzled look on their faces. Be creative! :D

(forgot to add this detail oops) Depending on how high your friendship level is with your fave. If it's between Level 1-5, they are powerless as heck but will help you whenever they can.

But if you have Level 6-10 Friendship, they can summon their weapon out of thin air to protect you even if they don't have their Vision powers with them.

Poor Catalysts users. Depending on who they are: throw their weapon at someone's face as distraction / use their martial prowess (aka beating the living daylights out of a person) / use their galaxy brain intelligence to get you both out of trouble / grab your hand to run as far away as possible to get you to safety.

However, their stats/artifacts are still on effect so imagine your fave getting into a fight and won the 50-50 Crit Rate/DMG with their hit / whatever weapon they are using.

When you finally open the game, you see an empty space in your roster/character menu but displays their name and everything like before - their artifacts you gave them, same weapons and talent levels too. 

For them to get back, this is silly but very wholesome - you need to make their favorite/specialty dishes and they eat it. Simple, right? Probably yes for some characters, probably no with most… as you tried to rack your brains on how to even properly cook, replicate the look/design, AND how it tastes.

Wait, have you ever tasted similar dishes to theirs beforehand? And what if you have allergies to a certain ingredient? They will/can help you but where on earth would you find that one ingredient exclusive to a certain store? 

Also, good luck not setting your kitchen on fire because I assume all of them haven’t seen a modern kitchen before.

Once you miraculously successfully replicated their dish in real life, they can go back to their world and you can play as them in the game as usual. They can basically go back and forth by making their specialty dish and offering it to your shrine whenever they want to see you again.

[ashwii]

Celestial AU FAQ

Usually I prefer pinning my favorite artworks to the top of my profile, but over the last couple weeks I've gotten MANY repeat questions about my rottmnt celestial AU. I never mind answering questions, but I want to limit how many asks I answer to keep everyone else's dashboard's in mind [i.e. I don't want to clog up other people's tumblr with several asks that have been answered in the past.]

Below is a list of general frequently asked questions regarding my celestial au. Even more detailed information and questions can be found in the "#celestialFAQ" tag on my blog.

What is the Celestial AU?

It's a ROTTMNT au where Leo, Donnie, Raph, and Mikey embody celetial bodies. Leo embodies the stars, Donnie embodies the Moon, Raph embodies the Sun, and Mikey embodies the comets.

Can you tell us more about what they are?

Leo is the stars — he overlooks the stars as a guardian figure. While he thinks of his stars as his children, he is also an embodiment of the stars — he IS the stars. They are one and the same.

The same goes for Mikey and his comets. Although, while Mikey specifically embodies and overlooks the comets, he also overlooks all them zippy lil' things in the galaxy [meteors, asteroids, etc.]

Donnie and Raph are a little different — Donnie specifically ONLY embodies Earth's moon, and is the overlooker of all the other moons in the universe. The same goes for Raph and Earth's Sun.

Are there any other characters in this AU [Splinter, April, Drax, Krang, etc]?

[As of writing this] The only other characters in this AU are April [an astronaut who works for NASA / an aspiring astronaut], and S.H.E.L.D.O.N. [a robot made of lost junk and lost space tech that Donnie found]. I do not plan for there to be any other characters in this au, as I mainly want to draw and focus on the turtles.

There have been lots of fun headcanons in the askbox about who else could be in the au and what they would embody, and I think that's great! I love all the fanart and creativity everyone is doing for this AU, I will never be mad at exploring fun ideas [I've even doodled some of these ideas for fun] — as for what is "canon" in the AU though, at the moment I'm going to keep it as the turtles, April, and S.H.E.L.D.O.N.

What's the lore behind this AU?

There is no real lore behind this AU, just a bunch of fun ideas in a fun concept. Lots of other people have had fun coming up with their own lore and ideas for this AU, and once again, I think that's great! There's so many ideas other people came up with that I love — but again, in terms of "canon" and what I'm willing to draw, there's no legitimate lore for this AU.

The Sun is also a star. Does that mean Sun!Raph has a special relation to Star!Leo in some way?

Yes! Leo and Raph have a very strong special connection in this AU because of this.

Do the celestials control what they embody?

Control isn't exactly the right word — say for Star!Leo, for example, he's more of a guardian figure to the stars. "Control" implies that the stars have no personality of their own whatsoever, but that's not exactly true. They almost have their own little life to them — like a healthy tree —that Leo can understand since the stars and Leo are one in the same.

What are Moon!Donnie's alternate phases?

Moon!Donnie's alters are Blood Moon, Harvest Moon, Blue Moon, and Super Moon. Moon!Donnie's design also changes some depending on the phase of the Moon [eg. During the Full Moon phase, Donnie has no shadow up his arms and legs. During the New Moon phase, Donnie is all encompassed in shadow].

Is there any more info about these phases?

During Donnie's Blood Moon phase, he tends to be a little more mischievous and violent. He's ready to kill, no questions asked.

During his Blue Moon phase, he's a little sadder than usual. He's not breaking down every minute or endlessly sobbing — he's more just a little blue (heh) and the unending river of tears just comes with the phase. He just needs some cuddles and comfort during this time <3

Harvest Moon Donnie is a happy lil guy! He's a little chipper and cuddly during this time, hapoy to help and talk with his brothers on end.

These phases don't COMPLETELY change his personality — he still the same Donnie, but just with little changes to his overall mood.

There are many more types/names for the Moon [Snow Moon, Worm Moon, Flower Moon, etc.] — will you be drawing those as designs for Moon!Donnie as well?

While I think I may sketch out some of them for fun, in terms of "canon" to the AU, I want to keep it limited to what I listed above in the previous question.

Are there any alternate versions of the other celestials?

Sun!Raph gets sun flares when he's upset, and I have a Nova!Leo design in the works. I haven't thought of any alternate versions for Comet!Mikey, but I don't think he needs one, haha.

What happens during an eclipse?

During a solar eclipse, Raph gives Donnie a hug from behind. During a lunar eclipse, I like to imagine that Donnie is hiding behind the earth because he ticked Raph off.

Can Star!Leo feel it when any stars die?

Yes, he does. I explained in much more detail in the "#celestialFAQ" tag, but when his stars die, it hurts him some emotionally and physically.

Whenever the Sun [Raph] would explode in the future, Star!Leo will be out of commission for a while because of how much it would hurt him.

What is Star!Leo's relationship with the stars?

Leo is the stars, point blank. He is the personification of them. He's all the stars, he is them, they are he. One and the same. BUT there's also a special relationship there — Leo looks at the stars like they're his children, almost. A very deep connection and love. The stars feel that deep love for Leo too, they see him as almost a guardian figure. They love him more than anything, and Leo knows that.

Now HOW can the idea that Leo looks at the stars like they're his children, and the idea that Leo is just straight up the personification of the stars (him being all of the stars) both be true at the same time? Ah — no real answer there. It just kind of is, and it's more of a feeling that I myself have. That's just the way that I personally feel Leo's relationship with the stars is, even if I'm never able to describe it quite perfectly, and even if it's confusing to everyone else lmao.

Do the celestial turtles still have their weapons like the canon turtles?

Yes they do — Star!Leo has katanas made of constellations, Moon!Donnie has his staff made of shadow, Sun!Raph's fists fire up, and Comet!Mikey's comets and meteors spin around him and he can shoot them where he pleased.

Is this AU meant to be accurate about how astrology and space works?

Not at all — there are a lot of inaccuracies in this AU. But what's the fun of making an au like this if I have to keep everything pinpoint accurate! This AU is for good, fun vibes, and it's ok if not everything matches up with exactly how space works.

Can I make fanart/fanfics for this au?

Yes, you can! If you do, please tag me and lmk, I'd absolutely love to see what you guys make. Oc's and fan characters are welcome as well.

[thehollowwriter]

Okay I mentioned the idea to a few moots, and I decided "You know what, let's post about it"

*ahem* The current day in twst is between 2020 and 2024 in my mind, with more advanced tech due to magic. Therefore, it was the 70s when Morrigan was at NRC, which therefore means

✨️sparkly 70s outfit for Morrigan performing in his VDC✨️

Frills, sequins, capes, spandex, bell bottoms and high heels, he absolutely slayed the fit.

I mostly have Mamma Mia's costume designs in mind ngl, both the movie and the theatre production

And also the many funky outfits of Bobby Farrell from Boney M

Idk man the idea of Morrigan having the time of his life singing and dancing for the VDC has taken over my brain. He absolutely adored how bright and fun the clothes were.

There's also the fact that his parents would have a heart attack seeing wear and do stuff like this which is a bonus for him XD

I think he and his group won that year's VDC and I think it would be SO funny if Vil used the tape as an example of how yes, it is possible for you guys to work together and win. Finn isn't part of the VDC group but he is Vil's friend and he's absolutely shook by this new revelation about his dad lol.

Also pls consider one of Morrigan's students finding a picture and showing it to him like "sir is this you" and Morrigan, with grey streaks in his hair and most of his singing being slow love ballads for Silas just being like "Uh... nooooo?"

He did make friends in NRC so I think it would be funny to make ocs based off Rosie and Tanya from Mamma Mia so they can perform with him XD it would be funny

Tagging: @distant-velleity @br3adtoasty @rainesol @theleechyskrunkly @jovieinramshackle

@galaxies-and-gore @cyanide-latte @cynthinesia @officialdaydreamer00 @krenenbaker

@offorestsongs @kitwasnothere @elenauaurs @boopshoops @inotonline

@1dont-really-know @kazumify @minteasketches @elysia-nsimp @skrimpyskimpy

@casp1an-sea @offorestsongs @tixdixl @poisoned-pearls @the-trinket-witch

@ramshacklerumble @ghostiidasponk @thegoldencontracts @the-banana-0verlord @cloudcountry

@skriblee-ksk @twstinginthewind @lumdays @theolivetree123 @natsukishinomiyaswife

@authoruio @jewelulu @raguiras @honeynclove @moonyasnow

[chaostheoryy]

Touch Me [Walter X GN!Reader]

Summary: You and Walter are currently the only two people awake on the colony ship headed for the outskirts of the galaxy. And while most people would find the company of a synthetic to be unsettling, you have come to realize you much prefer his presence over that of other humans. And perhaps you enjoy his company even more than you originally thought.

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Making out, implied sexual thoughts

Reader: Gender Neutral

Word Count: 3.1K

Notes: I recently rewatched the entire Alien franchise and rediscovered my love for Walter. Because of course my dumbass feels connected to an autistic-coded character...There really isn't much plot here, just self-indulgence via smooching a big, wholesome android. And, as always, no beta. I die a warrior's death.

Living with a synthetic is easy. Like a faithful company android should, Walter has always done exactly what he’s supposed to when he’s supposed to. He never interrupts your work unless absolutely necessary and he doesn’t dare disturb your sleep unless following explicit instructions from you or MUTHUR to wake you in time to complete your tasks.

In addition to being an efficient and reliable worker, Walter has also proven himself to be a surprisingly pleasant companion. Conversation, it seems, comes naturally for him and his seemingly endless internal database of poetry and literature means he can recite any one of your favorite stories upon request. Though it’s strange to admit, there’s a pleasantness to his voice that makes every encounter with him comforting.

In fact, the more time you’ve spent together, the more you’ve come to realize just how much you truly find pleasant about him. The mesmerizing tint of his electric blue eyes. The imperfection of his crooked smile when you tell him your worst jokes. The gentleness of his touch despite the inhuman strength of his body. You know these are all things that were programmed into him by some random company engineer years ago, but you can’t shake the feeling that there’s more to him than a bunch of 0’s and 1’s. He’s not just a robot designed to serve man, he’s…Walter.

The stronger your connection feels over these first few weeks of travel, the bolder you get when it comes to exploring your affection for him. It starts with accidental brushes of the hand against his arm or a gentle press of your palm between his shoulder blades when you squeeze behind him in a tight corridor. Fleeting touches that can easily be written off as necessary interactions given the nature of your environment. He, of course, doesn’t seem to mind at all. Every time it happens, he responds to your apology or “excuse me” with a courteous little grin and a brief utterance of reassurance.

On a particularly bad day, when nothing seems to go right and the loneliness of space grips at your heart, you ask for his comfort and he obliges. His hand rests on your shoulder until it simply isn’t enough and you ask him to hold you. No request is too much for Walter, so sure enough you find yourself wrapped in his arms with your head resting on his chest. Even despite his lack of fleshy internal organs, you find he’s just as warm as any human would be. And when he murmurs soothing words in your ear, you realize that no human could possibly comfort you the way he can.

“Walter?”

“Yes?"

“Hugging you like this,” you murmur quietly into his charcoal sweatshirt, “Does it feel good for you?”

“If you’re inquiring as to whether or not I enjoy embracing you, yes. I find it quite satisfactory.”

“Good.”

“Is this embrace satisfying for you?”

“Very."

“I’m glad.”

To your surprise, the hand that had come to rest in the center of your back begins to move in slow circles. When you shift beneath his touch, the movement ceases.

“Apologies,” he says as he abruptly steps away. The loss of contact leaves your body yearning for the comfort.

“No need to apologize, Walter. It’s fine, really. I…” You hesitate for a moment. “It felt nice.”

You stare each other down, both of you searching for answers to questions neither of you have asked. You know it’s probably just your mind playing tricks on you, but it seems as though he looks nervous. Then again, hard not to notice an aura of uncertainty coming from a presence that is usually nothing but certain.

“Have you ever touched someone like that before now?” You ask.

“No. I’m afraid it was never the company’s intention for synthetics such as myself to engage in intimate contact.”

You try to stow away some of the sheer sadness you feel knowing what he’s said is undoubtedly true. “Oh. I’m sorry.”

“Why are you apologizing?”

“Because that doesn’t seem fair. Being surrounded by people your whole life and knowing that none of them will ever hold you. Knowing that the people who created you never even wanted you to be held.”

“Fair or not, it is simply a part of my programming.”

You frown. It frustrates you to no end. No matter how many times he or the little voice in the back of your head tells you that he is simply an android following his programming, you want to argue that there’s more to it than that. That he genuinely exists and deserves to live.

“Aren’t you curious?”

“In regard to what exactly?”

“Touch. Don’t you ever wonder what it’d be like to truly be touched? To be held and caressed and cared for by someone else?”

“It is something I have pondered over from time to time, sure.”

Your heart is racing in your chest as you consider your words. It’s crazy, you know it is, but you can’t help yourself. “Would you like me to touch you?”

Walter’s head tilts to the left ever so slightly, much like a dog who’s heard his owner utter the name of his favorite toy in casual conversation. Those dazzling blue eyes blink a couple of times as he considers your question.

“Yes, I believe I would.”

An inaudible sigh of relief slips from your throat. You nod, more to yourself than to Walter, and step forward to close the distance between you. He doesn’t move in the slightest, just stands there and watches your every move with the scrutiny of a scientist at work.

You start by taking his right hand. Pulling it from his side, you raise it up into the space between your bodies. Your right thumb traces over his knuckles while your left hand gently pushes the sleeve of his sweatshirt up toward his elbow. Just like any human you’ve ever met, there are delicate hairs all along his forearm that jump back into place as the fabric of his sleeve slides past.

After watching those little hairs shift around exploratory strokes of your hand along the backside of his arm, you turn it over and trace the now exposed lines of his palm. You feel like those storied fortune tellers of old Earth who search for hidden meanings in the imperfections of a person’s skin. But instead of seeking out some clue to the distant future, it’s as if you’re seeking the very essence of humanity in Walter’s palm.

“You have a soft touch,” he notes as you ghost your fingertips over the almost velvety surface of his inner wrist.

Your eyes flick up to his face to find him still watching you with a nearly unreadable expression. “Does that bother you?”

“Not at all.”

Reassured by his response, you can’t help the tiny grin that pulls at the corner of your mouth. And as unbelievable as it sounds, Walter’s gaze seems soften at the sight of your smile.

Suddenly feeling as if you’ve been caught witnessing something you were never supposed to see, you hastily draw your focus away from his face and back down to the hand in your grasp. Your fingers trace the lines on his palm a few more times before you curl his fingers inward one by one. When every single digit has been bent into the familiar shape of a fist, you rotate his arm once again and bend his wrist back. Then, with painstaking patience that could drive a man insane, you slowly unravel his fingers with your own until your palms are flush against one another.

“Like Dürer’s Praying Hands.”

Sparing a glance upward once again, you see him gazing at your pressed hands with a nearly awestruck look in his eyes. The way he appears mesmerized by the very sight of this contact, you’d think he’s staring at the aforementioned German artwork itself.

You elect not to say anything, choosing instead to spread his fingers apart with your own. Once they’re fully splayed out, you slip your fingers in between those outstretched digits and tenderly grasp his hand. For the briefest moment, his fingers remain fully erect as if every joint in his hand is locked in place. But, like the sun setting upon its earthly horizon, they soon slowly fold downward until your hands are delicately intertwined.

There’s a tangible silence in the room as you both gaze upon your interlocked hands. The only sounds you can make out around you are the distant beeps of some far off console and the soft exhale of your own breath. And when Walter’s eyes shift from your hands to your face, that breath only grows heavier. He looks curious, anticipatory.

“I think I’m beginning to understand why humans hold hands as a gesture of affection.”

Your brow raises instinctively. “You like it?”

“It’s pleasant.”

“Would you be willing to let me touch your face?”

He blinks, seemingly processing the inquiry. Then he replies, “Of course.”

Using your free hand, you reach up and gently cup your palm along his jaw. As usual, he doesn’t even flinch at the new touch. He just keeps his eyes locked on you while you explore the new frontier that is his visage.

At first, you examine his face like a parent searching their child for minor cuts and bruises after an afternoon of rough housing in the backyard. It’s gentle, yet full of meticulous observation. Intimate in a way only familial touch can be.

But after a while, you become familiar with the feeling of his skin and allow yourself to truly caress the face before you. Fingertips press into the most delicate patches of skin at the back of the jaw. Your thumb tenderly rubs his cheekbone as the butt of your palm teeters at the edge of his mouth. It’s not your intention to feel his lips just yet but it can’t be helped when your skin brushes past them. And just like a human’s lips would be, they are tantalizingly supple against your skin.

Goosebumps crawl up your forearm when you feel his breath tickle the inside of your wrist. Witnessing him breathe is one of those things that never ceases to fascinate you or quell your incessant desire to prove Walter is more than just some carbon copy synthetic. What need would an artificial person have to breathe if they were simply meant to be servants for mankind? Why make them so incredibly real if they aren’t supposed to live a real life? Why strive to recreate the inherently flawed design of the human body if they aren’t meant to be human?

“Is everything alright?”

Walter’s voice draws you out of your thoughts so violently that he may as well have shoved you out of the airlock. You blink yourself back to consciousness and are startled to find your thumb resting at the edge of his top lip, your hand still cupped along the sharp line of his jaw. His breath continues to tickle your wrist with every exhale.

“Y-yeah,” you stammer as you reposition your hand away from his mouth, “Everything’s fine.”

“You’re displaying early symptoms of common influenza,” he counters matter-of-factly, eyes piercing right through the shield of your lie. “Your heart rate is elevated and your body temperature has increased by half a degree.”

Your body temperature may have only risen by a fraction of a degree but it may as well be several dozen considering the sheer heat scalding your cheeks. The thudding of your heartbeat has become incessantly loud and your breath nearly gets trapped in your throat.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt as you pull yourself alway from him.

His brow immediately furrows with confusion. And if you dared to study his expression any longer, you may find the look on his face hints at disappointment.

“I’m afraid I don’t understand why you’re apologizing. You’ve done nothing wrong. If you are unwell, I would be happy to tend to you in the medical bay.”

“No!” The urgency in your voice catches you off guard. You swallow the lump in your throat, hoping it will take some of the embarrassment down with it. “Thank you. But, I’m not sick, Walter, I promise. I’m just…Nervous.”

His head tilts again. If it weren’t for the fact that you’re actively staving off immense shame for your handling of the whole situation, you might actually be able to acknowledge just how endearing you find that little tick of his.

“May I ask why you are nervous?”

A breathy chuckle escapes the confines of your throat. A nervous laugh that you had no intention of letting out. Walter appears even more puzzled by the reaction.

“I’m nervous because I’m touching you,” you admit, “Because touching you is something I’ve been wanting to do for a long time now. And because now that I’ve done so, I want to keep doing it.”

“Then why did you stop?"

It’s a question you weren’t expecting. But, of course Walter would be the one to bypass formalities and outright ask the hard questions.

“Because I feel guilty.”

“Guilt would imply that you’ve committed an offense or violation.”

“Running my hands over your body and caressing your face like you’re my lover sure as hell feels like a violation,” you argue.

Despite your tone growing erratic, he remains as stoic as ever. “I guarantee you, it isn’t. You asked for permission and I granted it.”

To your utter surprise, he reaches out and gently grabs you by the wrist. Despite your astonishment at his decision to reinitiate the contact, you don’t argue or pull away when he guides your hand back up to his face. Deep down you know this is the outcome you truly want, even if it’s one you never imagined you could have.

“Feel no guilt,” he says as your hand comes to its resting place along his jaw, “I want you to touch me.”

Your heart skips a beat at those words. It’s a statement that makes your mind race faster than any engine in the universe. Sexual innuendos and Freudian subconscious aside, the significance of his declaration isn’t lost on you. He isn’t just standing there, letting you explore his visage like some statue being admired by museum patrons. He’s now an active participant driven by his own desire to be caressed. To be caressed by you.

The mere notion of him wanting this is enough to conquer most of your hesitancy. Swallowing whatever fear remains, you bring your other hand up so that you’re cupping his face between them both. Your thumbs stroke at his cheekbones.

“Tell me what you’re thinking.” His voice is soft, restrained. He knows it’s dangerous to spook an already anxious animal.

You dwell on his words for a moment. His eyes, sharp and disarming as always, seem to peer right through your orbital cavity and into your brain itself. If he looks hard enough, he may very well discover the thoughts that are tucked away inside your mind without you even needing to put them into words.

Before you can convince yourself not to, you say, “You’re beautiful.”

He blinks. It’s clear he wasn’t expecting that.

“The color of your eyes. The shape of your lips. The strength of your jaw.” You all but sigh as you trace the line of his jawbone with your middle finger. “I admire everything about you.”

“And what about the fact that I’m not actually human? Do you find that unsettling?”

You shake your head. “No.”

“Why is that?”

You nearly scoff at the question. “Because you could introduce me to a hundred strangers on Earth and I can almost guarantee you that you’re more human than most of them. You have shown me more kindness and empathy than half the people I’ve met in my lifetime.” You slide one hand down to his chest, splaying your fingers out over the spot where his heart should sit. “It doesn’t matter what parts you have or what fluid flows through your veins. I still care for you, Walter.”

In a way, you feel exposed. You never fully considered just how deeply you feel for him. Though, the more you think about it, the more you realize that it shouldn’t be much of a shock at all.

“I would like to kiss you.”

Now there’s a shocking statement.

“What?” You stare at him in awe, unsure that you heard him correctly.

“I said that I would like to kiss you,” he states, “If you find such contact to be agreeable, of course.”

Words are unattainable for you in that moment so you settle for a nod.

He leans in and kisses you softly. He’s so careful, so unbearably gentle that it feels like his lips simply ghost over yours. It isn’t unpleasant, of course. It’s simply too delicate. The whole thing is over before your brain can even process what’s happening. It leaves you yearning for more.

When he pulls back to look at you, he can see the dissatisfaction painted on your face. “Did I do it incorrectly?”

“It wasn’t…wrong. It was just very quick. And much softer than I was expecting.”

“I see.” He thinks for a moment before adding, “Would you like to do it again your way?”

“You want me to kiss you?”

“Yes.”

His eyes instinctively lock on your mouth to watch as your tongue darts out to wet your bottom lip. “Okay.”

You reposition your right hand from his chest to the side of his neck and pull him back toward you. When you kiss him, you do so with passion. Your lips find his like a drowning man resurfacing for air after being jostled by the sea. Not violent, but desperate, as if Walter’s kiss could save your life in the cold vacuum of space.

He may not know what he’s doing, but what he’s doing is right. When your tongue presses against his lip, he opens his mouth to welcome it. When you tilt your head to deepen the kiss, he shifts just enough to make it deeper. When your nails dig into his skin to drag him closer, his hands find shelter upon your waist to steady himself. He may be a synthetic by design, but it’s clear from the way he kisses that he is human by nature.

You’re nearly gasping by the time you break the kiss. The breathless wonder of a good kiss is a feeling you have sorely missed and, judging by the blissful look in Walter’s eyes, it seems he’s just experienced something similar for the very first time.

“I have to admit, I prefer your method,” he muses as a tiny grin pricks at the corner of his mouth.

You can’t help but return that grin with a big smile of your own. Your thumb grazes across his bottom lip. “Well, good news: you and I have a lot of time to explore more methods, if you want.”

“I fear there isn’t anything you could offer that I wouldn’t want now.”

[his-dedicated-sensei]

In Vino Veritas.

Meals, wines, and fragility.

It's a quiet evening. You're not too sure the day, but that doesn't trouble you much. You rest, as you usually do, upon a chair built just for you - tailored to your shape, crafted exquisitely from the luxuries accrued from the reunification. Your hand idly traces the edge of the cushioned armrests and where the lavish, lacquered mahogany meet in a masterwork of carpentry and joinery.

You wager two Custodians were the craftsmen, given how eloquent and regal the design is. You gaze upon the vaunted ceilings - the countless support beams, holding this place, your home, intact.

A plate rests in front of you before long. Marble, you wager - perhaps porcelain? The Custodian by your side seems eager to serve your food in particular. Your mind briefly ponders if the Blood Games are on. You aren't ever really apart of them, but you have promised to play as the kidnapped victim from time to time.

You see Him enter, coming to rest by your side. It takes Him a moment to settle - to take in the scent of the food, to rest His hand over yours.

"Do you like it," He starts, the voice rolling over your body like a wave breaking across rocks, "the selection for the evening?" His gaze is to the meal but a moment (you feel He is grading it silently), before turning to gaze at you.

"Every meal is delectable," you respond softly, smiling (it's impossible not to), before He carefully pours the wine into your glass. It's red, a deep red. Fulgrim's selection? He raises the glass to you, and you take in the rich bouquet. Definitely Fulgrim's, you wager, as your hands slide in His.

This must be the galaxy to Him, as your hand overlaps His own, twigs compared to logs - the fragility of your hand, and the brittleness of the wine glass, held in the way an artist would hold the finest brush. Humanity in His hands, humanity as the fragile glass that holds blood-like-wine. You take a moment, as He helps you drink it. It's supple, spiced... yet, a moment more, and you feel the complexity rush across your throat, changing to something more... elegant.

"A vintage," the Custodian besides you states, "to pair with the roast." It takes you a moment as the alcohol warms your form, as He moves to sip from the same glass. You wonder, briefly, if He did so to taste your lips indirectly, or wished to try the wine in the same environment.

"It should be chilled more," He finally responds - though you can see the faint smirk curling His lips. "An excellent choice, however."

Soon, His plate rests before Him. How much more He must need, yet, He eats as carefully as He commands. You, in turn, require so little, yet, all of it is important. One could be picky with food, push aside greens, or ignore the wine. He, however, has made sure the meals are properly prepared for you, to the exact amounts, to ensure you would be cared for.

You gaze at the wine a moment as your fork rests. How fragile were you, even surrounded by walls and buttresses and pillars and warriors and He Himself?

You did not think long, as His hand rests atop yours. "You are safe." He assures. "Safe, here. Safe no matter where you travel." Your fragility was tested then, as His hand gently squeezed yours, feeling the warmth of His skin. Nothing broken. Nothing damaged. Just... a moment where you finally relaxed, your head resting upon His shoulder, as you took the wine glass in your hands.

In wine, there is truth. You were fragile, yes - but deserving of the love and protection He cushioned you with - nay, strengthened you with. All of humanity, you wagered, would one day find this peace. It was a hope you shared with Him.

If only the wine wasn't so strong - you laugh after a moment, and He shares it with you, as the evening light fades, and the fragility He has is cushioned by your love.

[varpusvaras]

Bail/Breha/Fox - 35. A kiss against a wall

(hi hello yes hi I’m normal just thinking about this I swear it is in no way consuming my mind)

(hello hi yes hello to you too, I'm very normal about all of this as well)

Fox was very used to how high-society parties worked by now. 

He had spent three years of his life providing security for a variety of events, familiarising himself with all the different customs and proceedings that went with different occasions. Of course being the security was a different thing to being a guest, but luckily, Fox was a fast learner. He had quite literally been designed to be adaptive and good at memorising even the smallest of details. So, at the very least, social events had not been a problem for him while integrating to living as a civilian and a royal. On top of everything, he didn’t even have to be in armor anymore.

Still, Fox could admit that the night had been rather long, no matter how much more comfortable he was now. At least the more formal proceedings were out of the way now, and the free hours of the evening for mingling and talking with the other guests had started, but even that had been going on for a while now. 

At least there were drinks, and his wife and husband. 

Fox had spent the start of the night with Bail and Breha. It was pretty much customary, as Fox was a new addition to the family, and thus had to be paraded around a little, so he could meet and greet all the other important people. As the night went on, though, Fox had been more free to find his own company. 

It had been rather easy, and Fox had even found a kindred soul. A young new Princess of a Mid-Rim planet, who had just married the Crown Prince of the planet after the war had ended. She and her new husband came from very different circumstances, as she had grown up very poor on Ryloth, and had faced many hardships during the war and even before it. She and Fox came from similar enough situations that they very much understood each other, at least when it came to marrying someone who was much, much more important in the eyes of the Galaxy than you ever were. 

So, all in all, Fox’s night was going pretty good, even though he was getting kinda tired and a little…well, bored was not the right word, but close enough. 

He glanced towards Breha and Bail. They were talking with other people a small distance away. They looked stunning, as usual. The blue dress Breha was wearing seemed like it had a slight sparkle to it in the lights of the hall, and it made her eyes shine brightly as well. Bail’s suit made him look somehow even more broad from his shoulders than he already was, and the dress pants and boots of said suit made his legs also look somehow even longer than they already were, which was quite a lot. 

They had gotten Fox a new suit that went with theirs. They had actually gotten Fox a lot of new clothes, and Fox was very sure that they had enjoyed the whole process of getting them a whole lot more than Fox had, based on the very…intense reactions they seemed to get. 

Not that Fox didn’t enjoy it. Quite the opposite. 

Bail looked towards him, and caught his eye. There was a quick glint of something sharp in his gaze as he looked at Fox, something that made Fox’s skin instantly a bit warmer underneath his new suit. 

Fox watched as Bail leaned to say something to Breha’s ear. She glanced towards Fox as well. Her lips curled up into a smirk for a split second, and she whispered something back to Bail. Bail nodded, straightened up, and made his way towards Fox. 

They talked for a moment longer, Bail and the Princess exchanging some pleasantries. Bail was standing very close to Fox the whole time, his hand coming to rest against the small of Fox’s back. Fox could swear that he could feel the warmth of the touch through his suit. 

The Princess’s husband came along then, and very soon after, Bail bid them both farewell, and after Fox had managed to say his goodbyes as well, he was led away, through the hall and through one of the smaller archways and down a corridor. 

“Are we going somewhere?” Fox asked. 

“Just stepping out a little”, Bail answered. “We’ve been here before. I know a nice, calm spot.” 

Just then he pushed one door open to another hallway, where the sounds of the party only came as muffled. Fox opened his mouth and was just about to ask if there was a particular reason they wanted to step out for a moment, when Bail’s hand slip up and he grabbed Fox by the arm, his other hand coming up to Fox’s shoulder, and he turned Fox around and pushed him somehow both gently and firmly, until Fox’s back was against the wall of the corridor. 

Fox tilted his head up without Bail having to even ask, and Bail, reading him like an open manual, didn’t waste any more time, and dove down and pressed his lips against Fox’s. 

This wasn’t the first time they had kissed like this, tucked away to some corner or empty hallway, Fox pressed against the wall so Bail could shield him with his body. It had always been exhilarating, a mix of wonder and nerves coming together. 

Now he didn’t have to be nervous anymore, straining to hear if someone was coming. Now he could just enjoy it all to the fullest. 

Fox’s mouth was tingling slightly when Bail blacked away just a little. He was looking at Fox with an expression that was very clearly telling that he was wholly enjoying the view in front of him. 

“I must admit”, he murmured. “I do find this even more pleasant now, in these improved circumstances.” 

Fox snorted a little. 

“Improved circumstances, also known as being married?” He asked. 

Bail grinned slightly. 

“Exactly so”, he said, and then glanced to the side from the corner of his eye. “Your turn now, my love.” 

Fox looked to the side as well. Breha was standing there, watching them with a sharp grin of her own on her lips. Fox had not even noticed her there, though that was very much not his fault, as he had been decidedly occupied just now. 

“Thank you”, Breha said. Bail grabbed Fox’s arms again and pulled him away from the wall. There was a split second of confusion in Fox’s head, before Bail turned him around yet again and leaned now against the wall himself, pulling Fox to lean against his chest. His other arm dropped down and sneaked around Fox’s waist, keeping him very much in place. 

“Do you like the view?” He asked, his voice low, and it sent a shiver down Fox’s back, even though the question had been for Breha. Bail’s other hand came up, and he brushed his knuckles gently down Fox’s jawline. 

Breha stepped closer, lifting her own hand up to mirror Bail’s gesture, her hand finally coming to rest against the side of Fox’s face. Fox was sure that she could feel how hot his skin was under her touch, based on the way her grin sharpened more and her eyes lit up in clear delight. 

“I do”, she said, and pressed herself against Fox. She tilted Fox’s head down, and reached up, until Fox could feel her breath against his lips. “Very much so.” 

She closed the impossibly small gap and pressed her sweet, scorching lips to Fox’s, and Fox very, very much agreed with Bail about the improved circumstances.

[torahoes]

(IDOLiSH7) Torao Mido - Drama Collection 2 Summer Rabbit Chat

Please note that I am not a professional translator. If you come across any mistakes, feel free to let me know and I will make the necessary corrections.

Torao Mido: Good work today. I watched the Kokona movie you mentioned the other day

Nagi Rokuya: I have been eagerly awaiting your message, Mido-shi.

Nagi Rokuya: Now, let's hear your 5★ review that will impress even professional film critics. How was "Magical Girl Magical★Kokona ~A Great Operation in the Galaxy of Love~"? X-D))))))

Torao Mido: First, let me apologize. I was misled by the character design

Torao Mido: This was totally a profound and intense human drama.

Nagi Rokuya: OH… I am deeply moved right now.

Nagi Rokuya: I heard the sound of you falling into the Kokona swamp.

Torao Mido: What kind of sound would that be?

Nagi Rokuya: Plop…

Torao Mido: That's a rather soft sound lol

Torao Mido: Firstly, the character setup was straightforward, so I could enjoy it even as a first-time viewer. You have the space queen aiming to conquer Earth and Kokona who bravely stands up to her.

Nagi Rokuya: YES! It's made so that even those who haven't seen the anime can enjoy it! The attention to detail is superb. The staff are brilliant too.

Torao Mido: Also, I felt I absolutely had to talk about this

Nagi Rokuya:

Torao Mido: The scene where Kokona, despite being battered from repeated attacks, mustered her last bit of strength to cast a spell was incredibly intense

Torao Mido: I never expected such a heartfelt scream from a character that looks like that…

Nagi Rokuya: "As long as there's love, magical girls are eternal!"

Nagi Rokuya: And then the godly OP starts playing. You can't watch it without bursting into tears.

Torao Mido: I get it. That direction is just unfair

Nagi Rokuya: I'm shaking your hand passionately in my mind right now, Mido-shi.

Torao Mido: You're not going to do it in person?

Nagi Rokuya: Hm, I'm not opposed to that.

Nagi Rokuya: Anything else? 🥹

Torao Mido: Let's see… Kokona always loved people. No matter how much she suffered, she never hesitated to reach out a helping hand. She never forgot to have a sympathetic heart

Torao Mido: Kokona — she's a great woman.

Nagi Rokuya: OMG

Nagi Rokuya: Just how much potential do you possess, Mido-shi? Please come to my castle, the IDOLiSH7 dorm, immediately!!

Torao Mido: Can't it be tomorrow? We'll be together for the interview anyway

Nagi Rokuya:

Nagi Rokuya: Oh, right! I’m looking forward to hearing your thoughts in person tomorrow X-D))))))

Torao Mido:

Torao Mido: Changing the topic, there's something I wanted to ask you as well

Torao Mido: Remember we talked about preparing a return gift for the bouquet of origami flowers we received from the child actors? What are you planning to give them? I'd like to avoid giving the same thing

Nagi Rokuya: It was a lovely gift to commemorate our acquaintance, wasn't it? I’m preparing handkerchiefs with embroidered parasols, inspired by the drama 🏖️

Torao Mido: I see. I’ll steer clear of handkerchiefs then, thanks

Nagi Rokuya: So even a playboy like you struggles with gift-giving, huh?

Torao Mido: Haruka said, "They used gold and silver origami, so you need to think really carefully about your return gift," which instantly raised the difficulty….

Nagi Rokuya: OH… just as Isumi-shi said, gold and silver origami are very rare and precious because there are so few sheets ;-(

Torao Mido: Yeah, seems so…

Torao Mido: I know we shouldn't just gift something expensive without much thought. I’ll think about it a bit more

Nagi Rokuya:

Nagi Rokuya: Talking with you like this, Mido-shi, I feel that the contrast between you and your character isn't that stark.

Torao Mido: Really? I'm not that laid-back though, right? I played a photographer, so there were a lot of instances where I just wandered off with my camera

Nagi Rokuya: I thought you were similar to your character in how thoughtful you are. In the vacation scenes, your character was the one who was the most attentive to the kids, showing them around various places, after all

Torao Mido: Thanks. Doesn't feel bad to hear that

Torao Mido: Thinking about it, I might have been the most sensible one in that chaotic group of four. Striving to capture memories, saying, "I want to capture everyone's laughter and the scent of the sea breeze in this one photo."

Nagi Rokuya: I agree. It really pained my heart to have to say, "Look, I've graciously decided to carry you. You should consider it a great honor," to the tired kids in such a haughty manner in that one scene ;-((((

Torao Mido: That was a funny scene. Your face was covered in sand, yet you still managed to maintain that posed look

Nagi Rokuya: I've had my fill of sand for a lifetime. I'm done with the sea now ✋

Torao Mido: Oh, right, you don’t handle hot places well. You're quite the opposite of your character, huh

Nagi Rokuya: I didn’t have the power to change the drama's setting from a tropical beach to a frigid land, so I just resigned myself and gave my all for the role ; -P

Torao Mido: I'm glad you didn’t have the power

Nagi Rokuya: Do you dislike winter?

Torao Mido: I don't dislike it. I've come to appreciate the warmth of a kotatsu. But if I had to choose, I prefer hot weather over cold.

Nagi Rokuya: I see, now that I know you're a haughty man who likes summer, it might not be an exaggeration to say I played you, Mido-shi 😂

Torao Mido: You playing the role of me, huh. Not bad.

Nagi Rokuya: OH! That was an unexpected reaction. Well then, in order to play me, you will need to study Kokona more

Torao Mido: Was that the deal!?

Nagi Rokuya: I've graciously decided to lend you my entire DVD collection. Be grateful.

Torao Mido: Yeah, I'm not really into that idea

Nagi Rokuya: Same here 😂

Nagi Rokuya: Anyway, I'm eagerly anticipating tomorrow. Let's discuss with the fervor that rivals the tropical sun X-)))))

Torao Mido: Yeah. I've encountered a great piece of work. Looking forward to it

The End.