tripleglitchwriting - Tumblr blog

[tripleglitchwriting]

I would LOVE to see a TFA!Megatron x human reader of some kind. I love him so much, such an intimidating and scary but fun version of him 🤭 I want it to be in the First Contact AU still, but why not sorta spice things up and make it have soulmates in it? Wouldn't it be cool to have a giant alien warlord from space destroying cities to find their soulmate? 😳🫣 lol if this idea sucks de bout it, but I'm excited to see your works that's transformers g/t related!

- ᘛ⁐̤ᕐᐷ

THANK YOU FOR THE REQUEST CHAMELANON! PLEASE ENJOY!!! God I love TFA Megs so much. He's so hot AUGH!

Be Careful What You Wish For

Pairing: TFA Megatron x Human Reader (Soulmate Au)

Word Count: 2961

Summary: Soulmates exist, and you have one. Proof exists in the form of soulmarks: a red thread-like tattoo imprinted on a person's arm. Only when one meets their soulmate and touches them will the soulmark disappear. Unfortunately, you have yet meet yours. After many lonely days wishing you would be reunited with your Other Half, a chaotic encounter with the leader of the Decepticons has you realizing one thing. And it is that soulmates persevere across time...and space.

Soulmates are real.

  Since you were a young child, this is what you have been told. Soulmates are real, and every person has one. The special red thread that connects two people twines between the left hand’s fingers, up the arm, snaking under the clavicle and ending directly over the heart. Bright like the blood running through your veins, it is your life force, your compass leading you to your Other Half, with your hand outstretched to touch theirs…and only then will the red thread disappear.

  You’ve spent hours staring at that red line, tracing the pattern it makes on your flesh. It’s been a constant presence throughout your life…and it has never gone away. No matter who you’ve met, who you have fallen in love with, who you have fallen out of love with, it is all the same. The thread remains, and you continue to carry a lonely heart within you.

  “Give it time,” your loved ones tell you. “You’ll find them. It won’t happen in a heartbeat. You need to be patient.”

  Yes, you know. Patience, after all, is a virtue. Plenty go about their lives and never even see their thread go away. An existence without your soulmate can be a perfectly happy one. But you want to know who your Other Half is. You want to be one of the lucky few who can be counted as soulfully complete.

  Sitting in a coffee shop with a hot chocolate cupped between your hands, you find yourself once again observing your thread. The morning is cold; you can feel the wind trying to bite you through the shop’s large glass window. People bundled in their coats, scarves, and gloves hurry by, heads down and minds focused on whatever tasks they have at hand. Looking out, you observe them with a blank stare, not really observing them at all.

  “Anything I can get you right now?” The older woman who owns the shop comes up to you, offering a plate of freshly baked cookies. “Chocolate chip? They’re right out of the oven!”

  You offer her a thin smile and shake your head no. She understands; she’s seen you forlornly watching couples pass by. Sighing, she sets down the plate. “You know,” she says. “I didn’t meet my soulmate until I was in my early 40’s.”

  You raise an eyebrow. She sees your surprise and chuckles. “I know, right? A little late to be meeting my Other Half. But hey, it happened. And now look at me! I’m living a good life, running a successful business, and I got to see my thread go away. Those are all things I never thought I’d get to experience. All I had to do was wait a little!”

  You cringe. Yes, waiting. It seems all you’ve been doing is waiting, waiting, waiting, all for a soulmate who might never come. You and your damn waiting.

  She notices your mood go sour and sighs again. “Listen, all I’m trying to say is that you shouldn’t lose hope. You’ll meet your soulmate. I know you’ve probably heard this before, but…you need to give the world time to sort things into order. That’s all you really can do when you're dealing with the threads of fate.”

  You mumble a quiet “Thank you” and try to look appreciative, when you feel anything such. She says no more, but leaves you a cookie before heading off to tend to the other customers. You watch her go, then lift up your left hand. Your thread is vibrantly bright, showing no signs of fading any time soon.

  Yeah, you think sadly while you bite into the cookie. No hope lost whatsoever.

  You are walking out of the shop when it happens. The door’s little chimes clink together as you swing it open and bid the owner farewell. And then, a pain unlike any other hits you with the force of a freight train. It tackles you and makes you stagger, knees buckling and bringing you to the ground in a matter of seconds. Your heart starts slamming against your ribcage so hard you think a bone might crack. Pushing your hand against your chest, you pant and watch your vision swim as you attempt to get to your feet, yet fail and fall down once more.

  Multiple people help you up, each one asking if you are alright. You hold out a shaking hand as if to assure them, but no sound comes out of your mouth when you try to speak.

  Someone says, “Call an ambulance!” You want to tell them you are fine; unfortunately, you can’t seem to form any coherent words. All that rises up from your throat is a thin, wispy whimper.

  The chaos continues when out of nowhere, an explosion erupts further down the street. People scream and scramble back. The people holding you let go, and you nearly topple right over again. Shouts of panic and confusion fill the air, confirming that no one has a clue as to what is going on.

  Two dark shapes scream through the sky. You look up just in time to see a fighter jet fly past with a bomber plane following behind. For a moment, you think this is some sort of military aerial show-why such a thing would be happening in the middle of winter, you don’t know-but it’s the only conclusive argument you can decide on what you are seeing.

  But then the two planes start descending. They roar over the crowded street, then begin morphing and shaping themselves into creatures completely different from the disguises they previously sported. You recognize them: they are Cybertronians. Robots from outer space who have become borderline celebrities in Detroit since arriving here months earlier. These two, however, aren’t members of the heroic Autobots who help protect the city. They are Decepticons. The villains, the destroyers. The bad ones.

  The smaller of the two stretches his arms over his head. He laughs maniacally as he watches people run. “Look at them, Lugnut! They’re scurrying away like little ants!”

  The other Deception growls and pays no mind to his partner. “Silence, Blitzwing. Lord Megatron has a mission for us to complete. We must distract the humans while he finds the one he is looking for.”

  Blitzwing’s face swivels and changes into an icy blue expression. He surveys the humans around him with an air of disgust. “I don’t understand why Lord Megatron cares to capture one of these creatures. They are far too weak to be kept as pets.”

  “It is not my place to question him, nor is it yours. We are here to do as we are told and give our lord the time he needs to complete his mission.” Lugnut grabs a car and throws it into the air. It crashes down with a heavy slam, windows shattering, metal crumpling, alarm screeching out the vehicle’s pain. You watch in horror, unable to fathom that you have a front row seat to this show of destruction Detroit is about to face.

  Yeah, no, you think. I’m not sticking around. These Decepticons obviously have no regard for human lives. If you remain here, there is a high chance you will end up dead. You need to run, now.

  “You're not going anywhere, little one.”

  The voice is deep, and it pulses through your mind like a gong. You clutch your head and bite back a shout of pain. A strange feeling builds up in your chest. It makes your heart beat faster, and your thread begins to burn with an uncomfortable warmth you have never felt before.

  A third vehicle appears from the sky: a strange helicopter with two blades and a massive cannon mounted beneath its cockpit. Your hair whips back when it lands. The Cybertronian’s body condenses and rises, metal folding over metal, creating a gigantic figure with narrowed red eyes that immediately land on you the moment they open. Your jaw drops; this is easily the biggest mech you have ever seen. And you recognize him. Megatron, the feared leader of the Decepticon forces, and the worst bot you could run into right now.

    Lugnut drops to his knees and bows. “I serve you, Lord Megatron!”

  Megatron does not acknowledge him. He remains focused on you. You are finding it hard to breathe.

  Blitzwing walks over to the taller mech. “My lord, the Autobots will be arriving soon. What should we do?”

  “Continue destroying what you can.” Megatron’s voice is a deep rumble of thunder. You feel the wind get knocked out of you when you hear it. His voice. His voice. Why are you so focused on his voice?

  Your thread is beginning to burn. You slap your hand over your left arm and squeeze, hissing through your teeth. Megatron notices; he looks intrigued.

  “Have you found what you are looking for, master?” Lugnut asks.

  “Indeed I have,” Megatron replies. “And I don’t intend to let it escape me. Resume your orders. Keep the Autobots back for as long as you can. Once I have what we came here for, I will sound the retreat.”

  Blitzwing and Lugnut do not question him any further. You, on the other hand, are questioning everything. Why is this robot having such an effect on you? Why can you hear his voice in your head? And why, why is your soulmark on fire?!

  He’s here for me. There’s no solid confirmation that has been given to you about this, but you know deep down it is true.

  He’s looking right at me.

  Shit. Fuck.

  Your legs want to move. But your brain forbids it and forces you to remain put, even as other people go running by you, their screams mingling as one high-pitched wail while Blitzwing and Lugnut destroy anything they can get their hands on.

  Megatron remains still. He tilts his head with the air of a curious predator who is searching out the weak spots of his prey. You cannot drop eye contact with him. Something about his piercing gaze has you rooted to the spot in which you stand.

  Only when he begins lumbering towards you do you snap out of it and run with the rest.

  Everything is a blur for you. You nearly get shoved to the ground multiple times by the panicked masses who are fleeing. It feels like Detroit is crashing down. Police drones are flying in to fight back against the Decepticons, but you don’t think for a second they’ll do any damage against them. After all, they hardly ever do.

  “Don’t run from me, little one.”

  There is pain. So much pain. It is too much for you to handle. It causes you to collapse, clutching your head and writhing in agony.

  “You are so much more fascinating than the rest of your pathetic kind.”

  The ground trembles. Each step signals the robot drawing closer and closer.

  “Why can I feel what you feel? Why does my spark tremble with your fear? I don’t understand it. I need to understand it. So stop running, and come here.”

  You need to keep going. Grunting, you struggle to your feet and stumble forward in a haphazard fashion. You don’t even bother looking back to see if the robot is close. You just need to run. You need to hide.

  Your miracle appears in the form of a parking garage. Squirming under the partially closed grated gate, you find that it is abandoned; no one is in here with you, and the cars are all empty, abandoned by their owners. You retreat into a corner dark and covered with shadows. It should provide you with the necessary cover you need in order to hide.

  You remain in there for what feels like hours.  It goes awfully quiet outside. Any remaining civilians are long gone. Somewhere close, you think you hear the sound of mechs duking it out. Your breathing echoes off of the parking garage’s walls, giving you a further sensation of complete unease. Perhaps hiding in here wasn’t the best choice. Maybe you should have continued running with other people to a safer spot. Allowing others to be in your presence would endanger them…but now you are alone, completely defenseless to those who wish you harm. The robot who is currently stalking you can kill you without even thinking about it. By hoping to protect the city, you may have ensured your own doom.

  You hear stomping outside. Too loud to be human, too heavy to be an Autobot. Your heart tugs eagerly on its strings in an attempt to break free. It’s a mutual sensation of utter fear and strange wanting.

  “Where are you?”

  You see the massive head of the mech appear right underneath the gate. A shriek nearly escapes you, and you have to slap your hands over your mouth to quell it. A single roving red eye searches the garage, unblinking.

  “I am not known for my patience, human. If you do not show yourself, I cannot guarantee things will end up well for you.”

  The eye settles on you. It narrows and a low growl emits from the robot’s intake. “There you are.”

  You have no chance to react before Megatron’s hand smashes through the gate. You scream when his fingers curl around you. Tightly pressed against his palm, you struggle and kick your feet while Megatron slowly draws you out into the open.

  “Let me go!” you shriek. “Stop! Please!”

  Megatron growls again and gives you a warning squeeze. “Fighting me will get you nowhere. Cease this at once, or suffer the consequences.”

  Well, that’s threatening. You immediately go limp and snap your mouth shut. Megatron snorts, satisfied. He brings you closer to his face, studying you. You shrink back, flush with panic and terror.

  “What is your name, human?” he rumbles.

  You stutter out a barely coherent reply. “Y-Y-Y/N.”

  “Y/N.” He repeats it to himself. “Y/N…a fitting name. Tell me, have we ever met before?”

  “I…I d-don’t believe so?” you say.

  “Hm.” He regards you, turning his hand left and right so he can examine you from all angles. “How very interesting.”

  “W-What’s interesting?”

  “Your mark.” He pushes his thumb under your left forearm. “It’s gone.”

  You follow his gaze. Indeed, where your thread should have been-the thread that has been with you for your entire life, a presence in which you believed would never leave you-there is only bare skin. There isn’t a speck of red to be seen. The burning that accompanied it before is gone too, and now there is a sort of settlement weighing on your chest. It is an instinctive rush of fulfillment, like this was meant to happen.

  You feel faint. Nothing makes sense anymore when you look back at the robot. “You…You're my soulmate?” you squeak.

  “Soulmate.” Megatron stretches the word out into a slow drawl. “So that’s what your species calls it. Yes, you can say that. My kind has a similar phenomenon that affects us.” He opens his mouth and breathes in deeply. “You smell of fear. I can see in your eyes that you know me. So this city is aware of who I am, hm?”

  You don’t dare answer. You're way too terrified of how close his massive teeth are to you. You don’t want to think about what might happen if you find yourself between them.

  “There is no need to be afraid of me. Our sparks are linked. I would be killing a piece of myself if I were to eliminate you.” He sighs. “As disappointed as I am to discover that my sparkmate is a human, I can learn to work with it. I wish to know more about you, Y/N. I will know why fate tied us.”

  “I need to know more.”

  “What makes you so different?”

  “Foolish little thing, you cannot get away from me.”

  “I will get to the bottom of this.”

  His thoughts are loud and overwhelming. You shake your head and feel tears gather in your eyes. “Please…It’s too much. Your thoughts-”

  “Ah. Is that primitive brain of your overloading? I can hear it. Don’t think your thoughts aren’t in my head as well.” He rises to his full height. “I am sure we will both learn to get used to it. If not, I will have Shockwave create something that will bar my thoughts from entering your mind.”

  “Wait! Wait!” You look down. The ground is far away from you. Everything sways queasily when Megatron begins to walk. “No! Put me down!”

  “If you vomit on me, I will not hesitate to drop you,” the Decepticon says gratingly.

  “Y-You can’t take me with you!” you yell at him. “I can’t be your soulmate! There has to be a mistake!”

  “The spark doesn’t lie. Your mark is gone, and I can feel the completion you bring me. There is no question that you are my Other Half. What I want to know is why.” He shakes his head angrily. “It is a burden to have such a weak creature by my side. But I will learn to understand. Perhaps you can show me the few strengths humans possess. Do you think you can convince me to spare your race, little one?”

  He’s taking you. He’s not letting you go. You feel faint with horror at the realization that you aren’t getting out of this. Whether you believe it or not, this alien robot is your soulmate.

  You’ve gotten exactly what you wanted. But this isn’t how you thought meeting your Other Half would go.

  You hear one last thought from Megatron echo ominously in your mind. It sends shivers down your spine. “You are mine now.”

  After that, you pass out.

[tripleglitchwriting]

Chromedome was feeling silly

[tripleglitchwriting]

Fun fact I don’t actually know too much about the DJD which is why it’s taking me a bit to write the TinyTarnAU request I got.

Other than the comics (which I can read but I have a hard time getting myself to sit down for) does anyone know where I can get a definitive characterization and story summary for them?

[tripleglitchwriting]

HES ORANGE HES ORANGE HES ORANGE

Settle an argument for me

No nuance. No "red-orange." What color is this. I am losing my mind.

[tripleglitchwriting]

You are the first to accept the cake

*loads my cake canon*

Prepare for more🍰 -cake anon

Hohoho, try me. I summon 30 clones of me all ready to demolish those cakes.

[tripleglitchwriting]

(Not a request dw) (I had to get this idea out of my head real quick.)

The idea of Drift swallowing his Little One to protect them from another mech trying to take them for themselves. The pair of them had been sitting, and idly chatting (Even if it was mostly a one-sided conversation.) when another mech had come along. Clearly interested in getting their servos on a tasty little human. It'd start with Drift growling lowly as a part of his warning to the potential human-thief that it'd be a bad idea to try his patience. Obviously he'd want to talk things out first, but a small possessive part of Drift loathes the idea of being separated from His Little One. So the "chat" is intermingled with his growling.

The next action Drift would take if the intruding mech persists. Would be to scoop his Little One up to keep them out of reach of the other mech, the growling of his engine growing more intense to dissuade the mech from taking things any further.

But if all else fails, Drift is probably just gonna make a show out of swallowing His Little One. Before growling loudly one last time out of possessive irritability, and walking away from where he'd been seated. He loathes acting like that, as it reminds him of his Deadlock days, but he wasn't about to let his Little One be stolen away by someone who wasn't going to be Nearly as careful with them as he is. It just wasn't going to happen. Speaking of which, he has some apologizing to do to His Little One after he gets back to his Habsuite, and retrieves them from his tanks. Oh dear.

Ok, but, the feeling of being swiftly (But carefully) swallowed by Drift while he's growling up a storm would be Far more jarring than the experience of being swallowed typically would be. The world around you shaking rhythmically, loudly as peristalsis drags you further down into Drift's humid depths. But even when you know Drift would never hurt you, (On purpose) being swallowed, and so thoroughly rattled by his animalistic growls fills you with dread as you sink deeper within him. You land in his stomach as he lets out a more aggressive growl. His tanks clench close around you, just as possessively as your mech is behaving externally. But when you feel him get up, and walk away his tank releases it's hold on you allowing you to breathe again.

It's different when he growls with you in his tank, than when he purrs. The sounds of his gentle purring lulls you to sleep most nights, and results in only a slight shaking sensation. But his growls rattle you to your core, and leave you feeling threatened by the typically placid mech. Drift, who loves you too much to let you leave fall into the servos of someone who can't give you the care you need. Like he can. Like he will.

HRRRRRRRGH THIS IS SO GOOD!!!!

I’m sorry I HAD to write something about this. I know this wasn’t a request but this scenario is honestly so, so good. The way you worded it was beautiful. GOD, what I wrote isn’t half as good as what you sent but I was inspired. What I wrote isn't a carbon copy of your idea, but I still really enjoyed putting this idea into story form. GOD I STILL CAN'T GET OVER IT. Drift certainly does love you too much to let you be taken by someone else. He loves you too much to let you leave. After all, you are is little one. There's no changing that.

PLEASE let me know if you like the little story I wrote. THANK YOU AGAIN FOR THE INCREDIBLE ASK! I'm gonna look back at reread at least twenty times now lmao.

WARNING! WHAT IS WRITTEN BELOW THIS CONTAIN SOFT VORE. If this is something that makes you uncomfortable, please do not read!

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“Hey, are you going to have that?”

  Drift looks up. The mech staring back at him is stocky and short. He has some grime splattered across his chassis and arms: oil. An engineer. A name does not stick to the face, and Drift takes a quick moment to try and recall it. Nothing.

  “Excuse me?” is all his confusion will allow him to say.

  “The human.” The stranger gestures to the table. “Are you gonna have it?”

  Drift looks down. On the table is a datapad displaying a sparkling’s story with funny little illustrations. Observing the pictures is you. The library is a quiet place. Drift comes here frequently to either read or simply clear his mind. He enjoys bringing you along as well; ever since you found out there was a library aboard the Lost Light, you have shown a strong fascination with Cybertronian writings. He doesn’t know if you get the gist of what they mean, but you give him such excited, pleading looks when he lets you observe them, that he can’t help but let you indulge. So, he provides you with simple readings. The ones with pictures are what you seem to enjoy best. You’d sit there for hours if you could, looking at the datapad and trying to quietly sound out the Cybertronian words to yourself. It’s not something you do well, but Drift finds it so adorable. You attempting to mimic his language just proves how clever you are.

  He loves to watch you do this, and he frequently jumps in to help you say certain words right. Most of the time the two of you are quietly repeating them to each other in a sort of simple lesson. It’s one of the many things the two of you do as a bonding experience. Primus, Drift loves it.

  So who the hell is this random mech to barge in and interrupt by asking if he can have you?

  “Um.” Drift chuckles in disbelief. “They’re not for sale. Sorry.”

  “Oh, no, nonono.” The mech shakes his head and laughs too. “I don’t want to buy them from you. I want to borrow them. I’ve never had the chance to get my servos on one of these little beauties. It’s rare to find a human that doesn’t already have an owner.” He leers at you, swiping his glossa over his lips. “If you let me have a taste, I’ll pay you. However much you want, name your price.”

  You, who has been silently observing this entire interaction, shrink back nervously. Drift sees the way you look at the other mech in fear, and his mood immediately darkens. Something sour builds in his spark. He slowly reaches forward and curls his digits around you. It’s an obvious display of possessive protection.

  “They’re. Mine,” he growls. The sound is deep and dangerous, continuing on after he spoke his words. Though he doesn’t notice, you are clearly shaken by it. Chirping softly, you press your hand against his palm, trying to get his attention. But he only tightens his hold, never breaking eye contact with the threat before him.

  “Dude, I know they’re yours.” The other mech is clearly unaffected by Drift’s hostility. “You can spare a bit of time with them, can’t you? C’mon, just let me have a taste.”

  He makes a grab for you. Drift’s instincts kick in, and he snatches you away. You yelp when he presses you against his chassis. He makes a mental note to apologize to you later, but right now he needs to play the part of big bad mech. There can be no sign of weakness here. This stranger is clearly bent on stealing you from him. He won’t let that happen. You are his little one. His.

  Drift rises to his pedes, his growls elevating. The other mech doesn’t show any ounce of care and growls back, armor rising to clack. “I’ve waited for so long to try one of these things,” he says. “This might be my only opportunity! Just let me have them!”

  “They aren’t a thing,” Drift hisses. “They are a human. And if you can’t show them the proper respect and care they deserve, then you have no right to own this one, let alone any.”

  “You think just because you're second in command to the captain that you can lecture me on how to treat a human?” The mech gets into Drift’s face and flashes his fangs. “You don’t even know me! I’m not going to hurt it! I just want a taste! Is that so hard for you to allow?”

  “When it comes to a bot like you? Yes. It is.” Drift doesn’t waver. He’s taller than this mech. Stronger, too. Faster, and better at fighting. If it comes down to such actions unfolding, then so be it. He will do anything to protect his little one.

  Speaking of you…you cower in his servos, trying your best to appear invisible. He looks down at you, debating on how to handle this. The other mech obviously doesn’t intend on backing off any time soon, and if things do come down to a fist fight, he obviously can’t defend you like this. His best option for keeping you safe is swallowing you.

  The engineer puffs out his chassis and revs his engine. It’s a challenge.

  Drift accepts it. But not in the way he is thinking.

  He raises you high above his faceplate and lets you drop a little, until he has the back of your shirt pinched between his forefinger and thumb. You kick your legs and squeal, alarmed, and his spark wrenches at the sight. He wants to comfort you. He needs to comfort you. But he can’t, not while he’s making a show of this in order to prove he isn’t someone to be messed with. So despite how disgusted he is with taking advantage of your fear, despite how this makes him feel like a little piece of Deadlock is rising from the grave, he goes through with his decision and decides that if he wants to keep you protected, he needs to scare the other mech off…even if you are scared shitless too.

  He lets you go. Your high-pitched scream is abruptly cut off when you land in his intake and he quickly snaps his jaws shut. Slicking you up with solvent, he tilts his helm back and swallows you, swiftly, but gently. He makes sure the other mech can see you travel down his throat. You are nothing more than a little bulge that disappears into his chassis and is quickly consumed.

  The engineer stares. His mouth is open like he wants to say something, but no words come out.

  Drift licks his lips and continues growling, as loudly as he can. He watches the other mech’s helm lower, optics on the floor. Intimidated. Good.

  “Never come near me or my human again,” he says. “They’re mine. Do you hear me? Mine.”

  The challenger offers no protest. Drift pushes past him and leaves the library, not looking back.

  You have never seen this side of Drift before.

  When he swallows you, he is always careful with you. He takes things slow, allowing you to move along with his pace, giving you every opportunity to tell him no, you don’t want this right now.

  However, this case is entirely different. He didn’t even give you a chance to gather your bearings before he was tossing you into his mouth and gulping you down with a rushed sense of urgency. Oh, he was gentle. Of course he’s always going to be gentle with you. But after watching the way he interacted with that strange mech, who you know wanted to eat you just from the way he had been looking at you like a lion looks at a fresh piece of meat, you can understand why he’s being so quick. This is being done for your preservation.

  But god, that doesn’t mean this isn’t terrifying.

  Everything around you shakes as you are pushed deeper and deeper within him. His esophageal muscles are tight, the rolling sensation of being swallowed not as soothing as it should be. His growls ring in your ears and leave you feeling rattled. He sounds dangerous. He sounds like an animal.

  It scares you.

  When you make it to his stomach, you are practically shoved inside. There is no chance to catch your breath, no opportunity for you to nestle in and get comfortable. The walls move in to give you the tightest squeeze of your life. You are squished uncomfortably between living cables that pulse with the bright, possessive desire to never let you go. Every angle is taken up by him. All you can see is blue biolight. And all you can hear are his throaty rumbles.

  There is no end to it. Even when you feel his stomach gently sway with the rest of his body as he walks away, the organ only holds you closer, gurgling possessively. You feel like you are being told that you are his. Because you are.

  You should be consoled by this fact. But no such feeling comes to compete with the claustrophobic dread that fills you.

  Drift is fuming when he stomps back into his habsuite. He paces back and forth, then drags his chair back and sits in it with a heavy puff of exhaust. Tapping his digits against his desk, he imagines his fist grabbing that engineer by the back of the helm and smashing his faceplate into the nearest wall. How dare he? How dare he just waltz up to him and ask to taste his little one? The nerve of some bots!

  I’ll have to put in a word to Ultra Magnus, he thinks. That engineer should be dismissed. He shouldn’t even be on the Lost Light. Disgusting behavior like that should be punished. It has to-

  He hears a soft whimper. His digits halt their fidgeting. He looks down at his middle and has his internal sensors scan your little form. Your heart rate is through the roof. Your breathing is erratic and unsteady. And…oh no. Oh, no, no, no. You're trembling.

  He loosens his grip on you and gives you room to move. But when that doesn’t do the trick, he decides that keeping you in there while you are in this state will only distress you further. So he clenches his tank muscles again, and pushes you upward, back through his esophagus and into his mouth. He slips you into his servos with practiced ease, turning you gently so you are on your back. You are covered in his solvent, chest heaving as you look up at him. Then, to his horror, you turn away from him and curl up into a little ball. You are still shaking. His spark sinks.

  He gently deposits you onto his desk and fetches one of his fluffiest blankets to wrap you in. You don’t resist him. You just sit there, giving him those big sad eyes you have whenever you are scared.

  “Little one?” Drift whispers.

  You chirp softly and hide your face. He whines. “No, no, don’t do that.” He hooks his index digit under your chin and tilts your head up. “Look at me, little one. Please.”

  You're still so afraid. He realizes that his big act in front of the engineer really affected you. Guilt rises. There has to be a way to get through to you and show you that he’s still the gentle Drift you know.

  He leans forward, cupping you close. Lowering his helm to be at your level, Drift coos out the call you always make when you want his attention. “Hello,” he murmurs in the foreign tongue. “Hello. Hello, hello.”

  You perk up a little when he mimics your calls. Tentatively, you say it back. “…Hello.”

  Drift beams. “Hello, little one.” He ruffles your hair, chuckling when you lean into his touch. “I’m so sorry I scared you. I…I had to show him that you are mine. I don’t want anyone trying to take you from me. They could hurt you. And if that happens…I’ll never be able to live with myself.”

  You seem to understand that he’s asking for your forgiveness. Sighing, you shuffle forward and reach out, pressing your hands against his nose. You chirp; much of it is indecipherable. But then…you begin to speak. Not in your language. In Cybertronain.

  “Love you,” you say to him. “Love you…love you, Drift.”

  He doesn’t know when you learned it. But he knows it’s the first time you’ve said it. He is your first I love you.

  He can’t contain himself. Drift purrs louder, cuddling you. “I love you too, little one. I love you so, so much.”

  You like cuddles. You deserve them. Today was a rough day for both of you. But knowing you still trust him is relieving.  And he promises you…he swears to you, he will never allow anyone to try and threaten you again.

[tripleglitchwriting]

*phases in from behind you and chucks a cake at full speed*

Nobody is safe GET CAKED!

*runs away*

I open my mouth really wide like Shaggy snd Scooby Doo when they eat a comically large sandwich. I swallow it whole. Your move, cake anon.

[tripleglitchwriting]

Kinesthesis (Part 2)

Jazz/Prowl/HumanReader first contact AU

Part 1

Warnings: Kind of robogore

An idiot would go toward the burning pieces of metal that just fell out of the sky. Of course, you were already halfway there, being the most outstanding idiot ever born. Curse the empathy that boiled in your heart for the people trapped in an imaginary crashed plane. You hoped it was imaginary at least. Really you just hoped this was all some very realistic nightmare.

As you got closer, the smoke in the sky died down. Whatever was up there had probably crashed somewhere else by now. Probably somewhere halfway around the globe if you had to guess.

It was both strange and reliving to see there was no fire burning around the crash site. Though, it was hard to tell what crashed even without a blazing inferno blocking your view. Whatever it was it was metal, white, and… leaking something? It was a strange bright blue liquid, like radioactive cool-aid or something. Oh god, was this thing radioactive?

Well, if it was you were screwed anyway. Might as well figure out what happened before you had heart palpitations or whatever radiation poisoning does to the human body. However, as you got closer, three things became evident.

1. It was definitely not a plane crash.

2. There were actually two giant metal things, not one.

3. Holy shit that’s a giant hand.

It would’ve been smart to run then. You didn’t. The whole ‘most outstanding idiot ever born’ thing became apparent when it finally clicked that the giant metal hand was attached to a giant metal body. Two giant metal bodies. They were pretty far apart, and as a result that blue liquid pooled somewhere in the middle of them.

It was almost hypnotizing how bright it was. You almost forgot how terrified you were. It was so enrapturing you nearly jumped out of your skin when one of the robots (?) made a sputtering noise. It seemed to just be some kind of mechanism that failed in one of them, since more liquid came spraying out. They were both “bleeding” pretty bad, actually. They weren’t alive though. Right? You didn’t see how they could be.

Still, if it wasn’t a plane crash, where the hell did these things come from anyway? Other than the sky.

Hah. Giant robots from the sky. Definitely more entertaining than camping. They didn’t pose any immediate danger, you supposed, maybe if you fixed them up you could prove once and for all your skill in mechanics was all you need. Technically you were sent out here to build something with little resources, why not take advantage of this unexpected opportunity? Your mother would have her mind blown when she saw what you’d done.

On the exhausting jog back to the campsite in order to get your tools, the events you witnessed kept playing back in your mind. Things appearing out of nowhere, black smoke covering the sky, random explosions happening. You were probably in shock, all things considered. There had to be some long lasting mental impacts of all that. But as you arrived at your destination and grabbed everything you could carry, it looked like you’d just have to have trauma and fix up the sky robots.

—————————

The world skidded to a halt. Darkness draped over Prowl like a veil over a mourning widow. Though he wasn’t exactly conscious, so the concept of darkness was lost on him. When the bot was fading out, he didn’t expect to wake up again. Which is why he was so surprised when he did.

Prowl’s energon levels were still incredibly low. Most of his senses were offline. But, despite being close to death, his condition wasn’t getting worse. Had the rest of the Autobots found him? Had the Deceptions found him?

Luckily, it wasn’t long before his optics came back online. His vision was considerably worse than before, with him only being able to make out blurry shapes, light, and colors, but it was better than the black abyss. The ringing in his audials was replaced with a sharp high pitched screaming sound followed by silence. Silence was nice. He liked silence. Why did he feel like it shouldn’t be silent?

Trying his best to run back through his memory to deduce what had happened, Prowl quickly came to the realization he had no idea where Jazz was. Usually he’d be thrilled that Jazz had finally shut his mouth for a bit, but in this situation it only made his spark sink.

He tried to turn his helm to look to the side. After an agonizing second, he succeeded! He couldn’t make out much of anything, but at least he could accomplish slight movement. Though, when he did finally process the blur of shapes ahead of him, he couldn’t quite tell if the moving figure he saw was real or not.

Either way it looked like they were still in the same place they crashed on, so being found by a fellow cybertronian was most likely out of the question.

Any sensors he had to detect foreign creatures were completely offline, so he just had to hope hallucinations were normal when faced with life threatening injuries. He did find the weird warbling noise it made concerning though. Did hallucinations make noise?

Apparently now was not the time to find out, because another definitely not hallucinated noise reached him. The creaking of metal, the groaning of someone in pain, the voice of a friend. Jazz.

“P- p- pr- — -at hap—ned? St- — -sis en—ed e- ea—-ly. E- e- ner- g—n sta— b— le.” Prowl tried to respond, but whatever came out didn’t even begin to resemble a voice. Another high pitched screech assaulted his sensors. A glitch probably. Hopefully.

However, if he did understand what Jazz was saying, they were both experiencing the same thing. They were alive and not leaking energon anymore. There were no mechanical life signs on this planet when they first reached it before the battle, maybe the Arc had faulty scanners…? How could they be even slightly repaired while on a planet with no sentient life?

…unless?

———

Prowl always overthought things. That’s was Jazz made fun of him for anyway. The guy had backup plans for his backup plans, complete with an additional plan C, D, and E just for good measure. But now, missing an arm, most of his energon, and any sort of communication with the outside world, he wished he had those plans.

When Jazz came back online he immediately mustered up the strength to try and contact Prowl, but all he got was a garbled choking sound in response. Strange they were both awake in the first place, Jazz thought, why exit stasis in a state like this? He wasn’t losing anymore energon, had somebody patched him up?

Even with his newfound conciseness, his optics were still out of order. And he was pretty much immobile. Oh, but look, his pain receptors were coming back online. Very helpful. Luckily it didn’t hurt as much as he thought it would. Usually getting a limb removed would hurt a lot more. He would know, this isn’t even the third time he’s lost that arm!

Even with his prior experience with pain and such, he’d be the first to admit the next thing he felt was strange. There was a small but warm touch on his still-attached arm. From what he had no idea, but at least it didn’t feel threatening. It was soft. Probably because they were on an organic planet. That would mean whatever was touching him had to be alive. And it was making noise! Really it was unlike anything he’d ever heard. It was smooth and rounded, no bite to it at all. He wished Prowl would talk like that once and awhile.

Scrap, Prowl. He never actually responded.

“D- do y- — -u rea- m- -e? G- gi— me a s- s- s- ign ‘ere P- r- — -ler!”

“S— -ill f- f- unc— ti- ning.” Jazz instinctually tried to ex-vent in relief, but it mostly came out as hacking coughs.

“H-haha! B- b- arl—y.”

“Y- ‘re o- ne to -alk.” During their brief ‘conversation’, both bots heard something strange from somewhere around them. It was a mix of the screeching Prowl heard and the soft noise Jazz heard. Now it was clear enough for both of them to hear. Actually, it was even clearer to Jazz. Almost like… a language.

“D- do y—u h- — -ar t- th- -t?”

“T- h’s is n- n- n- no ti- m -e to wo- -r- y a- bou- c- cre- t- ure c- ca- — -ls.”

“I- it’s m- mo’e t- th- han a c- ca- — -l. It… I- I t- thi- nk it’s t- tal—in’.”

“I- Imposs- ible.”

“Hello? Is ————— there? Anyone there at all? Please, there’s s————g wrong here, these- these ——t metal robots appeared out of the sky and, and I know it s—-nds crazy, I —ow, but if you c— hear me, please get he— — fast as you can. Please.” Jazz definitely heard a voice from those distant noises.

“I- it IS a l—angu—ge!”

“W- wh — t in t- he P- Pi - t are y- yo - u t—king ab- — -t?”

“Wait, who said that? Who’s there?”

“D- do—‘t y- yo-u h- h- ear i- it P- Pro- — -ler?!” Despite his damaged systems, something managed to come through unscathed. Something Prowl never bothered to implement.

“I- it- ‘s a- an a- ani- mal, Ja- — -z. Y- you- r p- pro- ces- sor…. dam- m- m- aged.”

“It can’t be… you? You, are you talking?” The voice asked.

“My p—cess—or -s f- in- e.” He said to Prowl, quickly turning his attention to this strange new person. “D- di- — -ou s- sav- -us, l- lit- le g- guy?”

“It is you… a- are you talking to me?”

“I- ‘s ‘ere an- n- yon- -e el- -s- -e a- a roun- d?”

“W- wh- o a- re y- yo u tal-“

“It’s just me… and the other robot.” The voice paused. “I can’t do this. I- I’ve gotten in over my head. This is insane! This is insane. I need to go.”

“W- — -ait!” Jazz shouted louder than he thought he could. “W- we n- n- ne — d h- hel —p. Y- yo- u stop- pe — th- the e’erg- gon, r- rig- ht?”

“J- Jaz-z, you’ —e hu- rt. P- pl- eas-“ Prowl attempted to cut in.

“Well, I did try and patch up the holes, I got the liquid to stop, but you- you’re alive, and- and talking to me! Mostly.”

“T- th- at’s w- wh- y we n- nee- d h- he — p. Ple- — -se h- he-lp u- us.”

“I can see that you’re hurt, but I don’t even know what you are, even if I tried I don’t know if I could… fix anything.” Again, the voice contemplated. “But I can make an attempt… if it means saving lives.”

“T- th- ank y- you.” After Jazz stopped talking and the noises Prowl heard subsided, his mind was left spinning after what he’d just witnessed. Well, ‘witness’ was a bit of an overstatement considering he could hardly see, but that didn’t staunch his flow of worry for Jazz. Talking to himself- or that noise- there had to be something wrong with his head. He couldn’t lose Jazz now. Not like this.

Not too long after it had gone silent, he felt a strange sensation on his torso. It was soft and warm, two things he disliked, but this touch was different. It was small and tender, almost afraid.

“I’m going to start with you, okay?”

More of those noises.

“T- th- at’s P- Pro - l. P- P- ro- — -l. Pro- wl.”

“Prowl?”

“Y- ye- s.”

“Alright then Prowl, you’re first.” He didn’t have the energy to keep asking Jazz who he was talking to. They both needed to conserve energy. For Prowl that was getting harder with the pitter patter he was feeling. “So… can you talk, Prowl?”

“H- he -an… jus’ w- wo-‘t.”

“W- wh- t? Y- ou- ta — lkin- g a- bo- ut me?”

“—ou r- re- eall- y c- ca- — -t un- d- der—and t- th-em?”

“A- are you talking to, um, him? I- you know I’ll stop… um, interrupting.”

“Y- yo- ‘re da- da- dama - g- ed!” While Jazz fully believed he was completely fine mentally, it was weird Prowl couldn’t hear what the little voice was saying. It could be something with languages, even if they didn’t detect any sentient life on the planet doesn’t mean there was none, so maybe- wait. Wait… oh. Oh Prowl, that stubborn idiot.

“D- d- id y- yo- u t- tak- e Jack- ie’s u- uni- v- — -sal t- tran-ator t- hing— y?”

“W- wh- at? N- no. N- not i- if h- e m- mad- e i-it. Ja—z yo-u n- nee- t-o r-res… t.” Of course Prowl didn’t take it. Even Ratchet took it! But that stubborn ass didn’t.

“I- d- id. I- it a- acti- va- ted o- on i- it’s o- own. I- I c- can un- erstan- d t- the c- calls. Y- yo- u c- can’t.”

“T- th- at isn’t-“

“C- ca- n i- it, t- t- tin c- an. Li- list—n. The- y s- sai-d they— hel- lp u- us. L- let t- the- m.”

“I’m… going to get to work.” Prowl, in fatigued frustration, didn’t reply. He was mostly focused on the small weight on his chassis. It was crawling up to his helm.

He was unable to move- to stop it, scrap, he could be killed right here and now and-

It stopped. Right in front of a terrible gash just near his neck cabling. Whatever was on him slowly put its weight down, slowly getting closer. His already overworked spark began to beat faster.

And yet, he could feel the wound being… sealed. It had been kind of sealed prior, but this time it was being properly healed, not haphazardly patched. If this kept up, he might even get full use of his voice box back sooner rather than later. While Prowl’s trust was thin, and he would prefer if no strange creatures jumped on his body, he didn’t have any other choice.

Hopefully Jazz knew what he was talking about. This was Prowl’s rock bottom… and he could hardly see the way up.

[tripleglitchwriting]

I just read some of my recently acquired transformers comics and it feels like they are physically taking up space in my brain.

[tripleglitchwriting]

How are you doing? I’m still tired.

Oh. Well, I’m doing fine, thank you. He seems caught off guard that you asked him such a genuine question.

Still tired, are we? Hm… He looks left for right for a moment before dropping to a crouch and plucking you up. Gently this time, though. Then, you’re slowly lifted over to the white, downy feathers of his collar, and placed inside.

I’ve been told my feathers are a… comfortable spot, for you humans. Perhaps you could get some rest there.

Not for a minute longer than it takes for you to get fully rested up, however.

[tripleglitchwriting]

I made some ocs/designs for my bros :]

In order from how they're sent, their names are Razorback, Rollout, Lexicon, and unknown for now lol

@callsign-relic @fiber-optic-alligator @tripleglitchwriting @ikkosu

[tripleglitchwriting]

Note: i am @highvoltageparis I accidentally reblogged this to the wrong account lmao

Tag someone who your inspired by!!!

@strawberry-sundaee @invadergia

[tripleglitchwriting]

Kinesthesis (Part 1)

Set in the same universe as Ignition and Combustion!

Part 2

I am working if requests I promise I just wanted to write something else along with them.

Synopsis: As the Arc crashes down to Earth, Jazz and Prowl are left without escape pods. Stranded on an unknown planet and gravely injured, the two seem lost… if it weren’t for a curious mechanic going to see what all the smoke coming from the sky was.

Warnings: Robogore I guess? Not too descriptive yet.

When the ship was hit, Jazz and Prowl were already on deck and preparing a counterattack. They’d tried everything to cloak the ship from the Decepticons, but unfortunately they failed. One good shot to the Arcs main thrusters and it was starting to look like game over. Luckily that desperate shot gave Prowl a great opportunity to strike back. He landed a near perfect hit on the Nemesis before Optimus ordered a retreat.

Most of the crew were heading toward the escape pods per protocol, which was just fine by Prowl, but the damage to the Arc was severe. Severe enough that without somebody staying behind to keep it flying for a little longer, nobody would make it out with their sparks intact. Now, Prowl was never one to go against orders, especially not from Optimus, but there were little other options he had. As third in command it was his obligation to do everything in his power to save the lives of his crew.

Jazz knew that too. He just wasn’t a hardass.

“Heya Prowler, got cherself in a tangle here, eh?”

“This is not the time for jokes!” He snapped.

“Hey, hey, no joking here. I know what you’re tryin’ to do. And I’m gonna help ya.”

“No, I can keep the Arc up for long enough-”

“Cool it hothead, I’m second in command, remember? You take orders for me. And I say I’m helpin’”

“What about Optim-“

“He’s helpin’ the rest escape. I’m sure he plans to do this himself if we don’t take the wheel.” The ship trembled around them. “I’ll take the thrusters, you protect the pods.”

Prowl mumbled something under his breath.

“What was that?”

“Please stop cutting me off.” With that the Arc began its final decent. From the windows Prowl watched as escape pods flew out of the ship one by one. He did everything he could to prevent his friends from being turned into scrap midair. In seconds the number of pods still in danger trickled out. Warning signs flashed on every screen in the room, but neither paid much mind. As long as their cause continued, dying here wasn’t so bad, right?

Fate had other plans, though.

As the thrusters finally lost power and the ship began to rapidly descend to the planet below, Prowl and Jazz watched as each system went down one by one. Life support: offline, shields: offline, warp core: offline, escape pods… offline. They could only hope the rest made it out okay.

The fact a stray shot from what they assumed to be the Nemesis was hurtling towards them wasn’t really ideal. Neither bot had the time to react before the entire room was engulfed in flame. The windows shattered from the force, sending everything inside out into the atmosphere, including Prowl and Jazz.

——————————

The Arc was gone. Gone as in nobody knew where it was at least, which might as well be nowhere at all considering this planet was entirely alien. Actually, where was this planet? Where were they? Wait… who’s they? What’s a planet…? Wait, no, wait- what?

Jazz was running dangerously low on energon. And his left arm, apparently. That was definitely gone. His optics were offline for the time being, as were most of his senses. Luckily that included pain! Unluckily, he could be literally anywhere right now. And so could the rest of the crew…. and Prowl.

Prowl landed hard upon a canopy of trees that immediately gave under his weight. He couldn’t hear much outside of the ringing in his audials. Maybe that was lucky, maybe he wasn’t actually falling through trees on a faraway planet. Maybe he was getting chewed out by Jazz for being stupid, or tuning out Swerve for being Swerve.

…Deep down he knew that was wrong. He should be dead. Maybe he was. Maybe death was better than whatever going on now.

No. No, that was the cowards way out. Get up, Prowl, open your optics. One step at a time. You’re a soldier, you’re a commander. This is no time to be sitting around and- HACK — his body lurched as he spit up energon.

Alright, ok, slower then.

He could feel his entire frame creak. Slowly his optics sparked to life. The world was dim and glitchy. Objects around him moved in ways nothing should ever move. He wished Ratchet were there. He wished anyone were there. Wasn’t there somebody else that was supposed to be there?

“Prowler?” A weak but familiar voice sounded from somewhere far, far away. Or was it very close? It was hard to tell. “P- Prowler, my optics- are you there?”

“Jazz…” He replied almost unconsciously. “A- a- affirmative.” Most of his professor was screaming system failure, warning him of what he already suspected. He couldn’t see Jazz, not in his immediate line of sight, but knowing he was there was comforting. Knowing he was there for the end.

“W- we need h- help, com’on, we n- nee-”

“It’s o- okay. I- it’ll be okay, J- Jazz.” It wasn’t often Prowl was willing to talk so openly to others. Not about how he really felt at the moment. But who was around to witness this anyway? Who would be there to see his vulnerability? Rules, regulations, laws, sanctions, they didn’t matter anymore. His job was done now, right? He’d done well?

“B- big talk for a b- bot that soun’s l- like a g- g- glitch ‘ouse.”

“Haha. F- funny.”

“We must b- be in b- b- big trouble if t- the mighty Prowl is l- laughin’.”

Warning: System failure imminent

“W- we m- must be j- just f- fine if you c- can still crack j- jokes.”

Stasis mode will activate in 5…

“G- got me t- there, P- Prowl- ler.”

4…

“…W- who gave you p’mission to c- call me Pr- Prowler…”

3…

“A- ah, there’s t- the tightass I kn- know.”

2…

“Y- you’re r- really g- going to go out like t- th- this, J- Jazz?”

1…

“N- no b- better way, Prowl- Prowl- Prowler.”

Initiating stasis…

“Goodnight.”

“G- Goodnight…”

Procedure successful.

——————————————

Camping. Frankly, you hated it. It sucked! It all sucked. You’d much rather be back in the garage working on whatever project you had going on at the time. Cars were your specialty, though you chose to believe you could fix anything if enough effort was put into it. Unfortunately, out here in the middle of NOWHERE, you were out of luck when it came to machinery.

It was still bright out when you went to set up your tent. A beautiful, clear sky. You picked some random clearing near a small stream to lay your things down. While camping wasn’t your strong suit, building definitely was. That’s why you were even doing this in the first place- “no better teacher than experience”, your mother told you. You didn’t see what kind of mechanical experience you’d gain from this bullshit, but you also knew better than to question her.

Whether you wanted to be here or not, time still kept marching forward, and you wanted to save every bit of daylight you could before the forest got too dark to traverse. It took about an hour to get your campsite set up enough to be livable. You were expected to do much before time was up, but you had a couple days to complete that. Ugh, days. You had to spend days out here.

The sky darkened a little earlier than you expected. Sunset was in an hour, yet the perfect blue you’d been enjoying before was slowly being dimmed. When you looked up you saw black clouds. The kind that roll over the sky when a thunderstorm happens. The forecast didn’t call for rain, and even if it did it’s not like you weren’t prepared, but those were definitely no good omen.

A strange, low droning noise became more apparent the darker the sky got. You were trying to ignore it before, maybe the forest just made that sound sometimes. But no, when you looked up, you could make out something else strange.

Those clouds were coming from… nowhere, it seemed. Like two very very very tiny planes were producing enough smoke to cover the sun like a volcano.

Then it got weirder.

Strange little black things begun to jet out from thin air. They went in all different directions, some producing smoke themselves. You finally came to your senses when something up there definitely exploded. Whatever the hell was happening in the sky was not normal and you were not going to be in a random forest when the apocalypse or whatever came. More sounds crashed above, each getting louder by the second. While most of the black things were headed far from your location, you didn’t want to be there when one landed.

The campsite was left abandoned. Your legs felt like someone put them through a taffy puller. Your brain was so focused on getting back to civilization you didn’t notice the glaring issue right above your head.

Well, it was less glaring and more hurtling. Hurtling towards you. From the sky.

Needless to say, you were not very happy when the ground shook and a shockwave of dirt and ash blew past you. You were surprised there wasn’t a crater or a forest fire or something. No, instead there was… well you were too far to see, but it was strange. White metal, maybe.

A terrifying thought passed through your panic stricken head. Somebody could be over there. Maybe it was a plane crash, maybe people were dying, or- or worse! Whatever you were witnessing wasn’t normal, obviously, but hell if you were going to sit on your ass while (assumed) people were in danger.

You just hoped that instinct was right, because most of your other senses told you to hightail it out of there. Suddenly, camping didn’t sound too bad.

[tripleglitchwriting]

A couple times in rescue bots this happened. Mostly with Kade wanting to drive Heatwave in the first few episodes. There’s also the time they almost died from a space disease that made them unable to do anything but be a car.

To be fair rescue bots is a show meant for small children so it’s not like they’re going to go too in depth about it.

To answer the question, I would think it’s more like being piloted. Like someone is triggering your movements without your input. The interpretation of that relationship relies on the bot.

My friend is into transformers

[tripleglitchwriting]

Hello! I hope you are doing well! If you still have slots for requests at the time you see this, would you be okay with writing a scenario situated where a mech visits some sort of Cybertronian street fair or market where they discover humans being sold as pets in pretty horrible conditions, and obviously this mech sees that the poor things are being treated terribly, so they decide to buy and save one? Could or could not involve vore, it’s all up to your preference! I just love fearplay scenarios so so much which involve good intentions but obvious hindrances like a language barrier that prevents the two parties involved from understanding each other.

I hope you are doing well! Take care of yourself, and have a great night/day! :D🐊

GATOR!!!! Thank you for requesting!! It took me a while to think of which bot to choose for this prompt, but after we've spoken about some ideas together I've chosen Rodimus :) I hope you enjoy!!

Warnings: SFW, Tasty AU, Vore, GN!Human!Reader

The Interastral Market became somewhat of a goldmine of false advertisement. Long ago, during Cybertron's golden era, it was an event where alien cultures of all kinds could gather on Cybertron and share their wares. Sure, it was a bit of a tourist trap with all their severely overpriced goods, but even the locals had to admit it was fun to at least window shop.

But nowadays, it was nothing more than the stomping grounds for seedy salesmechs and their more often than not illegal product, obtained typically through distasteful means.

So, of course Rodimus just had to check the place out for himself.

The orange plated bot strolled through the dimly lit street fair as if he were passing through any other shopping district. Hands tucked behind his helm as he whistled a tune-- some song that got stuck in his processor which he couldn't bother to remember the name of. He was more concerned with the stalls, chock full exotic products.

Each stall Rodimus passed by had stranger things than the last. His processor could hardly imagine where you could find these things, much less use them to make something out of them. But as he walks past one particular stall, something makes him slow down and double take, coming to a stop.

Slowly, the captain reverses his steps until he’s facing the stall once again, shifting to move towards it. Another Cybertronian seemed to be running it— yellow, purple, and based on the grin on his face, sleazy. The stockier bot shakes a patron’s hand eagerly, handing something off into their servos.

“A pleasure doing business with you, a pleasure!!” He beams, waving the other bot off. “I’m sure you’ll give it a great home!”

Rodimus doesn’t turn around in time to see just what the other bot was walking away with. His helm swivels back to the stall, about to ask just what was being sold, until his question is answered for him the moment he shifts his gaze down. There’s a large container taking the majority of the stall counter, leaving space only for a Shanix register. The walls of the see-through container are high, but still low enough for a mech to easily reach their arm into. No, it was just high enough to safely store away the little creatures within it.

Hardly taller than one of Rodimus’ own digits, there was a group of… well, Rodimus wasn’t even sure what to call them. They had similar anatomy to Cybertronians, standing on two feet with two arms, a torso and a head, but that’s where the similarities seemed to end. They were tiny, fleshy things, no hard outer shell or plating to be seen. Their helms were covered in this long, fluffy substance, and their frames covered in what looked to be pieces of fabric. They all varied in color, though nothing like a bot’s paint job.

“Interested in my product, sir?” A purring voice pulls Rodimus from his ogling, and he raises his helm to meet the salesbot. The purple mech’s grin never leaves his face, even as Rodimus takes a moment to gather his thoughts.

“Oh, yeah,” Rodimus replies, his gaze returning to the container of creatures scattered throughout below. “What are these things…?”

“Well, I’m glad you’ve asked!” The salesmech steps out from behind the register and over to the container, surveying the contents. The creatures’ heads were all turned up, eyes wide as some tried to hide under the fake foliage planted throughout, and others shrinking themselves to the far corners and walls. The purple mech wiggled his digits, playing a game of eeny-meeny-miny-moe in his head before his servo swoops down to pluck one of the little creatures up and out.

That’s where Rodimus finally makes eye contact with you.

A small, shivering thing— staring wide eyed at the captain, too terrified to even dare move. Rodimus can hear the salesmech prattle on about details— how your kind are a poor, endangered race, and how he was just trying to do the right thing and give you helpless creatures good homes. But as the mech’s blue optics took in every last inch of you…

He knew he needed to save you.

“…mister?” Once again, the salesmech pulls Rodimus back to reality. The captain stammers for a moment, trying to play it off.

“Uh, yeah, sorry,” he shifts his weight to one hip, tilting his head like he was lost, “Could you repeat that last part?”

“Oh, no worries, my friend— these little ‘humans’ are quite the enigma,” the purple mech waves it off. “I was just saying that these creatures don’t seem to be finding many owners on Cybertron, what with how organics can be so off putting to some mechs. After today, I was actually planning to go off-planet, perhaps find some other distant organic planet to give these humans a home…”

“Oh…” Rodimus hums, a twinge of disappointment in his voice.

Sniffing those feelings out and following the trail like a turbofox, the salesmech stifles a smirk. “‘Oh’? Well, what’s the matter? Did you maybe want to buy one? Make sure the fragile thing is given a safe, loving home?”

The honey in his voice only drags Rodimus in deeper. He looks at you in the other mech’s hands, your little eyes not breaking contact with him. He knew he probably shouldn’t take up another responsibility when he already has such big plans, but just look at you…

“…how much?” Rodimus concedes, and the salesmech practically bursts with how much his smile beams.

“I’m very happy for you, sir, you are making the right decision!” He’s already heading towards the register, placing you in unfamiliar yellow servos. The orange mech fumbles you a little, and you clings desperately to his digits. You chirp out a symphony of high pitched little noises, sounds Rodimus’ audials had never once heard before.

“Hey, uh, is it supposed to be making that sound?” He asks, and the purple mech merely laughs, typing away at the register.

“It’s just a little anxious, that’s all. Any low-sentience creature would be during such quick changes,” he dismisses it, and all the captain can do is take his word for it. The register beeps, a number popping up on the digital screen. “That’ll be ten thousand Shanix.”

“Sure, sure— wait, how much?!” Rodimus’ optics nearly bulge out of their sockets.

The salesmech merely clasps his hands together, drooping his shoulders and heaving a disappointed little sigh. “A lot of work goes into maintaining these creatures, sir, I’m sure you understand— even more so into acquiring them.”

“‘Acquiring’?” The orange plated mech quirks an optical ridge up, his own suspicions raising.

“Why, yes! Taking them from their previous, dangerous environments.” The salesmech raises his hands in placation, “i had mentioned these humans were an endangered species before, no? Part of that is due to the fact that they are highly sought after. And that is due to their taste.”

Rodimus expression shifts, like he’s left with more questions than he had started with. The purple mech notices this, and continues. “Let me explain. These creatures may be alive, yes, but they are no more sentient than a mechanimal— and that’s being generous. It was discovered that they all have an irresistible taste, especially to inorganic creatures such as ourselves, and that’s what caused every mech to want to get their hands on one and, well… why you can find so little of them nowadays.” Noticing that Rodimus’ expression hasn’t changed, the salesmech adds, “Ah, but don’t fret! They enjoy it, the little things. Being tasted makes them happy, gives them purposes, makes them feel fulfilled— that sort of thing, you know?”

The captain looks down at you in his servos. Clinging to his long digit, crouching down to stay hidden from the salesmech’s view. Poor thing. He couldn’t just leave you to get bought up by any other mech… or, was it organics who liked you more? The captain wasn’t too sure, he couldn’t remember the story quite right. But whatever it was, Rodimus just knew he couldn’t leave you alone.

But he also didn’t have that much Shanix to spare…

“So, it’s a deal, then?” The salesmech grins, reaching over the register and extending his servo. Rodimus stares down at his offered hand for a moment, flicking his gaze between it and you. He takes a breath.

“Sorry, little buddy. Hold on.”

Faster than you can process, the captain turns on his heel and bolts in the opposite direction. A rush of energy surges through Rodimus as he dashes away with you in tow, ignoring the salesmech’s cries as they get more distant and quiet the farther he runs.

He can hear your little squeaks as you’re thrown around in his hand, and the captain only hopes you’ll forgive him once he’s far away enough to slow down. All you can do is close your eyes and hope the nausea goes away.

The lights of the street market disappear into the background, and after taking a sharp turn into a small alley, Rodimus can’t hear the clamor anymore. Good, he must have shaken him off. Immediately, he’s raising you to his face, brushing your hair out of your eyes with the tip of his finger.

“Hey, that wasn’t so bad, was it?” He offers a little grin, trying to soothe you. But he sees your panic, the way your chest puffs up and down, and his brows furrow. “Hey, hey,” he whispers, hushing down quieter for you, “it’s okay. You’re safe now, alright?”

You calm down a little, but it’s not enough. Rodimus looks at you, trying to think of what could help you…

Wait… what was it that the salesmech said you liked, again?

With the tip of his digit, Rodimus carefully turns your head to face him. He smiles again, softer this time. “Shhh, sshhh… it’s alright,” he murmurs. “Hey. I’m gonna be going on a trip soon. We’re gonna have a cool, big ship, and travel the stars to find our ancestors.” He extends his free hand to illustrate his words, flaring out his fingers like a freshly made galaxy. “I want you to be a part of it. Much better than some cramped little container, huh?” His enthusiasm must be contagious, cause despite your previous panic, the captain could swear you even seem to be smiling too. If only a little bit. “So, what do you say? Wanna make something of it?”

There’s a pause after his last sentence, as if he’s waiting for you to respond. You merely look up at him, still shaking a little.

Right, right. Rodimus knew just what to do.

Just then, you’re raised up to the white plating of his lips. Your chirps suddenly pick up in volume and frequency— that must have been a good sign! That salesmech said you enjoyed this, right? Those were happy chirps, even as he opened his maw and gently tossed you inside.

Suddenly, alien flavors practically burst onto the captain’s taste receptors. It was an indescribable feeling, more flavorful than even the most refined glass of high grade. Gently rolling you around this way and that, hearing the faintest sound of your happy little squeaks, Rodimus finally understood. He knew just what that purple mech had meant by you tasting good.

It was almost too good to be true. You enjoy yourself in his intake, meanwhile Rodimus got to taste something as delicious as you for as long as he wanted. Well, he wasn’t going to take a gift for granted— as long as you enjoyed it, he would too. Peeking out from the alley way, Rodimus makes sure the coast is clear before he starts on his way.

He had a pitch to make to Cybertron, after all, and a new ship crew to gather.

[tripleglitchwriting]

Tarn when he wakes up again looking bleary eyed in abject misery at the reader with a hidious ache in his head. his host came in and stole his blankets and foisted a small bottle of Gatorade into his trembling hands.

"Drink this and go take as cold a shower as you can stand." His host told him with an implacable sternness. At Tarn's abjectly pathetic wimper they softened fractionally. Maybe. It was realy hard to tell. "It will help. The class of pain killers you can take after drinking shouldn't be taken on an empty stomach. There will be food that theoretically should sit well on your stomach. Then I'm going to answer some of the questions you asked last night. Get moving. Your bedding needs to go into the wash."

Tarn couldn’t recall asking questions. In fact he couldn’t particularly recall most of the previous night. "What-" he snarled then winced. "What did you do to me?!" He demanded in a much quieter voice. It did not come out plantive. It was a threat. It was.

"What I did last night, in spite of your best efforts, was keep you from dying of alcohol poisoning." His host sounded quietly furious. "While I gathered from your disjointed rambling Energex and High Grade hold analagous social functions to alcohol they do not have analagous physical effects or metabolisms. We're going to explore what those are. Including what a constitutes a serving of various categories alcoholic beverages and why of all of them, the burbon I spent three quarters of last night trying to get off of you is the single worst thing to get absolutely wasted out of your mind on. Not just of what's in my house but overall peroid." Tarn slunk to the shower forcibly reminded of quieter version of Nickel.

Tarn ends up absolutely horrified when he realizes what a serving single serving was vs what he drank in a body that has no built up tolerance.

Eating egs and toast and drinking ORS as he has organic chemistry and biochemistry thrust upon him.

TONIGHT WE HAVE BEEN FED‼️‼️‼️‼️ THANK YOU BOOKWYRM‼️‼️‼️

I think this would absolutely happen. Him blaming the reader for it is magnificent. And reader explaining to him exactly what is happening and what they’re going to be next? Magical.

[tripleglitchwriting]

Whatever kind of drunk tiny Tarn is, Reader will have to deal with hungover Tarn. Cause if Tarn's accidentally geting Drunk treating alcohol like high-grade, there's a good chance he's going to get white girl wasted. As a Mech he had quite a high tolerance both from being huge and being a substance user. In his fleshy body, not so much. Picture Reader has half of a handle of rum or bourbon they keep on hand for medicinal/culinary purposes. Tarn ends up drinking most of it. Poor bastard feels like death warmed over from once the puking starts to when the hangover clears out.

This is a very sad pathetic wet cat who thinks he's dying and has limited recall of what happened the previous evening.

Oh buddy, he’s gonna be so confused. Going from “I can’t believe you idiots drink this for fun” to “I can’t believe this body is to weak” to “what do you mean I can’t drink the whole thing why is it even there”.

Reader is very calming trying to explain it, but he is puking his guts out and cannot hear them. He is so incredibly frustrated that he doesn’t even have the energy to express it, so he just lays down without saying anything and just passes out again.