paladinofthepits

[paladinofthepits]

The familiar hiss of those seeking, prehensile limbs sets him in motion, recollection of their capabilities fresh in his processor. Lunging away, pivoting to face his opponent, the silvery mech manages to evade being snared, crouching down to launch into his next attack.

A pause.

The floor between and beneath them gleams with energon, a canvas of their violent artistry. Much of it belongs to him, but a quick cut of optics reveals the most recent addition to Soundwave's own injuries is more than superficial. He scowls, hesitating.

Megatron knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that Soundwave would press on, and while his own instincts and desires urged for him to do the same, there came the voice of reason to argue that causing any further damage to a bot so invaluable to their cause was foolhardy at best.

Yet, a match so glorious deserved an equally glorious end...

Removing all signs of displeasure from his countenance, the Decepticon ruler lurches forward, arm raised in a diagonal strike. His other limb lifts high across his chest, poised to guard vulnerable seams along his neck... while leaving midsection wide open.

The theatrical end of any battle is usually drenched in energon. While Soundwave did jam knife's tip into Megatron's exposed throat, victory did not tide into his mind. Instinctual protocols fought over his loyal piety ( survival, beckoning ) to drive the blade through and claim his trophy at the podium.

Any and all intrusive thoughts were discarded the moment he was, back armor squealing over steel floors before he caught a groove to hinge into, counter-balancing back onto his heels. The Communications Officer remains low, near stalking in gait when he manages his center gravity.

Before experience could pilot Soundwave's next move, his leader wasted no time to close the gap between them in a brutal execution of a freed blade aimed right to him.

He cuts hard, diving beneath the other at the cost of the blade slicing into a broad shoulder plate, near slashing his Decepti-insignia right through. Fuel wells into the fresh incision and its wetness is the only sensation Soundwave feels before he whipping his cables at Megatron from somewhere behind him, aiming for purchase on a hip, or a leg, anything to dismount him.

[paladinofthepits]

Megatron sneers, disapproving, down at his unruly progeny. A pause stretches between them, the last of the pyrotechnics fizzling and popping out before he deigns to speak.

"While I can certainly appreciate the lengths you've gone to in order to spite me, I feel as though this has gone on long enough."

A narrowed gaze sweeps the ruin caused by his petty display, and the tyrant wonders idly how many more ships the little menace could afford to destroy in the name of mockery. Such a waste of resources.

Optics snapping back to said menace, he drawls, "I suppose there is no point in asking you to make this easy for the both of us?"

His patience was nearing its end, and the warlord had far more pressing matters to attend to than chasing his ungrateful heir to different reaches of the universe. Yet, while an immediate and (semi) peaceful surrender would have been preferred, he had a distinct feeling this would not be the outcome. Furthermore, Megatron would have been lying if he tried to claim that the idea of roughing the little nuisance up hadn't crossed his processor several times as of late.

[baby, you're a firework]

[closed starter for @paladinofthepits]

Mutiny couldn't say how he was feeling. 600 years of peace, and he had already decided, long ago, if Daddy dearest managed to track him down, he was going to be a massive, irritating bitch about it.

He liked to think he had succeeded on that point. The great Lord Megatron had to be seething right about now. Three ships in, and he knew the kid gloves were about to come off, but he couldn't be bothered to care.

The best case scenario was Dad let it all go and let him do what he wanted.

There was no such thing as a 'best case scenario' when it came to Lord Megatron, leader of the Decepticons.

So.

Here he was, loading up the bazooka, jamming in the missile in the chamber as he half-hummed, half-whistled some song from Earth about fireworks or something like that under his breath, a bit of a pep in his step as he took careful aim through the sights at the third ship he had 'borrowed', in-vent, ex-vent, and then--

The rocket sailed through the air right as the timer went off, the loud, high-pitched whistle making the audials ring, and the ship blew sky-high, triggering the fireworks that sprayed out PRESENT #3, GET IT TOGETHER, DAD! in the air. Parts and frag sprayed all over the valley he'd planted it in, smoke rising, and he grinned.

"Boom, boom, boom," he said, and tossed the bazooka to the side, before he turned around, and--

Ah. He really didn't look any different after 600 years, he thought.

"How many ships do I have to blow up before I get my housewarming presents, Dad?" he asked, cocking a hip and tilting his helm, entirely unrepentant, because Megatron showing up to loom behind him still wasn't a jumpscare.

Ah... He'd have to at least put up a little bit of a fight.

[paladinofthepits]

The rigidity in his frame melts slowly as the scene unfolds, shock at the older mech's brazen display replaced by amusement. Other soldiers rush in to join the scuffle that ensues, the prisoner seemingly too much for a pair of them to handle. As he's hauled away, cussing and fighting all the while, the Decepticon figurehead ensures to meet his optics, scarred derma quirking in a crooked grin.

Interesting.

I dare you to kiss @paladinofthepits!

Kup was knelt down on both his knees at the pedes of the seated warlord, both servos bound behind his back - an electric staff pointed directly into the small of his backstrut - electricity sparking at the end of the stave.

"Kiss the ring," Starscream ordered from the sidelines.

The Wrecker didn't budge. He kept his defiant gaze locked on that of Megatron's.

"Kiss the ring, Autobot scum!" the second in command hissed again as the prod sent a jolt of electricity coursing up his strut.

The Wrecker still didn't follow the order. Instead, he rose to his pedes before placing a searing kiss to the mech's dermas - and then immediately spitting on the floor.

With that, he was tackled as shocked mercilessly as a duo of guards sprang onto the mech to haul is writhing frame off - as Starscream's pointed laughter was soon filling up the room.

[paladinofthepits]

Drawing away with a snarling groan, hellfire optics widen as delicious agony rakes over nerve circuitry. Wicked lips - spackled with mingled energon - pull into a debauched smirk as words dripping with desperation and abhorrence reach through the haze of his lust.

Megatron tries to pry the claws embedded into his sides away, though not without a measure of difficulty. The blue seeker fights to keep hold, wrenching yet another moan from his vocalizer. Finally he pulls those grasping digits up and out of his armor, pushing them aside and dropping to a single knee. His weight rattles the ship, spearing points of his own menacing servos wrapping determinedly about their targets, one over the curve of a hip, pressing, holding steady, the other under a thigh. He lifts minutely, angling it away, creating space for his hulking frame to press in close to the apex of those powerful legs.

Like the rumble that precedes a volcanic eruption, hunger escapes in the form of a deep growl, wide chest vibrating, steam hissing through slim vents. The warlord's optics snap upward, capturing the matching red gaze that peers down at him. His tone brokers no room for arguement.

"Open."

If he closes his optics, he can pretend this is someone else who has made him feel this way. If he just won't look, he can replace the image of the silvery warlord with anyone of his choosing, and maybe that would enable him to survive the shame that he is undoubtedly going to feel after this is said and done. Maybe, just maybe, Dreadwing can pretend enough to justify what he's doing.

Stealing glances through slitted, frustrated optics, the Seeker's engines whirr from somewhere in his frame, the fans in his ribs kicking on and discarding heat. He can pretend, but he knows who this is.

Dreadwing growls softly. Both hands reach up under Megatron's arms, as if you draw him closer, only for the sharp tips of his claws to jam into shining silver armor. Using all of the formidable strength in his massive hands, the Seeker drags them down the warmonger's back, making metal scream in a piercing cacophony of horrid noise. If he is going to do this, then he will make certain that the King of Decepticons feels the pain of his presence for a long time coming.

"Do something," he pants, claws still embedded in Megatron's ribs. "before I change my mind."

[paladinofthepits]

-> Currently owe a BUNCH of replies, so I will continue to pluck away at those tonight, along with some of the art asks you lovely folks sent me.

[paladinofthepits]

He glanced over at his Spymaster, smiling when the mech tilted his visor in the affirmative.

"I certainly hope you weren't expecting to wound me with words."

His optics narrow, grin turning cruel. "Perhaps the next attempt to create worthwhile offspring will produce better results. Yet... if I find myself disappointed again, I'll just discard them as well. I have all the necessary resources to simply keep trying until one of you gets it right."

He shifts, servo lifting to pull up the visual Soundwave was sending. A small dot blipped on a map, coordinates scrolling across the bottom of the panel.

"Regardless... you have two options. Come to heel, and cease this ridiculous act of rebellion. Or die by my own servo. I'll be seeing you very soon, Mutiny. Do try to 'make up your mind' quickly."

Without further warning, the line of communication is cut.

"I mean, I'll take your word for it. You are definitely the expert in being disappointed by the outcome of every decision you've ever made, so I don't know why you thought this was going to be any different," Mutiny said lazily, and then paused.

"Still. Thrilled to make it into the pile of disappointments in the great Lord Megatron's life. There sure are a lot of things here to keep me company. Feels nice. Fulfilling. Homey, even."

He knew he was playing with fire right now, but, alas, if he had ever learned anything from his father, it was to never, ever quit when he was ahead, so daddy dearest could just cope with it, and Mutiny could regret it when the consequences caught up with him.

[paladinofthepits]

He huffs, shearing denta grinding at the flippant admittance. Long enough to make up his mind? Perhaps the misguided whelp truly was holding onto some kind of hope... Or maybe he was just lazy. Megatron didn't know which was worse.

"All this time and you still haven't decided? Pitiful. You truly are a disappointment in every sense of the word. Had you turned out the way I envisioned, you'd be half way here by now, ready to snuff my spark."

"For all you know, I'm relieved because I haven't decided if I want to bother with doing it myself or not," Mutiny replied, flat, feeling some kind of pressure building his optics. "I'd love it if you stayed alive long enough for me to make up my mind. Big life decision, you know. Patricide. Can't make it on a whim."

Idly, he wondered if Megatron's temper got better or worse in the past 600 years. He supposed he was about to find out.

[paladinofthepits]

"I expected you to be far more disappointed," came the gravelly drawl.

A cruel, distasteful sneer pinches his features. "Don't tell me you've held onto some misplaced sense of attachment? I thought I'd been thorough enough to strip you of that weakness, at the very least "

"... Oh. So, you're not dead yet."

It's delivered in such a monotone that it's entirely unclear how he feels about that.

[paladinofthepits]

Been a while, Big M.

It certainly had. Though time and distance did nothing to erase that voice from his processor.

A studious sweep of hellish optics peruses the owner of the daring statement. Damaged lips parting, he acknowledges, "You still function, Jazz."

The mech was - had been - an unknown for much of the war, oft being lead by his own personal inclinations. He held a level of respect for the bot for that very reason. It was what saved him now from Megatron's wrath at the overfamiliar address.

Yet, while such behaviors could prove advantageous to him, they could also be troublesome. The very reason Jazz was never to be fully trusted.

Still... he'd sought the warlord out. Now, to deduce the reason.

"For what purpose do you seek audience with me?"

[paladinofthepits]

[ continued from here ]

@the-wondrous-flyboy

Watching the entire spectacle unfold was mildly amusing. He'd known, of course, that the flyer was being disingenuous, and getting to watch him squirm as he was exposed was entertaining enough to take the edge off of his displeasure.

Still...

"I've yet to dismiss you," the tyrant cut in, watching the other mech's digits drop from Flyboy's collar before he hastily hurried back. A single, measured step was all it took to regain the space between them, and he reached out with a wickedly clawed servo, motions deliberately slow so he could savour the look of growing panic.

Gripping him firmly by the throat, Megatron lifted the smaller bot to optic level. He waited for the other's frantic kicks to cease, their struggling to subside as fearful acceptance took hold.

Satisfied he'd scared the younger mech enough for one cycle, he rumbled - tone tinged with dangerous promise, "If you ever lie to me again, I'll have your voicebox."

He said nothing more, letting the threat sink in. There were plenty of other ways to deliver reports, after all. Claws release the hold they have on his subordinate's neck, red stare following the sleek frame as it slips into a heap at his pedes.

Attention returns to the bot that had come to collect him.

"Dismissed."

[paladinofthepits]

A rakish smirk curves one side of his derma.

"Particularly when it's spitting venom into my audial through a stiffled moan..."

Your Most Beautiful Feature

[paladinofthepits]

Scarred mouth pulling in such a way that it should clearly read 'I don't buy it', Megatron shifted his grip, claws now fully cupping a squirming shoulder. Giving the pauldron a warning squeeze, the warlord drawls, "If that is indeed the case, I suggest you hastily make amends. While your... services are of value to me, you should know by now I am rather creative in doling out punishment to those who disrupt operations."

Everything about the flyer's reactions bespoke a primal kind of fear, the sheer level of it simultaneously thrilling him and tamping his urge to maim. Knowing he was suffering in his own way seemed suitable punishment enough, for now.

The silence that follows seems to suck the air from the vicinity, the atmosphere suddenly stifling. Finally he releases the fidgeting mech, denta gnashing as he further threatens, "If you have not corrected your error within the cycle, I will devise your discipline myself."

A single step draws the towering mech alongside the seeker, stare cutting as he gauges the other's cagey motions. Drawing himself to his full height, Megatron waits until the bot has garnered his courage enough to meet his gaze, then speaks again.

"Do I make myself clear?"

[troublemakers do it best] @the-wondrous-flyboy

"Oh," he said, warning sirens going off in his head as he froze on the spot. "Don't mind me. Just-- Lost, aha. Thought it was a lift! Pardon me, just gonna--"

Yep. Not dealing with that. Magivoke did an abrupt about-face and prepared to slink off, because he was not about to put himself in more bots' crosshairs he couldn't afford to offend this time.

A clawed servo shoots out, hooking the ring of the retreating mech's collar plating before he can get too far.

"And what mess, pray tell, have you gotten yourself into this time?"

The sonorous command brokered no room for questioning, filling the quiet of the otherwise empty hallway like a roll of distant thunder. Hellish optics pin the mech with the weight of his expectancy as Megatron exits his habsuite.

There was a brief pause, the seeker no doubt trying to devise an answer that will cause the least upset. "Do not attempt to palliate your offense... I recognize that slink."

[paladinofthepits]

[troublemakers do it best] @the-wondrous-flyboy

"Oh," he said, warning sirens going off in his head as he froze on the spot. "Don't mind me. Just-- Lost, aha. Thought it was a lift! Pardon me, just gonna--"

Yep. Not dealing with that. Magivoke did an abrupt about-face and prepared to slink off, because he was not about to put himself in more bots' crosshairs he couldn't afford to offend this time.

A clawed servo shoots out, hooking the ring of the retreating mech's collar plating before he can get too far.

"And what mess, pray tell, have you gotten yourself into this time?"

The sonorous command brokered no room for questioning, filling the quiet of the otherwise empty hallway like a roll of distant thunder. Hellish optics pin the mech with the weight of his expectancy as Megatron exits his habsuite.

There was a brief pause, the seeker no doubt trying to devise an answer that will cause the least upset. "Do not attempt to palliate your offense... I recognize that slink."

[paladinofthepits]

-> To anyone I have a thread with, I just want to take this time to say a few things:

If you EVER lose interest in a thread/feel like it has nowhere to go, please don't feel guilty about telling me as much. I want our threads to be mutually enjoyable, and sometimes we lose interest or things just taper off. That's okay, and I will never be upset over that.

Likewise, if I ever feel that way, please rest assured that I will reach out. I would rather be honest than leave someone hanging, and it isn't as though we can't think up something new and fun.

If you don't see a reply from me for a while, it's likely that I have you in my drafts, and I'm just waiting for the time/inspiration. But you can absolutely message me to ask if you think I may have lost a response somewhere in the depths of my tumblr notifications. That is also a possibility.

At the moment, these are the responses I believe I owe, so if you DON'T see your name on there, shoot me a msg... Everyone else should have a response if the thread is active.

@honor-cxde X2 - Naja and Cliff

@viciousbite - Naja

@dollofiacon X2 - KO and Jackie

I'll try to get to these within the next couple of days before I leave for vacation!! I'll still be lurking, just not sure how much time I'll get while I'm on my trip. 😘

[paladinofthepits]

He'd expected a fight, so when the powerful seeker wrenched himself free and maneuvered to face him, Megatron was ready. Bracing, the silver mech awaited his vehement denial in the form of fists and venemous words. He had not, however, been prepared for the force of Dreadwing's admittance.

A burning mouth claimed his in a kiss that could only be described as punishing, denta wicked as his own adding to the patchwork of scars that decorated his lips. There was so much anger in the pressure of those derma, though whether it was anger at himself or Megatron, the ex gladiator couldn't decide.

Still... anger or not, it was the approval he'd been waiting for.

Recovering from the initial shock, his servos reached out, gripping, pulling him closer, as though trying to meld their frames together. Victory tasted like energon shared between the seeking press of their glossa, both battling for dominance.

He rattled out a low growl, a desire long dormant stoked by the pain, and further ignited by the stimulating visual Dreadwing presented. To see one so stoic in such a state of disarray stirred his spike further, plating now uncomfortably snug.

But not yet... no. Megatron wanted him moaning, pleading.

Dreadwing can't help the wince as his captor slams his fist into the wall with intense force. Before he can yell at him to stop doing damage to his ship, Megatron already has his jaw and has jerked his head to the side. Pain lights up along his neck at the extreme twist; the Seeker grits his bared teeth and glares at the warlord from the corner of one blazing red optic.

"Do not speak to me of honour. You know nothing of the word," Dreadwing snarls, his voice deep in his own throat. "I--"

They're damn near eye-to-eye. Despite having no visible pupils, it's very clear that the former commander is glowering fiercely. The entire ventral surface of Megatron's frame is pressed against his back, pressing, suffocating -- -- alluring.

Claws bracing on the wall, Dreadwing pushes to give himself just a little space to work with. With a tuck of both wings, folding them down so that the trailing edges overlap, he shoves and turns in one motion, grunting as his back now clanks against the vessel wall. Does he deny it?

Lunging forward, there's a clatter of hard armor plates crashing against one another as he seizes the gladiator's mouth with his own. There is no softness in the kiss; there is none left in him for the mech in his presence. Instead, he kisses with teeth, driven, determined to make the warmonger bleed.

[paladinofthepits]

Courtesans were marked in a variety of ways throughout their lives, the brands serving as indictators for a number of things:

//SENIORITY//

Unmarked courtesans were newly forged, and had yet to gain mastery of any skillset. Some clients preferred them, as they were considered 'purer'.

At one millenia, courtesans gain a mark to the inside of their optics, signifying their experience and longevity. Sadly, a long-lived courtesan was not overly common. Most never make it to their third millenia.

//SKILL MASTERY//

Courtesans who were trained in vocal skillsets only gain their mark when they achieve a mastery of their craft. They are not permitted to be used for oral servicing.

Likewise, courtesans who were trained in instrumental skillsets only gain their mark once they have perfected the art of playing one or more instruments.

Courtesans trained as dancers can select from a variety of genres, many of which are required to receive contortionist modifications. All contortionists are dancers, but not all dancers are contortionists.

//MODIFICATIONS//

The chin mark specifies that a courtesan has received interface array modifications. Standard equipment consists of a spike and valve, to be used independently or simultaneously. Those with modifications will have two of the same - two valves or two spikes.

A mark on the lower lip specifies there have been modifications done to either intake or glossa, or both. Multiple glossa and lengthened glossa are the most common.

The line that runs from the side of the helm across the cheek horizontally indicates contortion modifications. These bots specialize in extreme poses and are more heavily reinforced than their counterparts, as they generally attract clientele who aim to be rough.

[paladinofthepits]

Since we're on the topic of asses...... had to do it.... She'll break your spark and crush your helm between these bad boys.

I inadvertently started the snatched waist shenanigans a lil while back, so hoping this will inpire some booty body positivity, and that the dash will be flooded with aft pics ♡

No need to make it a contest, because we all know Megatron has everyone beat. And besides... all afts are beautiful. Slender, shapely, big, and small! And I will hype up every single aft I see on my dash. So lemme see em!