#(blurr's hand doesn't count)

[tstain-is-an-idiot]

IM NEVER PUTTING THIS MUCH EFFORT INTO A SHITPOST EVER AGAIN (lie)

[dustbunny105]

Title: Looking Good Fandom: Transformers G1 (vaguely Sunbow) Ship: Arcee/Moonracer Word Count: 1479 Rating: G Summary: Arcee misunderstands Moonracer's intentions, so Moonracer makes them more plain. A/N: For "G1; Moonracer and Arcee; target locked" at @fembot-prompts and I'm using it to mark "Arcee" on my bingo card. Man, this was a pain o write. You ever get so fixated on a single point of dialogue that the rest of a scene or story becomes blurry? Yeah, that was this. But, hey, it's written now! While you’re here, consider donating to Care for Gaza.

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Blurr and Hot Rod are looking pretty put out for a couple of bots who've got Arcee smiling and laughing with them. If they're not going to appreciate the attention, Moonracer thinks, they could get out of the way for someone who will. She's been waiting for five minutes to be that someone.

Which, okay. It's not actually all that long of a wait, she can admit, certainly not in the grand scheme of a Cybertronian's lifespan. But the two weeks until her next deployment isn't all that long either and she was here first. Sort of. Almost. Arcee had been in Moonracer's sights, walking along the expanse of her position on the edge of the construction zone at the perfect angle to be casually bumped into. With that to focus on, how was she supposed to have noticed the other two before they launched themselves out of their alt modes and crowded Arcee with low, excited whispers? Why were they even in the construction zone? Not for the same reason as Moonracer, surely…

Before the possibility can make her too anxious, Blurr and Hot Rod finally take whatever hint Arcee has been giving them. Exchanging a few last words that make Arcee laugh again and shake a friendly fist, they throw themselves back into their alt modes and hurry away, not without Arcee calling after them to mind how they drove.

This is Moonracer's chance.

She doesn't drive or even run but she does make her way more quickly this time, just in case. Not so quick as to not look casual. Of course, that's probably shot anyway, since there's no way Arcee didn't notice her hanging around and staring at stacks of building materials for the last five minutes and she knows Moonracer isn't on the construction crew. Yeah, probably best not to sabotage herself by taking too long for no reason, actually. Moonracer breaks into a jog to cover the last few meters between them.

"Arcee, good morning!" she calls as she comes close.

"'Morning, Moonracer," Arcee says. There's a teasing edge to the warm tone of her voice, something knowing that makes Moonracer almost understand why Blurr and Hot Rod might've been put out. "What brings you out this way?"

"Oh, you know," says Moonracer. "Just passing by." She feels unaccountably shy under the twinkling of those optics that seem to be staring through her own, right down into her spark. She cycles cool air over her rapidly heating internals and rallies herself; looks Arcee once-over and says, "You're looking good today."

Arcee blurts out a laugh, her hand chasing her mouth as she throws her head back with the force of it. Not exactly what Moonracer had been going for. Her plating goes flat against her protoform and she can feel her own smile fall away.

"Guard duty must really look good on me," Arcee says once her outburst has passed, polite affection laced with amusement. "You're not the first person to say that to me today." Her smile twitches into a grin and she leans close as if to share a secret. "You're not going to be the first person I let use the construction zone as an obstacle course either." One of her optics flashes in a wink. "Sorry, 'Racer. You might still catch the other two, not that I know anything about--"

Moonracer's jaw drops open and a gasp jumps into the air between them. It's all she can do to keep her fans from spinning up in response to a flash of mortification, immediate and hot in her circuits.

"I would never--" she starts, stopping herself with a thoughtful look towards the construction equipment. "Well, actually, I guess--" She gives her head a quick shake and, not able to keep from pouting, insists, "But I'm not!"

Arcee looks at her with her mouth rounded into a little o, the sparkle of laughter gone from her optics. She looks, at least, as if Moonracer's sincerity has made some kind of impression on her. But she also looks puzzled and Moonracer feels herself deflate a little under her scrutiny, gentle as it is. Still unable to reconfigure her face out of its childish expression, she looks sharply aside. She's probably not doing anything to raise herself in Arcee's esteem right now-- especially grating now that she knows that she apparently doesn't rate very high to begin with-- but that just makes her pout harder.

It's only about ten seconds of silence before Moonracer can't take it anymore, though. She glances quickly back at Arcee, then away again, and says, "I just wanted to tell you that you look good today."

"Thank you," Arcee says slowly. Moonracer risks another glance and finds Arcee looking down at herself. This close, Moonracer notices the light scratches and faint scuffs that Arcee either hadn't had time or hadn't taken time to buff out before her shift. Arcee runs a finger over one of the more prominent ones, high on a forearm guard, and when she meets Moonracer's optics this time, she's the one who looks uncertain. "I haven't… done anything, though?"

Maybe this whole fiasco can still be salvaged. Confidence boosted now that she's not the only one off her guard, Moonracer stands up straight and makes her plating relax and says with a smile, "Yeah, I know. It's just that I always think you look good."

Arcee resets her optics over another little o. Then that little o stretches out into a smile and there's laughter in her voice when she asks, "Are you trying to flirt with me, Moonracer?"

"Trying!?" Moonracer sputters. Her engines lets off a series of indignant hiccups when that makes Arcee outright laugh again-- not cruelly or incredulously, though, and Moonracer holds tight to that. "I am flirting! And if you'd stop laughing at me, I'd be asking you for a date by now!"

"Sorry, sorry," Arcee says, though the laughter is still there in her optics. "It's just-- while I'm on duty?"

"Well, it's the only time I can ever find you without your team," Moonracer says in a huff, followed by a subvocal mutter of, "usually." Her lips actually twitch up at the little huff of laughter that gets. "So, um. What do you think? I haven't got a shift today. After yours, maybe we can drive out to the lake together? I don't know if you've seen Earth's sunsets yet…?"

"I have," Arcee says. "They're beautiful." Her smile this time is soft and curious and she looks like she's seeing something else now when she looks at Moonracer, right through her own optics and into her spark. "I would love to see one with you."

"Great!" Moonracer says in a high enough pitch that she'd be embarrassed if she weren't spending so much of her energy being elated. "I'll pick you up at shift's end. Oh, or do you need to…?"

"No, I'm free then," Arcee says. She brushes away dust from the side of her helm and adds coyly, "As long as you really do think I look fine as I am, anyway."

"Of course," Moonracer says, practically vibrating. Distantly, she's aware that this is the perfect opportunity for a few good lines but her mind is already on the evening to come. Ugh-- she won't see Arcee again until evening. Not a long wait in the grand scheme of things-- she knows, she knows-- but, well. Without being too dramatic about it, how is she supposed to live until then? She has no shift or appointments or anything else to occupy her mind. She's got nothing to do but wallow and obsess--

"Until then," says Arcee, her expression knowing, "you might spend some time out on the far edge of the city ground, where they haven't cleared for working on."

Moonracer tips her head at that and asks, "Why? Is there something going on that way?"

Arcee shrugs, all too casual, and says, "Oh, no-- nothing I know about, at least."

It takes a second for Moonracer to connect the dots. Then even when she does, she hesitates. Arcee just looks back at her, still affectionate, still curious, her hand still up beside her helm, putting that scuff on her forearm on full display. Moonracer spares a second to consider that maybe there'd been something she hadn't seen either, when she'd looked earlier into Arcee's optics-- only a second, though, and then she's folded down into her alt and peeling out towards the ends of Autobot City's bounds.

"Careful!" Arcee calls like she means the way she's driving.

"Always am!" Moonracer calls back. She thinks she might hear Arcee laugh again but it's not like anyone who really knows is there to correct her. Besides, of course she'll be careful (at least within reason). No way is she doing anything that'll cost her this date!

[bulletproofscales]

get used to the fuse - chapter 12

hii its been so long, (￣▽￣*)ゞ sorry these past months have been crazy for me, but i havent forgotten about my baby! heres the continuation! the next chapter will be the final end of this fic!! so stay tuned (´ ε ` )♡

tags: namgi , gainer min yoongi , obese min yoongi , limited mobility , stuffing , teasing , humiliation , revelations , falling over , breaking furtniture (kinda) , tension , weight gain denial , kink talk

5.9k words

AO3 LINK

It was easy to force this day deep down his memory. Forgetting it, as if it never had happened. Presumably no one knew what Namjoon had done in those changing rooms and he won’t give it a lot of space in his mind to ponder about it. 

Maybe that's why it's easy to turn the rest of that evening with Hoseok into a blurr. Everything said becoming just a haze of side-eyed glances, swallowed burps and suffocating gym clothes. 

That’s probably why he is a bit startled when he gets Yoongi’s text. 

yoongi: are you busy tonight? 

yoongi: we have to talk

He can’t help lift his eyebrows as he reads the message. What would Yoongi possibly have anything to talk with him? 

you: sure! 

yoongi: great i��ll go to yours

yoongi: is 7 okay? 

you: i’ll see you then 

And when he sends it. It does seem okay, really. But as the hours creep on through the rest of the day it's impossible to stop his mind from wandering. Namjoon is sure he can count with one hand the times Yoongi has actively asked to see him, let alone ‘talk’? There’s nothing to talk about. They've been friends for decades now with a perfect record. 

Namjoon isn’t as nervous as he is just plain curious. He knows Yoongi through and through, after all. Though… When the doorbell rings, around 7, like they agreed, the man Namjoon sees at the door is nearly unrecognisable. 

Once lithe, almost frail looking Yoongi, had the width of almost Namjoon’s doorway. Round all the way, gut jutting forward pillowy but massive as it sagged over the waistband of his pants, nearly hiding his crotch entirely. Pink underbelly peeking from his shirt, table-cloth-sized shirt unable to cover all of it. Quite the contrary, it clung to the swollen protruding belly. The rolls that stacked on his sides from his juicy love handles all the way to the roll under his arm looked squeezed by the fabric. Thick along his waist and becoming bigger as they collected some of the fat from his newfound moobs; saggy and obscene-looking. Namjoon didn’t have to look to assume all that fat spilling to the sides, pushing Yoongi’s fattened tubby arms away from his torso, was probably showing as girthy back rolls behind him. 

Namjoon has to remind himself that Yoongi had a head, looking up to the steam dumpling shaped pudgy face. He’s having a hard time deciphering if this is just his normal tired looking face, or if all the fat hanging from his cheeks and under his jaw is making all that much more poutier and cute.

“You texted first!” He can’t help but beam. If his voice sounds just a little squeakier it has nothing to do with the nerves he was struck with. Abruptly moving to the side to make room for Yoongi to come in. Luckily he doesn't think much of Namjoon’s enthusiastic tone, smiling a bit as he waddled his way in. 

“Don’t make such a fuss about it or it won’t happen again.” His voice sounds so breathless, and as he walks past Namjoon the older’s girth truly becomes noticeable. In a way Namjoon is glad Yoongi has had the spare key all these years… He is not sure they would’ve fit in the elevator. Still through the shock of his own thoughts, he can tell Yoongi is doing that thing where he brushes Namjoon off instead of letting himself feel flustered over a comment. 

But he knows by now, even if he likes to pretend not to, Yoongi loves the reassurance. 

“Let me celebrate at least a little.” Even if he’s the one speaking, Yoongi’s deep breathing resonates through the living room as he lazily makes his way towards the couch. Ungracefully letting his weight fall onto it. Namjoon is sure he can see the pillows and springs underneath them dent into the shape of his wide ass; if the loud creak is anything to go by. “Anything to drink?” He would’ve offered anyway… Namjoon is pretty sure he would've. But Yoongi’s subtle wheezing is encouraging to say the least. 

“Any whiskey?” 

“So it's that type of night.” Namjoon can’t help but snort. And Yoongi chuckles right back, even if he is sitting, the laugh alone makes his fat ripple. That on its own enough to force Namjoon to turn on his heel towards the kitchen. “You know I do.” 

“You can have some whiskey for your celebration.” Namjoon hears him as he gets the two whiskey glasses and his bottle. “Don’t let it get to your head, though. I had to invite myself over before you invited me to Hoseok’s, to work out.” 

He giggles then, Yoongi’s underlying melodrama never ceases to amaze him. But returning to the living room with an adorable looking out on his lips. Namjoon knows it's serious. Though he can’t help his endeared smile from staying on his face, dimpling his cheeks. “Where did you get that idea?” 

“Who do you think?” Yoongi’s unamused tone is even funnier as Namjoon hands him a glass. “He won’t leave me alone!”  His eyes bulge out, and his pout becomes even bigger in a way that's sickeningly endearing; the flip on Namjoon’s stomach definitely agrees. 

“Hobi hyung was always really intense about his lifestyle…” An apologetic smile grows on his face, and it's worth it for the scoff that makes Yoongi’s entire body ripple from the expressive movement. 

“It was never this… targeted.” He eyes Namjoon with a knowing look. Frightening but somehow relieving in its own way. Like he is allowed to talk about it. 

“Ah…” He finds himself nodding, maybe a bit nervously. Even with the acknowledgement, he doesn’t know how much Namjoon is allowed to say, to comment on. Maybe he doesn’t trust himself to do so accordingly. Luckily Yoongi goes on for him. 

“He treats me like I’m about to appear in one of those obese-people American shows!” He huffs sitting up straighter, entire body following the movement with jiggles. “I got fat, but he treats me like a ticking time bomb!” 

“Just fat?” Namjoon can’t help himself. Can’t stop himself before it's out and Yoongi is looking at him with widened eyes and ajar lips. His own face burning, brain fumbling over what to say.

“Last time I got a check up. Yes.” Yoongi’s tone is cautious. He raises his eyebrow in a way that tries to be threatening, but inevitably eases Namjoon’s nerves. “Watch yourself.” The squeaky laugh that slips past Namjoon’s chest feels like the pressure lifting from his chest; how he’s been holding his breath. 

“How long ago was that check up?” Feeling a little bit more comfortable he leans teasingly to ask. But gets weakly shoved back to his spot. 

“Long enough I already have my next appointment booked! Yah!” Namjoon’s body goes limp in laughter, letting himself fall against the armrest of the couch. “This is exactly why I came over.” He huffs quietly, shaking his head and taking a sip, but the little smile on his lips gives him away. It always does. 

“I just can’t blame Hoseok for worrying.” 

“It’s not just worrying.” Yoongi deadpans, looking a tad more serious than before. “I was always unfit, now I’m just unfit and fat.” Just fat, Namjoon’s mind prompts unhelpfully. “If he wants to fuss over anyone, why doesn’t he fuss over Jimin? He looks heavier than me.”

“I think he said something about Jimin going to his yoga classes.” He pursed his lips trying to think back to his last conversation with the gym instructor.  Only getting a ‘tsk’ in response from the older, taking a rather long sip of whiskey. “But wait, what do I have to do with any of this?” 

“Seok-ah keeps telling me you’re going, therefore I should go.” Namjoon snorts. “Or that I should talk to you and you’ll be able to tell me everything about how fucking amazing those classes are.” He can’t hold his laugh then.

“I went to two of his classes, like 2 months apart from one another.” And he looks at Yoongi’s reaction for his next confession. “And for the last one I ditched it 10 minutes in to drink a protein shake by the changing rooms and almost passed out.” 

Yoongi seems as stunned at Namjoon’s words as Namjoon is of having said them out loud. Gummy smile growing in his face alleviating some of the pressure of the suffocating silence. “Does he know?” 

“He’d have to be deluded to have not noticed.” 

“He is deluded.” Yoongi snorts entertained. “Acting like he is better than all of us while he chubs up.” 

All of us? 

Namjoon can’t help shift a bit uncomfortable, shrugging with pursed lips. “He is the fittest one of the group. That much is true.” His eyes scatter away from Yoongi’s raised eyebrow. “Some of us are just fitter…” The snort the older lets out is enough to make his head snap back towards Yoongi. “What?” 

“You’re not telling me you're fit, are you?” His tone is insultingly amused. 

“What's that tone supposed to mean?” Namjoon doesn’t need an argument to say to get defensive with. He can get defensive all on his own, thank you very much. 

“Right, because all fit people have little sneak outs to chug protein shakes after 10 minutes of exercise.” With an insane level of audacity Yoongi snorts. Shaking his head, Namjoon’s eyes dug daggers into the older “You were never fit, Joon-ah.” 

Their eyes meet then, warm and teasing against the younger’s glaringly defensive gaze. Namjoon remembers then, with a bit of horror, that Yoongi knows him just as thoroughly as he knows him. He feels naked, seen in places he doesn’t want to be seen. 

It feels like they aren’t just talking about fitness. 

“Guess you have a point.” Is all he can say, in an attempt to push the conversation elsewhere, his eyes look into his whiskey glass and take a sip himself. Ever perceptive, Yoongi seems to take a hint. 

“Where’s Jungkook?” He peeks a bit into the kitchen, not leaving the comfort of the couch of course. He seems to be denting it permanently. “Working out?” And okay, the teasing smile that grows in his adorably round face is kind of funny. 

“Pft.” Namjoon can’t help but smile back, warmth contagious as it spreads along his chest. “Don’t joke like that or he might take you to the gym with him, he did it to me.” Even with his joking tone, his eyes widened in warning. 

“Oh! So that's three times you went to the gym!” Yoongi chirps patting his back, with a squeaky laugh making his body shake lively. Only for Namjoon to roll his eyes and swat his hand away. “But seriously where is he?” His voice is a little breathless from the laughter, some reminiscent jiggling on his belly from it too. 

“He’s out with Tae-ah. Didn’t bother telling me where. Brat.” 

“So that's why it's so peaceful.” Yoongi seems to sink even further into the couch. 

“Is it? Maybe for you.” He deadpans and only gets a new wave of giggles out of the older. 

“Is Namjoonie feeling attacked?” Even with the sickeningly sweet tone of his voice, coated with sarcasm, there’s still no malice to his voice. Leaning closer to the younger, so his belly sags to the side of his lap, pliant and enticing. “I’ll stop with the comments, I’m sorry.” 

Taking the apology seriously would mean something was actually wrong. That something actually rang true. So Namjoon smiles charmingly, turning his head to Yoongi, whose face is closer than he anticipated. Without looking he can feel some of his overhang brushing his thigh. “Don’t worry about it. You can pay for dinner to make it up to me.” 

Yoongi smiles like he has something to say about that. But luckily he keeps it to himself. Smiling back, softer than before. “Deal.” 

“Wanna see the beats I’ve been working on?” That manages to knock Yoongi’s smile off his face into a stunned expression. 

“You’re producing again?!” He feels quite satisfied when that same shock manifests in Yoongi’s voice, low hanging jaw making his double chin ever more prominent. 

“I’ve got more free time than ever. Come.” He gets up decisively from the couch, and the same can’t be said about Yoongi. Who is looking at Namjoon almost pouting. Taking a big chunk of the couch unapologetically.

“Can’t you just bring your laptop over?” A smile grows on Namjoon’s face. 

“I switched to a PC a few months ago.” He still has his old laptop, but Yoongi doesn’t need to know that. Maybe he wants to see Yoongi move a little; for a completely different reason than Hoseok does. 

“Ah…” He smiles then, as if trying to brush it off. “It really has been a while since I texted first.” Namjoon's smile only becomes more pleased. “Okay then. You win.” He chuckles though leaning forward with his hand on the armrest of the couch. Grunting a little as his wobbly knees lift his body off the couch. 

Except he doesn’t. His ass lifts a bit before falling back down. 

The couch makes a dangerous creaky noise. 

Namjoon has to hide his stunned expression as his belly makes a loud slapping sound when it falls against his lap. Fat rippling from his belly to his cheeks. He won’t look at Namjoon, but he is sure Yongi can feel his eyes on him, looking down at the belly that takes over his lap, sagging between his thighs, and keeping him pinned to the couch. 

Maybe that's what motivates Namjoon to put his hand forward in a silent offering. Trying to keep the cockiness off his smile. Especially when Yoongi looks up and accepts it, beginning to swing again as Namjoon makes an effort to pull when Yoongi is leaning forward. 

Nothing could have prepared him for how heavy he was. Nearly slipping himself onto the couch too against Yoongi. Namjoon grunts a bit in effort, if he weren’t as focused on not falling into Yoongi, he would’ve been polite enough to try and conceal it. The older’s other hand gripping the couch’s armrest as another form of support as he finally stands up. Belly bumping into Namjoon’s. 

“That grunt was unnecessary.” He looks up at him, now the entire heft of his gut separating them. But the breathless tone of his voice and the hint of pink dusting his cheeks strips his words from any bite. 

“The grunt was unintentional.” Namjoon’s smile is kind but truthful. “You’re not that easy to manhandle anymore, huh?” He regrets his choice of words as soon as they come out. Manhandle? Really?! Luck must be on his side, since again Yoongi opts to not mention the information he knows about Namjoon’s…preferences. 

They were dumb teens back then, but if he could turn back time, he would’ve stopped them from sharing their kinks back when they were in highschool. Barely discovering their sexuality and the intricacies in their preferences. 

Manhandling, one of their shared interests. 

“Finally. Yeah.” Yoongi chuckles as he walks past Namjoon, side completely brushing the younger’s torso as he easily makes his way to Namjoon’s room. Even if he isn’t one to text first, Yoongi still has been here enough to know the place like the back of his hand. Hell, he helped Namjoon unpacked when he first moved!

And yes. From the back he can definitely see the back rolls he had anticipated. Though no level of preparation would have spared him from the impact of said rolls clinging to his shirt in a way that forces the hem up his love handles with each step. Milky soft skin, covered in pink stretch marks. Namjoon’s hands itch to trace them, if he hadn’t been taken aback by the wobbling of his ass and thighs. Striking him with the fact that even if his weight settled mostly on his belly, Yoongi had softened truly all over. Even the flabby back of his arms ripple with each heavy step. He is sure the neighbours can hear. 

Yoongi doesn’t ask to sit in Namjoon’s chair, rather groaning in relief at the sight of it, waiting for him. As all the younger can do is wince at the dangerous creak it lets out, much like the couch; except he doesn’t trust the 6 year old screws of the chair as much as he did the springs of the couch. 

“Show me.” Even if bossy, Yoongi’s face rounds out with a giddy gummy smile, chubby hand already taking the mouse and making his way through Namjoon’s computer like it's his own. It wouldn’t be like there's anything for him to hide… He deleted all his downloaded porn when Yoongi stumbled on it the first time when they were still barely beginning to meet each other. Real ice breaker. 

“Ah, in the FL Studio folder. Yah!” He chuckles a bit nervously, blushing for something completely different than the effects of Yoongi’s body on his perverted mind. “They’re really not that great, scrappy at bes-”

“Shut up.” He opens the first one. And Namjoon complies just in time for the first beat to play. Though it's unceremoniously interrupted by the growling of Yoongi’s stomach, a roar strong enough his fat wobbles along with it. As if to show truly how empty he is, needy for more. Yoongi pauses it then. “No, okay, I can’t appreciate them like this.”

“Dinner?” Namjoon guesses, his eyes still taking in the sight of Yoongi squeezed into his chair. Plump hips spilling from underneath the armrests, that dig into his side as well. Back looking too broad for the backrest, wide but gentle curve of his shoulders making him look softened but somehow sturdier than he was before. 

He has to rethink all of those manhandling fantasies that hunted him in his early 20s. And replace Yoongi as the main character from all of them. If anything, it looks like Yoongi would be the one heavy enough to pin Namjoon down. Nope, not going down that route, 

“Please, yes.” Namjoon is sure the older didn’t mean to be whiny, but demanding. But the permanent pout on his lips makes him giggle. “Just tell me what you’re craving so hyungie can buy your forgiveness.” “Oh I had already forgotten about that! Nice.” He reaches out into Jungkook’s room to look for his desk chair. Disappointed to find a normal dining table chair. Right, he changed it a few days ago… Something about needing a replacement. Better ‘lumbar support’, right. He walks back into the room with the stiff chair. He’s been avoiding these, Jungkook too, rather eating on the couch or in their rooms when the other is out. But it’ll do. 

“So?” 

“Honestly… I’m just craving dessert for dinner.” His smile is shy but Yoongi’s enthusiastic nodding. As the younger sits beside him, this chair is so uncomfortable. No wonder they stopped using them. 

“I was so worried about you being turned into a health freak by Seok, I ate dinner before coming. So you didn't over me like… a kale pancake or something.” He snorts. Looking for bakeries on his phone, before glancing up and down at Namjoon. “Now I know, I had nothing to worry about.” He says teasingly. 

“You never did.” Namjoon can’t help but say assertively, feeling particularly trapped in his chair. “I don’t eat meat, but I still have good taste.” But he makes sure to make his huffing more playful this time. Shifting uncomfortable in the sharp edges of the chair that dig into the back of his thighs. “What are you ordering anyway?” Yoongi eyes him, unconvinced of not only Namjoon’s defence, but his change of subject as well. 

“Trust me. I know what you like.” 

You know too much. He holds back from saying. Or worse. I know what you like too.

“There. Should arrive soon.” He puts his phone on the desk. Namjoon must’ve missed it when he took it from his back pocket, the struggle it must’ve been. Unless he was hiding it someplace else, in one of his folds. 

And he is already thinking about unrealistic expectations he got from porn. This is why Namjoon doesn’t trust himself around the subject. Too disgusted by his own carnal desires to even consider inflicting them on his friends. But his mind works against him. He forces himself to relax then, leaning back on the chair, trying to focus on the uncomfortable feeling of his chair rather than the twisting of the pit of his stomach.

“You know, we could’ve just gone to the kitchen and see what we find.” Namjoon’s dimpled smile tries to be easy-going, before it becomes teasing. “Instead of stopping everything we are doing until the delivery gets here.” 

“Oh I’m not standing up again.” His smile is wide but he shakes his head like he means it. “Unless you want to help me again; cause I’m pretty nestled in.” As if it wasn’t obvious enough, Yoongi’s hand grips onto the fat of his stomach moving it with a force that sends jiggles all across. The fat that's overspilling onto the armrest slapping against it at the same rhythm of his hands movements. 

Namjoon tries to disguise his choking as a cackle. “Suddenly, I don’t mind waiting.” He deadpans and feels accomplished when Yoongi giggles with him. Or at least, Yoongi looked convinced until his smile turned smug and satisfied.

“That’s what I thought.” 

Yoongi knows what he likes. His mind reminds him. Even this. 

“So who do you usually call to help you get up when you’re at home?” That was his attempt at a subject change. Though it's only once it leaves his lips, and Yoongi’s eyebrows go up to his hairline, he realises that he’s failed disastrously. 

“I don’t need help getting up.” Yoongi chuckles a bit, though Namjoon’s expression must be completely unconvinced. So he adds. “Not every time...” 

“What did you call yourself before?” His fingers scratch along his chin dramatically and teasing. “Just fat?” Okay, yes he’s definitely failed at trying to move away from the elephant in the room. 

The elephant that's sitting on his desk chair. 

“Enough!” He groans but Namjoon releases pressure in the form of a squeaky laugh, rubbing Yoongi’s shoulder apologetically. “It’s not like a doctor's opinion would change anything.” Its Namjoon’s turn to raise his eyebrows. 

“What do you mean?” 

“You know…” He shrugs, eyes avoiding Namjoon’s. “Even if he told me I was obese… I doubt I’d do anything about it.” 

Oh. 

“Oh…” It's all he can reply, dumbly. For better or worse, Yoongi takes this as an invitation to explain himself. 

“Yeah I can’t go back now.” He chuckles endeared towards Namjoon. “I don’t remember ever having enjoyed myself this much.” The chair creaks even more when Yoongi leans back to caress the centre of his stomach gently. 

Namjoon is at a loss of words. Not trusting himself he replies. “That great, huh?” Eyes diverting from Yoongi’s now gigantic hand up to the screen in front of them. His face is warming up, the room feels smaller and the fucking chair getting tighter by the second. Or that might just be the knot in his stomach. 

“You would know.” Yoongi eyes him with a knowing smirk, one that makes a lump form at the base of Namjoon’s throat. 

Is he talking about Namjoons fetish? Or something else?

He doesn’t get the time to ponder on it, since the doorbell rings. It doesn’t look like Yoongi will get up to get it. 

“Be right back.” He mumbles a bit lost in the older’s words. Getting up maybe a bit too abruptly from his chair, judging the way it creaks back and he nearly stumbles into his desk. On autopilot as he rushes to the door; only to be faced with a poor delivery guy trying to carry multiple bags into Namjoon’s apartment complex. It's instinctive when he reaches out to help. 

“Thanks big guy.” He smiles as Namjoon takes the bags into his hands. Too concentrated in not dropping anything to even react to the comment. The delivery guy gets on his bike rushing off. And only when he is on the elevator does he think about it again. 

Big guy?

He guesses the delivery guy was a bit scrawny… 

Yoongi’s groan can be heard as soon as he opens the door to his apartment. “Finally!” 

“Don’t be greedy!” Namjoon yells back, a little breathless; the bags were heavier than he expected. Huffing a bit as he walks into the room, where Yoongi took the courtesy of shifting the chair to face Namjoon, gummy smile bright on his face. It makes up for the exertion of getting the heavy order. 

“How much did you even buy?” He chuckles a bit, setting them in front of his computer. Yoongi looked through it immediately. 

“Dessert! You can save some for Jungkook if you want.” His chubby hands pull out boxed cupcakes, cake slices, nutella stuffed cookies. 

“Dessert is one way to call it.” He snorts a bit. “You bought their entire stock.” It's lighthearted teasing, and Yoongi for sure is aware of his own appetite. But he blushes pink. 

“Just didn’t want to go hungry.” Yoongi shrugs, rather focusing on the bags. There's something liberating about being able to openly tease, and seeing Yoongi’s reaction to him; because he knows. Namjoon had dreams like this. 

“Can you go hungry? You don’t let yourself even think about feeling it before you are ordering something” His eyebrow raises, and his chair gets promptly shoved to the side. Though Yoongi barely manages to move him an inch. His fat arms too weak to even push Namjoon. 

“I meant for the both of us, ass.” He rolls his eyes, but hands Namjoon the box of cupcakes. Chocolate ones, his favourite. 

“Yeah, but I have a normal appetite.” Namjoon says endearly but begins to unwrap the first one. Fluffy and perfectly moist with rich frosting on top. And it doesn’t disappoint, biting into it easily and the deep chocolate flavour takes over his senses. “I don’t need all this to stop my hunger.” He eyes Yoongi who’s gone for the red velvet cookies. 

“You don’t?” That question shouldn't sound as genuine as it does. With Yoongi’s raised eyebrow and muffled voice; red crumbs already dusting the corners of his lips. 

“No?” Namjoon’s own voice is muffled by a full bite of cupcake. His mind a mess trying to untangle the assumptions in Yoongi’s question. Namjoon’s always had more appetite than Yoongi, but it would be ridiculous to think that stayed the same throughout the older’s weight gain.

“Oh– Well I just thought…” Even with the awkwardness of his voice, Yoongi’s eyes trail up and down Namjoon’s body quickly. “Nevermind.” The chuckle sounds endeared, but nevertheless a tad embarrassed. It only leaves Namjoon in an impossibly more nervous state of mind. 

Maybe that's why his hand forces the next cupcake entirely in one go. Yoongi seems to resort to the same. Finding comfort in the rich chocolate taste, the cupcakes aren’t that big. And they’re too fluffy to be filling, in spite of the thick layer of frosting on top. That’s probably the reason why Namjoon feels so at ease working his way through it. But even with the choir of eating noises in the empty apartment, Namjoon still feels a need to ask. 

“What is it?” The six cupcakes are gone, he is licking his fingers clean of the frosting. Yoongi eyes the younger. But his hands are much more urgent than his, reaching for anything that he can shovel down his mouth in as little bites as possible. Right now it seems to be cookies and cream donut. Or well… Donuts the whole 6 pack of them. Grabbing two at once and squishing them together just to stretch his lips around them. Desperate to satiate his hunger in ways that are downright animalistic. Namjoon feels like he forgot his own question. 

“I don’t know… That you would use this entire Enhanced-boom for…” He shrugs vaguely. Now entirely avoiding Namjoon’s confused stare. “With your kink and all…” Namjoon’s belly twists almost painfully; stunned by the way Yoongi just purses his lips shrugging. “You always talked about gaining weight…” 

He is painfully reminded of just how close he and Yoongi are. Nights in their early twenties when they could talk about what they craved. What they thought was impossible. 

“It was just a fantasy, hyung.” It's Namjoon’s turn to look away, reaching for a cheesecake slice. Hoping the thickness of it can smooth out the growing lump in his throat. His own chewing sounds hopefully loud enough to mute out Yoongi’s words and the way they bounce around in his head. The older leans closer, with a dangerous creak from his chair. 

“Yeah, I know.” His chewing is loud too, helping to muffle out everything going on in his head. “But isn’t it the perfect time to put it to the test?” From the corner of his eye, Namjoon can see the way the fatty side of Yoongi’s body spills from the armrest, the way his weight is enough to tilt the chair slightly to the side; with threatening creaks. 

It's becoming a bit overwhelming. The warmthness in his stomach, only starting to become comfortably full. The uncomfortable wood of the chair, the even more uncomfortable questions that hang in the air above them. Yoongi’s looming presence irradiating heat onto Namjoon, his open mouth chewing, the chair’s distinct complaints. 

“Can we just not talk about it?” He doesn’t mean for it to come out as harsh as it did, but the room is starting to feel cramped. Feels too big to hide what Yoongi already knows about him; cornered. Or maybe it's just the chair. 

“You asked.” Annoyance is clear in Yoongi’s voice. And he is right. Namjoon knows he is right. In a less panicked state of mind, he would’ve been able to act accordingly. 

“Well. I’m not a feedee, if that's what you thought.” Namjoon’s suspicions are right when he turns his head to look at Yoongi when he responds and sees the furrowed brow. And his own tone is no better, spiteful and protective. 

“Don’t get all defensive.” Yoongi isn’t looking away either. Leaning close enough Namjoon can see the specks of donut frosting collecting at the corners of his lips. The chair began to bend in Namjoon’s direction; accompanied by the melodic screeches of the metal and springs. It wouldn't be their first fight, they’ve been friends for decades after all. 

That's how he recognizes the dangerous smile that grows on Yoongi’s face. 

“You’re gaining like one.” He manages to say before the chair finishes tilting over to the side. Falling thunderously onto the floor, with Yoongi still on it. The noise of ft slapping his wooden floor almost loud enough as Yoongi’s pained groan. 

The tension dissipates as soon as it formed, as Namjoon pushes himself out of the wooden chair to lean and help Yoongi out and up. “Are you okay?” Yoongi’s pushing himself out by the armrest, trying to unsqueeze his fatty sides from the suffocating chair. 

“Y–Yeah… Yeah I’m okay.” He breathes out, face blushed, as Namjoon reaches behind him to pull the chair out of Yoongi too. Even if he can’t see his facial expression, Namjoon can pretty much hear the grimace when he asks. “Did it break?” 

“Don’t worry. It looks fine.” Chuckling seems like the only way to alleviate the tension, popping Yoongi out with a huff. It took a bit more effort than he thought it would, he is a little breathless. Tilting the chair back upright and giving it a tentative spin. “Yeah, looks alright-” His word is cut a little short when he sees Yoongi still on the ground. Their eyes meeting. 

“Help me up?” It's a bit of a pitiful sight. But Namjoon is glad to focus on something else. He wouldn’t say he is glad Yoongi tipped over, but the relief he feels from having escaped that conversation is very real in his chest. Nodding quickly as he squats down for Yoongi. Feeling his sweatpants squeeze him around the waistband as he takes the older’s hands. 

“Lets–” Namjoon has to concentrate not to tip over as well. He doesn’t want to think about what that says of his body. The waistband of his sweats cutting the air out of him. “Let’s sit you upright first.” He comments and Yoongi looks equally exhausted. Gripping Namjoon’s forearms as the younger tries to lift the weight of his huge torso up. Both of them grunting in effort just for Yoongi to sit upright. Belly making his thighs spread as the overhang sits comfily on the floor. 

“Now-Now the hard part.” Even through his laughter he is breathless. Just from that movement alone. Though Namjoon isn’t much better; he is actually doing some effort at least. Yoongi is just breathless from being tossed around; if you could even call it that. 

Miraculously almost, the front door opens. “Perfect timing.” He comments, eyeing the front door. 

“Yeah, you could barely sit me upright.” Yoongi snorts as Namjoon stands up straight again. Looking down at him with squinted eyes. 

“You’re lucky I didn’t call the fire department right away.” His foot pokes at the sagging overhang between Yoongi’s thighs. Pillowy and rippling through his entire stomach. “Jungkook-ah! Come here!” He yells, ignoring Yoongi’s weak swats at his foot. 

The loud thumps are clumsy throughout the apartment, a pink blush, dopey eyed Jungkook appearing on the doorway. Great, Taehyung got him drunk. 

“I’m here, I’m here…” Even in his sleepy waddles the apartment thumps, and Yoongi’s body jiggles with each one. “I told you to switch to a stronger chair, hyung.” He comments without a comment as he leans towards Yoongi. 

“He didn’t break it, he just tilted it over.” He rolls his eyes. “Can you help him?” The youngest is already squatting behind Yoongi, his rounded out bloat pressing to the backrolls of Yoongi’s back. Big hunky, yet pillowy arms appearing from under Yoongi’s fat winged ones. 

“Our Jungkookie is very strong.” Yoongi comments idly, earning a happy giggle from the man behind him. 

“I’ll try.''Jungkook's hand tentatively settled on the oldest’s chest, before groping it playfully. 

“Yah!” The giggles get louder as Jungkook groans, beginning to lift Yoongi’s weight. Hands genuinely sinking into the fat, by the sheer strength making him grope Yoongi’s sides. 

Namjoon himself a little too stunned, watching Jungkook’s thighs tremble. Mumbling a quiet ‘cooperate, hyung’ into Yoongi’s ear, before his chubby feet plant on the ground. Helping, if the sigh of relief Jungkook lets out is anything to go by. Taking slow backwards steps until he is setting Yoongi onto the bed ungracefully. 

“I could’ve done that myself.” He cups his belly to stop it from obviously wobbling at the impact. But Jungkook isn’t phased. 

“Maybe, but you got the full Jeon Jungkook service!” He beams, patting his hyung’s back maybe a bit too aggressively. “I’ll go to bed. But call me if there are any more incidents!” 

“There won’t be!” They both yell at the same time, causing one final giggle to bubble out of Jungkook’s chest as he exits to his room across the hallway. The sound of the door closing settling their fate in returning to the conversation they were having before. 

Where were they? 

Ah, of course. 

Talking about how much weight Namjoon apparently gained.

[novafire-is-thinking]

Ohhh the Dratchet thing is definitely a bold take, lol. To preface, I'm not a die hard Dratchet stan, but I am curious about your reasoning...

(You mentioned you were thinking about posting about it anyways, so I hope you don't mind explaining a bit more of your take here?)

I agree with you about IDW missing an opportunity to develop Drift more, but I think that applied to like... maybe 9/10 TF characters lmao. That said, I definitely disagree with him revolving around Ratchet.

I really hope this doesn't come off as condescending, it's impossible to convey tone over text—but how many of the IDW comics have you read? (Because if you're going off MTMTE alone, he's most assuredly Ratchet-focused, but MTMTE in general was sorta a bunch of different love stories.)

Outside of MTMTE, I think Spotlight: Drift did a pretty good job outlining his change of heart and new mindset/motivations. And I think All Hail Megatron (#15 in particular) did a fair job highlighting his other friendships. And none of that featured Ratchet at all...

Thoughts?

Yes, most TF characters are underdeveloped.

However, I expect more from characters who are part of the “main cast,” which JRo seems to have done with Drift.

As far as I know, I’ve read all of Drift’s major appearances, except in The Transformers (the ‘Chaos’ storyline).

I loved his development in his miniseries; that’s his peak as a character, in my opinion. I was devastated that his time with Wing was cut short.

As for his “friendships” being highlighted in AHM, they were just that—highlights. I can count on one hand the number of notable interactions he had with those “friends.”

To compare: In MTMTE & LL, even Nightbeat—a character I consider to be minor—had moments with Censere and Rung that were more memorable than what Drift got in AHM.

Drift has lost almost everyone he’s loved—either through death or drifting apart. (pun not intended)

Gasket was killed.

Wing was killed.

His potential friendship with Perceptor was never explored.

His friendly card games with Blurr were insignificant.

Pipes was killed.

Dai Atlas was killed.

Axe was killed

Rodimus drifted away.

His place in Megatron’s life was never explored. In any case, Megs was killed too.

Ratchet, Rodimus, and Wing were Drift’s most significant relationships over the course of his arc.

By the end of his story, all he had left was Ratchet, with whom he’d formed a codependent relationship, which happened to turn into something more.

So, except for that and a very dead Wing, none of his other relationships written did anything to enhance him as a character.

Whirl had Cyclonus and Tailgate.

Brainstorm had Perceptor and Nautica.

Nautica had Skids, Brainstorm, and Velocity.

Megatron had Ravage and Ultra Magnus.

Heck, even Swerve got Skids and Misfire.

In Drift’s story, every relationship was cut short until Ratchet was the “last man standing.” Of course he fell for him.

To me, Dratchet is somewhat of a last-resort relationship. Yes, it works. Yes, there’s love. However, there’s also a strong undercurrent of attachment and dare I say, defeat.

If any of the writers had done a better job of showing (1) how Drift’s other relationships shaped him and (2) how much he grew as an individual outside of relationships, I’d probably like Dratchet more. As it stands, I don’t fully trust Drift’s development near the end of MTMTE & LL, and I don’t find Dratchet very compelling.

Then again, I’m known to expect a lot when it comes to my blorbos. Maybe a bit too much.

(This is still a personal opinion piece. Nothing more; nothing less.)

[thenamesblurrito]

I’m not sure if this has already been touched on, but I noticed that blackarachnia/blurr/predaking is listed as an Amica pairing, and was curious about it? Like is it a post canon thing or something that happens before their identities are revealed :] and basically what their relationship dynamic is like

you're right i did list them and yet i've BARELY talked about them AUGH i haven't decided everything exactly, there's more i want to work in but don't know when/how, but this is most of it. they're so important to me... i've sort of infodumped. everything here. um. long post, including post canon spoilers

(friendly reminder that this AU uses Amica Endurae as platonic life partners/spouses, just as culturally significant and legally recognized as romantic Conjunx Endurae)

Predaking and Blackarachnia happen to be roommates (along with notable problem-causer Deadlock) and end up clicking pretty well. Blackarachnia's biting sarcasm and droll defensive wit plays well with Predaking's stubborn independence and thoughtful deliberation. more importantly, Predaking is, down to his core, a protector, and subconsciously took on the role of being stalwart for Blackarachnia when she clearly has some uhhhhh not great family history that's given her baggage. the two of them are the edgy, aloof kids that stand in the corner, arms crossed, visibly judging everyone else in the room together while trading muttered comments about how stupid the adults' arbitrary rules are, and their weaponized back-and-forth has been known to make would-be bullies cry. they settle into a friendship pretty easily and make a great homework team.

enter Blurr, local dweeb, nerd, dork, or whatever assortment of other insults springs to mind. i wouldn't say he's quite a magnet for bullies, but he gets picked on more than his fair share, either for his stutter or his intelligence, depending on who's targeting him. it's not good, obviously, but he brushes this off easily most of the time unless cornered. so when Sentinel, irritated that the skinny little off-planet racer is skimming through textbooks in the library in half the time it's taking himself, starts mocking Blurr with the most cliche and boring bullying possible (calling him four-optics because of his glasses), Blurr just rolls his eyes and doesn't stop reading.

a voice from the back of the study area drawls, shouldn't you be saying that to me?

this is, of course, Predaking, looking at Sentinel with the most unimpressed expression and gesturing to his actual four optics: two in his face, two in the beast head currently on his chest. sitting next to him, Blackarachnia doesn't even look up from her work with any of her four facial optics or eight beast optics as she says, acidly, don't let him get a look at me, i'm not sure he can even count to twelve.

Sentinel, having been verbally eviscerated by these two before, multiple times (he's bad about learning his lesson), sputters and glares and ultimately leaves. Blurr blinks at his retreating back, then at the two who have gone back to their own homework with no further comment, and goes. Huh.

it's not so much an introduction as it is just a quiet, spontaneous moment of solidarity. and it sort of keeps happening, little instances around school. Blurr will hand Blackarachnia her dropped stylus when it rolls over to his table, Predaking will sit a table down from him and glare at an idiot being mean, they'll comment constructively on each other's projects in class, the three of them pass in the hall and sort of do that wordless chin-raise acknowledgement at one another. Blurr is pretty sure they don't know his name, and don't care enough to find out. it's that weird threshold of not-quite-acquaintance but still friendly, not-quite-stranger but i really don't know you. and yet. it's like an unspoken routine. it feels like having allies.

when given the choice to take up relics, Predaking and Blackarachnia go into it together, knowing exactly what kind of risks they're taking, but knowing each other and their priorities well enough to realize that they both want to defend themselves and other hurting people with more than just the witticisms of an angry teenager. they're very good at teamwork and slide right into cooperating with Sixshot very well too. and, extremely importantly, Predaking knows Blackarachnia well enough to spot that her behavior is, um, getting concerning as Airachnid. there's something different about her when she's powered up, and it might not be her calling the shots all the time.

Blurr's talent for snooping gets him the opportunity to take up a relic himself, and it's an extremely disorienting experience at first. he's never been a beastformer, he's not even from a planet that produces beastformers, and it's a whole new host of senses and feelings to deal with! and while he's a staunch Autobot who pretty immediately steps up to be Abominus's default battlefield rival, he has no real enmity for the Predacons and targets him mostly because he knows he's fast enough to mitigate any damage. in fact the two are pretty cordial to one another, that is when Cheetor isn't taking advantage of physics to send Abominus careening several blocks with transferred momentum. so when he discovers he can speak with mechanimals, it's both confusing and exciting, and naturally he wants to ask the only other beastformer heroes around about this. he doesn't know this is something of an offensive stereotype and is chewed out pretty soundly by them, shocked and angered that a fellow beastformer would so pettily play into framist nonsense.

that, he realizes, is something he sorely needs to be educated on. so while as Cheetor he shuts up about speaking to mechanimals and takes a new, delicate, sensitive approach to the media and general publicity where it concerns his frametype, Blurr starts doing research about beastformer experiences in a way he couldn't have learned back home on Velocitron. and perhaps, just maybe, he could screw up his courage to ask his fellow students? one of the first real conversations he has with Blackarachnia and Predaking is one day asking them haltingly, anxiously, if they could clarify something in this article about beastformer statistics he's reading, or if that would be offensive to assume they'd be willing to talk about it just because of their frametype.

it's a gradual acquaintance, one Predaking still latches on to quickly with that same protector's instinct as soon as he realizes how painfully earnest Blurr is. Blackarachnia is kind of amused by the way he nervously self-edits over and over to not say anything wrong, but still calls him out on overcorrecting from ignorance to hyperawareness. she's a person, not a checklist of morally correct conversation choices, at least treat her with the basic decency to act like it. just being around them is extremely valuable to Blurr, but he gets so caught up cataloguing the experience as learning how to not reinforce bad stereotypes as Cheetor that he sort of misses the fact that Predaking and Blackarachnia have come to think of him as something of a friend instead of their local curious nuisance. they notice when he's gone, when he's tired or preoccupied, when he's grappling with something that he never explains. clearly, they think, he's skittish, but could be coaxed over time.

they don't just pass each other in the hall anymore. Blurr asks them nervously if they're alright after the Shockblast debacle. Blackarachnia beelines to safety speaking with Blurr instead of engaging with Tarantulas when he stops by for a visit. Predaking gives his condolences to Blurr when he hears that strange shattered universe had left behind the corpse of a bot who might be his counterpart (Blurr doesn't tell him he killed his doppelganger with his bare hands. he's dealing with it, okay?) at the same time, Cheetor is noticeably more cautious when speaking to the media, subtly steering away from framist assumptions, vocally speaking up about beastformer equity. Abominus doesn't necessarily agree with the Autobots, but he at least feels like one of them is listening. Airachnid spends more and more time ignoring some suspicious changes that occur when she powers up.

and then Airachnid murders someone.

it wasn't premeditated. probably. she dreamed about it for years. they had it coming. no one would believe her. it's sickening. it's liberating. she didn't want to do it. Blackarachnia didn't want to do it. something else decided otherwise.

it's bad. bad enough she doesn't even tell Predaking, her best friend now, instead electing to find a quiet corner somewhere and fall apart. alone. this doesn't quite work out since ever-curious Blurr comes sleuthing into her spot, of course startled and concerned and asking if she's okay, and Blackarachnia snaps at him quite meanly. even so, somehow she still thinks of Blurr as safe enough for her to cry to. she's been emotionally fending for herself for so long, is it wrong to be weak?? to want to be taken care of instead of doing the dirty work herself?? and Blurr, sweet overwhelmed Blurr, does his best to be comforting, but says she should probably be having this conversation with someone she trusts. it's unexpectedly exactly the kind of respect for boundaries that Blackarachnia needs to go tell Predaking everything.

as heroes, the factions are starting to be less standoffish, working (slightly) better with one another when needed. on one of these occasions, Cheetor gets a few tidbits of vital information from, of all sources, a handful of scraplets. try as he might to speak to them surreptitiously, Abominus and Airachnid notice, and are dumbfounded to see he wasn't lying. it's one more small cross-faction bridge of trust.

while things might be improving interpersonally, everything else is worsening near the end of season 4. after a horrific and terrifying event that makes it unsafe for them to be in hero form, the factions retreat, gathering amongst themselves as kids, some meeting without the masks of their relics for the first time. poor Blurr, always the one to feel inferior and alone, has already figured out who most of the other Autobots are as kids, but somehow can't bear to reveal his own identity to them. standing among heroes, not as Cheetor but just as himself? he runs before they even turn to ask him. this time, it's Blurr having a breakdown in a quiet corner and Blackarachnia who finds him. she's not exactly a nice person, but she can still repay the favor and comfort him when he needs it.

in the middle of [finale spoilers] when everyone's identities are revealed to everyone, the only thing keeping everybody working together is an impending apocalypse. in the middle of so many revelations and personalities and high emotions, Predaking and Blackarachnia are actually doing pretty okay. they're unfazed by the surrounding drama and already solidly work well together outside of hero form. so when Blurr, almost cringing away from everyone else in a poor attempt to hide, nervously tries speaking up about something he's figured out, Predaking is the first to notice and step in to support his ideas. there's not exactly a lot of time to talk during the end of the world, but they come to an understanding. it feels like having allies again, except tangible and backed up with skill and force. there's steady certainty there in the midst of so much chaos.

it doesn't get super deep or "official relationship" in SNAP itself, mostly because their high school years aren't actually the most important period of their relationship. but it sets up an extremely important foundation for them that continues post-SNAP. Blurr still gets anxious and skittish and feels like he can't say anything right, what is he doing here he should just slink away and hide—but Predaking picks him up by the scruff of the neck and shakes some sense and affection back into him. Blackarachnia struggles with depression and self hatred for a long time, but Predaking and Blurr staunchly refuse to leave her lonely, sticking with her even in her dark times. there are times when Predaking prioritizes doing work over developing relationships, thinking that his work will of course help those he loves, but Blurr and Blackarachnia don't let him get away with it. not to mention how devastatingly effective the three of them are at Judging anyone trying to be an idiot in their vicinity, lots of would-be Karens get shut down by nothing more than their triplicate unimpressed glares .

of the three of them, Predaking is the one who first and most easily thinks of the other two as his partners, even if he doesn't say it out loud. he doesn't want to scare Blurr off, nor put pressure on Blackarachnia when she can barely stand herself, but he knows what he wants. he is quietly and enduringly devoted to them. Blackarachnia has felt like she's had to be strong, be clever, be quick and defensive and biting for herself her whole life, and yet these two consistently do that for her. she feels safe to be weak around them, and she knows she's taken care of. anxious Blurr still feels kind of like an outsider sometimes, an imposter third wheel on their already solid partnership, but then Predaking will wordlessly shuffle over to invite him to sit, or Blackarachnia will drop a snack in his lap exactly as he's getting hungry, or the two of them will be discussing something and automatically turn to ask his opinion. he doesn't need to be invited in to a relationship he's already part of.

as is pretty typical for him honestly, Predaking says something first, and does so by (as is also pretty typical) jumping right in with no warmup. it's during a conversation they've had many times over, an exercise in hope Rung recommended they try to help Blackarachnia. instead of letting her sit in the dark alone and spiraling, Predaking and Blurr sit with her, speaking aloud a good future, practice for envisioning a world that isn't under fire and themselves happy, healthy, and safe. Predaking's imagined futures have never not included them. with Blurr curled up in one of his wings and an arm over Blackarachnia's shoulders, he muses about a nice simple job rebuilding shelled cities, surely raising roofs only takes a little practice. he wants to see the sunrise over his hometown Helex again, with his favorite den siblings there. of course he'd take Blurr and Blackarachnia along, it wouldn't be right without the people he would have as his Amicae. Blackarachnia scoffs, but her spark isn't in it. Blurr freezes, anxiety already trying to convince him that he wasn't included in that statement. but Predaking just keeps talking, gently stitching together a future where they're okay.

on a practical level this is more of a proposal than simply asking them out, but it's also low pressure. nothing needs to change until they're all comfortable with it. they're already life partners in many ways, it's easy to slip a little further into it once acknowledged. the day Blurr's feeling of exclusion ends for good is when Blackarachnia casually muses about opening a clinic on Velocitron so the three of them can have a home on Blurr's planet, and he's struck by how she's doing good enough to plan for the future again, specifically a future where they even leave Cybertron to follow him.

their marriage is quiet. Blurr squares away the paperwork, double checking every detail is correct with Minimus. they let their friends take them out to a nice dinner in lieu of any ceremony, where Arcee generously only tries stabbing Blackarachnia once before giving her congratulations. Frenzy tries arranging a gag honeymoon trip for them but is too drunk to do it right and accidentally books himself a week at the spa instead. Hot Rod brings fireworks, which would have been a nice touch if he'd known he was coming to a wedding, but really he just wanted a party where he'd have the opportunity to set off colorful explosions around large numbers of people. Wheelie may have picked the pockets of everyone in attendance but he refuses to admit it. Skywarp and Predaking are the last ones who haven't swanned off or fallen asleep and in their exhausted drunken camaraderie, when bad ideas seem just brilliant, they end up going on a time travel heist to get Predaking some sick tattoos (and they're lucky it goes off without a hitch).

it's an absolutely perfect wedding.

it's not a flawless happily ever after, of course. Predaking grapples with being the only survivor of dozens of tragedies. Blackarachnia is permanently changed by a monster, and struggles with alcoholism for a long time. Blurr is personally targeted by a terrifying creature with a grudge and enough wit to outsmart him, in a rivalry that would cost many more lives than just his own. it's hard, and they live in dark times. but they support one another through thick and thin. after awhile, when they're more stable, they actually end up adopting Dragonicus, a little dragonformer like Predaking, and then later Lightspeed, a tiny thing almost as fast as Blurr.

they live. they love each other. they're good.

[sinspark4]

Chapter 7 (Disequilibrium) of How to Tame Your Seeker is now out on AO3.

Story Word Count: 42,230

As of right now, updates are approximately every two weeks.

"What is the right choice?

Blurr doesn't know.

What should he tell him?

Starscream doesn't know. But he may not have a choice if Jazz has any say."

Click below for a small excerpt :)

Starscream braced and slammed pede first into the side of the city council building. Glass shattered outward, bursting away from his body as he smashed down into the room, sliding over the broken debris. With a quick shake, glass rained from his frame as he hurried across the room. The floor squeaked beneath his pedes as melted glass dripped from his thrusters leaving shiny liquid pools behind him. 

Ignoring the sting of glass digging into his seams, Starscream began rifling through the desk, grabbing datapads and notes here and there and shoving them into his already full subspace as soon as they touched his servos. He’d be lying if he said the only thing on his mind right now was getting the sensitive information out of his desk. There was a nagging feeling in the back of his helm. He knew someone planned to act soon - they bombed the school - he just hadn’t realized it would be so soon after seeing Vortex and the strange minibot down in the Archives. What was even worse was that he wasn’t even sure if they were the cause of the explosion. Nothing they did had suggested the intent to cause an act of terrorism.

Starscream grit his denta. On the other hand, they could have also been a distraction. Was there someone else working against him? What was with these bots crying and begging after a war that should have been long done? It was pathetic. Why couldn’t they be happy with what he was sacrificing to give these blundering idiots their planet back? He wasn’t Primus, even if other mecha thought he had the complex of a god. A datapad creaked in his palm, screen threatening to crack under his deadly grip. 

Blurr’s pained expression flitted across his thoughts like an insistent ache. Scowling, Starcream kept rifling through the stacks and stacks of datapads on his desk - of course it had to happen before he could clean up all this research - tossing the useless ones aside carelessly. 

Starscream couldn’t decide whether or not he was upset with himself, with Blurr, the situation, or all of the above. See, Blurr was smart. Smart about the way he worked Starscream’s personality traits like a bow over an electro violin. He eerily reminded him of Skywarp and his insistence on getting him to act differently than the integrated mask he proudly wore for all of creation. But Blurr didn’t work him like Skywarp did. 

He was far craftier than the purple seeker had been. 

Skywarp had had the tendency to run helm first into his built up walls, digging into the cracks and crevices before yanking down each meticulously placed brick with the lack of care that was most prevalent in an overenthusiastic, overcharged sparkling. It was embarrassing that it had even worked in the first place but the mech was an insistent slagger. 

The bright blue racer haunting his processor was just insistent in a different manner.  

Blurr never had tried to brute force him. It was the reason he’d come across as effective as the best, smoothest high grade Starscream had ever had the pleasure of tasting along the tip of his glossa. Blurr had this frustratingly wonderful habit of running his lithe, little fingers underneath all his walls to feel out for the emotions he’d painstakingly hidden away behind layer after layer of protective shells for vorns. He didn’t try to rip through the bricks hiding them away. He’d caress the towering walls, leaning his helm against the bricks while whispering gentle assurances into his audials. Fingers clasping at the edges of his happiness, arousal, vulnerability, coaxing them inch by inch to come out and play with him. 

And he’d finally gotten a taste.

The memory of Blurr’s frame against his own, glossa slicking against each other, made a deep shiver run down the length of his spine. Finally, after two years of vehemently denying his coding, Starscream had finally given in to the mating codes that had been hounding him insistently. Blurr was the best, worst drug Starscream had ever indulged in. 

And then the bomb rained death upon their helms like a whisper of remembrance that happiness doesn’t come quietly for the remnant soldiers of broken factions. 

He wasn’t sure whether to be happy for the stolen moment, disappointed it didn’t last longer, or freaked out because he’d just shown Blurr his entire fragging hand and Blurr looked like Starscream had shot his spark out before he ran off like an idiot to get himself killed from ignorant heroism. 

The frustrated snarl that tore from his high powered engine momentarily deafened the cries of anguish pouring in from the broken window. If Blurr got himself slagged, Starscream was going to find the stupid mythic well of allsparks himself and drag his aft back kicking and screaming just so he could personally send his spark to the allmaker. 

He’d deserve it. Even if he didn’t realize how much he had Starscream, Starscream of all mecha, wrapped around his servo. 

Audials ringing, he continued to pick up the last few relevant datapads from his desk. The anxious urgency running through his circuits caused his servos to shake and the seeker growled as he dropped one. Bending down to swipe it up, a barely visible black and white pede caught his attention. 

Hissing, Starscream jerked in surprise, slamming his helm against the underside of the desk with a loud thud. Thrusting the datapad into his subspace, Starscream backpedaled with a stifled yelp of pain. His nullray blaster gave off a sharp whirring sound as it powered to life, now aimed at the grinning saboteur slithering out from the dark shadows caressing the outer edge of the room. 

“Watcha doin m’mech?” Jazz gave a disarmingly bright grin, visor glinting a bright shade of mischievous blue.