#--inner light of her optic

[gabe-lovebot]

LISTEN i love the v-models with shutters as eyelids but nothing beats just having their optic wide open the entire time. it's great at making them look either like the bloodthirsty machines they are or like there is not a single thought coursing through their circuits

[sentinel-prime-after-dark]

Function: Pleasure (AO3 link)

TFO Sentinel Prime X Femme Cybertronian Reader

Word count: 3,063

Tags: sticky sexual interfacing, sex work, oral sex, rough sex, light Dom/sub, aftercare, NO SPOILERS

Summary: Sentinel Prime isn’t the best berth partner…but that’s YOUR job, and you take your job seriously.

Sentinel Prime steps into his opulent private suite, Iacon Tower's grandeur reflected in its golden surfaces. His blue optics scan the empty, quiet space and he lets out an irritated vent. He needs this reprieve from the solar cycle’s tiresome politics. He struts over to the large couch in the living room and sits heavily, leaning back with his thighs spread wider than is proper for a Prime.

     "Airachnid," he calls out.

     The imposing spider-like bot emerges from the shadows, her purple optics glowing with silent acknowledgment.

     "Fetch me the most exquisite pleasurebot from AutoExotic."

     "As you wish, Sentinel," she murmurs.

     She swiftly exits the suite, leaving Sentinel alone with his thoughts.

     Sentinel's optics trace the intricate patterns engraved into the floor and walls as he waits. His processor conjures up images of the delightful high-class creatures from AutoExotic, his flight engines purring in response to the ideas of what he could do with them.

✨✨✨

The door to the suite slides open and Airachnid enters, her movements not quite silent. In tow is a stunning vision of gold and purple, a standard-framed femme who radiates an aura of decadence.

     You.

     "Your requested pleasurebot, Prime," Airachnid says before slinking away.

     You step forward and lower yourself to kneel before the Prime, your plating gently flaring out.

     “Sweetspark, at your service, my Prime.”

     Sentinel Prime’s gaze sweeps over you, appraising you as if you were a fine piece of artwork. His optics glow a little brighter.

     “Stand,” he says with a gentle wave of his servo. “Tell me, Sweetspark, what is your specialty in the art of pleasure?"

     “Your desire is my specialty, Prime,” you say softly as you stand. “I am a trained switch, ready to adapt to your wishes on command.”

     His optics narrow, his armor ruffling slightly.

     “Indeed?” He purrs, leaning back against the couch. “I’ve had many who claim such versatility…only to disappoint. Prove your worth, Sweetspark. Give me a taste of what you can offer.”

     You nod and step forward.

     “As you wish, my Prime,” you purr.

     Your optics narrow to sultry slits as you lower yourself to your knees between Sentinel’s strong silver thighs in one slow, gracefully suggestive movement. Not daring to touch him with your servos without permission, you lean forward and nuzzle his inner thigh, your engine purring as you trail sensual, reverent kisses along his plating towards his interface panel.

     Sentinel watches you, his gaze narrow. As your warm ventilations ghost over his armor, he remains the picture of calm, his posture unyielding. He leans back a little further into the couch, crossing his arms over his chassis.

     "Proceed," the Prime commands.

     With a low hum, you nuzzle up to his interface panel. Then, you look up at him with adoring optics and extend your glossa, giving his panel a broad, slow lick from the bottom to the top.

     Sentinel draws in a quick vent. He watches you, his chassis rising and falling slightly faster. He uncrosses his arms, letting them rest comfortably on the back of the couch.

     You purr at his reaction and lick him again before pressing a kiss to his panel. “I crave your pleasure, mighty Prime. Won’t you let me serve you?”

     "Very well," he says, keeping up his unaffected appearance except for a soft blue glow creeping onto his faceplate.

     His panel clicks and slides open with a clank, allowing his partially pressurized spike to extend.

     With a light blush of your own, you keep your optics on him as you lean in to nuzzle and lick his spike. You trail kisses up the golden plates adorning the underside of his royal blue shaft, purring as you coax him to full pressurization.

     “You have the most magnificent spike, my Prime.”

     "Flattery, Sweetspark?" He asks, trying to maintain his cool demeanor despite his spike's eager responses to your gentle ministrations.

     You hum, leaning up to give the tip of his spike a soft kiss. “If it is not to your liking, Prime, then I shall refrain from praising you.”

     "Don't be absurd,” Sentinel scoffs, his lips curled into a smirk. “I live for flattery.”

     You smile up at him and lick a broad, slow stroke up the underside of his spike, only this time you wrap your lips around the tip when you reach it. You caress the sensitive slit with your glossa, then slowly push your helm down, moaning softly as you demonstrate just how easily you can take a spike into your mouth, even one as long and thick as Sentinel’s.

     The Prime watches you, his optics narrowing in pleasure. He can't help but let out a low groan of satisfaction. His servos tighten slightly on the couch’s back, but he otherwise maintains his outward composure. Even so, you feel him growing harder, his spike reaching its full potential, eager for more.

     Everything you do is with purpose, your focus solely on your beloved Prime’s pleasure. You keep your servos on your own thighs as you service his spike, your helm bobbing up and down while your glossa caresses the underside of his spike. You moan again and take him deeper, deeper, until the helm of his spike is down your throat and your lips are pressed flush to the base.

Sentinel’s optics widen as the pleasure builds within him. Your mouth feels like heaven, your oral skills certainly unmatched by any pleasurebot he's ever encountered. He watches you, venting rapidly as he fights the urge to thrust into your throat. The way you look at Sentinel, your optics full of admiration, makes him feel like the most powerful being in the universe. His groans grow louder.

     You keep your sultry optics on his as you suck him more intently, swallowing around his spike to deliver a dose of pleasureful pressure.

     The Prime’s optics widen at the sensation, and he can't hold back a low, guttural groan. His spike twitches in your mouth, throbbing eagerly.

     "Ah, Sweetspark," he vents. "Your talents are indeed...exceptional."

     You smile around his spike and suck harder, moving with renewed eagerness as you taste the sweet, tangy flavor of pre-fluid leaking from his spike.

     Sentinel’s frame tenses, his vents hitching. He reaches out and grasps the top of your helm.

     "Faster," he grunts.

     You obey immediately, moving your helm up and down with urgency. You moan, sending a burst of vibrations through his spike as you continue to suck him off.

     The blue and gold mech groans, lays his helm back against the couch, and thrusts lightly into your mouth.

     You moan again at his little thrust, your gaze encouraging when you look up at him once more.

     Encouraged by your response, Sentinel Prime grips the sides of your helm with both servos and begins to thrust firmly into your mouth, his own mouth falling open with a deep groan.

     You take him with an ease granted by experience, your optics sliding shut. You’re more than happy to let him frag your mouth to his spark’s content. This is what you’re good for, what you were forged for.

     The feeling of your throat tightening around him is the final straw, and with a an embarrassing noise followed by a loud shout, Sentinel Prime reaches his peak. His servos grip your helm tight as he holds you down to his base, his spike jetting hot transfluid directly into your throat.

     Any other pleasurebot would have gagged on such a tall order, but you keep your throat relaxed and swallow, steadily drinking down everything Sentinel gives you. His overload is intense, his spike pulsing as he empties himself until he lets out a final groan of satisfaction and releases your helm. Panting heavily, he presses back against the couch, his legs stretching out on either side of you and then relaxing with a clank of his peds on the floor.

     You stay put for another moment, enjoying the way his spike twitches with the final spurts of transfluid. Once he’s finished, you slowly pull off of his spike, purring and licking it clean as you set your brightened optics back on his.

     Sentinel’s optics blink open, and he looks down at you. He runs a servo over your helm in a gentle pet.

     "Well…that was quite the performance," he pants.

     You hum, the praise sending a shiver of arousal through you. “Have I proven my worth to you, my Prime?”

     "Indeed, you have, Sweetspark," Sentinel purrs.

     He stands, his towering form casting a shadow over you as he reaches down to gently grasp your chin.

     "Now, let's continue this delightful experience in my berthroom," he says, letting go of your chin and striding towards the adjoining berthroom.

     You stand and follow him, licking the last traces of his transfluid from your lips. The berthroom is already set to a soothing dark blue lighting, the large, plush berth made with a luxurious assortment of golden pillows and soft metal mesh sheets. You glance around, admiring the immaculate golden walls and the well-kept trophies and artworks adorning them. A large mirror hangs above the helm of his berth, taking up an obscene amount of space on the wall.

     “Your berthroom is so lovely, Prime,” you purr. “It is truly an honor to serve you in the privacy of your suite.”

     Sentinel nods. He turns to face you, his spike still semi-pressurized.

     “Please,” he says with a dismissive wave of his servo, “in here, call me Sentinel.“

     You tilt your helm curiously, but don’t question. You just smile and nod.

     “As you wish…Sentinel,” you purr, giving his name a suggestive edge.

     He watches you from the side of the berth, his spike slowly returning to full pressurization.

     “Come here, Sweetspark,” he commands.

     You rev your engine softly and approach him, your optics locked attentively on his.

     With a gesture that speaks of absolute authority, Sentinel Prime points to his grand berth.

     "On your chassis, Sweetspark," he purrs. "Let me show you how a Prime appreciates his shareware."

     You’re quick to obey. You crawl onto the berth and lower your chassis, staying on your knees so your aft is in the air. You look back at Sentinel and bite your lip, wiggling your aft at him.

     The Prime’s optics brighten as he takes in the sight of your raised aft. He steps closer and notices the tiny streaks of viscuous purple from the lubricant that's seeped out of your closed interface panel.

     “So eager for your Prime’s attentions?” He asks, his voice a low, aroused growl.

     Sensing your Prime’s presence behind her, his optics on your aft…it’s all so intoxicating. You let a soft whimper escape you, leaning into his dominant demeanor.

     “Yes, Sentinel.”

     Sentinel Prime leans over you, his servo gliding down your spinal strut and over your aft to rest on your interface panel.

     “Open,” he orders.

     You carefully back up towards him as you allow your panel to slide open, only stopping once your knee struts are on the edge of the berth. You clench your valve, moaning softly as a gush of lubricant drips out of you.

     Sentinel admires the view of your slick valve, his spike twitching with interest.

     “Mmm,” he rumbles, “what a pretty bot you are.”

     He steps closer, placing one servo on your hip and using the other to align his spike with your entrance.

     Had he been any other client, you would have suggested that he prepare you first, but you wouldn’t dream of trying to correct Sentinel Primeon how to properly interface. So, you just spread your legs wider and grip the sheets.

     His servo on your hip tightens as he guides the tip of his spike to your waiting valve. He presses forward with a gentle but rushed firmness, venting at the wet heat of your frame’s embrace.

     "So tight," he grunts.

     Your mouth falls open in a gasp as his shaft immediately stretches your valve. You moan for his pleasure, dutifully ignoring the discomfort that comes with unprepared penetration from his larger frame type.

     “Yes, Sentinel...”

     You glance over at the mirror. Sentinel Prime is watching his own reflection in the mirror, a smug look on his faceplate as he observes his spike sliding into your valve. His servo leaves your hip to caress his own chassis, his engine purring as he admires the sight of himself mounting you.

     You wince when he pushes fully into you, but manage to replace any pained noise you might have made with an erotic, dramatically feminine moan.

     Sentinel starts to move, his spike sliding in and out of your valve with a steady rhythm. His gaze locks onto the sight of his spike disappearing into you and he groans, his frame shuddering before his thrusts quicken.

     You force out a moan on every languid thrust, but you can’t help but let out an airy chuckle between them as you watch him watch himself.

     His rhythm falters slightly, his gaze snapping to the back of your helm.

     "Is something amusing, Sweetspark?" he asks, stilling his hips.

     You gasp and lower your helm to the berth, a deep blush creeping onto your faceplate.

     “N-no, Sentinel,” you whimper. "You're just so...so handsome..."

     Sentinel’s spike stirs within you. He slowly leans over you, his servos sliding down your sides and firmly grasping your hips.

     With a smugness that's almost endearing, he purrs, “I sure am.”

     He slowly pulls his hips back until only the helm of his spike remains inside you, then slams back in.

     “AH-hah! Oh! Sentinel!”

     You tighten your grip on the sheets, moaning as the brief jolt of pain fades into a pleasureful ache.

     Sentinel’s smirk widens as he watches your reaction, his hips rolling against your aft in a sensual rhythm that’s not nearly as pleasurable as it is punishing.

     "Your screams are music to my audios, Sweetspark," he growls.

     You let out a pitifully desperate moan as he grinds into you, rubbing your faceplate into the sheets in imitation of a preening gesture.

     "Look at yourself," he commands, flight engines revving. "Watch me take you."

     “Ahh…”

     You turn your helm toward the mirror, your optics narrow in half-real pleasure as you obediently observe his reflection.

     Flight engines purring, he tightens his hold on your pelvic armor and sets a vigorous pace, his spike sliding in and out of you with the slick sounds of your lubricant.

     "That's it," he grunts. "Watch yourself be claimed by your Prime."

     You moan louder and squeeze him with your valve, drawing a staticky groan from his vocalizer. You know you aren’t ready to take the roughness his larger frame type is capable of, but you also know your client will enjoy being encouraged, and right now, you’re on duty.

     “Ohh, Sentinel,” you moan loudly. “Yes…! Claim me harder…!”

     Sentinel’s gaze returns to the mirror, a deep rumble emanating from his chassis as he watches you perform for him. He slides one servo up your back and pins you down by your shoulder, leaning over you. His hips piston into you faster.

     "Oh, yeah," he pants. "Show me how much you want it!"

     You writhe under him, clawing at the berth and making a vocal show of your pleasure.

     “Ah! Ah! Yes! Ooh, yes, Sentinel! Please, more!”

     His optics brighten as he watches himself in the mirror, plunging into your valve with increasing force.

     "Your screams only make me harder, Sweetspark," he growls.

     You continue to moan and cry out for him, your armor flaring to dump the heat from your frame. You arch your back and push against his thrusts, taking him deeper. Your optics squeeze shut and you pant heavily between your desperate cries for his spike. Finally, he was getting you close.

     “Sentinel! I’m- ahh! I’m gonna-!”

     "Overload," he commands, his voice a dark, demanding growl in your audio receptors. " Now ."

     You let out a loud, drawn-out moan and squeeze your valve around his spike, boosting the stimulation as he ruts into you. Your frame goes rigid and you overload, purposefully ensuring that your scream of ecstasy is loud enough to be heard even by the two guards stationed outside of the Prime’s suite. Lubricant gushes out around Sentinel’s spike, easing his thrusts despite the constriction.

     Sentinel thrusts into you one final time and hits his peak with a triumphant roar. His grip slightly dents your hip and shoulder armor, but it’s fine. His spike jets hot transfluid into the depths of your valve and he groans softly, his armor ruffling as his frame relaxes with the relief of his tension.

     You mewl pathetically as you feel his transfluid dripping from your valve before he’s even finished. You knead the berth with your servos as you relax, a soft moan escaping you between heavy panting.

     Sentinel Prime finally tears his gaze away from the mirror, looking down at you. He takes a moment to admire the sight before pulling his thick spike out of you with a wet slide of metal on metal that drags another quiet moan from your lips. He steps back, his slowly depressurizing spike glistening with your combined fluids.

     "I think I’ve found my new favorite piece of shareware," he rumbles.

     You take a moment to catch your breath, then carefully push yourself up and turn over to sit on the edge of the berth. You blush at the sight of your lubricant mixed with the Prime’s transfluid on the berth, your thighs, and his spike. You gaze up at him with adoring optics.

     “It is a delight to serve you, Sentinel.”

     He hums in agreement. He steps back, giving you a moment to recover. He runs a servo over his own heaving chassis, smoothing his plating down from its flared position. He frowns when his gaze reaches the mess on his thighs. When he sees you preparing to slide off of the berth, he gestures to the berthroom door with one lazy servo.

     “You are dismissed,” Sentinel says, already walking toward his private washrack. “You may use the guest washrack before you leave. Airachnid will give you my payment information.”

     The door slides open, making you jump and your panel snap shut. Airachnid stands just outside, her multi-optic gaze locked onto you as you walk out of the berthroom. She looks you up and down and, without a trace of emotion, points down the hallway.

     “First door on the right.”

[i-starcreamed]

Angst Mtmte Headcanons with Rodimus, Swerve, Tarn, Ratchet? Either human or cybertronain s/o works!

Their s/o and them get back from a fight. Everything’s fine and they’re like celebrating. But little do they know their s/o has been hiding a fatal injury 😈

HII THANK YOU FOR BEING PATIENT WITH YOUR REQUEST! Sorry this took like a month...anyways this was a very fun ask ngl. But also this is an absolute nightmare for Ratchet in like, every single one of them besides Tarn, my bad. Just stop dying, Y/N

[ cybertronian!reader CW: angst, death, near-death, injuries, i think you get it

post includes: Rodimus, Tarn, Swerve, and Ratchet]

(can you tell i like this gif?)

RODIMUS

The enemy was defeated, a couple of injured crew members were rushed to the med bay, but all was good now. The danger has passed. Rodimus bore a look of exhausted but relieved contentment, both of you have emerged unscathed from the ordeal.

Except…you held a servo to your side, your face scrunched up when you tried to walk but brushed it off to your lover that you were sore from the fight. 

"Do you really think it's a good idea to go without a checkup from Ratchet?" Rodimus asked, his face betraying his concern. "We had one hell of a fight back there, and I don't want you getting hurt and putting that stunning frame of yours in danger," he managed to smile, but the worry was still obvious in his expression.

“I’m fine, just a little sore is all. I’ll just disengage my pain receptors and I’ll be a-okay” you forced a smile.

That you did, but it didn’t stop you from feeling other symptoms besides pain

As soon as his attention was turned away from you, you took your energon-stained servo off your side, revealing an open wound. It was small, and should usually bleed slowly, but this time it threatened to be a big deal��it was connected to one of your main fuel lines. You glanced at the bots celebrating around you, some missing due to attending their friends in the med bay after the fight.

Ratchet had better things to focus his efforts on, and you saw others far worse off than yourself. You clung desperately to the tiny hope that you would still be standing when all the others were healed. Feeling suddenly unsteady, you leaned against the wall for support, your vision beginning to blur. Come on, not now! You willed your legs to move forward as you made your way toward Rodimus and the rest of the bots he was addressing. You’ll last a little longer.

By the time Rodimus notices you’re horribly injured, it's already too late. You're in his arms, the spark inside you weak and flickering as a large amount of your energon leaves a trail from his racing form. He desperately rushes you to the medbay, his servos shaking and trembling as he pleads with Ratchet to save your life. His voice grows louder as he begs for a miracle, primus help you

“You have to help her, you have to help her!”

The light has gone out from your optics, your spark hums quietly. When Ratchet takes your vitals, he gives Rodimus a look. And oh, he knows what that look means. 

He’s angry, he’s upset, he rushes to hold you one last time. He should have realized earlier, he should’ve taken you to Ratchet even if you said you were fine. He should’ve. 

SWERVE

It was one of those battles where everyone was needed; you and Swerve had to look out for each other. You two weren't the toughest or biggest fighters on your team but hey, by the end, you two managed to help out in some way.  

Why not host a small celebration at Swerve’s? Most of the crew was already there, having a drink or chatting. You stayed behind to get checked up by Ratchet but promised Swerve you’d join him soon after.

After the full-fledged battle, you felt dizzy and tired, but you figured it was just due to your extreme exhaustion. Little did you know, there was a malfunction in your inner circuits that had been spreading quickly, rapidly shutting down your functions. If you were well enough to think clearly and logically about the situation at hand, perhaps the malfunction would have horrified you more than it did… However, with the malfunction putting an extra load on your thoughts and movements it became very difficult for you to think straight. You must have been hit by something, but you don’t even remember what.

Ratchet asked if you wanted to call Swerve, but you said no. You didn't want to worry him. But then again, your spark panged at the thought of never seeing him again, of never getting to say goodbye. Time was running out and at this point, all you had left was the ability to message him through your communicator.

The minibot rushed as fast as he could to see you, but when he arrived and saw the state you were in, his spark sank. You were hooked up to all these machines that seemed to be the only thing keeping you alive. But at least you were still conscious, thankfully

“Oh, oh…y/n why didn’t you tell me? I could’ve, we could’ve…why?”

“I didn’t want to worry you.”

“Oh..y/n..” tear coolant(?) comes out of both your optics.

“Nonono wait, can you please hel-” The look on the medic’s face was enough to answer his pleas. There was nothing that could be done anymore. 

“Swerve” you muttered, your servo reaching out. “It’s okay.” 

The minibot grasped your servo tightly, his desperate grip conveying the understanding that this would be the last time he would have the chance to.

TARN

You knew being alongside the DJD was dangerous, hell, you were dangerous. The team of overly Megatron-obsessed mechs surprisingly had each other's back. You were with Tarn, too. You were basically unstoppable. 

So when you felt that shot hit your chassis, and the energon quickly leaking out of your wound, you had no idea what happened. You fell to your knees in front of the deceased Decepticon traitor whom you had just seen fall right before their blast had hit you. You were turned away from your team and their delight as they celebrated his death without any knowledge of what had happened to you. As those behind you laughed and commended each other for their victory

“Did you see how they finished them off? Absolutely cruel.” Your conjunx bragged to the others. His footsteps approached when you didn’t move from your spot. “Y/N?”

Before he had a chance to witness the pool of energon forming in front of you, you quickly whipped your helm around, frantically trying to hide your dizziness by plastering a smile on your face. "Stubborn one, huh? I'll be..I'll be with you in a moment," your words slurred slightly and Tarn took a step closer. “What was that? Are you alright?”

“YES, yes, I’m just… admiring this. You know how I feel about spilled energon”. Your servo tightened on the wound as you pondered if applying enough pressure would speed up the healing process.

Tarn paused for a moment then went to place a servo on your shoulder. “That’s my-” His optics widened when he saw your servo clutched around your wound.

"What happened?" Tarn demanded, dropping to his knees beside you and examining the wound. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to worry you," you replied weakly, trying to hide the pain in your voice. "I thought it was just a graze, but it hurts more than I thought it would."

Tarn's optics softened as he looked at you, his hand moving to gently caress your cheek. "Just a graze…” He scoffed. “You foolish, stubborn bot," he murmured affectionately. "You know I would never forgive myself if something happened to you."

“I’m sorry,” you winced. Realization hit him like a ton of bricks - you were dying and needed medical attention immediately. His spark hurt. Despite it all, he musters up enough courage to pick you up in his arms and take you away to safety, struggling to keep his composure as he does so.

Your optics shut off, and he realized he might need to figure out his last words to you. He clutched his fists. 

RATCHET

He would never forgive himself if a fatal injury went unnoticed, especially if you were his patient. And yet, somehow it happened

Many of the crew members were injured, and few needed urgent medical attention but you knew Ratchet would be busy.

Despite his complaints and grumbling, Ratchet had agreed to scan you as soon as he was done tending to his critically-injured patients.

You had a deep slice way too close to your spark, you were bleeding out. You were able to use a medical patch tucked away in your subspace to temporarily stop the bleeding, but it's like applying a bandage to a bullet wound a little too close to the heart.

You realized you may have fucked up when you started to feel lightheaded and your sensors suddenly weren't working so well. You limped your way to the medbay, but didn't manage to make it. You groaned as the energon seeped from underneath the patch, you slid down the wall just a couple steps away from the entrance. The last thing you saw was a blur exit the medbay and run towards you before your optics powered off.

Ratchet’s optics widened when you were carried into the medbay by a bot he had just finished working on. He took off the patch to reveal the fatal wound, he could only stand there as your spark weakly glowed underneath all your inner systems. 

Why hadn’t you told him? Why didn’t he make sure? He knew your spark was too weak and wouldn’t make it but he still desperately tried to seal any area where energon was flowing from, occasionally cursing at himself when his servos would be too shaky. 

“C'mon, c'mon. Primus, damnit. Don't you dare give up on me now."

He couldn't accept the truth, he held his helm in his servos when your spark completely stopped functioning. 

He agreed to have a drink at Swerve’s with you after everyone was healed, just one. And now that moment would never come. 

[jpitha]

Humans LIKE explosions

Humans and explosions seem inseperable. There’s something in the way that they’re wired. The just love to see things explode. I won’t even blame it on their home planet, though I feel like I should. I’ve been blaming that ball of rock for a lot of things lately, it’s unfair of me.

A few cycles ago, I was invited to come along with my human friends as they celebrate another holiday. Which one? I wasn’t really paying attention, I was trying to get some time with Heather from Traffic Control so I could ask her out on a date. I know, I know, you’re going to make fun of me for being a human chaser, but you know what? I don’t care. More of them for me. Fel said she likes us.

Anyway, they invited me along and I wasn’t about to say no. They had chartered a ship to take us to the inner system to “get the best views” whatever that meant. Onboard, light refreshments and drinks were served. They even thought of non humans had had a whole spread of food I could eat! Me and the other non humans were impressed. They went all out.

About a demicycle into the party, there was a tone, and everyone made their way to the large clear viewports that had been installed on the ship. They were nearly two meters tall, optically clear and incredibly thick. At first I had thought they were just viewscreens but Heather - who at this time had seemed receptive to my advances so was standing at my side, pressed against me and stroking the fur between my ears - she explained that for an event like this, only the real view would suffice. “We want to see them with our own eyes.”

“See what?”

Her laughter was music. “You’ll see.”

We both turned back to the window. There was another tone, and a prerecorded speech began. I was only half paying attention as I was otherwise… distracted by Heather’s light grooming. Something about a day of rememberance and reflection as well as a time for looking forward.

The speech over, there was a moment where nothing was happening. Then, there was multiple flashes as ships linked in. I was able to track their movement after the link which meant they were moving very fast. As I watched, another ship linked in and…

I swear this is really what happened.

The two ships crashed into each other! They must have been going nearly half the speed of light at the time. The explosion was… it was hard to describe. It was a flash of white brighter than the sun and on the edge of the explosion were tendrils of black reaching out into space. As it faded to nothing another and and another. They were just crashing ships into each other over and over again. Some of the ships must have had something done to their reactors, they would explode with orange or red or yellow or green colors, not just white.

Others would link in, and fire hundreds of missiles into space before being struck by another ship. I looked up at Heather. Her eyes were glued to the window, watching and gasping with delight at each explosion. She never stopped stroking my fur, but I could tell she was doing it on automatic. The carnage outside had taken all her attention.

After a few more explosions it was done. There was light applause and everyone went back to the main ballroom to have more snacks.

“Wasn’t that fun?” Heather squeezed me as we walked back. She smelled like trees and a cool breeze. I wonder if she wore a scent she knew I’d like.

“It was… interesting for sure. Thank you for inviting me.” I looked up at her and then back towards the window. “You really destroy all those ships every year?”

“Oh, there’s no AI on them, and they’re all hulks that were destined for scrap and recycling anyway, nobody got hurt, and everyone got a show. It was fun!” She nodded to herself. “Good show this year too, no misses and I hadn’t seen blasts that big since I was a kid.”

The things I do for a date.

[emotionallyattachednerd]

Firefly | RotB Bumblebee x f!human reader | NSFW 18+

Word count: 1200+

Warnings: Smut ( size difference ) and human on top of her bug. NSFW 18+.

Notes: Bumblebee is my favourite autobot. Trying to keep my requests within 1000+ just so I don't get too carried away or burn myself out too much. So far so good I think, maybe. Lets see how I go with the others. Thanks for sending in @lemon-and-lime-hq. Enjoy. 🥰

I found this very useful and I highly recconmend to check it out. They have done amazing and useful work. ❤️

☕ Coffee

"Bee! Look at them all! An't they just beautiful?" You beam brightly as you lay against Bumblebee's chassis, snuggled up against him on this beautiful night with the unexpected yet alluring visitors.

It's date night for you and Bumblebee. He's been staying with Noah and Mirage while taking a break from missions, and he gets to be closer to you as well before he needs to meet up with Optimus again.

Now, on this night together, the fireflies we're all out and lighting up around you. You don't see them often, so this was a special treat.

"From ten thousand lightning bugs." Bumblebee sings through his radio making you giggle gently from one of your favourite songs.

"With so much shit in this world you've got to admire its beauty as well, what lives here, the innocent lives that bring such an amenity to us. So pretty." You coo in delight while leaning into Bumblebee more, admiring the surrounding glowing insects.

"Your smile makes me happier." Bumblebee always admires your alluring smiles, they bring such warmth to his spark, seeing you calm and happy.

Turning your head you face him on a better angle and lean closer, softly kissing the side of his mouth guard and savouring his soft vibrations of delight. He might not use his voice, but you enjoy his radio chatter and his ability to find everything through that.

Moving your hand you lift the shirt off your head, tossing it aside and wiggling out of your skirt and settling yourself back down.

"Daaaaaaamn." Bumblebee admires the black lace you wear as he traces his thick digits across them and against your skin.

His reaction makes you blush while leaning your body against his touch, letting out a low moan as your body breaks out in goosebumps. Your fingers trace over his yellow plating, up over his chassis and gently curling against both sides of his neck cables, earning you a satisfied rev from his engines.

Moving your hands you reach behind and unhook your bra and sling shot that across the grass. Your breasts are in view and your perk nipples harden under his eager touches. The fireflies hovered around and some landed against your skin making Bumblebee coo gently.

"Heavens above." He praises. They do tickle your skin a little but you decide to allow them to hang around during your coupling. Above all, despite his size, you have been able to take his spike before. The very thought makes your heated core throb under your panties.

Your hand descends and you start to rub yourself inside your panties, circling your clit with your thumb while pumping your fingers into your depths, curling against your walls and stretching yourself while planting kisses against his armour.

Bumblebee responds through lingering revs and moans, optics flickering through the growing pleasure that was boiling through him. He retracts his panel and you gasp as you feel the long throbbing length drag against you.

"It's been a while, huh? You're so eager." You whisper through your heated breaths before removing your hand from your core and slipping out of your panties.

"So fricken eager baby."

Now naked, you knew you were perhaps rushing slightly, but you can't help yourself as you take hold of his throbbing spike and position yourself on him, pressing down against his tip before feeling yourself stretch around him.

Gasping you slowly take inches at a time, feeling the ridges drag past your lips and against your inner walls, every throb sending gentle shockwaves through your body. The intense arousal that blooms through you only grows hotter as you take more of him, feeling his metal frame quicker before stopping half way and letting out a long moan as you give yourself a moment.

"Fucking hell. Bee, so big, so good! You're so fucking huge!" You cry out in bliss as you rest your hands against his chassis, clenching down on him as his servos hold you steady around your smaller body on him, wanting to be careful and not hurt you.

"So tight!"

Letting out a wide smirk, you caress your hands across his face before taking hold and slowly start to rock yourself on him, letting out short whimpers with each aching fill provided. You feel every throb and ridge rocking through you, your depths accepting more of him each time you sink back down, your hand moving to your belly where you feel his spike pressing up against you over again.

Feeling the lump gave you such a high, a desire to be filled by him always, to feel the lump and to be filled with his fluids so deeply. You're not crazy, you're simply in love with your robot boyfriend who you wanted to be with forever and always.

Most of the fireflies still hang around, not minding what was happening at all as they land on you and Bumblebee to join the fun. You can't help but giggle through the burning pleasure and glee, loving the glowing sight they provided on each of you.

Bumblebee's optics flicker more, his moans increasing as he holds back his overload. Again, it's been a while, so you're not too far off either from cumming around his twitching spike buried deep in your core as you ride him eagerly.

Your juices flood over him, leaking out onto his armour as you feel the warm leaks of his trans fluids soaking your channel. Moving your hand again you rub your clit gently, whimpering more followed by a loud mewl as you toss your head back, riding him harder and panting through your hammering heartbeat.

"Oh fuck! Bee! I'm close...so close!" You chant your warning to him as you feel yourself about to break loose on him.

"Come crumbling down!" You hear him answer, seconds before he jerks his hips up into you, spike twitching and erupting thick ropes of fluids deep within you, filling your belly where there's a small round lump formed. His sounds were so mechanical, machine like, and you are freaking addicted to it.

All the fireflies suddenly burst off your both during your orgasim and overload, leaving it just the two of you than on this beautiful night. Guess you both kind of scared them away.

Unleashing yourself you cum around him, clenching hard and crying out in bliss as your body convulses against him, planting yourself against his chassis where you pant heavily, breasts rubbing against his warm metal as you catch your breath while letting out soft murmurs.

"I just had sex!" He sings, making you snort a giggle.

"That we did. So good Bee, you're always so good. I'll love you forever my yellow bug. Will you love me?"

"Loved you yesterday, love you still, always have, always will." Bumblebee speaks a quote fondly that makes you blush more.

Gently, he helps you off him, laying you against his chassis and soft blanket he had brought on your date. You lean up and kiss his cheek plating, before nuzzling yourself against the blanket and his warm metal, silently thanking whatever gods were real for making you so damn lucky.

"I love you, Bumblebee." You whisper fondly.

"I know." He answers that silly famous Han Solo quote that you can't help but giggle lightly through your tired state.

You are very lucky indeed.

[brandwhorestarscream]

Imperial harem au

so how does the first meeting between starscream and his harem go?

Simple: it doesn't 🤭

Starscream is very against the idea and is definitely dragging his feet. Usually he thrives on attention, and you'd think he'd be all over the idea of schmoozing with a bunch of wealthy and well-bred beauties desperately clamoring for his attention and trying to seduce him.

But no. Starscream may be a narcissistic and he does love attention, but this Starscream is incredibly young compared to the one we know in canon. He's fresh out of school, has just graduated with his first degree. The closest thing he's ever had to a real relationship is Skyfire, and that whole thing is messy, to say the least, due to Vosian politics. He's not in any rush to give himself to anyone, not only because he's young and inexperienced and wants to be strategic about it, but because it feels so completely objectifying. Dehumanizing, if you will. One of those concubines is going to be his future trine mate, whether he likes it or not, and he's dreading it. He doesn't know these people. He can't stand the idea of spending the rest of his life tied to a couple strangers that will only be using him for the position of royalty for the rest of his life. And he has to touch them to do it? No thank you. This Starscream is so wet behind the ears and has been so dedicated to his studies he's not even had his first time yet. He wants it to happen naturally, wants it to be with someone that'll make it feel good physically and emotionally.

So, he's not exactly jumping for joy when the day comes for the ceremony to be performed, to welcome the contenders into the palace. His parents go all out, naturally: though they may be of higher rank, they're still greeting and welcoming a bunch of very important young lords and ladies as their extended guests, and the last thing they want to do is insult their families and cause turmoil. The professions are grand, palace gates and courtyard decorated with finery and dazzling lights and jewels as each one arrives, all dolled up in the finest paint and polish with an entourage of attendants handpicked from their less fortunate relatives, being led by the head trine of their aerie coming to present them.

Starscream is naturally posted with the Winglord and his trine as the offerings arrive; each and every one is clearly well loved and doted on, soft and lovely faces, plenty of jewelry and ceremonial glyphs, grace incarnate as they approach. Upon each of their forehelms they're marked with the titles they have been awarded, traditionally indicating which house they hail from. The Peaceful, Vigorous, Wise, Protective, and Gilded Consorts. The final one is the only one he pays any attention to, presented from the noble house second only in power to his own. The beloved grandson of the House of Commerce's matriarch is covered helm to thrusters in metallic golden glyphs, draped in golden chains and golden bracelets. The other concubines have their glyphs done in traditional black or white. It's quite a statement, and is rife with cheek. He sparkles and shines so brilliantly it's hard to look at him, and it's a clear statement to everyone: he's the favorite to win.

Thundercracker himself has a deadpan look on his face, optics blank and laser focused straight ahead of him, expression cold and unwavering and perfect like a lovingly sculpted statue. He's the very picture of icy cold arrogance and class, and even without his parents' say-so Starscream knows he should probably be one of the two he chooses. His House has the economy in the palm of their hand, after all, and own over half the city's assets and housing. Grand Matriarch Permafrost deeply adores him, her favorite grandchild of all, and to snub them would not bode well.

Following the welcome ceremony where he says all of but six words, "I thank you for your presence.", the concubines are taken to the inner palace's courtyard to settle in and be assigned their pavillions. Traditionally at this point the prince would go survey the goods one on one, but Starscream couldn't care less. He doesn't want to go. The sooner he sets foot in there the sooner he'll have to start performing nightly duties, and he's quietly dreading it. Being with another person seems like such a big deal and he feels vaguely nauseous at having to be touched by someone he barely knows.

He avoids it as long as he can, squirreling himself away in inconspicuous library wings to study law or mathematics or anything, really, so long as no one can say he's wasting time. He is, mind you, but at least he's doing something productive. A unique brand of procrastination, to be sure 🤭 this goes on for exactly a decacycle (10 days), before the Winglord steps in. Sternly telling him that he has to actually go see his concubines, and while a vorn may sound like a long time, conceptions can be finicky. If he wants to get to know them better before bedding them, that's fine, but in that case he needs to actually make an effort to familiarize himself. A new private rule is implemented: he has to go see each of the concubines at least once a decacycle: that's 5 days out of every 10 that he has to go visit the inner palace, effectively immediately. He's less than thrilled.

He has no idea which one to visit first, so leaves it up to chance. Tosses all five names into a random generator and decides whichever one it spits out, that's who he's going to see

...

I have already decided who he's going to visit first and the drama that ensues 🤭 any guesses owo

[myriaderotica]

Distractions - TFP KOBD X (Female) Reader

Warnings: 18+

Word Count: 653

The pain was mild. Thankfully, it was far from excruciating, but it wasn’t necessarily tolerable either. Just some time ago, the anesthesia ceased to work its magic on you, so there was a constant pain in both your jaw and your teeth. After a long and grueling day at the dentist’s office, you planned to rest and relax for the remainder of the day in your home, preferably on a bed or a couch. However, as luck would have it, you managed to end up inside a warehouse, surrounded by two very attentive and doting Cybertronians. 

Breakdown held you safely in his large servos, cradling you close with his rounded digits as you rested atop his big, blue chest. As he traced light circles into your back, you couldn’t help but moan softly. You leaned into his touch, sighing gently as his engine rumbled beneath your body. It was just soft enough to ease you.

As well as tease you.

He knew what he was doing, and he was delighted. Nevertheless, he was as soft as he could be while tending to you. It was something that you dearly appreciated. 

But just then, another sharp pain from your jaw forced your body to shiver. Breakdown frowned at you, his single, yellow optic aglow with concern. 

“You okay?”

You nodded, allowing the throbbing to subside. Breakdown readjusted his servos, setting one behind your back while the other pressed against your clothed chest. Carefully, he rubbed your tits. He massaged them, the motions from his digits causing them to bounce. Almost immediately, your nipples grew hard. When he flicked a bud, he caught the blissful expression on your face. It encouraged him. As he massaged your breasts, you gripped his plating and tilted your head back in ecstasy. For several moments, he toyed with your boobs until you relaxed once again. 

He smiled at you.

“How’s that? Any better?”

A familiar sort of liquid pooled inside your underwear as you cried his name. 

“Much better!”

From his vocalizer, Breakdown released a hum. Cautiously, he drew you closer to his helm and kissed you on the corners of your lips. In spite of his size, the kiss worked well. His dermas, although large, were warm and smooth against your skin. As you moaned, his inner mechanics purred slightly louder in response. After a moment or two, he kissed you directly on the lips.

“Happy to hear it, sweetspark.” 

You laughed. Before you could hug him, however, a smooth voice wafted inside your ears. 

“As am I.” 

Knock Out approached your side with a grin. 

“Here. Hand her to me, Breakdown.” 

Breakdown didn’t complain, and neither did you. When you reached out to the red mech, he instantly brought you into his own servos. He was careful not to injure you with his claws. As he settled himself beside Breakdown, he slowly dragged his sharp digits across your body, touching your bare shoulders as well as your exposed thighs. 

“Good girl,” he crooned. “Now, aren’t you pleased that we answered your call for help?” 

You pouted at his teases, but nodded. 

“Maybe.”

He chuckled, continuing to stroke your body until finally choosing to dip a claw between your legs. You gasped and squirmed, prompting the Decepticon medic to beam with pride. As you firmly pressed your soft hands to his plating, you began to rock against his digit. Knock Out moved his claw beneath you in order to help you. As your arousal increased, Breakdown shifted closer.

“Doc, I think she’s pretty wet…”

Knock Out smirked.

“Ah, but of course she is, Breaky. We are giving her a much-needed distraction from the pain, after all.”

All of the sudden, he stopped his claw from moving beneath you. Before you could question what happened, he pulled you near his faceplate and pressed a little kiss to your jaw. 

“And I cannot be more pleased by the results.”

Divider Credit: @/inklore

[deadtired-highkeyenergetic]

First Snow

The Transformers OC brainrot is real

It's colder than usual, Shadowblade notes. The land is covered with a thin layer of white, the trees have lost their green outer shells that she vaguely remembers the humans calling leaves, leaving only their brown inner forms that are called…sticks? No that's not the word. Twigs? Oh wait, branches. Yes, branches. She swears the thicker brown things are called something else but she can't remember, and neither can she be bothered to search for the word.

Trekking onwards towards the Energon signal, her nose wrinkles as the wind picks up, taking the scents in the wrong direction and she scowls, annoyed. Whenever the wind blows, the air gets colder and she's never been one for the cold. Warmer temperatures helped her Energon flow better, the adrenaline pumped harder, and the thrill of a hunt coursing through her feel so much more alive. Still, she has a mission to complete and she isn't going back to base empty-handed.

As she nears the signal, the wind picks up and white stuff begins falling from the sky all around her. She shivers, armour plates rattling and mutters a curse under her breath. It's getting colder, and she would much rather be away from all this cold, preferably in the warm embrace of her lover but she knows he has better things to do than coddle her. Although he could be convinced to snuggle with her tonight, she's sure of that. He's always found it hard to deny her, and she found it amusing.

She quickly pushes through the white that's starting to pile up at an alarming speed, hoping to get to the signal before she freezes her aft off but something about the white stuff intrigues her. Maybe it's the way it turns to water on her armour, or its delicateness, or just the fact that there's nothing like this back on Cybertron but the sight of it falling all around her, disappearing into a sea of its brethren amazes her to no end.

Reaching up with a servo, she catches one of the white things, admiring the way it crumbles around her digit. Yet another fragile thing, she hums to herself, watching as another lands on her forearm, disappearing into colourless liquid the moment it touches her silver armour.

Pretty, is all she can think. Fragile yet beautiful, with an almost ethereal glow to them as the sun rises, casting its golden light. The way the trees filter the light, it's captivating. The ground is bathed in the sun's light, the brown of the trees' branches turning almost golden, it reminds her of this world's beauty but it also reminds her that she's a long way from Cybertron — her home.

Sorrow wells up within her, a pang within her spark but she brushes it off. Cybertron is lost, but the war rages on. As her brother once said, to be distracted from the fight is to beg death to come and claim oneself, and she doesn't intend to die yet.

Her digits dance over the white coating on the tree, sharp claws slicing through the substance with ease and leaves claw marks behind. She notices that the liquid the white substance turns into upon contact with her armour lingers on the tips of her digits and in a moment of sheer reckless curiosity, she licks it. Fortunately, it does no harm to her, although she can picture Ratchet coming after her with a wrench for not thinking it through and the disappointed look on Optimus' face. She really shouldn't tell them about this. Still, a part of her wants to, if only so that she can see if the scene plays out exactly like how she's pictured it.

Well, she has time to ponder about it as she finds that Energon deposit. If she can find it amidst this…increasing storm. She isn't about to freeze to death when she's fought monsters and emerged victorious, that would be a stupid way to go. So she trudges on, despising the way the wind is starting to howl in her audials and utters more choice curses she's learnt from the Pits. The white substance is starting to get into her optic, and Primus be damned if she was going to go blind because of some Earth storm.

The more she walks, the more she hates this white substance that keeps swirling around her. It was beautiful once, she won't deny it, but it's becoming increasingly irritating and cold. Especially cold. Her old injuries are starting to flare up, she swears she isn't that old, she just has a lot of scars from her time in the Pits that aren't helping in this weather. Yeah, that's the reason. No other reason exists.

After what feels like forever, she finds the place where the Energon signal is originating from. A cave, a shelter from the roaring white storm outside and she sighs in relief, nearly collapsing on the ground. Energon crystals glow a gentle blue in the darkness of the cave and she begins to collect them, casually nibbling on a small piece along the way. It feels nice, to be somewhat out of the cold and the storm, but she can still feel the chill of the wind. If only the cave was deeper so she could burrow inside and hide away from the cold, but alas, no.

Shadowblade finishes collating all the Energon crystals she can find and is about to contact the base for a Groundbridge when she realises the storm has ended. Sunlight pokes through the mouth of the cave, illuminating the scene before her and she peeps out, curious.

It's less cold now, kind of. That's good. Some trees are bent and broken from the storm, drenched in white but she likes the way they seemingly frame the mouth of the cave. Her audials twitch as the feet patter on her left and an Earth creature scampers across the ground, leaving footprints in the white that blankets the ground. She peers at it, marvelling at how tiny the creature is when a rustling sound catches her attention and the next thing she knows, a large pile of white is dropped on her.

She snarls at the sudden freezing feeling that sends chills up her spine, hackles raised and utters a couple of curses she learnt from the deepest parts of the Pits. That's it. Enough Earth weather. She's heading back to base. No more of this…white substance that she hasn't bothered to find the name of.

Back in the warmth of the base, she heads straight for the wash racks, eager to get the white substance off her when one of the human children pipes up.

"Did snow get dropped on your head?"

"What is snow?"

"You know, the white stuff on you?"

She bares her fangs into a snarl, claws curling before stalking off to the wash racks, refusing to let this conversation go any further. She's done with this. She will not suffer any more embarrassment, especially not from this…snow.

"She did get snow dropped on her head! I knew it!"

Optimus' optics crinkle as he allows himself a small smile of mirth and Ratchet snorts, knowing how much Shadowblade despises the cold.

"About time she got what she deserved for messing up my medbay."

"That was a long time ago, old friend. Surely holding onto a grudge for so long starts to wear you down."

"Oh no, not when it comes to her. I'll operate on sheer spite if I have to. You know she'll do the same."

"Unfortunately so."

A howl suddenly tears through the base followed by a string of swears and Ratchet smiles, "I suppose I'll get what's coming to me too."

Optimus sighs as the others look at them, concerned. "I will go and check up on her." With that, he hurriedly leaves in the direction of the wash rack, lest it be destroyed with claws.

Ratchet simply grins victoriously at the others, his smile unnerving. "Shadowblade and the cold don't mix well. A cold wash, however, fits into the wash racks."

[saberswordseabass]

A Hidden Danger; Know your threat (3.5)

Soldiers began to bolt down a dark metal grated floor. The sturdy, metallic walls creak from a minor gravity difference. One of the soldiers shouted something unintelligible to the recording unit. The wall to their right begins to creak louder and warp from stress.

Blast doors begin to lower, trapping the two soldiers in the corridor as the wall bulges like it was hit by a freight train. The soldiers begin to obviously shake as they lower their helmets over their elongated fox like faces. They raise their laser rifles and steady it at the wall bulging.

After another moment, the wall explodes inward, but no explosive decompression followed. A bulky fox robot with stark white, like star-bleached armor, forced its way through. Lasers streak and sizz in the air as the soldiers begin to pelt the robot.

It seemed unfazed by the lasers, only focusing on them when one managed to shoot it in the optic sensor. The graviton ram of its right arm, hissed as it prepared to operate once again, while it raised its left arm, its fingers arcing with a green energy. The bot begins to march towards them intently.

The graviton ram began to glow with a green field as it launched forward with a wet squelch from the soldiers before the video seems to freeze as the recording device manages to show a soldier in horrible mixture of fused into the wall and crushed under a powerful gravitational force.

"So what are you thinking for lunch? I really want to try this Philly cheesesteak that the captive mentioned." A Ursidain spoke, gently scratching their belly as their unruly clothes suggested pirates.

"Eh, doesn't sound awful. You might have t-" The Taurian companion began to state before a warning light began to flash rapidly.

A warning began to echo from the P.A. system; "Prepare to be boarded! Don't recognize the ship, but it is probably the human savior team from the GC. Give them hell!" The P.A. warned as a few moments later, the ship violently shuttered as the boarding vessel rammed them.

The two pirates were caught off guard and had been knocked into the left side wall. "What the hell is wrong with them? Are they insane?!" The Taurian screamed as they grabbed their weapon. Right as they finish that thought, the wall to their right melts like butter. An intimated robot in height, having to lean down to fight in the hallway designed for Ursidains.

"Command: Give up human now, and your lives may be spared." The bot ordered as its stark white armored glistened in the dull, flickering florescent light. It held two massive clamp hands, like originally designed to carry around the cargo pods, but they were paired with some kind of unknown weapon, but the armored canister attached to it suggested a flame based weapon.

The pirates look at each other as the bot stares unmoving at the two, waiting for a reply. The Ursidain nodded to his Taurian companion before unslinging an old earth shotgun and firing a shot into the bot's ribcage area. "Eat ferrus insect!" The Ursidain roared as the bot stumbled back, its inner working exposed from the 'insect'.

"Hostile action has been taken." The bot spoke as its wide footing managed to stabilize. The bot's orange, almost yellow eyes, begun to rapidly shift color to a cool, icy blue. Its arms raise out, and frost began to coat its flamethrower like barrels. An icy stream connects with both organics. The Ursidain looks relatively unharmed but still affected by the flash freezing of his outer layer of fur and fat. His Taurian companion was not as lucky as half of her right side crystallized from the ice-thrower's very napalm; 'Neptunic Nictro'

The Ursidain rushes to close the gap, firing two more shots into the bot, which finally knocks the bot down onto its back. With another shot to it's fox like head makes the machine go limp.

From this device's recording, the screen begins to get hit with many white particulars, giving the recording a grainy resolution. A much smaller bot began to step through the hole left by its bigger cousin. Their rifle, which was glowing blue from an unknown source. Upon readying the gun at the Ursidain, who noticed it too late, the camera grows more grainy. The camera cuts out as the Ursidain attempts to rush the smaller bot, and a split frame of a blue pulse wave echos from its gun.

A deep-seated anger began to fill room, as all recording on each screen paused at a gruesome death. A dull grey fur inquistor sat at a desk in front of the screens. "I've spent 70 years making sure Octarus does not awaken. It is a massive threat to not just us, but all of the GC, if allowed, to get fully operational... again." Gloved hands gently rub the inquistor's face. "And if word gets out that we are the cause, that could cause an end to us, not just as an empire but also a species if what the GC did to the majority of humanity is to be noted."

"Get me on the line with Quilx." The old inquistor spoke to his help, who rushes off, only to return a moment later. "What's wrong?" The older inquistor asks as a worried frown fills his graying brow.

"Sir, Quilx has made a ground expedition to the planet where he believes Octarus' forces have been coming from." That made the old inquistor shoot up, only to grip his chest with a pained expersion. His body was old and failing as he was reaching a century in his Inquisitoral duties.

The help rushed to him before he shooed them away with another pained grunt. "Quilx will die if he steps foot on that planet! Warn him immediately to change his course of operations." The old inquistor gasped as his body forced him back down onto his padded chair.

"Maker, why?" The old inquistor gasped quietly to himself as he stared into space with horror of first-hand experience.

Decided to try another approach to this. I hope you enjoyed it! C&C is very much welcome and appreciated! Again, thank @wolven91 for creating this amazing universe to allow me to create this weird word soup :>

[starsheild]

Forbidden Magic: Risk

Forbidden Magic-Risk

It had been Jackpot’s suggestion to disguise themselves as pilgrims on a journey north to the golden spires, seeking the blessing of the Avatar of Primus, the Prime. The local priests had watched them carefully, but when Jazz had stepped up and presented them with an offering, asking for a blessing on their journey.

The golden figurine and the highgrade had been accepted, and the priest had bid them kneel to accept their blessing. “May your journey be smooth and swift, and may Primus grant that you find that which you seek.” With those glyphs he touched each of their forhealms, leaving a small golden mark .

“Yer a genius Jackpot.” Jaz murmured as they set in a circle in the open public yard of the temple, munching on the part of a solar loaf. The thick loaf wasn’t exactly tasty, but it was filling and nutritious. The mineral loaf and the cube of energon were provided by temple for any in need, and the pilgrims had been offered them after they had been blessed. The blessing marks now only earned them momentary glances and then dismissal compared to the long looks of suspicion from before.

“I’d heard talk o’ it. Never known anyone that’d done it, but ‘pparently they’re true.” Jackpot replied as he nawed on his own loaf. “Got us in.”

Ricohet grunted in agreement as he washed down the last of his own solar loaf with some energon. “So what now.”

“Well, seein’ as how I got us permission ta recharge in the courtyard this dark cycle ta save us a room.” Jazz said as he stretched out on the ground. “I say we be thankful for ours blessin’s ‘n rest ‘fore we go lookin’ fer what we seek.”

Understanding nods passed between the group as they copied Jazz’s actions, arranging themselves to spend the dark cycle.

Prowl was pulled from a restless recharge by a firm servo on his chin forcing his helm up. His optics came online to look, and he wished that he could return to that recharge, as poor as it had been. The cold optics looking into his froze him to spark. They were not empty as he first thought, but sharp and full of cunning.

“Fresh power. Excellent.” Lifespark comment, though the glyphs were uttered in almost a detached fashion as he studied Prowl. “Your kind are becoming harder to find. I will have to start looking into alternatives. Or possibly new… arrangements. But for now…” He stepped back and turned to the workbench, digits dancing over the tools now arranged on the smooth work surface.

Prowl risked tilting his helm far enough to be able to see Soaring out of the corner of his optic. His origin was restrained in her cage, and his spark constricted in his chassis. She looked so small compared the creator he remembered. She had faced everything that life had thrown at her and survived it. Conquered it. Yet the sad green optics that rose to meet his were dim, the light of life leached from them.

“That one is fading. You all do, eventually. Despite all my efforts to the contrary.” Lifesparks glyphs drew Prowl’s attention back to the mech standing before him once more. Prowl had neither heard nor sensed his approach, the realization chilling his spark even more. Even in his current state he should have noticed something. It was all he could do to keep from flinching as his chest plate was removed and tossed aside. Light from the spark lamps on the wall reflected off the razor edge of a blade, ad before Prowl could process what was happening pain exploded above his spark.

When he could focus again he found himself looking at a small vial of his own inner energon, glowing in the light. He shuddered, though if it was from pain or ths sight he wasn’t sure. His focus shifted to Lifespark, and the small cold smile of pleasure he wore. “Fresh, and very bright. You are young. You will last a long time. Not like some of the others recently.”

His expression shifted to one of contemplation and he lifted the knife, glossa flicking out to clean Prowl’s energon from the blade.”

“Excellent.”

While the temple itself was never completely still, once the darkness fell the public departed. A little to their surprise, they were not the only group of travelers that had sought refuge in the temple. Jazz was thankful though. It gave all more credence to their cover, and would provide additional coverage for their actions. Jazz watched the comings and goings of the temple inhabitants, Richochet at his side. In the deep of the dark cycle he looked to his twin, and in silent agreement they slipped from their berthpads into the shadows.

Behind them was the sounds of mecha shifting around, and Jazz knew that the other were arranging the now vacant pads to appear as though they were still occupied. While the location might be a new one, this was a familiar path, one they had trod together many times before.

“Which way?” Rico asked so softly that only another Poly, and one standing right next to another, would hear once they had slipped in the temple proper. Jazz looked around, listening, searching for any clue. For all of their careful looking and watching, the only thing they had heard or seen pertaining to the witchmecha had been what felt like a standing litany on how corrupt and evil they were.

Ricochet looked at him in the shadows, concern clearly written on his features and washing over the the bond between their sparks. Almost Jazz waivered in his belief, but something still drew him deeper. It was the same feeling in his tanks that told him that Prowl was still alive. With a firmer nod he moved further into the temple. It was easy to slip through the temple, around the priests and the temple acolytes and servants going about their functionings. These mecha had no reason to fear anything in the heart of their home.

A lack of fear that made the nervousness of one stand out. Jazz touched his twins shoulder and tipped his helm in the direction of the agitated mech. Painted as a temple servant, the small mech had a tray carefully balanced in his servos, his entire focus on this one task as he hurried through the halls. He stopped in front of an imposing set of double doors, set the tray down, knocked once, and then scurried away.

Jazz hung in the shadows, Ricochet at his side, and waited. Almost a klik later the one of the doors opened wide enough for a mech to retrieve the tray and close it again. Jazz and Rico looked at each, silently planning. They had worked together for far to long to need glyphs to the plan something like this out. The doors, for all their size, moved silently, but they had no idea what lay on the other side. This temple was old though, and many of the ancient ventliation shafts were still in place, shielded from the optic by guilded covers.

It was though one of these that the pair slipped silently, the broad shaft providing easy passes for the slender Polhexian frames. They slipped up to each grate they passed, glancing out just long enough to assess the space beyond before moving on until they reached one that was covered from the outside. They exchanged glances before Rico slipped a digit through one of the grate holes, testing the cover. It gave slightly, a noise damper.

Jazz pulled out a slender blade and nicked the cover, widening the opening enough that he could see out before passing the blade to his twin so that Ricochet could do the same where he crouched. The slight that sight before them was at the same time both sparkchilling and enraging, with Ricochet unable to completely suppresse the soft growl of his system,

Two Praxians were restrained in small cages, bound and stripped down to their protoforms. As they watched both prisoners were force fed fuel, their mouths forced open and energon poured down their throats. They resisted, Prowl with far more strength though no less determination than the other captive. Neither of the priests tending them uttered a sound as they fed and wiped down the Praxians and departed.

[another-corpo-rat]

❛ someone's needy. ❜ for victoria and kurt please -!! <3

ty very much for the prompt!!💕 someday i'll actually write smut and not just the prelude to it but today is not that day - and someday i'll actually use the prompt without paraphrasing-

❛ someone's needy. ❜ Kurt Hansen/OC

She acts like it’s the softest sound that gives him away; a catch of a breath as her teeth nip against his earlobe, the flex of his fingers as he lets the balance of control slip from his grasp into hers.

As if she hadn’t wrangled it from him the moment her hand splayed across his chest, when he obeyed her motions to be pinned against the leather of the sofa with more eagerness than he’d care to admit. She had been quick to settle over him, the barest trace of a smile on her lips before it was hidden in the crook of his neck, trailed along the delicate path where chrome met skin. 

He feels her smile widen, knows well how her optics glint with a barely tolerable smugness as she retraces that path with kisses that are mere ghosts of a sensation. As soft and warm as the smoky caramel breath that tickles his skin, lighter than the golden hand that trails upwards from knee to inner thigh, resting precariously, calculatedly close to where he wants it to be—

“Hansen.” She greets, formal and politically polite, as if this was another business venture, another press of negotiation between Barghest and Arasaka. Maybe it was, he wouldn’t put it past a corpo to change the field to suit their game, he certainly wouldn’t put it past this one. And if it was well, he had to admire the brazenness but minus points for originality.

“Crane.” He returns, his voice steady enough to mirror her tone. “Here on business?” His focus on her expression as she pulls back to regard him, or it tries to be – he’s drawn to her eyes, their golden hues paled yellow in the light of his office, crow’s feet crinkling in amusement as her gaze trails purposefully downwards to the prominent tent in his trousers.

“Of a sort.” Her hand trails up those final inches to palm his erection. He breathes in sharply, catching a moan between teeth as his knees spread wider of their own accord. “I do hate to leave things half-done, don’t you?”

Ah, so that was it. ‘Half-done’ was hardly the term for last time, ‘barely started’ maybe, before Yuri interrupted with some shit or another – an issue that was hardly worth his attention and sorted by the time he got to the lower levels, Victoria gone by his return upwards. Yuri’s still bruised from their spar the following day, the deep purple only recently fading to a sickly yellow.

He hums his agreement as she straddles him, arms curling around his shoulders as his hand settles on her hip, the other resting on her thigh and following her skirt’s trail as it rides up. “Gotta admit, I’m surprised you’re still hung up on that.”

“Oh, I was seething.”

“Mm, and now you’re fucking needy.” She’s about to argue – he knows she is, sees it in the narrowing of her eyes and the twist of her lips – but she quietens herself when he holds her gaze in his challenging own, his hand paused in the undoing of his belt. He might be the one uncomfortable in his own trousers but she’s the one who came to him, for him, instead of picking a name from her little black book to warm her bed. They both know it, and it’d sting her pride to hear it aloud.

“I’m not the only one.” She offers after a defeated sigh, with a pointed look downwards: a redirection he allows with a chuff. It’s more grace than she deserves, but she came all the way here just for him and he’d hate to be an ungracious host. And it’s not like he can argue the point either, with the obvious evidence in her favour added to with the relieved breath that escapes him as he finally unclasps his belt.

[archivist-crow]

On this day:

THE CRYSTAL SKULL

On January 1, 1927, in British Honduras, seventeen-year-old Anna Mitchell-Hedges discovered an exquisite crystal skull in the dust beneath the altar of a Mayan temple, during an expedition led by her father, F. A. Mitchell-Hedges. The find was not mentioned in expedition reports; Anna later explained that if it had been included, the skull would have gone to a museum. Instead, the skull was returned to the Mayans. On the Mitchell-Hedges' departure, the Mayans made a gift of it to them. In the 1940s, the skull was auctioned at Sotheby's by Sydney Burney, who had received it as collateral against a loan. Mitchell-Hedges bought it back to pay off the loan and to establish legal ownership.

The Mitchell-Hedges crystal skull has attracted worldwide attention. In 1970 Hewlett-Packard Laboratories examined it and discovered that the skull has light pipes, which are similar to modern fiber optics. The eye sockets are concave lenses; the interior contains a ribbon prism and a tiny light tunnel. The "crystal," actually a quartz material, holds electrical energy and oscillates at a constant and precise frequency. Incredibly, it had been carved against the natural axis of the quartz without the quartz shattering, and a lack of microscopic scratches indicates metal instruments were not used to carve it. It rests in perfect balance. The slightest breeze causes the skull to nod back and forth, and the jaw opens and closes as a counter weight, making the skull look as if it is talking. The technique that created it is impossible to duplicate today.

The skull is also reported to change color, emit odors, create sound, change temperature, and possess psychic and healing powers. It is thought to be 2,000 to 4,000 years old, and theories about who made it abound. Was it carved by the Aztecs? The Knights Templar?Extraterrestrials? An Inner-Earth society? Mitchell-Hedges himself?

Legend says thirteen such skulls exist and that when they are brought together, they will reveal ancient wisdom.

Text from: Almanac of the Infamous, the Incredible, and the Ignored by Juanita Rose Violins, published by Weiser Books, 2009

[korpuskat]

For gunk-ice-tea’s RaMayttra prompts, Day 30: Balance. Pairing: Ramattra/Reader Rating: PG WC: 848 Warnings: None

"What is it?" You ask, half-motioning to his staff.

When he had first laid eyes on the orb, Ramattra could barely speak. A moment of awe- of fury. He had crossed continents, walked most of it alone, only occasionally the rare few of his kind of who had managed to integrate into human society quickly giving him assistance. He had come so far for answers. To be greeted by serene omnics offering him a mediation tool was a harsh slap. How could this be what he needed- what all omnics needed?

"It's a Shamabli meditation orb." He replies, then corrects himself: "It was."

It took weeks for him to relax among his own brethren. Took even longer for him to realize that his silent walks around the monastery at midnight were not a result of his extended wake cycle. On each circle of the stone-walled perimeter, Ramattra's orb refused to do more than flicker its lights. That was fine, because he was too busy scanning the freezing mountain for any heat signatures.

"Was?" You stare at the purple-striped thing. With a tip of his head, the orb floats out of the crook of his staff, settling between you. "Oh," you murmur, leaning in close to watch the tiny pyramids circle in waves.

It had begun floating on its own. He had dismissed his optics array while meditating- a feeble attempt to acquiesce to Mondatta's recommendation to disable or suspend his combat programs. He could not disentangle many aspects of his HUD from raw optic feed, so the only option was to turn it off entirely. That was fine; they were miles away from any human interference. And for once, Ramattra mediated without running checks. When he had re-engaged them, the orb had finally taken on its intended life, glowing a soft gold and spinning slowly.

That was the trick; Ramattra could not make it float, could not force it to bend to his will, to obey his commands. He could pry into its inner workings, but he knew all too well that would defeat the purpose. No, the orb was intended to run on the very background processes that were difficult for Ramattra to access himself, to be a visual, physical representation of his own state.

You catch one of the pyramids between your thumb and forefinger. The rest that circle the orb shift, fill in the space. It's tiny, pointy where it digs into the pad of your thumb, solid when you press on it. One side glows a soft purple, the same hue as the orb itself, as the line of light inside the staff's crook. With a lift of his fingers, the pyramid dissolves.

"What...?" You blink, stare down at your open, empty palm. With another movement, a dust cloud settles over your hand, then manifests, compresses into the same pyramid. "Nanites?"

Ramattra hums.

He doesn't really remember why he took the design. He knows how he got it. A new arrival had nearly entirely overloaded when her orb refused to sync with them anymore- had almost overloaded again when presented with a new one that they could successfully link with. Ramattra was the best engineer at the monastery, of course he had offered to investigate the faulty device. Any chance to crack one open and pick it apart from the inside. It was as much a self-satisfying investigation as a genuine service to his brethren.

He'd improved their designs within a week and quietly kept the blueprint tucked into his memory banks. Just in case.

He didn't know, exactly, what that had meant yet. Ramattra knew by then that despite his hours, years of self-reflection, of looking out into the universe, of pondering his very own existence and life, that there was something not right. Something here wasn't working. Every time he had to venture down into the town below the monastery for parts and cloth, he felt it in the world. In the very shadow of this omnic safe haven, he saw the fear and hatred in human eyes.

"The Shambali use them to heighten self-awareness, to regulate intense emotions. It's a symbol of internal, spiritual balance to control them." He says, and summons the orb closer to himself. "They can be difficult to control when affected by powerful discord."

"But you altered it?"

The orb settles into his palm. He turns his hand, inspecting the smooth, dark surface. "Yes," He says, "I call it a void accelerator. The orb acts as a magnet accelerator, propelling projectiles where I desire."

"Does it still help you?" You study down at the tiny pyramid still in your grasp. Ramattra's faceplate lifts, stares blankly at you. When you meet his gaze, you rephrase. "You said it regulated intense emotions, that you would meditate with it. Does it still work like that?"

The orb floats before him, pulls the missing piece from your hand. They dance around the orb in slow waves, spinning individually as they go. Ramattra hums, resettles himself. "Yes, in a way."

In the background, he scans the outside of the compound for movement.

[globofhoney]

Eyes....is a window through one's soul.

Or so it is...on human's terms.

I believe Ramattra have never ever take off his faceplate for anyone to see, it is a part of his body, if compare to mankind, without it, it would be like human walking around with no skin on their face, just pure, red face muscles expose to public like in horror films.

It will be very irregular to him if you ask him to take off his faceplate, but there are cases when he have to take it off tho, like....when he get badly injured on face, scorched, get shot, bash, etc.

With that mentioned, don't get any wrong idea, ravager model is not like ANY omnics, they were built for battle and to survive harsh environments at best.

the metal they were made from...

the programs...

the original command codes...

R-7000 were built DIFFERENT...

To get a ravager that badly hurt in the face to the point of having to change their faceplate, will be a harder than denting normal omnics.

_____________________________________________

To see Ramattra eye to eye without that faceplate covering his 'inner-face' what would it be?

"Y...you have, eyes?"

"Do you found them repulsive human?"

Because he is...out of every inch of his being, Anubis had to designed and created him with 'human like' optics. He hates them, hates that he bear resemblance to the kind he despise the most.

But this human, this little human, so small, so harmless. Her sincerity is what keep him from shredding her to pieces, with the stage of his injuries at this very moment, he would still likely cannot do anything.

"No...they are beautiful"

Magnificent would fit the description better. You can only reach out instinctively, a soft touch spreading the warmth on the cold, metalic, exposed half of Ramattra's damaged faceplate.

"End me and just be done with it already, I'm done...with your kind, with everything"

Even if he seems to 'wanting to give up'

the scarlet shade from LEDs on his forehead still shine bright, and so does his exposed eye...as warrior spirit should be.

Ramattra's silverine gaze mixed with red light in the middle...holds a lot of pride and honor til the very end. But no...you won't let this be his end.

No matter how much he hates humans, you WILL keep those eyes which held crimson hope and liberation, continue to shine on...brightly.

"What is your name ravager?"

"..."

"oh i have no intention to 'offline' you really...mark my word, you. will. live. whether you like it or not"

[still-not-over-transformers]

“When Sparks Fly”: A TFP Fanfic - Part 1:

(Bumblebee x Cybertronian OC)

Takes Place Mid-Season 2 of Transformers Prime shortly after Episode 18.

Side Note: Italics = A character’s inner thoughts.

In the vast expanse of space, everything was dark, except for the small twinkling lights produced from the surrounding stars. Cruising through the never ending galaxy was a small metal pod, an ion trail produced from small thrusters. Inside this small vessel was a lone Cybertronian femme. She had been in stasis for who knows how long and just now, the lights inside the pod began to turn on, illuminating her ruby-colored frame. She had a petite build for a Cybertronian, leaving plenty of room around her in the pod. A soft hissing could be heard as the life support systems brought her out of stasis. Her optics slowly fluttered open, revealing their pastel blue color. As she came to, everything around was hazy and she couldn’t make out her surroundings. Just as things started to come into focus, bright lights suddenly began flashing around her. As she continued to acclimate, her audio receptors began to hear a deafening alarm blare through the speakers. Primus it’s so loud in here. —wait.. The small femme shot up suddenly realizing the obnoxiously loud sound was an emergency alarm. Her optics looked around at the screens which flashed text: POD STABILITY COMPROMISED. ENTERING PLANETARY ATMOSPHERE. Memories quickly flooded back as she remembered that she was in an escape pod, one she had commandeered from scavengers whom had plucked you from your heavily damaged ship prior.

Oh scrap, I’m going to crash! She quickly strapped herself into the safety restraints as the text on the screens changed to numbers. Numbers which started counting down. TIME UNTIL COLLISION: 10… 9… 8… The moments flew by swiftly, terror gripping the small femme. The countdown continued to its end: 3… 2… 1…… Shutting her optics tightly, she prayed to Primus for safety before her pod made impact with the planet’s surface. Everything went dark.

Inside the Autobot Base…

By all accounts it was an average day at the base. School was out, and Miko and Raph were racing each other on the video game console, while Bumblebee and Smokescreen cheered them on. While Jack was helping Arcee adjust a few specs. The rest of the Autobots were for the most part, just hanging out. Ratchet as usual, the constant busybody on the monitor. The peace would soon be disrupted by an alert on the monitor, quickly garnering the attention of everyone. Optimus stoically approached the monitor to get a closer look, “Ratchet, what is wrong?” Raph turned his attention away from the video game, ��Is it another relic?!” The Autobot medic shook his helm as he studied the data on the screen. “It appears that a foreign object of considerable size has entered our atmosphere. ….By the signal I would say it’s… cybertronian in origin. But I don’t see any markers determining if it is Autobot… or Decepticon,” Ratchet narrows his gaze.

Optimus stepped forward and addressed the others, “Despite the risk, we should investigate in case there is an Autobot in need.” Ratchet plugged in the coordinates and opened the groundbridge accordingly, “I will be ready in case medical assistance is needed. Be careful everyone.” The Autobots entered the groundbridge without a moment to waste. As they exited the groundbridge, the Autobots found themselves in the middle of an open Savannah. As they moved around the area, the sound of blaster fire could be heard in the distance, triggering the group to quickly move towards it. As they made their way over an incline, they could see a ravine below with an escape pod that had crash landed. There was a large cloud of dust as blaster fire was exchanged from two sides. The usual Decepticon grunts versus one lone bot whom was using the battered escape pod as cover.

“I can’t make out who the other bot is, Optimus,” Arcee muttered as she struggled to see the bot the Decepticons were targeting. “Well guess we should get a closer look!” Smokescreen leapt into the ravine, much to the dismay but not surprise of the others. Arcee and Bulkhead exchanged glances “Rookie,” before begrudgingly diving into the ravine along with Optimus and Bumblebee. The dust and smoke kicked up from the scuffle made it hard to see, but it was easy to pick out the blazing red blaster fire coming from Decepticon weapons. All Autobots engaged the Decepticon vehicons, taking them by surprise.

*Just a few moments earlier*

….

There was a deep trench carved into the ground that stretched for half a mile. At the head of this trench was the remains of the small escape pod of the Cybertronian femme. It was a miracle it was still in one piece, the results of quality Cybertronian engineering and craftsmanship. The hatch at the top of the pod began to wiggle, before loud pounding resulted in the hatch flying open. The crimson femme slowly climbed out of the battered vessel, looking around to evaluate her surroundings. She had crashed in a Savannah covered in tall grass and spindled trees with broad canopies dotted the expansive area. Where in the slag am I? In an attempt to get a better view of her surroundings, she moved to stand but a sudden pain in her side made her lose balance. She fell off the metal pod, her frame slamming into the earth below. As the femme pushed herself off of the ground and ran a servo over the crest on her forehelm. Her digits running over the Autobot insignia centered on her helm. Another flash of pain hit her, emanating from the side of her torso. The young Autobot looked to the silver armor now coated with the vibrant blue of energon. Her energon.

She was able to manage getting back on her pedes, however she had no idea how she would patch herself up on this foreign world. Suddenly, the femme felt the familiar static and thrum that preceded a groundbridge. Someone from Cybertron is here? A flash of bright green, blue and purple energy swirled as it appeared a couple yards from where she stood. As the nanoseconds clicked by, multiple silhouettes emerged from the portal. The femme stared at the multitude of Cybertronians before her, decked out in purple and black armor with Decepticon insignias branded on their chests. Decepticons?! Here?! Panic flooded her frame as she heard the dreaded sound of blasters powering up. She bolted for cover as she had little ability to defend herself in this state.

As the squadron of Vehicons began firing at the young Autobot, she managed to take cover behind the remains of her escape pod. “How did they find me so quickly? Is this entire planet swarming with cons?” She muttered to herself as she was able to draw the blaster on her left arm, which of course had to be your least-dominate. Despite this disadvantage, she began unloading shot after shot at the oncoming Vehicons. They were quickly closing in on the femme’s location, before the sound of opposing blaster fire and clashing was heard. The small femme dared to peak out from her hiding spot, only to see flashes of brightly colored-armor in-between the dust and smoke which had enveloped the Decepticon grunts. Despite this new development, she was hesitant to leave her cover. As she peaked out to watch the chaos, the gut-wrenching whirring of a blaster and pressure to her temple made her freeze.

Standing above her was one of the Vehicons, his blaster pressed to her temple and about to discharge. Before a single idea could think cross her processor, the Vehicon was sent flying off into the distance. Still in shock from the attack, the femme raised her one good blaster at the bot in front of her, her optics wide with fear. To her surprise, the mech in front of her raised his servos yieldingly, “Whoa! Don’t shoot! I’m on your side!” The mech was young, not too different from the femme’s. She noticed his white and silver paint job, with a scarlet Autobot insignia on his blue chest. “Oh thank Primus, you’re an Autobot…” She sighed in relief, lowering her weapon, “How did you know where to find me? What unit are you with?”

The young mech took a quick scan of the femme’s frame, noticing her injury, “Best to talk about that after we’re back at base. Name’s Smokescreen by the way.” She gave him a polite smile as Smokescreen began to help her up “I’m Firefly.” Firefly huh? It’s nice to meet y—-“ Smokescreen grunted in pain as he was knocked back by a blaster bolt to the chest. A Vehicon appeared from around the wreckage and continued firing. Firefly might have been down but she wasn’t out. Focusing what was left of her energy, Firefly’s frame whisked behind the Decepticon in a blur of red and yellow, moving faster than the human or Cybertronian eye could track. As the Vehicon turned around in brief confusion, two canon bolts hit the mech’s chest, taking him out of commission.

As the dust and smoke began to clear, Firefly was unsure of what exactly had happened. The sound of groaning to her right caught her attention, spotting Smokescreen as he stumbled back, clearly sore from the Vehicon’s blasts. “That… that was a cheap shot. Normally I don’t get shot” Smokescreen stated, trying to save his pride. The young femme heard other footsteps approaching, of varying sizes. Through the battlefield littered with deceased Vehicons, four bots approached. Firefly’s periwinkle optics widened as she spotted a tall familiar red and blue mech standing before her. Optimus Prime stood in front of Firefly, taking note of her injuries and the Autobot insignia on the crest of her ruby-colored helm. “You appear injured young Autobot. Might I ask your name?” Optimus said with a softened tone. She tried to compose yourself in front of the esteemed last Prime and leader of the Autobots, “…Yes Sir. Firefly, scout of the 107th Squadron. Sir.” Optimus smiles gently at the petite femme before him, “It is a pleasure to meet you. I think it is best we get you to safety before more Decepticons arrive.”

Firefly nodded quickly, limping over to her new comrades. Suddenly an extremely loud BEEEEEEEEEEPPPP caught everyone’s attention. Curious to see who or what made that sound, Firefly turned around to see a familiar bright yellow scout, “Bee?! Is that you!?” The young femme’s optics were wide as they locked with Bumblebee’s. Bumblebee looked as if he had seen a ghost, frozen for but a moment before he quickly rushed over to Firefly, picking her up in a hug. Arcee and the others stared in utter confusion. “…Did I miss something?” Arcee said turning towards Bulkhead and Smokescreen. Firefly couldn’t help but chuckle as she was embraced by Bumblebee, “Primus I can’t believe it’s actually you!” She winced in pain from her damaged arm, “But I would like to keep my arm if possible, Bee.” Bumblebee swiftly, but gently set Firefly down with an apologetic whir, albeit unable to have his gaze leave her optics. “I believe we should continue this reunion once back at base,” Optimus chimed in as a groundbridge opened up.

Bulkhead playfully elbowed Arcee to get her attention, “I didn’t know Bumblebee had a girlfriend.” Arcee quickly shushed him before following the others into the groundbridge. Bumblebee’s thoughts were… a mess. He was in absolute shock to see Firefly again, someone he thought would remain a distant memory of a friend long past. He extended his arm to the smaller femme and helped walk her through the groundbridge. Firefly accepted his assistance and stumbled through the portal alongside him. As the tunnel of swirling colors came to and end, Firefly and the others entered the Autobot base. It was quaint, by Cybertronian standards, but Firefly was just grateful to be in a safe environment. It was difficult for her to fully process exactly what had happened due to exhaustion. But she knew she was amongst friends now.

And for that, she was grateful….

To anyone who goes out of their way to read this, I thank you! Any support means the world to me. Keep an optic out for part 2!

[brandwhorestarscream]

imperial harem au

so which concubine does starscream meet first and how does that play out?

Well unfortunately, it's not Thundercracker just yet 🤭 he'll get his time to shine, but where's the fun in immediately jumping straight into their romance? No, the Gilded Consort will have to wait. The first one the random generator gives him is the Peaceful Consort, daughter of the House of Diplomacy. Seems he's off to the Morganite Pavillion.

Star's a bundle of nerves all day, and is silently dreading it. What is he even supposed to do? Surely they won't immediately jump in bed together, right? Should he... ask her to have tea with him? Play chess? Go to the sculpture garden? This is so much worse than even the most unbearable of academic presentations: being stared down by 500+ students and faculty at the science academy was awful, but even that hadn't brought him this level of sickening anxiety.

He drags his feet all day, conveniently finding distraction after distraction, burying himself in work and study: there's always more he can be doing as the only prince of the country, after all. Before he knows it the day has slogged by, and he realizes night time is upon them.

WHICH IS SO MUCH WORSE BECAUSE GOING TO A CONCUBINE'S PAVILLION AT NIGHT CAN ONLY MEAN ONE THING-

Panicked, Starscream very nearly cancels. But he's been putting this off too long, and now there's only 5 days left in the decacycle. He has to stay on schedule, he has to go to the inner palace: the Winglord's word is law, and though his sire is a rather tender and merciful mech, inciting his ire isn't something Starscream wants to do. So... he has no choice but to head to his appointment.

When he finally arrives at the Morganite Pavillion, his servos are shaking. He lets himself in and it's already dark: the lights are off, and the only visibility is offered by dimly glowing candles. The air is heavily perfumed... seems the concubine is expecting more than just a casual first meeting. There's no sign of her staff or ladies in waiting. They're alone. He picks up on a faint spark signature on the far side of the room, right where the lavish berth is laid out. Waiting for him.

He tries to steel himself. He'll just tell her he's not interested in touching her and then he'll leave and never talk to her again. Yes, that's what he'll do. Is it cowardly? Maybe. Does he care? No! He just can't do it! Surely she'll be reasonable and understand, this definitely won't spark an outrage with the House of Diplomacy. They're diplomats. They'll understand. Probably. Hopefully.

He approaches the berth and he can see the outline of her body, already stretched out languidly and cradled in the silken finery each of them were afforded. He resets his vocalizer, feeling so awkward it's hard to speak. The words feel corked up in his throat. Why is he doing this?!

"Concubine Mi-"

And that's when he notices what a horrific state she's in.

Her optics are unlit but half open, visibly rolled into her helm, mouth open with a puddle of vomit pooled beneath her cheek, frame surrounded in a cloud of heat like an inferno, covered in a sheen of condensation.

"Ohmystars-!" Starscream nearly trips over himself in his hurry to get to her: she's laying on her side so he flips her on her back, grabbing her chin in one servo when her neck lolls helplessly. She doesn't respond when he smacks at her cheek, and for a horrible second he thinks she's dead. He checks for a pulse, pressing his helm against her chassis and, miraculously, her spark is still going. But it sounds slow, sluggish. Her vents are ragged and shallow, sawing in and out frantically as they struggle to cool her overheating frame. They're barely there, she's barely there.

Seems the Peaceful Consort has been poisoned >:)