#On another note I'm not sure if I used the right word in the alt to describe those big big rocks around since

[bonicedemandarina]

Jayvik childhood friends AU because I love them, also to spread the agenda that baby Jayce was one of those kids who'd collect rocks, I would know. I was one of them.

Full drawing under the cut! And also the link to the fic that inspired me to make this piece

https://archiveofourown.org/works/49757233

if the link doesn't work then the fic is It's nice to have a friend by ttrblmkr

[earthsparkwriting]

FOR ANOTHER TIME

Optimus Prime x F! Reader

Warnings: +18!, female masturbation, inappropriate way of vehicle using, drunk reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Author Note: English isn't my first language. (This is my first fic, please be gentle x( )

That year was meant to be welcoming. That was particularly so given that you believed you were succeeding at your new work until you were abruptly fired a few minutes ago. Didn't you work hard and be kind enough? It occurred to you. Even though you didn't need that work for the rest of your life, you did need it for buying a new car. It's possible that you should have started thinking about moving to a nicer, less warm place or that you shouldn't have sold your vehicle so quickly, assuming you'd buy a new one in the first month of the year. Realizing that the new year was already being a pain in your ass, you groaned in frustration and headed home.

Perhaps all you needed to do was take some time to calm down and think about what to do next, rather than bombarding your head with questions and worries. After all, you were a well-educated woman. Right now, all you wanted was a peaceful weekend, some time to yourself, plus a drink tonight, of course. Everything was going to be okay.

How he ended up driving in the town and when those Decepticons began to follow him were unanswered questions to Optimus. They were still following even though they knew Optimus wouldn't transform there. He requested that Ratched open a portal, but the answer was no. Nobody knew exactly when Ratched would be able to fix the portal, which had been broken for a while.

It would be simpler to play hide-and-seek with those Decepticons if Optimus Prime were a tiny sports car, but given his size and alt form, he was not very good at hiding. Being a small motorcycle would be better in these situations, particularly in a community such as this one. He was adamant about not transforming, though. Everyone was under strict orders to do it, including himself.

But decepticons weren't the most smart.

Optimus eventually discovered a really nice place to enter after some hide-and-seek, and he entered the enormous garage that was open. When he entered the garage, he stopped, checked to make sure no one was inside, transformed, and shut the garage off entirely. He had made a small sound while doing so, but he transformed again in an instant and waited in the dark, hoping no one would notice. He was curious about what the Decepticons were up to, but he would give it some more thought. There was a lot to do.

“Optimus?” Ratchet inquired, worried. “Where are you?”

“In a garage for now,” Optimus answered calmly. “I have no idea what they are doing at the moment. But it's best if I stay inside until you fix the portal or they depart. We must not make ourselves noticed.”

“Alright,” Ratched responded. “But I'm not sure if I'll be able to solve it easily. Are you going to be okay?”

Optimus responded hastily, “Yes, Ratchet” as he heard footsteps approaching. “Just concentrate on fixing it. A human is approaching.”

As soon as you opened the door in a tone that sounded almost drowsy, Optimus fell silent. Without a doubt, you shouldn't have consumed that much alcohol. You had tremendous pain in your head. You pulled a knife out of concern that someone was coming to rob your house, even though you weren't sure if you were hallucinating or not. Although you were somewhat intoxicated, you were not so drunk as to fail to notice the sounds emerging from your garage.

Bravely, you switched on the lights and checked to see if anything was out of the ordinary. Even if you didn't see anything, you groaned in agony because the lights were so painful for your eyes. Perhaps you had consumed a little too much. You noticed a large red and blue truck when you went back into your garage. You forgot that you owned a truck. You were a car enthusiast, but... Right now, you were unaware of whether you were having hallucinations.

You whispered, “Okay,” closed your eyes, inhaled deeply, and then opened them again, attempting to think clearly and persuade yourself that you weren't under the influence.

As your fingertips brushed its flaming symbols and door, you recognized that wasn't something you had made up. You whispered, “Hello, big baby,” and after that you added, “Well, I don't remember buying you. Where did you come from?”

When you realized that you had forgotten to lock your garage door, you rolled your eyes. Perhaps it was one of your neighbor's vehicles. Nobody would abandon their truck on someone else's land. When you remembered that you had sold your car yesterday, you were overcome with sadness and remorse. You shouldn't have sold it so quickly. Not even a nicer automobile or anything was necessary for you, but... You entered the truck with a sigh before you were upset over your ten-year-old vehicle.

You certainly enjoyed big cars, but you found it difficult to drive trucks like this.

Your thumb lightly caressed the interesting symbol on the steering wheel once your hands located it. “Well, your tattoo is cool.”

Although it was dark outside and Optimus assumed you would depart soon enough, he waited calmly, paying attention to the surroundings, aware that Decepticons could pop up at any time while that curiosity-driven female human was inside of him. He chuckled internally when you referred to the Autobot emblem as a tattoo. It was somewhat interesting that there existed a synonym for everything in human language.

You felt worried out, and the amount of alcohol in your veins didn't help at all as you thought about your vehicle, your job, which you lost hours ago, and everything else. You had to deal with much too much tension throughout. You put your head back on the seat and sighed in a tone that was almost melancholic. The softness and comfort of the seat felt good. Your despair state and the amount of liquor you had consumed were keeping you in the mysterious vehicle longer.

Your skirt was slightly raised on your thighs, exposing your legs, so you pushed the seat back a bit more to find a comfortable posture while your mind began to race with nasty ideas. If you had a little fun, nobody would be hurt. Touching yourself would also make it easier for you to go to sleep and, for a little while at least, let you forget about the things that were stressing you out. After all, it's been a while since you took care of yourself.

After taking a deep breath, you lowered your underwear and put your feet on each side of the steering wheel.

Optimus was perplexed by your behavior. He nearly rushed to frighten you away and force you to go, but he didn't want to draw attention since he couldn't foresee how you would respond at that moment. It can be seen as sexual the way you removed your underpants. Not that Optimus had only been on Earth for a week; he was aware of a few things. He was aware that if you realized he wasn't a regular robot form like one of your technologies in your world, you wouldn't act in such a way, but the circumstances were complicated. Optimus thought about what he could do. But he reasoned that the wisest course of action was to remain quiet.

The complex structure of human nature was phenomenal. Optimus didn't know your species that well, but he did know a few female and male humans from high authority. In some specific situations, your kind's responses to emotions were simply distinctive.

You put your underwear on the gearshift after removing them. “Ups,” you muttered in your own drunk and humorous way. When you wake up, you would take it back.

There was nothing Optimus could do now, but he wanted to reach Ratchet again. When you moved your legs back on each side of the driving wheel and put one hand between your thighs, where your sexual organs are supposed to be, he nearly felt himself worrying a bit. Now, that was definitely going to be a sexual moment.

You moaned with relief as soon as your fingers contacted your heated clit, knowing that you were at last doing something right to feel some peace of mind. Though touching yourself wasn't that horrible, at least you had no idea who owned the truck. A massive truck, full of mystery…

When you felt yourself growing wetter, you closed your eyes and fully surrendered to the sensation rising between your legs, with your head arched back and your feet around the steering wheel. Your other hand pushed your panties aside, and you grasped the gearshift without even understanding what you were doing because you wanted anything you could hold onto.

Optimus was about to expose himself and transform when your little flesh hands caught hold of him. Although it wasn't his spike, it was a sensitive enough region of his body to make his pressurized spike shake in response. Optimus ignored his spike's sudden desire for attention and waited and waited as you massaged your valve and kept groaning loudly within him while caressing the gearshift as if you understood what you were doing to him.

Not now, he thought. Not now.

Despite your little size, you exerted a tremendous amount of pressure on the gearshift. You didn't react when Optimus slightly shifted part of him to distract your attention; instead, you continued to take care of yourself, and your lustful, rising voice didn't make matters better.

Since there was too much happening, and the continuous fight had filled his mind and spark with nothing but aggression and a straightforward purpose, it had been cycles—many, long cycles—since Optimus had taken care of his spike. In fact, there weren't many female bots around these days.

Your hands tightened over the gear shift as you felt yourself approaching, and you began to caress it wildly, as if it were flesh. Even though you should have freaked out, the tension and alcohol in your system prevented you from feeling ashamed or interfering with your brief pleasure time. You needed this; thus, you didn't care.

Optimus could not reach for his pressurized spike without a full transformation. Your small hands were determined to shatter his control over his spike, even if he didn't want to do it, give himself over to the circumstance, or get carried away. If only he could massage a bit... Optimus let out an internal grumble. It became harder for him to remain composed and simply wait for you to finish while your moans got louder and more desperate.

Your legs started to tremble as you gasped and massaged your clit, signaling to you that you were almost there. Your body was writhing on the seat as if you were in heat or something, and you whispered, “Fuck, yes,” as your head arched back again.

At last, your back arched when your orgasm hit, and your hand, which was securely wrapped around the gear shift, ceased moving. During the intense climax, your other hand moved and nailed the seat underneath you while your pussy clenched around nothingness.

Optimus' spike was battling, trying to get free as you were experiencing your tiny sexual release without really comprehending what was going on. He finally relaxed a little as he opened up and allowed some of the blue transfluid at the head of his spike to fall on the ground. If only he had the ability to grasp.... It was nearly embarrassing, but Optimus knew that he had neglected his own desires for too long, and regardless of whether you were a Cybertronian or just a human, his spike responded to your sexual activity, and he was powerless to deny it. Simply put, it had been too long.

When you closed your eyes and began to breathe heavily, exhausted, and your jelly legs were motionless on the steering wheel, Optimus quickly—and to his own surprise—placed your underpants within his chest plate. He moved so lightly and quickly that you were unaware of it. He felt he earned a small prize, even if it was not particularly respectable ethical behavior. Since he gave you complete relaxation, Optimus reasoned that stealing a small piece of your cloth wouldn't harm anyone.

A little more of his transfluid fell to the ground as his spike throbbed excitedly. There was just too much to do. He thought to himself, Another time. He would take care of things... another time, as he always did.

Author Note: Please let me know what you think. Reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated ^^love uuu

[radfem-vex]

I've revotalized a version of the (Radical) Feminist Sisterhood Flag originally made by Diana Russell!

OG flag by Diana

Dr Diana EH Russell, PhD, (November 1938 to July 2020) was a feminist writer and activist from Cape Town, South Africa. She was an anti-apartheidist, women's rights, and human rights activist.

She was a triple alumni who attended University of Cape Town, London School of Economics, and Harvard University.

She organized (along with other feminists) the first International Tribunal on Crimes Against Women, which was held in Brussels, Belgium.

She was anti-porn, anti-sex trade (or anti rape-economy), and properly defined femicide as the killing of human females because they are female. There is so much more about her to learn, I recommend dianarussell.com

Attention bilingual people:

Diana Russell really wanted her message of global sisterhood to be spread to as many feminists as possible. The uniting and collective organizing of women is how we secure more rights and begin to structurally reorder society towards female liberation. Diana's message unfortunately is only available in English so if you can reblog with a translation of the following, I'm sure Diana's spirit would much appreciate it.

Dear Visitors and Supporters, I'm convinced that the wide distribution of this feminist flag would help to bring attention to feminist actions, and to facilitate international feminist solidarity, thereby empowering our struggle to combat misogyny and sexism in all its oppressive and discriminatory forms. I regret that the words can only be in one language; but I have seen no good alternative to this limitation. I'm searching for a fabulous feminist organizer with the vision, energy, time and motivation to take on the important job of marketing this beautiful feminist flag. If you're interested in helping with this project, please contact me via my contact page. Thank you! —————— 2020 NOTE: Diana has passed away so she can no longer work on this project that was very important to her. But she would definitely want other feminists to take up the cause of creating a feminist flag, either using her flag design (please credit her if you use it), or another design. So please feel free to do so! Thank you! ❤️

In my contribution, I've created a high quality rendition of Diana's initial global sisterhood flag with essentially more vibrancy. I've also created a version that contains the radical feminist symbol I've created.

1.

This is definitely my favourite out of the set. Image ID on alt text.

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[maniculum]

Bestiaryposting Results: Slagzogg

This is, interestingly, our third consecutive Beaſt that's actually a common everyday animal pretty much all over Europe, including the area where this manuscript was produced. This is interesting to me because the three are handled very differently. First we had the salamander, which I'm pretty sure got mentally separated from the actual animal somewhere, probably because people use different terms for the real-life amphibian in different regions and languages, and not everybody is going to recognize that it's just the Greek word for the same animal. Second we had the deer, which it seemed like the manuscript producers did recognize, because the illustration is clearly a deer... but elements of the entry are just nuts (As @sweetlyfez said, "How do you make up this many wild myths about a guy you live with"). And now we have the [redacted until end of post], which is just given a completely mundane, if engaging, description with the only weird part being the symbolism attached to it.

I think it might also be our first domestic animal -- the entry even talks about the difference between wild and domestic varieties -- which seems like it's worth noting.

Anyway, as usual people who don't know what I'm talking about should check https://maniculum.tumblr.com/bestiaryposting. The entry this week's artists are working from can be found here:

This is another one where I almost didn't put it in because it seemed super obvious what it was, but the artists have done a superb job not drawing that. Excellent work on everyone's part, and it can be found below the cut:

@silverhart-makes-art (link to post here) shows us both a domestic and a wild Slagzogg; the design of the domestic one makes me think of fancy pigeons, which I think is a pretty good direction to take here. The vulture-like faces really improve the design also. Very good birds, and you should go check out the linked post to hear about the design decisions and real-life inspirations behind this one; I think it's pretty interesting.

@pomrania (link to post here) observed that, though the entry mentions beaks and flight, it doesn't actually say "bird", so they can draw a pet dragon and have it fit the description. Fair call, and I think it turned out well. I like the contrast between the fairly dignified-looking creature on the left -- this is a Slagzogg who is on its way to win Best in Show -- and the sketch on the right of someone forcibly preventing it from getting into a fight. If you check out the linked post, you can see Pomrania's progress thread for this design.

@coolest-capybara (link to post here) has made the eminently-understandable decision that if they're going to draw a bird with no specific anatomical details given, it's going to be a potoo. On the left we have three domestic Slagzoggs socializing, and on the right we have a wild one perching alone. I like how this incorporates the symbolism of the entry: we're told that the wild type is meant to signify people who choose a religious life ("those who keep apart from this world wear the modest garb of penitence"), and this wild Slagzogg does look a bit more serious and... monastic? Like, that bird is a nun. (Also, thank you for including alt text.)

@cheapsweets (link to post here) also went with the direction of "well, it doesn't say 'bird'," and so we have this really charming image of a medieval person feeding their domestic... pterosaurs. Love it. Honestly, these alternate visions of the Middle Ages where people have entirely different domestic animals than our timeline are really appealing to me. Too much Dinotopia as a child, perhaps. Anyway, check out the linked post for substantially more detail, it's worth it. In fact, everyone reading this should just go ahead and follow all of the bestiaryposting participants. (Also, thank you for the alt text.)

@strixcattus (link to post here) is clearly thinking of the modern day's feral pigeons, formerly the result of selective breeding by pigeon fanciers. We can see the "fancy" domestic version on the left contrasted with the wild version on the right. (I think it's interesting that everyone who's drawn both has put the domestic Slagzogg on the left and the wild Slagzogg on the right.) Anyway, as is usually the case with Strixcattus, the writing included in the post is absolutely worth your time and you should read it. And again, follow them, as well as everyone who has ever contributed to bestiaryposting. Go do it; you won't regret it.

Now, to the Aberdeen Bestiary.

Beak shape aside, these are clearly geese.

I think the degree to which people guessed that varies somewhat; Strixcattus made a post suggesting they were leaning "pigeon", but Pomrania probably clocked it, because they described two Slagzoggs fighting as a "hissing match" despite hissing not being mentioned in the entry. I have no idea where everyone else landed.

Honestly, what I find interesting about this entry is that it's pulling symbolism while remaining pretty much entirely grounded in reality. Check this out:

The goose marks the watches of the night by its constant cry.

Okay, I don't know to what degree it's useful in marking time, but I don't doubt that geese make noise at night.

No other creature picks up the scent of man as it does.

That one I'm not sure about.

This next bit I cut because if anyone knows Roman history they'd nail it right out of the gate:

It was because of its noise, that the Gauls were detected when they ascended the Capitol. Rabanus says in this context: 'The goose can signify men who are prudent and look out for their own safety.'

Okay, that might be less history and more legend, but still, people know it, I think.

There are two kinds of geese, domestic and wild. Wild geese fly high, in a an orderly fashion, signifying those who, far away from earthly things, preserve a rule of virtuous conduct.

I can absolutely see medieval people looking up at geese flying in that V formation and going, "look how orderly these birds are; clearly they are virtuous creatures."

Domestic geese live together in villages, they cackle together all the time and rend each other with their beaks...

Yeah, that sounds like what geese would do in a village.

All wild geese are grey in colour; I have not seen any that were of mixed colour or white. But among domestic geese, there are not only grey but variegated and white ones. Wild geese are the colour of ashes, that is to say, those who keep apart from this world wear the modest garb of penitence.

This bit falls into the category of "I believe it, but it does not accord with my personal experience." Because if you told me that in Europe they had a variety of different aesthetically-pleasing domestic goose breeds, I'd have no problem believing that. And I'm sure some wild geese are gray. But I live in North America, so to me wild geese look like this:

And domestic geese look like this:

But again, I have no difficulty believing that the experience of the medieval Europeans was different from mine.

What really sticks out to me here is the fact that the characteristic behavior of domestic geese is to make noise and get in fights -- I think the Untitled Goose Game would have made perfect sense to a medieval audience.

(After the Smithfield Decretals)

[lillian-gallows]

Take Me Back to Eden

Pairing: Johnny Silverhand/Reader (V)

Warnings: Reader is V, No use of V, No use of Y/N (Don't get used to that from me lol), Cunnilingus (F receiving oral sex), P in V sex, Fluff with a little bit of angst (because V/Reader is a dummy and so is Johnny), Vaginal fingering, use of pet names (Bright-eyes and baby), alcohol consumption.

Summary: V/Reader is in love with the reformed ghost in her head, but she's pretty sure it's just her, oh how wrong she is.

GIF by: Keanuphile

Notes: I finished the game, I'm not okay, so I'm writing fanfiction about it. Cross posted to AO3

Minors DNI

The tequila burned as it raced down your throat, so did the whiskey chaser that followed it. The music of The Afterlife was pounding in your ears and brain as the liquor took hold and made your muscles relax, jaw no longer clenching quite so tight.

You caught Claire’s eye and lifted the empty glass in a wordless request for another, which got a nod of acknowledgement in return, but she was already with a couple of customers so it would be a moment. That was fine. You were nothing if not patient.

So patient that you managed to get yourself stuck in a loop of waiting for the reformed ghost in your brain to realize you’re in love with him and had been since you helped him go on a date with Rogue, like a gonk, and knowing he probably never will, or if he does figure it out, to care enough to act on it.

You’d seen his memories. Know what loving Johnny Silverhand does to a person. Yet here you are, as if one almost death sentence wasn’t enough for you.

There was a split second, when you were carrying each other out of Arasaka HQ, when you thought he might have felt the same. You’d fallen to your knees, legs refusing to keep going, and he’d gripped you tight and said you needed to get up, that he couldn’t leave without you, that he needed you.

At the time you’d thought there was something else there, the way he’d said it sounded so…Soft. But now you’re pretty sure it was the adrenaline and your grey matter still reeling from Alt fucking with it to give you your body back that made you cling to your hopeless desperation for the man you knew you couldn’t have, not in the way you wanted him.

“You stare any harder at that shot glass and your Koroshi’s’ll shoot lasers.” Came Claire’s voice, yanking you from your thoughts.

You cleared your throat awkwardly and shifted back in your seat while the other woman refilled both glasses. “Thanks.” You said before throwing the first one back.

“Trouble in paradise?” The Bartender asked as she leaned on the counter, giving you her full attention. After helping Claire resolve her business with Sampson, you both got closer, close enough that you felt comfortable telling her about Johnny and the Relic. Johnny had teased you about the attraction you had felt toward the other woman, but it was nothing compared to what you felt toward him.

“Gotta be paradise for that to happen.” You answered before shaking your head. “Nah, just me being a gonk, like always.” You said it more to the glass in your hand than the woman in front of you.

“You know, torturing yourself won’t solve anything.” Claire said lowly, so only you could hear her. “He hasn’t been to see Rogue since you both got back. From what you’ve told me, that means something.”

Your face was warm as you met Claire’s gaze, whether you were just that easy to read or Claire was using her magic bartender powers you didn’t know, but it didn’t really matter. She was right.

“I’m not gonna be another notch in his belt.” You downed your remaining drink. “And I’m not going to follow him around like some thirsty little groupie.” It came out a little bitter, and you’d be lying if you said you weren’t picturing Alt when you said the words.

You’re being unfair, you know you are. Alt loved Johnny for real, that much was obvious, so summing her up as something as simple as a groupie is cruel to the deceased woman, but you can’t fight the sour burn in your belly that threatens to turn you green.

Claire let out a sigh and shook her head. “Yet, that’s what you’re doing.” That gets a glare and Claire’s eyes are hard as she stares back. “Don’t look at me like that. You know I’m right.” She steadies herself on the bar with both hands and she leans into your space. “You told me yourself that he hates when people beat around the bush. So fucking talk to him before you end up old, grey, and still pinning. Or worse, one of you dies again.”

That snaps you from your cloud of self-pity, but not in the way Claire was probably hoping for. “Whatever.” You grumbled somewhat childishly as you flicked the Eddies to pay your tab and got up.

You knew the other was watching you go but didn’t care to look back. She was right, and it pissed you off. Not the part where Claire called you out, you deserved that, needed to hear it even. The part that you hated was that you really were exactly what you didn’t want to be, a hopelessly in love groupie following Johnny around like a horny puppy, except without any of the payoff of you two actually fucking.

And the saddest part was that you would rather keep pinning than be fuck-buddies, you wouldn’t be able to keep feelings out of it and you don’t even want to begin to imagine being on the receiving end of some of the shit Johnny said to Alt, and he actually loved her…What hope would you have?

It was raining when you got outside, and you considered calling your car instead of taking Jackie’s bike, it had a rain cover and would be fine for a night, but you needed to think and you couldn’t do much of that if you were driving, so rather than either option you turned and started walking, would it take longer? Sure, but that was what you needed to think, or spiral, whichever came first.

The rain was quick to plaster your hair to your face and neck, trailing cold lines of water down your skin that caused goosebumps to bloom, thinking about how much you hated Johnny when you met, how much he hated you right back. You kept walking.

Then those trails of water along with new water falling on you soaked through your clothes and chilled you to the bone, thinking about when you realized you’d fallen for him, lying in bed the night after his date with Rogue with a pit in your gut but determined not to say anything about it, praying he couldn’t feel it through you. You kept walking.

After a bit your shoes began to squish with every step, socks drenched and pooling water in your shoes, thinking about what he’d said that night on the way out of Arasaka HQ, about needing you, he’d breathed the words like he didn’t want anyone else to hear them, like they were for you and you alone and it would be a crime for any other ears to hear them. You kept walking.

You started to shake as Megabuilding H10 came into view, harsh shivers that made your teeth chatter till you clenched your jaw to make it stop, but all that did was make the shakes move down to your shoulders, thinking about how your heart had grabbed onto his whispered plea like it was a declaration of love even though it was nothing of the sort. You kept walking.

A puddle formed under you on the elevator floor as the floor numbers flashed and ads blasted in your ears, but you weren’t paying them any attention, you couldn’t care less about Milfguard or whatever new flavor of Mr. Whitey’s was being screamed about, you were too busy buzzing with the warring hope and dread of the thought that he would be home when you walked through the front door. You stopped walking when you got to the door.

Your fingers hovered over the button that would open it, but you were frozen in place, a new puddle forming, water dripping from your free hand would echo if the atrium wasn’t so goddamn loud.

“You gonna keep staring at it? Or do I gotta move you?” Came the one voice you still weren’t sure if you wanted to hear.

Looking back, you met Johnny’s gaze, or rather your reflection in his aviators, God you looked like a soaked cat…

Rather than answer him you pressed the button and watched the door woosh open, walking in with him right behind you felt like being watched by a warden.

“Why the Hell are you wet? You look like you walked home.” He asked as the door closed behind him; you couldn’t look at him again.

“Cuz, I did.” There was no use lying, anything you could come up with was just as stupid as the truth.

You could practically hear him lift his brow. “The fuck you do that for? Vic still has both of us on probation, getting sick could be a fucking death sentence.” Annoyed disapproval drips from his voice the same water is still dripping from your hair.

“Needed to think.” You offered lamely as you made for the closet, intent on both getting dry clothes and not letting him see your face.

“About what?” He asks from by the bed, where you’d seen Nibbles lounging, but when you didn’t respond you heard him take a few steps closer. “About what?” He asked a little louder, either thinking you hadn’t heard him, or intent on not letting you ignore him.

“Lots of shit, Johnny. What? You want a fucking catalog of my daily thoughts? Didn’t get enough of that when you were in my head?” You snapped sharper than intended, but you just wanted to make him shut up.

You heard his footsteps once more, and before you could move or look at him, he was at your back. “Thought we’d moved past snapping at each other to avoid talking about shit.” His tone was hard but not cold, like he could tell something was up.

“It doesn’t matter…” Why did you sound so fucking small? You hated it.

“Bright-Eyes…Look at me.” His hand feels like fire when it lands on the icy skin of your shoulder, where he tried to turn you, but you resisted. “Please…Look at me.” Your heart stops, it’s like you can hear the words that haunt you all over again. “Get up. Please, I can’t leave without you. I need you…Get up.” Same tone, begging and just barely this side of desperation.

And like a sleeper agent that’s heard her trigger word, you turned, but you can’t lift your eyes to meet his, you know he’s taken off those damn glasses and you can’t bear to see his eyes looking at you, your heart will store it away just like those words, and you can’t handle yet another thing making you hope like a gonk for more than you’re allowed to have.

People like you don’t get to love and be happy, if they were, Jackie would still be alive, and Misty wouldn’t be alone.

As if sensing that you won’t meet his gaze, Johnny lifts his metal hand as his flesh one slides down to your upper arm, searing hot skin making yours tingle, even his metal hand feels warmer than you, a shiver of a different kind rolls down your spine and you want to yank yourself out of his hold, but his grip tightens just a little, like he knew what you were thinking, but then he probably did. You’d put money on it that he knows your every micro expression and what they all mean, which terrifies you if you’re honest.

“Go take a shower, you’re freezing.” He whispers, warm breath fanning over your face, smelling of whiskey and cigarettes, such a Johnny smell. He let you go to reach past you for the clean clothes you were going to grab and passes them into your hands.

As if a spell was broken, you moved around him to head across the room to the bathroom, but you could still feel his eyes on you. The urge to snip at him about watching you undress sat on the back of your tongue, but you swallowed it.

By the time you’re pulling your wet tank top over your head, you no longer feels the heat of his eyes on you, then you heard the radio turn on, some oldies rock station playing some ballad that you don’t recognize, but you hear him quietly sing along to it, for a nanosecond you think you hear more emotion in it than when he normally mumbled along with the radio, but shake the thought away.

The water feels pleasantly scalding when you step through the fog of steam and into the spray. Tilting your head into the warmth to wash away the chilled water still clinging to your hair, you hear his voice no longer melding with that of the radio, though you still hear the song playing over the sound of the showerhead.

Eyes closed to keep the water out of them, you feel his eyes on you once more, not as close as by the closet, but certainly not from across the room. Running a hand over your face to clear your vision you turned and were met with Johnny standing there looking like he’s debating something.

“Johnny?” You questioned, no real thought given to the fact that you’re naked, he’s seen you a dozen times since Mikoshi, granted all those where when you both were recovering and you needed help getting dressed, but it was all the same to you.

Hearing you say his name seemed to help him make whatever decision he was working on, and before you could react or say anything else, he was crowding into your space, both of you under the spray, drenching him in hot water. But neither cared about that, neither was thinking about that, not when his lips were pressed to yours so hard it’s like he needs it to breathe.

Your back pressed to the wall, his hands holding your face, rings rapidly growing warm from your skin and the water, metal hand doing the same, the coarse hair on his face rubbing against your skin, making the goosebumps that had long since settled return full force.

You kissed him back for all of a second before you realized what was happening and pushed him back, he put a few inches between your faces, but gave no more land than that. “Johnny, what the fuck are you doing?”  You panted, looking up at him with a tentative look of hope that mixed with fear and it damn near breaks his heart to see it.

“Not making the same mistakes twice.” He answered, thumb brushing over your lower lip, clearly thinking about kissing you again.

Your heart seized in her chest again. “Stop it.” It comes out cold and it’s clear he wasn’t expecting it.

“What?” He’s dumbfounded, had be misread things? No way, he knows what he saw when he was in your head, what he felt.

“Don’t fuck with me, Johnny.” The hope in your eyes turned hard, a wall going up that he’s all too familiar with. “I’m not her.” Your voice is small again.

His shock melted away as understanding took its place. “I know. Never wanted you to be her.”

“Then what the Hell are you doing?” Your fingers had curled into the wet fabric of his shirt, so he can neither move closer nor pull away.

“I already said.” He answered before taking a slow breath. “I was shit when I had her and lost her because I was a fucking moron, and I did a lot of shit in her name after that that didn’t fix anything. I never deserved her, and I sure as shit don’t deserve you, but fuck if I’m not going to shoot my shot and try.” He said with the same conviction he had when he went on one of his anti-corp rants, only this was a lot softer, a lot less angry.

As he spoke, he watched the hardness in your eyes soften and that hope return, but it’s slow, you’re digging your claws in, trying not to get your hopes up, still waiting for the Gotcha “I won’t be another quick fuck…I can’t…I can’t be no strings…” It feels searing admitting to that.

He leans in once more, till his forehead meets yours, eyes unable to look anywhere but at each other. “Neither can I.” You can barely hear him over the shower, but you do, and your heart races.

Using the leverage of your hold on his shirt, you pulled him back in, mashing your lips to his in a messy desperate kiss that steals both your breaths, falling into him with slow tentative twists of your lips.

His hands trail down from your face, over your neck where your hair is plastered to your skin, down your body, avoiding every sensitive place that you crave his touch, to settle on your hips, pulling you closer and grinding against you.

He feels you shiver against him at the stimulation, little though it is, but he savors it all the same, right along with the way your beath hitches in your chest, he wants to hear it again, wants to hear more, wants to make you cry out his name and tell the whole megabuilding who you belong to.

He’s loathed to do it, but he breaks the kiss and slips his hands down to grip the backs of your thighs to lift you up, instinct taking over to wrap your legs around his waist as your arms wrapped around his shoulders, hands slipping into his hair to twist in the strands, softer than one might expect.

A lazy hand shot out to turn off the shower before he left the bathroom, leaving a trail of water on the floor to the bed. Rather than toss you on the bed like you expected him to, he sits on the edge and settles you on his lap, and with you secured there his hands moved up into your hair to pull you into another deep kiss that’s all tongues and teeth.

You wonder if he can feel your heart racing where your chests are pressed together, your hands are shaking as they come to rest on the space where his neck meets his shoulders, fingers still twisted in the wet strands of his hair, unable to pull the away, scared you’ll float away if you stop touching him.

This is a dream; it has to be. But does that really matter? If it is then you never want to wake up, and if it’s not then you won’t have to.

The heat at the apex of your thighs had begun to ache, craving something, anything more from him. You don’t even seem to notice when your hips start to grind against him, and it pulls a hungry grin from him that breaks your kiss, and you make this pitiful little cutoff humming sound when he meets you halfway with his own hips, eyes rolling closed and face tilted forward, forehead to forehead.

He can’t take his eyes off you, never could. That used to piss him off, reminded him too much of Alt and how she made him feel, but this was different, both women pulled his passion to the forefront, but only you had ever made him feel like he was capable of being decent, like he deserved to be.

Now, as your breaths mingle, hips driving against each other like they’ll die if they stop, he can’t help but take in every minute detail, from the color of your lashes to the way the space between your brows crinkles as they draw together in desperate need to the panting breaths falling from your kiss swollen lips that he craves.

But there’s something else he craves even more.

Taking hold of you once more he flips you both, laying you on the bed beneath him, you don’t resist, all too happy to do whatever it takes to have more of him on you, around you, in you.

Your hair splays under your head like a halo and Johnny thinks that if you’re what God looks like, then maybe he was wrong not believe.

He hovers over you for a moment, taking in your face, your body, the way your chest heaves with every desperate breath. Then, when his forever limited patience runs out, he trails his hands down your sides, over your hips, and stopping on your thighs, strong and soft as they part so willingly for him.

Leaning in his lips follow a similar road as that of his hands, making detours at your tits to take a nipple in his mouth to suck and nip, making the flesh turn blush dark and your back arch up into him, a shuddery sigh passing from your lips. He could live the rest of his life lavishing your breasts like this, but the heat from between your thighs is beckoning him.

So, he continues on his path, pressing his lips to every new patch of skin he reaches till he gets to your hips, where he bites down till a pretty red, soon to be purple, mark blooms. Your hands thread into his hair as he marks you, but other than twisting into the strands you don’t do anything, needing the anchor more than anything else.

Settling between your thighs he’s met with the beautiful sight that is your glisteningly wet pussy, wanton and waiting for him to give whatever he will.

Ever the tease, Johnny leaves a couple more darkening marks on your inner thighs, watching your body tense in pleasure, before finally, finally, running his tongue over your aching heat, from bottom to top, where your clit is swollen and begging to be touched.

Your whole body jumped when he flicked his tongue over it, thighs trying to close on his head out of reflex, but his hands, strong yet gentle, hold them open as he latches on and sucks for only a second, yanking a gasp from between your lips.

“Fuck…” You breathed, sounding more like another reflex than an actual thought.

“We’ll get to that, Bright-eyes…Just let me take care of you…” He purrs against your flesh.

Trailing his flesh hand down your leg then back up again he runs his fingertips slowly around the opening of your beautiful pussy, it’s an almost reverent action, coating his skin before pushing one in, a slow and shallow in and out.

He was never really this gentle with Alt, she’d never wanted him to be, and Johnny’s pretty sure that if he asked you, you’d tell him the same to protect your ego, but the way your body was melting under him told a different story.

It told of a woman so used to being treated roughly, used to sandy winds whipping her face and sun scorched skin, fists and bullets, hard fucking and yanked hair, that all it took was a few gentle touches and sweet words and she was melting like so much ice in his hands.

It both warmed his heart and made it ache.

Soon enough he’d eased that one clever finger in enough to curl it up and brush against that spongy spot he was dying to see your reaction to.

It was everything he hoped it would be and more. Your cunt tightened around him sharply, your thighs did the same, but his shoulders didn’t let them get far, you let out moans and gasps that were nothing short of pure music. All those things he’d expected, but he hadn’t expected your hand to slip from his hair and fall down to where his metal hand was still holding your thigh to grip his fingers, a silent plea to let you hold it if ever he saw one.

So, he did.

Johnny wasn’t the type to hold hands, something so elementary just wasn’t his thing, but a lot of things weren’t his ‘thing’ till you, his Bright-eyes. So, he’d hold your hand, he’d never let it go if that’s what you wanted of him, he’d live and die by those digits wrapped around his.

And he slipped a second finger into you, giving you only a second to get used to the sensation before he was back to massaging your G-Spot with his fingertips, but that wasn’t all he did, he reattached his lips to your clit and ran over it with his tongue in circles, giving it the occasional suck to pull a jolt from your body.

You were like a livewire of coiled muscles and aching for release. Your eyes had long since fallen closed, unable to keep them open, gripping his hand like it was the only thing keeping you on this plain of existence, pussy gripping his fingers like a vice.

“Johnny…” You pleaded, high and just this side of a whine. “Please…” Your thighs were starting to shake as you begged, so very close.

But Johnny is a bastard, even when he’s being nice, so he has to tease you just a little more. “Please, what? What do you want, Bright-eyes?” He asked lowly, smirking against you. “Gotta use your words.” He felt you clench at those words, but he was already teasing you, so he’d address that later.

“…Please…So close…” You managed, sounding close to crying.

His smirk grew just a little more. “Then open those eyes and look at me. Let me watch you cum on my fingers.” He ordered, keeping you teetering on that edge till you obeyed.

Your gaze was foggy with pleasure and wet with unshed tears, it was the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen in his entire fucking life.

His eyes never left yours as he returned to your clit and worked it and his fingers till those tears slipped free, leaving wet lines down your face, but your eyes didn’t close, though it looked like you were fighting it with your whole being.

He watched as you teetered on the edge for all of a few seconds before plummeting off it in a show of dilated pupils, choked off moans, clenching muscles, hand white knuckle with how tight it held his hand, and trembling thighs, well, more like trembling everything.

But the thing that drew him in, the thing that made his chest feel tight and his cock jump in his jeans, is that your eyes never once, not for even a second, left his. Those endless portals of life stayed locked on the bottomless expanse of brown of his own eyes.

After a long several moments he had to break eye contact because he felt like he’d cum in his pants like a teenager if he didn’t.

Pressing a kiss to your thigh, still shaking, leaving a wet mark where your slick clung to his facial hair, then left a trail of such marks as he kissed his way back up your body, till he got back to your lips, where you met him halfway, moaning at the taste of yourself on his tongue.

Neither let go of the others hand, but your free hand cradled his cheek like he was made of porcelain, your palm calloused from years in the desert and Solo work but still so soft.

You stayed like that, lip locked and sharing the same air, for a bit while you came down from your high, and when you were dragging him back down to grind against him once more, he pulled away just long enough to devest himself till he matched your nudity, then he was back again.

He didn’t need to ask if you needed a condom, he knew you had an implant, so he wasted no time lining up and slowly pushing in, taking it inch by inch because even Johnny knew he was too big to go in all at once like an asshole, and there were some lines he’d never cross, hurting his bedfellows was one of them, less they asked real nice of course, but there was time for that later, right now his Bright-eyes needed soft, and damn if you weren’t going to get it.

Your face twisted in pleasure as he entered, and a broken gasp fell from your lips. “I know, baby, I know…” He breathed before pressing his lips to your neck. “So good, fuck…” You were tighter than he expected, but he wasn’t shocked, you hadn’t had any partners when he was in your head, and you didn’t seem particularly interested in finding any after you were in your own bodies.

Your hand returned to gripping his metal one as soon as he was back on you, the other found its home on his shoulder where your nails dug in, the pinch of pain sent a thrill down his spine that made it harder not to thrust into you.

“Johnny.” You said in a breath, getting his attention.

“Hm?” He hummed against your pulse point.

“If you don’t move in the next three seconds, I’m going to do it for you.” You threatened, though with how hard you were breathing it was a loose threat at best.

He smiled, not smirked, not grinned, honest to God smiled as he looked down at you. Rather than make some smart comment, he did as you asked, pulling out to the tip then pushing back in, so slow it was torture for both of you, especially when your still sensitive walls fluttered around him.

It was slow, or at least slower than you expected, his build up in speed. A small part of you expected him to be rough with you, you expected him to fuck you, not this. There was no way to describe this but as making love.

Just as quickly as before that coil in your belly started to tighten, and Johnny seemed to see it immediately. “Look at you…” He breathed as he watched you fight to keep your eyes open. “Taking me so well, baby…So fucking well…” His voice turned into a growl at the end, and you couldn’t help the way it made your insides clench.

Every roll of his hips had his tip brushing hard against your G-Spot, while the hair at his base kept a steady pressure against your clit, and that didn’t even cover what his lips and words were doing to you. Your whole body felt so hot you thought you might combust, but you didn’t dare let him stop.

Your legs wrapped around his hips to pull him in further, which served to leverage your hips up just right to have him pressing deeper, which you had thought impossible a second before.

You felt yourself once more on the edge of orgasm and he knew it, be it from the way you sounded or the way very part of you was clinging to him even tighter, he knew. “Shit…You’re so perfect…Gonna cum on my cock? Hm?” He hummed as much to himself as to you, probably to distract himself so he didn’t cum before you.

You couldn’t have answered him if you wanted to, it was all too much, too perfect, before you even realized it the coil snapped and you came hard, so hard your vision went white and you think you might have passed out for a few seconds because the next thing you heard was his voice rasping out your name mixed with several swears while his hips stuttered and you felt heat flood your insides.

He didn’t collapse on you the way other guys you’ve slept with had, he did lower himself enough to rest chest to chest, but his knees and free hand kept him propped up enough as not to crush you.

His face was pressed into your neck while you both caught your breath, and after a moment he pulled back to press his forehead to yours, eyes closed but it made him feel even closer, so you certainly weren’t complaining.

When both your breathing evened out, he opened his eyes and looked at you, finding you already searching his face. Trepidation was there at the bare edges of your gaze but seemed to be held back by the fact that he hadn’t pulled away or said anything shitty to you yet.

“You okay?” He said softly, quietly so as not to disturb the calm that had fallen on the room.

He watched your throat work around a swallow, and you nodded ever so slightly. “Yeah…” You breathed, voice sounding thick.

He gave your hand, still wrapped so tightly around his metal one, a gentle squeeze. “I love you, Bright-eyes…” He said, knowing you needed to hear it as much as he needed to say it.

Your eyes widened slightly and grew wet but before tears could fall you pulled him down into a kiss, this one was filled with a different kind of passion, it was softer, sweeter. “I love you, Johnny.”

He helped you clean up after that before going to bed, the radio still playing the same oldies station quietly.

“I have traveled beyond the path of reason…Take me back to Eden…Take me back to Eden…”

[ninjadeathblade]

Febuwhump Day Twenty Eight: (Alt. Prompt) Last man standing

Warnings: Being sick, combat training

Word count: 602

Author's notes: The one and only thing I have written for The Bad Batch this month, happy Season Three Episode Four.

Crosshair ducked down behind the ledge of the tower, barely avoiding the bolts of fire that went past not a second later.

“Tech? Hunter? Wrecker?” He hissed into his comm. “I could use a distraction right now.”

Silence echoed back over the feed and he risked a quick peek down onto the field to spot where Wrecker had been swarmed by droids and his other two brothers seemed to have been tagged.

Right, stupid training regulations.

If you were tagged you were effectively dead and couldn't respond to comms.

And Wrecker was clearly too busy to reply.

“Useless di’kuts,” Crosshair sighed, quickly dodging a few more bolts.

The young clone swung his training rifle up with him, quickly sniping the droids that had been firing at him.

An overdramatic shout rang through the room and Crosshair rolled his eyes as Wrecker lay down on the floor.

That left him.

Last man standing.

He quickly sniped a few of the droids that were more sluggish about moving away from Wrecker before cursing as a bolt of training fire zipped past his helmet.

Crosshair wasted no time with picking off the last few before scaling back down the tower as the buzzer that signified the end of training sounded.

Wrecker clapped a hand onto his shoulder, jostling his skinnier brother. “Awright Cross! Nice job!”

The sniper kept his expression blank as he tugged his training helmet off, Maker forbid his brothers’ tease him. “I would have appreciated it more if you didn't go down so easily.”

“In my defence, ”Tech stated, a throaty sniff punctuating his words. “I am not functioning at usual standards due to the strain of the influenza virus I have picked up after you decided to drag us into a fight with a group of regs that had just returned from another planet.”

Crosshair shook his head before fixing Hunter with his piercing gaze. “And your excuse?”

Hunter shifted, averting his gaze. “Tech’s sniffing and coughing kept distracting me.”

“Uh-huh, sure.” Crosshair dragged the word out, trying to highlight his disbelief - at Hunter's obvious lie - and annoyance to his brothers.

“Tech, I'm going to harass a medical droid to get you something to take. Hunter, you are clearly having migraine symptoms so I'm also gonna grab your painkillers, di’kut’ika. Wrecker, get Hunter to his bunk and then try to be quiet, however hard for you that may be.”

Wrecker mock-saluted before flinging their brother over his shoulder, Hunter's screeches of protest making Crosshair snicker.

After those two were gone he turned to Tech. “You look like you need to puke.”

Tech's nose scrunched. “I will inform you that I do not need to regurgitate our first meal, I am perfectly fine.”

Crosshair looped an arm around his brother's shoulders, guiding him towards the exit their other batchmates had taken. “Y'know, you really don't have to phrase it that way. Also, you definitely do, I've never seen you this pale aside from that one time when I mixed some of your rations into your drink.”

Tech gasped, turning to him with knitted eyebrows. “I was certain it was you! Why you-”

Crosshair quickly stepped back as Tech doubled over, proving Crosshair correct.

The silver-haired clone gently rubbed his brother's back, trying to give off an air of indifference.

When Tech straightened back up he adjusted his goggles with one hand, using the other to wipe the edges of his mouth.

“Yeah, I'm definitely going to harass a med droid.”

“That would be appreciated Crosshair, thank you.”

“Sure, whatever, just go back to the barracks and try not to throw up again.”

[just-someone-online]

Time to ramble about robots again!

So a little while back, I briefly talked about two crossovers between Transformers Earthspark and Transformers Prime: One where the Terrans end up in Nevada and another where Team Prime (Or at least a couple of them) end up in Witwicky. I want to go more in depth on the former, just to get some of it out of my system.

Our story starts the way many crossover AUs do: with a malfunctioning spacebridge.

I initially thought of Nightshade building it as a way for the Maltos to escape any close encounters with G.H.O.S.T. but then I remembered that Earthspark uses the G1 spacebridge design. i.e. a massive ring laying flat on the ground. So instead, the gang stumbles upon some rogue Decepticons building a spacebridge in the woods so they can finally get off Earth. But since whatever scientist (Simacore maybe? It doesn't matter) they have probably isn't as good as Shockwave and they're rushing to build this before G.H.O.S.T. catches on, things go to shit pretty quickly.

Don't ask how the cons are able to build a spacebridge capable of tearing a hole through reality when they can barely feed themselves

The cons manage to escape the out of control spacebridge, but the Maltos aren't as lucky. I'm not completely sure who all gets sucked into the bridge since I don't want the entire family going through, so for now I'm gonna say Dottie, Robbie, Twitch, Hashtag, and Nightshade get pulled through. This lineup could be subject to change.

From there, things become a little vague for me. I was gonna have them to end up in Prime at some point after Shadowzone, sine Team Prime would be more open to the idea of alternate dimensions after that episode. But I also want Hashtag to be there for Out of His Head (And maybe Nightshade for Predatory? Just to give them a spider who isn't chill). Hell, I'm half tempted to have them land in the pilot and be split up so that ES!Bumblebee can save Cliffjumper.

In any case, Team Prime picks up on a massive energy surge and investigates. They meet with the Maltos and despite varying levels of skepticism, they bring them back to base. I like to think there's a bit of early tension because Fowler and/or some of the bots give the the whole "robots in disguise" spiel and try to get Twitch and Nightshade (Or Jawbreaker. Again, haven't decided yet) to take on more covert alt modes, only for Optimus to step in and say they have a right to keep their forms though it means they can't go out as much as Hashtag

Robbie and the Terrans aren't super active in the war - cos y'know, they're kids - so they're usually either getting into shenanigans or helping around the base. Hashtag is scrubbing evidence of the Transformers off the internet, Twitch is sparring with Wheeljack or Arcee, and Nightshade is trying to help Ratchet perfect the synth en formula, find the Maltos a way home, and rebuild the holoform projector so they and their siblings can leave the base.

Meanwhile, Optimus is quietly having a crisis in the corner. There's a world where Megatron ended the war? Cybertron's core wasn't poisoned (Yeah, it might still be dead, but the key word is might)? He now has kids to look after. Not 'kid' like Smokescreen, but actual children who should not be here. Yeah, the Decepticons getting their hands on the human kids would be bad, but Optimus doesn't even want to think about what they'll do if they find out about the Terrans.

Uh, I'm running out of steam so I'm gonna try and speed through some more notes.

Wheeljack becomes Dad 2.5

The Terrans meet the Rescue Bots at some point due to Hashtag unintentionally looking through government files

I'm tempted to have Jawbreaker scan his canon alt mode since I know what it is, but I think I'll wait until I see how he actually gets it in season 1C before I decide for sure.

I want one of the Terrans to connect with either Dreadwing or Breakdown, though I'm not sure who does it or how.

Maybe the aligned!Emberstone is on Earth? They had a billion other relics stashed here so it wouldn't be too surprising.

If Cliffjumper lives, the Terrans are the ones who reveal themselves to Jack and Raf. Miko's intro to the bots stays the same.

Actually, if Cliffjumper lives, Bumblebee gets captured by the cons. He'll live but it won't be fun.

The Terrans get two drug PSAs! One from Megatron and the other from Ratchet.

Miko isn't allowed to be alone with Hashtag or the twins. That is an accident waiting to happen.

I feel like Dottie and June would be a fun dynamic? Lemme get back to you on that.

Nightshade sneaks out at night and becomes a local cryptid before Hashtag can scrub the images.

The displaced Maltos aren't showing it, but they are freaking out. They have no way of knowing if the rest of the family got away from the spacebridge, got sent to some other universe, or just flat out died when the spacebridge went critical.

Dottie and Robbie (Or Alex and Mo, or Dottie and Mo, or-) get set up with false records so that they aren't stuck in the silo for weeks on end.

Hashtag tries to hack the warship at least once. How it goes remains to be seen.

[p5x-theories]

Could it be an alt costume for Moko?

Well, anything is possible, but I'll be honest, I'd be genuinely shocked if that was the case. Honestly, I'm not sure the word "shocked" even properly conveys just how surprised I'd be, heh!

While Okyann proves that physical appearance can change quite drastically, it's worth noting that their eye colors and hair types are distinctly different- the mystery teammate has bluer eyes, and spikier hair, with much higher, and somewhat shorter, pigtails.

Their demeanors- though again, only from this one image- seem entirely different, as well. It's hard to imagine Tomoko making that expression; the mystery teammate gives the impression of being more upfront and brash, perhaps even reckless, while we know Tomoko's more thoughtful and dexterous, rather than using brute force.

Also, I'd just be surprised to see Tomoko get another alternate unit so soon, heh! Right now she and Motoha are the only characters with alternates, so stacking up a second one for Tomoko would start to feel a bit biased towards her, heh, not that I could blame anyone for liking her.

[bloominglegumes]

Ok so note, it’s still a wip, so it’s not fully complete but some of the ideas are

Micronus is the minicons

Onyx the beast formers(which would include the maximals and predecons)

And note, this is for subspecies, not factions, so there wouldn’t be one for autobots and decepticons,

Still trying to figure out what counts as subspecies

And if I should put all beast formers(like the insecticons and such) or have the insecticons be their own subspecies, a sort of hive mind one

I know I want one for the titans(which I have a whole idea on types of titans, and how astrotrain could count as a titan) and triple changers,

I also had this idea of headmasters being a subspecies but am a bit iffy on it,

I also just wondered if cybwrtronians with animal robot modes should count as their own subspecies or as part of the beast formers, and what their relation with beast formers would be

Probaly won’t have girls be an entire subspecies and just not give gender, more have it that they are all trans in that each one chooses its gender

Anyways, if you would like brainstorm it with me, I would be completely down, just tell me

ooh i like what you've got so far!! i hope you don't mind if i word vomit back at you,,

i really wish transformers fiction had like.a reasonable way to explain the different sizes and types of cybertronians since as far as i'm aware there aren't any tf universes that .reproduce in a way that passes on physical traits to offspring so evolution in the way we're used to probably isn't an option.,?? but there clearly are distinct types that are made of groups too large and have differences too great to just be individuals that are like,, racecar vs warframe, that can more or less switch their alt mode to something generally similar to their original

like i'm sure this is what you're referring to as well, there's massive difference between minicons and titans and the main autobot cars right.,.even between ground vehicles and fliers,.

okkokok i don't know if you're basing your ideas off a specific existing continuity or making your own here but the ones i'm most familiar with at the moment are cartoon g1, aligned, idw1, and then some of animated so i'm mostly sourcing my braindumping out of those

so the alternative to like.survival of the fittest over generations of passing on traits seems to be. possibility one is that a higher power like the original primes or another kind of pressure arranges for existing cybertronians close in location or social standing to get reformatted into the subspecies that you've mentioned above, for greater chance of survival in their environment, to be useful in terms of functionism, or something else that i can't think of right now..

or another possibility could be that all cybertronians simply get born from the allspark or the matrix or whatever with like. a random chance of emerging as a beastformer or a triple-changer or anything, or if i pull this back towards your ideas of the primes representing these subspecies, maybe the primes would have had some sort of control over the physiology of the new cybertronians,,,,but then i get the question of why would they do that.,,. and then theres the question of,, if a bot gets reformatted or gets a full-frame overhaul or something, like idw megatron going from mining tank to handgun to space thingy to.i think some kind of tank again,, does the change in frame type change what the individual is classified as?,.;']?

and then also do you happen to have any ideas/hcs of how these subspecies are different from each other apart from the obvious bit of the alt modes? bc i don't know if anything has suggested that there are in canon series, but i think there really should be because its fictional alien robot biology and its cool and im always craving it

[spritehouse]

Give it up to You (I surrender) (Scrap/WIP)

Title from Heat Lightning by Mitski

Notes: Another fic I started writing for Whumptober & never finished! I'm not sure if I'll continue this one because Physical Whump™️ is a little outside my area of expertise but I like to surprise myself so here it is

Prompt: Shock (no. 4) Moreid | 689 words | Spencer & Derek get kidnapped and tortured

⚠️TW: drugs/drugging, torture, & electrocution (not graphic)

“Derek!” Spencer screams as pain sears through the older agent’s body, electricity sending sparks of agony coursing through his veins.

“I’m okay, Pretty Boy,” He chokes when it ends, lifting his head just high enough to meet his partner’s eyes, wide and welling with tears as a faceless figure drags him out of the room, “I’ll be okay.”

“Reid! Spencer!”

The voice is distant and muffled—like his head is underwater, thoughts swimming—but desperate as Spencer comes to, half-conscious hands exploring the cold concrete beneath him.

“Der?” He croaks, forcing his eyes open, movements slow and shaky, body disconnected from his brain as he pushes himself up, using the stone wall to stabilize himself. “What–”

He pauses, his gaze finally focusing, finding his partner on the other side of a glass wall, straining to stand on his toes in the center of the room, arms stretched out from his sides by chains attached to either wall.

“Derek? Are you–” His voice catches in his throat, blood rushing to his head, making Spencer stumble back.

“Spence? What is it? Are you okay?”

“Disorientation, drowsiness, lowered coordination...” Spencer murmurs to himself, letting his forehead fall against the cold wall, taking a few shallow, shaking breaths before speaking up so Derek can hear. “Drugs... I’m on– I’ve been drugged.”

“What–?”

“Not opioids,” He adds, lifting his head again, finally making eye contact with Derek. “A sedative, probably... I can’t remember...”

“Okay. That’s good; you figured that out fast, which means your beautiful brain is still intact.” Spencer hums a small affirmative, sliding down the wall.

“Are you okay?”

“I’m fine, Pretty Boy; my shoulders are a little sore, but I’ll manage.”

“They overpowered two FBI agents,” The younger brunette murmurs after a minute, gears in his head still turning, albeit slower than usual. “We didn’t have our guns on us, but we– well, you could’ve defended yourself... Do you– What do you remember?”

Derek pauses, brows furrowed as he searches his fuzzy memories.

“The bookstore; we were walking back to the car from the cafe, and you wanted to stop at the bookstore, and then–” He shakes his head. “It goes dark after that.”

“Do you feel–?” Spencer trails off, eyelids fluttering closed for a second as he loses his train of thought, looking for the right word like digging through mud. “Did they drug you?”

“No, but my head hurts; they probably blitzed me.”

“Makes sense... disable the stronger one first...”

“Yeah, so they blitz me first, then drug you before you can react and bring us here. Why?”

“No kidnapping or missing persons cases in the area that fit this. Have you noticed anything unusual lately?”

“No–”

Derek’s eyes widen, his heart racing as Spencer slumps forward, chains rattling as he pulls on the without give.

“Spencer!”

“Don’t worry, Agent Morgan; Doctor Reid is okay,” Someone speaks, their voice deep and masculine, drawing Derek’s attention to a speaker in the corner. “I just gave him a little something to help him sleep. We can’t have you two talking too much before the fun begins?”

“What do you want?” He keeps his voice steady as he speaks, unwilling to let the unsub feed on his fear.

“I want to break you, Derek Morgan and I’m going to use your boyfriend to do it.”

+ Alt Opening:

Spencer wakes up to the all-too-familiar feeling of opioids clouding his thoughts, eliciting a low groan from the groggy genius. 

“Well, look who’s finally awake!” An unfamiliar voice echoes, making his head spin.

“Spence? Are you okay?”

He hums, nodding in what he hopes is Derek's direction.

“Oh, he’s more than alright, Agent Morgan; Doctor Reid is having a great time right now.”

“I’m high.” The younger brunette fills in when his boyfriend doesn’t respond, words bitter and burning on his lips.

“I really thought he’d be out longer; looks like our Pretty Boy here has a higher tolerance than I anticipated.”

“Don’t call him that–”

“‘S okay, Der,” Spencer interrupts, hearing the anger rising in the older agent’s voice. “He’s trying to get a reaction outta you.”

“Who would’ve thought the addict would be the reasonable one here?”

[blnk338]

c(u)n(t) 7

"I am doing this because you’ll be fucked up to high heaven" was almost "I am doing this because you'll be fucked to high heaven." Changed due to the worry that people would find it too vulgar. Why? I frankly have no idea, yet, here we are today.

Looking back, I think I most often use the over-the-top affectionate terms for PB constantly because that is his main purpose; a comfort. A lot of Reaper's description of the things in her home used to be riddled with a muddy, jaded feeling, but as she moved to the UK, she has begun to describe her life in more beautiful terms. This also applies to Peanut Butter. He himself is quite literally the color of the sun, his eyes are a bright playful yellow, and he's described to have a "permanent smile." I intentionally chose him to be orange because orange cats are usually the stupidest, sweetest little idiots (though if your cat is of any other color, there is not a muscle in my body that does not a) want to see them and b) know they are terribly sweet).

YOU LOOK LIKE USAGI!” While I'm not sure a ton of people caught it (it's come to my attention that apparently a lot of people haven't seen or heard of the show), Stella likes Sailor Moon.

Claire is important to Reaper because she gets to see someone who looks like her, or rather, dresses like she used to, only this time, this person is happy. I think this derives from my own internal joy when I see emo/goth/alt kids just being happy, because in the time that I was like that, I faced a lot of negativity for just dressing how I wanted to. I put a lot of effort into describing Claire as happy, excitable, and filled with life, but also still a normal anxious teenager because I want people to see alt characters in good lights. While more of those characters are seen in modern pieces of media (ex: Hobie Brown), I still think we need to see more women in those areas.

I changed it, but some may remember that I added double exclamation marks for Stella's remarks-- not a terribly large note, but I used to do it to emphasize how loud she was.

Claire would love Hobie, Stella would love Gwen.

"Feels like shit gets really loud all of a sudden.” Again, something else Reaper and Claire have in common: Sensory overloads.

I changed it all, but in Ghost's pov, I used to respond to Reaper in the third person. I ultimately changed this because it no longer fit with the current iterations of Ghost's POV.

I almost didn't make a comment on the true crime thing because I know people get death threat-y. Even though I don't like the community's fawning over people's deaths and serial killers, I know that there are people who approach the topics politely, with that being said, I don't love it.

“It’s hell.” I believe this is the first time I've ever made Simon actually vulnerable. Instead of shutting Reaper's words down, he fills them in for her; he properly expresses how much agony he's in.

“Was I—was it clear?” Again, another moment of vulnerability from Ghost. He's terrified to do this, he's nervous, he's uncomfortable, it's clear, but it's Reaper and he trusts her.

... Most of the stuff I know about guns is from PUBG...

"One hand rising up, he rubbed the back of his balaclava. Perhaps he could use a trim, too." I was actually going to have a scene where Reaper cuts Ghost's hair but I... forgot LMAO. But I guess that haircut had to happen eventually, huh?

“I don’t think you could handle my stack of documents, Sergeant.” Both an innuendo and a metaphor for Simon himself. It's a bit between the lines, but I attempted to hint at the idea that Simon doubts Reaper would ever be able to, let alone want, to deal with him and his shit.

“I bet it’s just page after page of the same shit I’ve gotta do, what’s the harm in taking a load off, big man?” And it's thrown right back into his face. As in, "no, I can take care of that sort of thing, because it's not a burden to me."

there's a clear sadness when König and Reaper talk to each other, knowing they should've killed each other. It's continued in their conversations as background noise or a prominent topic, the idea that they weren't supposed to be friends. If anything, there's an underlying fear that one day, they might be the reason the other is dead.

Its mentioned briefly, but König likes to draw :)

König actively changes around people. Around Reaper, he lets his walls down. Whether this is because they don't know each other or not, he decides that she is being kind or transparent enough to be trusted with his more awkward side. This also plays into the fact that he's a Colonel (which was information that I didn't have at the time of posting the chapter).

On top of this BB was deemed to be the "squad leader." Even though I'm not changing this, I like to think that König asked BB to hold up that role for the 141 so they would treat him like a regular soldier to see how they would react. In turn, they didn't treat him like shit, and he actively gained a new friend: Reaper.

Originally, there was a push to make König's group more of a boy's club, but that changed after they split up because I felt like it was too girlboss-y of Reaper.

Mind stroll coming to a stop, you turned to look up at Ghost, but his eyes were already on you. “Do you know where we’re going?” Simon was caught staring at Reaper watching the domesticity, yearning to do the same with her. Another in between the lines sort of thing, but hey, it's there.

By this point, Reaper had begun to call Ghost "Big Man" and this is big because Reaper's never shown this kind of affection outwardly to anyone else. She has her own internal nicknames (like Bug Boy), but she doesn't call anyone them to their face. But Reaper loves that Simon is big and this is a big flirting step for her.

"Look up for me." This was WAY more sexual than I realized when I wrote it, but honestly, this is a good way to point out that Simon was super obedient to Reaper. Again, when the hell is he like this with anyone else? WHEN ELSE DOES HE WHIMPER?

Glancing between the two for a second, your lieutenant staring a lot harder than he should have. I think this might've been the most deliberate example of Ghost being jealous of König. I almost included a scene where Ghost asked König to "step back" but I thought it was too Wattpad-esq and hated it LMAO

I typically have Reaper in boxers because they're a) comfy to wear b) good to exercise in and c) pretty GNC. I know some folks aren't comfy with wearing thongs or something (which, believe me, seems fucking awful. Why are writers putting their main female characters in lacy underwear and thongs when they're in the military? That sounds awful!), so I chose a bit more of a comfy example.

Reaper likes doing things in threes. stabbing three times, triple takes, etc.

Reaper knows how to kick down doors bc of her Marine dad.

A lot of Reaper's words are cut short. Ex: "medbay will be quick." This is because she's spent pretty much all of her life in the military.

[vaporeonisland]

HOW THE IOTS MAGIC SYSTEM WORKS

this post is going to act as a sort of first draft for the part of the journal wherein I... well. explain the magic system. There's a lot more to it and i'm sure this will raise a handful of questions about voltron and the alteans and whatnot, but in due time those will be answered. For now let's just focus on alteans.

A little bit of background first. Earlier i wanted alteans to be a bigger part of voltron, and i ended up scrapping the backstory from the show's canon with the paladins of old creating voltron and whatnot, and making nearly all the main characters altean. I'm using the word "alteans" for these characters because i'm honestly too lazy to just invent another name for the magical species situation we've got going on. They're honestly closer to demigods, but that's a can of worms for later. I've been stalling for too long let's just get into the meat of it now.

What you need to know right now is that alteans have the ability to manipulate quintessence, and this gives them cool magic powers. Now this magic has two different types: Individual Magic and coursebook magic.

Individual magic: the magic that youre born with. This is usually elemental powers or just control over stuff that occurs in nature in general. So you've got stuff like pyrokinesis, electrokinesis, chlorokinesis, geokinesis, photokinesis, etc. It is possible that you're born with odd powers here and there though. Like Tara, for example, was born with the ability to create flames that don't actually burn anything.

Acquired magic: the magic that you learn. Usually alteans try to learn more man-made types of magic that involves specific systems you create from yourself. This is stuff like runes or morphix (an idea i deadass stole from winx club and edited to fit the magic system). You can learn elemental powers or just powers that are typically associated with individual magic, but they're difficult to learn if you aren't born with them.

On that note, it isn't possible to learn all different types of magic. Every individual is attuned to a specific type of quintessence manipulation, which makes it easier for them to learn some types of magic, and harder to learn others. You just gotta figure it out for yourself.

(Sometimes if you learn two contrasting types of magic, you get side effects like developing spontaneous allergies, because I think its funny. Other times you get a bonus power like poison resistance though. It's a gamble)

Some people are born with no individual magic and use acquired magic exclusively, some prefer to hone the magic they were born with and some do a weird mix of both.

Now onto some other important stuff- Saturation Percentage and Power Rate.

Saturation Percentage: the amount of magic that you've used up. You can't learn every type of magic in the world, because everyone has a limit to how many different types of powers they can learn. Learning some types of powers (like traditionally those associated with individual magic) saturates more of your magic than others. It depends. Like, for example, learning like, geokinesis or pyrokinesis would saturate far more of your magic than something like advanced hearing or vision. The loophole to learning more types of magic is giving yourself restrictions- like you can teleport, but only within a certain radius, or you have super strength but only in tense situations. The restriction cancels out the actual power, and less if your magic gets saturated!! Hooray!! A lot of people learn these extra powers for convenience, though, so they can't always do that.

Power rate: Simply put, it just measures how powerful you are. Ideally, one would have a low saturation percentage and a high power rate, but that's pretty rare, because generally more powerful types of magic have a high SP. back to power rate. It is measured in a quantity called Estiels. Named after the scientist I made up, D.Estiel :)) like how force is measured in Newtons, you get me? The average altean has around 50-60Els of power.

There's a LOT more to say but honestly I'm dangerously close to becoming one with my pillow so I'll just rb this with an addition.. some time in the near future. The board exams are sort of kicking my ass and I haven't studied NEARLY as much as I should. I hope this answers any questions you have for NOW at least (o´･ω･`o)

[soupbabe]

May I ask for a JJBA matchup please? no real preferred parts but I would prefer a non-main character if that’s possible? If that’s asking too much you can ignore that part um

I’m 33, aceflux/panromo and use any pronouns! I’m short and chubby, very short colorful frizzy hair with shaved sides, and heavy colorful makeup. I wear a lot of alt clothes and skirts with long striped socks.

I like cooking/baking and video games even though I’m terrible at them. But I like watching people play viddygame too because I live it vicariously through them and experience the story that way. I LOVE screaming about underappreciated characters on all of my social media because I am a dumbass. Basically a whole lot of caring about stuff no one else tends to care about. Someone has to! I don’t like main characters and protags for the most part, and it tends to frustrate me more than it should that the characters I like don’t get love and it makes me super aggro. Yes, that’s a big enough part of my personality that it’s worth noting.

I have a tendency to talk before I think about it, and when the chips are down I end up not saying the right things because I get either too passionate to think or I word things badly. I sure am stupid and loud about it. I mostly mean well but I have a real problem with getting worked up and aggressive. I tend to keep quiet a lot so that doesn’t happen, because once I get going it’s aggro town, so my intentions tend to get misunderstood while I’m trying not to hurt people.

One time I ate an 8 month old Boston cream donut and another time I ate a 3 year old McDonald’s hash brown because I am stupid and also I thought it would be funny. God help whoever you put me with.

Lil a/n: literally slamming the table I always want to match folks w minor antags but I'm always afraid ppl would forget who they are, so having the green light to match w a minor antag makes me so happy.

I match you with,,,

Gwess ♡

What drew me to match you up with Gwess is that I wanted you to have someone who would absolutely hype you up when you're raging. If it's a major part of your personality, she'd be there to admire your passion and even join you on your shit talking <3 Similarly, she's one to boo the protags in the story too.

Another thing about Gwess is that she's clingy and would love to do anything with you. Need help dying your hair? She'll do it. Want to bake with her? She'll dollop frosting on your nose, insisting that you look cuter this way. Video games? She likes the praise you give her when you watch her succeed. (Bonus points if she beat a stage you were stuck on <3)

[aroaceranboo]

Ok so. Here are screenshots of my thoughts abt Tommy's alt stream. Mind u I couldn't watch the whole thing because the VOD got deleted and it just stopped loading. But I was able to get the most important stuff abt him.

Long post ahead, my formatting isn't the best since I wasn't sure what the best way to summarize it was.

Also I wanna say that he was also trying out 1.17, the venting was in between regular game commentary.

There's gonna be pointing emojis between the images to say which image is the paragraph referring to.

Someone asked me about what happened so I gave my rundown on things (while also commenting on what he was saying) 👇

He was trying to comment about how twitter was So Overwhelming for him. How there was too much going on for him to be able to do something. But he'd always cut his comments short because of his fear of being misinterpreted. 👇

He'd just continue rambling, I can't remember any stuff he said clearly except for the stuff I actually quoted, he tried to play for a while, getting iron and diamonds.

👆 I do not even know how to add on that, I believe that was one of the moments where he was at his closest to breaking.

He wanted to pretend that what twitter is doing is ok, and while people are allowed to be upset at him some stuff said about him was absolutely not ok, there was so much pressure put on him to say something about it but he's scared of not being able to address it right. 👇

He brought up how people on twitter were harrassing Scott over MCC, he said how that was stupid since there's things that are much more important than a minecraft tournament 👇

I really think that he at least checked some of the stuff that was said about him on twitter. I mean, "Tommy neg" DID trend twice yesterday for hours. I believe that that could be traumatizing to some degree.

👆 After this he started saying that "he was ok and having a lovely time" but I honestly did not believe that.

One of my BIGGEST critiques against Twitter is how they're not able to distinguish between a comment rooted in ignorance vs a comment rooted in hate. They think it's the same and Tommy just tried his best to make it clear that he is NOT a hateful person 👇

There's too much pressure put on the dude.

👆Yes, Twitter got upset at him for describing it as politics. And I just think that...just isn't something they should get mad about specially when he clarified that he isn't sure if that's the appropriate word 😭

I understand what he was going for here, he probably tried to justify himself over like, y'know, collabing with Schlatt. But I also know Twitter would probably just use it as a way to shit on him further. 👇

A few seconds after this was said he mentioned that he wasn't doing well, and needed to call Wilbur.

Wilbur started doing a bit where he got lost in the forest trying to follow a fox, Tommy invited Phil some minutes after. It seemed like he managed to get on a better mood when talking with them.

Another quote that I noted (and worried me a bit)

Guys, if you are ever just...MISERABLE one night, which all of us have been...except me *whispers* no thats not true.

Stream stopped loading for me a while after that, there wasn't much that I could note while he talked to Wilbur/Phil. I'm glad he has at least some adults that care about him and will try to help him out during this.

[ifonlyweknewwhatiwasdoing]

Anxiety (20 Whumptober 2021) [Alt Prompt]

Prompt: trunk/trapped under water/solitary confinement

Alt Prompt: Anxiety

Pairing: Anakin Skywalker/Obi-Wan Kenobi

Warnings: none apply for this chapter [please see endnotes on future chapters; note that this set of notes will essentially spoil the ending of this chapter and I recommend reading second. There will be no issues for the first chapter.]

Summary: Anakin Skywalker, prince of Tatooine, is to be wed to Obi-Wan Kenobi, crown prince to the throne of Stewjon. It's a marriage that will benefit them both and Anakin's planet desperately needs the treaty. There's just one problem.

Hey All!

Thanks for reading! What started out as a drabble for Whumptober ended up as a whole-ass fic. I've fleshed it out but I'm not sure how long it will end up being. That being said, I'll be posting the rest on AO3. In the meantime, enjoy the first chapter!

Thanks,

Marie

-

-

-

It was no secret that the planet of Tatooine was struggling. The Outer Rim planet was mostly desert flanked by a binary sun system that left it unable to produce any useful exports with any of its neighbors.

Originally there once had been precious stones under the sand and in the cave systems but after thousands of years of mining, they were all but gone. The only thing left for the planet was the nearby hyperspace lanes it controlled.

The taxes were enough to keep the planet afloat but it wasn’t enough to prosper. Faced with an impossible choice, Shmi Skywalker crowned queen of Tatooine, and her second husband Cliegg Lars decided that they would marry Shmi’s son from her first marriage off.

This of course became difficult when it was clear the boy’s proclivities leaned rather...strange.

“We should marry him regardless,” Cliegg told her, “He may very well grow out of his strange choices.”

“I will not do that to my son,” Shmi told him firmly, “I will not force him to change who is he. We should put the word out and see if any other planets have a son who will fit.”

“He’s nearly of age,” Cliegg argued, “If we don’t marry him now then he will pass his window, and then what will we do? They are no kinder about his strangeness here than they would be anywhere else. The best thing for him is to find somewhere to go.”

“I don’t care,” she told him sternly, “We will put the word out and find somewhere for my son to go that will value him.”

“If he’s not married by the time he reaches adulthood we will be discussing this,” Cliegg told her seriously, “We have an entire planet to think of.”

And so the word went out to find Prince Anakin Skywalker a husband.

---

“It’s perfect,” Tahl told her husband as she looked at the message, “We have to tell Obi. He’ll be so excited.”

“Cody please go find our son,” Qui-Gon told the guard at the door, “Tell him we’ve news that he must hear right away.”

When Obi-Wan walked into the study he knew something must be going on. The look on his parent’s faces had him worried. He couldn’t tell what was going on and he wasn’t sure if he wanted to know. He, after all, only had another two years before he had to be married and they were getting close to the point where he’d have to settle and find a woman who hopefully was as disinterested as was.

“We’ve got good news,” Tahl told him, taking his hands into hers, “We’ve found a suitable match for you.”

“I see,” Obi-Wan told her, feeling his heart drop, “When are we to be wed? I assume you’ve told her about my quirk.”

His father put a hand on his shoulder, “He is the youngest prince of Tatooine, a planet that needs the backing of an inner rim planet. We’ve got enough treaties in place to easily help support the planet with supplies and help. He’s about to come of age and his parents are looking for someone with the same preferences.”

Obi-Wan felt his heart in his throat, “Do you really mean that? They really wish to marry their son to another man?”

“It specifically requested it,” she confirmed, “We will send a response at once to assure that he will be placed with you.”

Obi-Wan pushed into her arms, wrapping his own arms around her neck and pulling her close, “Thank you.”

He looked up to his father, “Thank you.”

---

“Marriage?” Anakin asked nervously, “You- you want to marry me off right away? I- I thought I would have some time.”

“We don’t have the time,” Cliegg told him firmly, “And it’s your duty as a crowned prince of Tatooine to serve your planet. We need you, son. If we had the time to give you we would, but with every passing day our trading is drying up and without the help of another system we will be ruined.”

“We’ve found another man,” Shmi cut in, “He’s looking for the same thing that you are. He’s from the planet Stewjon where they are much more understanding of these things. I really think it will be what’s best for you Ani.”

“I asked you not to call me that,” Anakin told her softly, arms coming up to wrap around himself, “And if it’s something that must be done then so be it. When am I to be married?”

“We’ve almost completed all of the paperwork,” Shmi explained gently, “Since the two planets are so far from each other we’ve been conducting all of the business through holo. You are to be brought to Stewjon on your birthday. You will be wed in a handfasting ceremony that day and then you will have time to adjust and learn about the planet with your new husband.”

“My birthday is next month,” Anakin told them, “Do- I-This is all very fast. I do not get to meet him before I am to be wed?”

“Unfortunately due to the quickness of the courtship the crowned prince does not have time to make the trip and should we send you out there it would take you nearly the whole time to travel regardless, you wouldn’t actually have any time with him.”

Anakin swallowed, trying to ignore the way his stomach was rolling. He couldn’t even begin to imagine how this was going to work. He had less than a standard’s month time to get ready to leave his planet, possibly forever.

“Does it mention whether I can take my personal attendant? And my guard? He’s been with me since I was born. I can’t imagine leaving them,” Anakin told them.

“I will see to it that they know you’ll not be leaving alone,” Shmi promised, pulling Anakin into her arms and kissing the top of his head, “We will make sure that you have everything you need there. We’ve already discussed with them about making sure you’ve got everything you need to be happy.”

“I-I-okay,” Anakin finally said. He didn’t know what else could be said. It was clear that it had already been decided for him and nothing that he would do could change their minds. He would need to prepare to leave.

---

Obi-Wan was so nervous he was sure he would throw up on his own shows. Never mind that his mother would kill him for it, he was meeting the man that he was supposed to marry today. By the end of the day, they would be wed.

The treaty had already been signed and the preparations made. He would be marrying Anakin Skywalker today. He’d finally found someone who he could actually imagine spending the rest of his life with.

“Is everything ready?” he asked his mother when she entered his quarters. He was already dressed, allowing his attendant to tame his hair into something more manageable as his mother looked at him, leaning against the vanity where he was sitting.

“You look wonderful,” she told him with a warm smile, “And of course everything is ready. All we are waiting for is Anakin’s arrival. Now, you’ve best get hurrying. You’ve got a beard to trim and a crown to fix. It’s important that you are distinguished from the dignitaries that are coming.”

“Of course mother,” he said, swatting at the hand that was brushing against his beard playfully, “I will tame it, I promise. I’m going to finish getting ready. I’ll be there in less than fifteen minutes.”

“Your father and I will see you in the throne room,” she told him with a smile.

---

“Approaching atmosphere now,” Anakin said as he flipped a few switches, “We should be planetside in less than thirty minutes.”

“I’m not sure how they will feel about the consort-to-be flying the ship that is supposed to be transporting him,” Rex remarked as they began their landing procedure, “Your father specifically requested that you not fly the ship.”

“Well my father isn’t here is he?” Anakin questioned, “Besides I’m sure my husband-to-be won’t mind a bit. He seems like the type to be open-minded.”

God Anakin hoped that that would be true. He had been looking forward to meeting the man but to keep everything a surprise his access to the archives had been restricted. He’d broken the encryption in only a few minutes of course, but there hadn’t been any pictures. It seemed that Tatooine didn’t have very much information on the system besides the fact that it was in the inner rim and they had control over eighteen different planets, thirty-two moons, and around twenty-two thousand square parsecs. In short, the treaty wouldn’t just save Tatooine, it would remake it.

Anakin was so scared he’d kriff it up that he’d been unable to sleep ever since finding out who his intended was. He hadn’t believed it at first when they’d told him the location, even as he’d been trying to understand what was going on but here he was, flying through the atmosphere of the planet.

“This is air control please state your intent.”

“This is Anakin Skywalker of Tatooine,” Anakin radioed, “I’m here as the intended for Obi-Wan Kenobi of Stewjon. I was given clearance code AN546-434.”

“Please follow the lit-up strip,” the man replied back over the radio, “You’ll be landing in the personal hangar of the Stewjon palace. You are cleared for landing.”

“Roger that,” Anakin said, flicking the mic back off and turning his attention to the lit-up stripes. It was day and he wasn’t sure they were completely necessary but he supposed they couldn’t be too careful, especially in the private hangar of the royal family.

“It’s so green,” Anakin said as he looked through the transparisteel, “It’s more green than I think I’ve ever seen.”

The planet itself was known for being beautiful, Anakin knew, but it wasn’t just beautiful. It was picturesque, all clear blue water and bright colorful foliage. He’d never seen so much life ever. Even the small oasis in Tatooine couldn’t hold a candle to the planet.

“Watch it that you don’t come down too hard,” Rex warned him and Anakin pulled up, letting the landing gears down and gently landing the ship.

“See? I had it handled,” Anakin told him as if he hadn’t just been completely distracted, “Now are you ready?”

“Are you ready?” Rex asked with a raised brow and Anakin shuffled nervously as Kit stood at the ship began to open, the ramp coming down so that they could walk down it. It stopped as it hit the ground and then the three of them were walking off, Rex and Kit flanking him.

Once he was on the ground he looked up, blinking in confusion at the looks on everyone’s face. They looked so confused and he didn’t understand what was going on. It was clear something was amiss but still someone started to lead him to the throne room, although he wasn’t deaf to the whispering that had started in the halls.

As he started to walk into the throne room his stomach was flipping so hard that he was sure he would be sick. He’d already been nervous but it was clear that something was incredibly wrong and everyone seemed to know it except him.

As he walked through the doors, there was complete silence. In the throne room, there was a man and a woman dressed in rich fabrics and jewels, sitting side by side. At the man’s side, standing slightly behind him was-.

Possibly the most beautiful man Anakin had ever seen in his life. He felt his face getting red at just the thought but he couldn’t think of anything else as he took in the stunning blue-green of his eyes that reminded Anakin of the Fluorite that had once been mined from the caves of Tatooine. It had been the rarest color of fluorite that could be found and nearly priceless. The man’s auburn hair should have clashed against the vibrancy but instead, it made him look even more stunning. For a moment, Anakin thought that this could really work. His future husband was beautiful and he looked kind and-.

“There must be some mistake,” the king said, and Anakin ripped his attention from his future husband to blink at the king in confusion.

“I’m sorry what?” Anakin said before remembering where he was and bowing his head, “Um I mean I’m afraid I don’t understand King Jinn. I apologize for my lack of decorum.”

He really hoped they didn’t mention his kark up to his mother. He’d never hear the end of it after he’d been put through so many etiquette classes in preparation.

“You are Anakin Skywalker?” the queen asked and Anakin straightened up.

“I am,” Anakin confirmed cautiously, “I see that you seem surprised. I was assured that you were informed of everything important.”

He looked back to the prince, who looked just as shocked as everyone else, and started to shift under the scrutiny.

“I think there was one thing we didn’t account for.”

Obi-Wan’s voice was smooth and melodic, with a crisp Coruscanti accent that his father seemed to share. It almost made Anakin want to forget about the stares but he had started to feel like some specimen under a microscope.

“And what would that be?” Anakin asked voice guarded.

“Prince Skywalker, what is the age of majority for the planet of Tatooine?” he asked and Anakin blinked, before answering slowly.

“It’s thirteen,” he told them.

“You’re thirteen,” the queen nearly looked like she would have a heart attack.

“Yes,” Anakin confirmed, “I turned thirteen last week.”

“The age of majority for Stewjon is eighteen,” the king said tightly, “My son is twenty-three.”

“Is that a problem?” Anakin asked in confusion.

It was right about then the chaos began to break out.

[As you've probably figured out Anakin is underage (read: 13), there will be no underage content as far as sex goes but it is possible there may be a kiss or two. If that freaks you out, perhaps just leave the ending like this. It's going to be slow burn. Like five years of slow burn.]

[atsunflower]

Rated: SFW

Author notes: *sigh* for the third time the damned app ate up the tags. This one took me too long and I'm excited for write about my man suna again. This is also pretty different from what I'm used to write, but why not? Please enjoy your reading.

Warnings: cursing, substance usage/mentions, break-ups and me trynna be funny.

I – Cancel me.

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He looked at them with expectation as the beats smoothly faded, indicating the song's ending. 

If he were to be honest, the pair before him was a pain in the ass, but their opinion was that important because, when it came to music, they were the best at it. He felt no shame nor jealousy in admitting it.

"Dunno, the hook sounds like a Vice headline ta me." The bleach-haired male said, hearring the song's outro blaring through the studio speakers.

"Isn't it a Kid Milli reference, tho?" The other asked while munching a chip. He frowned at them, not understanding their point.

"Whatever. You two are no help anyways." Hearring their bullshit, the brunette already regretted this collab. He paused the queued song, turning to the other two with a blank stare.

The twins before him snickered, knowing they successfully hit a nerve. They couldn't help it, provoking Suna was one of their favorite hobbies.

"The song is good, but I gotta tell ya this butt hurt phase of yers is pretty lame." The faux-blond opened his mouth again, spinning around the studio with the desk chair. 

"Fuck you, Atsumu" He snapped, almost giving in to the desire of decking them both on the face.

"Tsumu's right, ya Lil Peep wannabe. Can't believe this break up ended up that bad." Osamu said in mockery, throwing the empty Lay's wrapper at him. He scoffed, disposing the wrapper on the bin before getting back at the screen to look at the FL studio interface.

"It's not that I have a broken heart. I just wanna know what's wrong with my life" He shrugged, blindly tacting over the desk in search of his Juul.

"Yeah Samu, he's just grieving over those fancy ass Dior Jordans. Sunarin is incapable of mundane things like a broken heart." His blond friend was partially right.

Suna Rintaro was many things: alt model, music producer, cloud artist and a decent volleyball player that almost went pro. But if there was something he could never be, it was a lucky man on love matters.

With his fair share of failed relationships, the artist could never pinpoint when things went wrong. It would always be the same: he would meet a girl, they would have a good time and then, the chick would turn out demanding as fuck.

In the end, every single one of them would slap him across the face and leave his life banging the front door shut like crazy — last week, it was Mika who broke things off, but not before setting his limited edition pair of jordans on fire. He would never get over those sneakers.

"Good for him, those kicks were kinda ugly." Osamu said in a bored manner. Suna felt his soul leaving his body.

"The hell, Osamu?" He was ready to fight, deeply offended by the attack at his taste in fashion.

"Yo, you two." Atsumu butted in, checking something on his phone "Y'all are drifting away from our problem."

"That is?" The other brother asked.

"Cheer up Sunarin before he fucks up with the Album." If Suna had the energy, he would kick both Miyas out of his studio "And I gotta the perfect thing. Let's hang out at Akagi's tonight, he just invited us." The already distressed musician felt the soul leaving his body for the second time that afternoon. He was sure both twins wished his death.

"Not a fucking chance. Last time I went there I almost died because of that weird stuff we smoked." 

"Aw, Sunarin, Kita'll be there too." The faux-blonde tried to persuade. The mention of their older, responsible and straight edge friend made Suna look at them with interest. But he needed more, though. Based on the last experience, he didn't have the will to risk his life going to Akagi's house once again. A shiver descended his spine as the male recalled how much he threw up that night.

"Suna, man, I gotta agree with Tsumu. Yer feelings are showing in your music." Osamu said as if he was some kind of genius.

"Isn't art about it, tho?" He deadpanned "Expressing feelings and shit?" He asked, staring them dead in the eye. The males before him shivered because of its intensity. Suna snickered.

"Man says art, but most of his songs are about the Nikes on his feet and the Tesla in his garage." Atsumu mocked "What the fuck?" The blonde barely dodged the moleskine thrown at him.

"Don't chew on me when you do the same, asshat. This is called character development." As unnerving the twins were, he felt a whole lot better in their company "Just lemme produce my sad stuff in peace."

"Cut us some slack, ya dumbfuck. We're just worried about ya." Osamu protested " 'Sides, no wonder no girl sticks by yer side. You know what the chicks find sexy? Seizing the means of production, not yer dumb car."

"You two are so la—" The musician was interrupted mid sentence, startled by the blond figure clutching his phone with enthusiasm.

"Oi Samu," Atsumu's loud voice startled the other two, as he excitedly fisted the air.

"What the fuck?" Suna asked, dropping the Juul on the floor.

"She'll be there tonight." The blond said, looking at his brother with a new wave of joy.

"The fuck? She who?" The brunette frowned.

"Ya gotta go and find out, man." The gray haired twin said with a knowing smile, matching his brother's excitement.

The night out felt somewhat draining. The booze, the music and the company were great, but his lack of energy was a mood killer.

Cheer me up my ass, Suna cursed internally as he observed everyone getting wasted all over the place. He grimaced at the sight, realizing the meeting with the twins was enough social interaction for the day.

He didn't know what's gotten into him. The male knew it wasn't necessarily caused by the break up, but he couldn't help the feeling down.

Right now, life just felt lowkey suffocating. 

Being a public figure meant being under the spotlights the most of time.

People talked.

People assumed.

Media was all over him, ready to catch a scandall.

And of fucking course his name was on gossip headlines. It even occupied a spot on twitter trending topics for a day or so.

"Fuck me." He said before the lukewarm beer went down his throat.

"Sunarin!" He heard Atsumu shouting from his right "I want you to meet someone!" And only now he noticed the blond had his left arm over a girl's shoulders.

Oh, that's the one they were talking about, maybe? the brunette realized. What's the hype, tho? He asked himself, eyeing your figure.

"[Name], this is Suna. Sunarin, this is [Name], best girl ever and the mastermind behind the visuals of mine and Samu's last album" The bleach-haired male said with a proud smirk, ruffling your hair. You were obviously shy.

How cute, the brunette thought.

"Dumbass, don't embarrass me in front of others!" You nudged the Miya with your elbow "Nice to meet you, I saw your name on TMZ last week—" You said beaming and he grunted.

I take it back. Not cute at all, the man internally screamed, not ready to talk about the recent events. He didn't even want to listen to the rest of your speech, your cheery voice went through his ears in a white noise.

"And this makes me really excited for your album. The interview about the collab with dumb and dumber was lit." You continued, the words were genuine and you seemed really interested "And I also relate on a spiritual level because I know working with them is hell."

Oh, she's talking about the album. He realized in relief.

"Yo, I heard good things about you too. The design of their album was hella sick, even though they two suck ass." Suna snickered when he heard Atsumu protesting. You only left out a giggle, joining him on the teasing.

The blond kept ranting about how bad of friends the two of you were.

"I didn't introduce y'all ta gang up on me. Bye, I'm finding another company. Ya two suck." The blonde Miya said, leaving only you and Suna in the sofa area.

"Uh, so…" He drifted off, trying to start some small talk

"Yeah..." You both giggled at the awkwardness "Not enjoying the night?"

"Too much happening right now. Lots of people talking shit 'bout me." He sipped the beer, grimacing at the stale taste of the drink "Hope they cancel me already. So all this shit dies down." Suna looked away, suddenly shy for opening up to a stranger.

"You're a famous guy and the break-up wasn't that scandalous. It'll be over eventually, just beware the sneaker cult." Your amusement was comfort enough. You didn't make intrusive questions about the events and merely joked it off. He felt so worn out by the situation but, at least, your presence wasn't overbearring.

"How is it everyone knows about the jordans?" You shrugged it off, laughing at the distressed face he mocked. Sighing in relief, Suna couldn't deny how refreshing your presence was. Not to be a jerk, but usually, the girls either were all over him or judged every single move he made. You were just that easygoing.

"Well, I don't think you came here to sulk on the sofa all night long. Why don't we join them by the pool and down some shots?" You hopped off of your seat, pointing to the glass doors. All the boys were waving at you two and suddenly, Suna felt a wave of joy run down his body.

Atsumu was right. Best girl ever.

At some point of the night, everything became about you.

All he could hear was the sound of your voice and all the time, his eyes were drawn to your figure. He couldn't figure out a reason for it, but the rapper wasn't complaining either.

A sharp pang at the side of Suna's head broke the trance he was in. Osamu had a shit eating grin on his face, eyeing the ravenette with amusement.

"We told ya so." The younger twin mused whilst he handed a long neck of vodka to the other.

"Stop. This is dumb."

"Yer dumb. But you ain't that dumb ta dare ta mess with her." The gray-haired Miya squinted at him, menacingly pointing the bottle in his hand at the brunette. The latter shrugged it off, opening his drink.

"Nah, I'm good." And he meant it.

But how could he explain the situation he was in?

Lips and hands wandered over the expanse of his skin. Everything was too hot and too good at the same time. Overwhelming, even.

He wanted more, more and more. There wasn't enough of you.

And if it wasn't unfair enough, his body felt lethargic. He was desperate, but couldn't keep up with the rhythm you imposed. Be it the alcohol or the stress, his body gave up and blacked out, even before you could undress each other.

In the morning after, a pounding headache woke him up. Suna didn't dare to open his eyes, but the morning breath fanning over his face was unbearable.

"I can't believe a cutie like you have a stinky breath like this." The complaint came out in a raspy voice, accompanied by an annoyed grunt.

Someone snickered on the other side of the room.

"Man, I didn't know you had the hots fer Samu." Atsumu was somewhere across the room, laughing at him.

"WHAT THE FUCK?" Hearing the other, Suna's body jolted, dizziness made his head spin in the process. He felt sick in the stomach and the morning light made his eyes sting. "When did I get back here?" The male looked around, realizing he was sprawled over Akagi's floor, right beside Osamu, who didn't even squirm at the loud voices in the room.

"What do ya mean? We never left" Atsumu frowned, uncaping a water bottle he was holding "Ya puked on Kita and passed out. The boys were too wasted ta drag yer sorry ass back home so we all crashed here." The blonde was dumbfounded, trying to figure out how wasted Suna got last night.

Suna wanted to know too. After all, there was no way the events envolving you were a product of his drunk mind.

facts:

• Suna's artist name is yosemite.

• He has a Tesla Model S because of Frank Ocean.

• He takes his Nikes very seriously.

• No, not all of his songs are about the car and the kicks.

• He and the Miya twins got a sports scholarship because of volleyball, but they dropped out of school to make music.

• The three of them created Inarizaki, the label they're making music under. Kita and Aran manage it.

• Both Miya twins are beatmakers and music producers. They recently debuted as artists and now are making a collab EP with Suna, thus Atsumu's concern about the album.