#RATCHET LASHING

[jcblifttech]

When it comes to heavy machinery and construction equipment, few names resonate as strongly as JCB. Renowned for their innovation and reliability, #JCB LiftTech have revolutionized the construction industry, enabling efficient lifting and manoeuvring of heavy loads across various job sites. At the heart of these impressive machines lies a crucial component: the Chain Pulley Block. In this blog, we delve into the intricacies of this technology, exploring its design, functionality, and the pivotal role it plays in powering #JCBLiftTech . Read More Info: https://jcblifttech.com/chain-pulley-block-effortless-power-seamless-control/

[blighted-lights]

someone stop me from writing a purely self indulgent fic with ten and ravage bonding please i already have so many other things to work on. i'll ramble more in tags just oughh thinking about them

[transingthoseformers]

I have some ideas for the Bad Ending last night here

Considering an idea where drift contemplates his history as a sex worker and ultimately has more positive experiences and associations with it than not, and in the end we see this is the BE and he's seriously contemplating going back into the job, after all he made a promise he wouldn't go back to mercenary work

Not because he needs the money, but because he needs something to do after Ratchet's funeral and Rodimus has more or less weaned off associating with the rest of the "rod squad" since Megatron's verdict, Drift worries about Rodimus but they'll meet again one day in a better context, perhaps in an alcohol-free club that doesn't serve intoxicating drinks but good music and all sorts of energon.

I don't think he changes his name back to Deadlock, but he might choose an entirely different and new name (WindDrift? Dancer? Wind dancer? Maybe it's an alias for the job? I like Dancer as his job name but not as his name-name)

Rodimus primarily starts going by Roddie

Whirl, Cyclonus, and Tailgate are in a pretty good relationship with two kids Lug and Anode are raising one with another on the way, with them working part time at a museum and Anode babysitting on occasion.

Maybe Swerve owns the club with an oc or two ... Chromedome via Rewind remembers Rung.

All in all a very bittersweet glimpse into the After.

[keferon]

Part 3! Ratchet and Deadlock time.

The ray of sunshine has left, leaving us in the cold dark of the angst.

Ratchet works through some stuff.

———————————————————————

Ratchet hadn’t actually meant for the conversation to start with Roddy.

The medic had wanted to fully explain why he’d left the Mecha Program for awhile. His outburst earlier cementing the fact he needed to get it off his chest, or he’d start lashing out at the wrong people.

Again.

The Kid deserved to know what staying with him could drag him into. Ratchet kept his hands busy cleaning his bowl in the shop sink.

Hot Rod, Ratchet realized, was a good enough bridge into the topic. Someone Deadlock could put a face to. Not just nameless pilots upon pilots.

“There’s a condition called Congenital Insensitivity to Pain. CIP for short. The abbreviated explanation is sometimes humans can be born without the ability to feel pain or that the sensation of pain doesn’t translate correctly to the brain. It’s a very dangerous condition to have since it means that the person doesn’t get the usual warning signs that’s something’s wrong.”

The bowl was completely clean but so long as Ratchet didn’t turn around, he could pretend he was just training a med student.

“So that question about “weird pressures”. You were checking for damage Hot Rod doesn’t know he’s sustained due this CIP condition?”

Kid was smarter than he gave himself credit for. Ratchet thought for not the first time. He almost got it right.

“Hot Rod doesn’t have CIP. Not actual CIP.”

Ratchet put the bowl down, his hand not moving from the faucet after turning it off.

“He wasn’t born with it. Because I caused it.”

—————————

“I was so damn proud.” Said Ratchet.

At the time, he was. The integration process for recruits to become pilots was horrific. Excruciatingly painful. And something out of a science fiction movie.

In order to condition the human nervous system to work with the mecha neural interface, it necessitated mapping out every nerve and neuron in the pilots body.

While conscious.

Orion came up with the best analogy for it once: You could create a perfect 3 dimensional map of an entire ant colony’s nest. Provided you poured enough molten lead down the hole.

Ratchet wasn’t one to standby watching friends or strangers suffer, so he rolled up his sleeves and set his mind to fixing the whole damn thing.

On the line between man and machine, Ratchets role in the mecha program was right on the fence.

Specifically, he’d started very close to the fence on the side of the machines, and during the course of the program, picked up enough extra PHD’s to hook a leg over said fence to reach across and start smacking the shit out of some particularly stupid doctors handling the men.

Ratchet worked for years along side Pharma and Shockwave to make the integration process less permanently damaging.

Common long term side effects were: Blurry Vision Jazz, Disassociation Swoop, Memory Loss Sludge, Paralysis Snarl, Nerve Damge Slag, Internal Hemorrhaging Grimlock, Altered Personality Shockwave, and Brain Death Orion.

There were dozens more faces Ratchet could pair with any given symptom.

Eventually, Ratchet got his lucky break. A fresh batch of recruits to try his tweaked integration process on. Hot Rod was one of them.

Ratchet had thought he’d hit a breakthrough. But he couldn’t. He couldn’t publish it yet. Not until he was sure.

Hot Rod aced the physical and mental exam. The rest of his test group did pretty well too. They weren’t cream of the crop. The higher ups didn’t want to risk loosing more valuable pilots to an experiment. When Pharma had already established an “acceptable level of care” that nicely suited them.

Ratchet personally watched the lot of them like a hawk. Just waiting for the other shoe to drop.

It didn’t come. Hot Rod was fine. The whole group was fine.

He was so damn proud.

The pilots went straight into mecha training and then-

They dropped like flies.

It was on the bad end of the bell curve for pilot fatalities. Ratchet thought it had to be the new series of mecha that had been built at the same time. He’d switched into engineering mode to rectify that. They had glaring safety issues where the flamethrowers and thrusters intersected. Plus, it wasn’t unusual for the mecha program to just have particularly rough seasons. The tentacled fucks were out in swarms. And by god was that a bloody summer for everyone.

It happened three days after the last big fight. Pretty much everyone who came back alive came back with some sort of injury. Except for Hot Rod, who Pharma gave a clean bill of health.

Ratchet was in his corner of the medical wing, looking over his proposal for the new integration method when Jazz dragged Hot Rod into his office.

Red flag number one: Jazz was a nightmare patient who avoided the med wing like a bear trap.

He tried. Goddamn it if Jazz didn’t try, but he was physically incapable of getting through medical procedures without being heavily sedated. The last time Ratchet tried to do minor stitches with only a local anesthetic, Jazz panicked and damn near broke his arm.

Jazz and Hot Rod were both wearing shorts, t-shirts and sneakers. Judging from the smell, they had just gotten here from the rec room. Probably basketball or maybe dodgeball.

Ratchet had gone through a full medical checklist before they finished coming through the door. Neither looked sick or injured. Nothing was obviously wrong beyond the clear look on Jazz’s face that said “Something is actually very wrong.”

Jazz wheeled Hot Rod in front of Ratchet.

“Show him.”

Hot Rod looked more embarrassed than in desperate need of medical attention.

“I’m fine Jazz, I probably just need to stretch.”

Jazz waved his hand cutting him off. Ratchet would usually start telling them off by now but something stopped him.

“Hot Rod raise your arms above your head. Both of them.”

The red headed pilot reluctantly obeyed. His right arm lifted straight up above his body. His left. Hot Rod made a face of concentration, as his left arm refused to go any higher than his head.

Three days.

Hot Rods shoulder had been dislocated for three days and no one fucking noticed.

Ratchet chewed out Jazz at first thinking he’d caused it. Then he chewed out Hot Rod for not coming to medical as soon as he knew about the injury.

And then, something very cold settled into his stomach the more and more Hot Rod swore he didn’t notice. That it didn’t even hurt.

“Ratchet, I’m fine!”

He should have been in pain. In agony after three days.

Later, Ratchet would go through each medical file of every pilot he had been responsible for. They had all had ailments in their files. Minor visible injuries that were all taken care of. Major ones went surprisingly smoothly. Patient notes praising the med staff for keeping them so comfortable. Praising him. Not one pilot had made a single pain med request since going through the integration process. On his files, there was one surviving active duty pilot from the same integration process.

Ratchet’s integration process.

————————

“Hot Rod said he forgave me.” Ratchet laughed. A little too wet and little too rough.

“Just like that.”

When’d he start shaking?

Ratchet still didn’t, couldn’t look the Kid in the eyes. “I left, not long after. There’s so much fucking more that was happening. That was the last straw, because when I told Shockwave and Pharma, those heartless fucks wanted to make it standard across the board. Soldiers that can’t feel pain? Of fucking course they wanted that. Didn’t matter the fatality rate was nine times as high.”

Ratchets voice was getting worse. But he couldn’t stop. “I thought I could fix it all from the inside. I thought as long as I stayed I could be some, fucking moral compass to a bunch of greedy, prideful, fucking deranged people. I was an egotistical IDIOT that thought I could somehow save every doomed kid tricked into walking into that “necessary evil.” I actually believed I could-”

Ratchet was abruptly cut off from his ranting as two massive hands grabbed him around the waist and deposited him on a ledge, at eye level.

“Kid, what-“ Deadlocks eyes looked shiny.

“I-I can’t keep looking down at you.”

The two of them sat in silence.

Neither seemed to know or want to start talking again right away. Ratchet was used to stewing in regrets on occasion. That had felt more like putting those regrets into a blender and then forgetting the lid.

Deadlocks plating was pulled tight. Ratchet had almost forgotten what he looked like when he was stressed. He wanted immediately to take it all back. Make it better. See him laugh drunk and cozy again like yesterday.

“Kid, I’m sorry. That- that was too much to put on you.” Deadlocks hands weren’t gripping him anymore but resting on either side of the ledge. Ratchet pet small circles on a thumb that twitched slightly under his hand.

Deadlock straightened and looked at him with a steely expression, mouth tense, eyes determined.

“You are one of the most intelligent, stubborn, and caring people I’ve ever met. Nope.” Deadlock corrected himself, lifting a hand. “THE most intelligent, stubborn and caring person that exists.” He dragged out the syllables of that last word.

“You!” He poked Ratchet in the chest. “Saved me. And I’m fragging terrible.”

Ratchet took offense to that, “You’re not terrible and you’re worth saving!”

Deadlock grinned, “The worst thing you can possibly say about yourself is that you care too much to put up with some kind of slagged up torture facility. Which, by the way, I am still fully offering to blown up.”

“Still full of innocent people kid.”

“Okay kidnapping then. I say we nab Hot Rod first.”

Ratchet leaned back against the wall and made one of those desperate chuckles you only hear when someone has their face buried in their hands. “Kid. The quintessons.”

That took a little wind out of his sails.

“The system is fucking broken and trust me I want to see it all burn someday. But we’re in a goddamn war. And as much as I hate the mecha program, it’s the best shot at survival we have.” Ratchet watched Deadlocks finales pin back again.

He offered a palm to Ratchet, who after a moment’s consideration, not very gracefully scooted on. Instead of lowering him to the floor, Deadlock brought him to his face. His eyes closed and he gently bumped his medic with his forehelm.

“Whatever you need. Just ask. Please.”

Ratchet sighed and rested his own forehead against the cybertronian. “I want you take care of yourself. I told you all that stuff so you understand why I’m fighting giants here and you can decide to back out. They can hurt you kid. Kill you. I don’t even want to think about what would have happened if Shockwave found you instead of me.”

Deadlock snorted, “Please, do you think any of those suits could handle me?”

Ratchet tapped his hand to put him down, which Deadlock obliged. He hummed.

“Well I can think of three candidates off the top of my head, but one got lost in space and the other might technically be a zombie.”

“What’s the third?”

Ratchet started shrugging on a coat, “Hot Rod.”

He smirked a bit as Deadlocks finales snapped up in offense. “What? Absolutely not. No fragging way that little rust spot can beat me in a fight.”

Ratchet began packing a go bag of medical supplies, “Well I was going to keep it to myself, but part of the reason I brought him in was because I asked Hot Rod to look out for you where I can’t.”

He slung the heavy bag over one shoulder. “Plus, I knew Hot Rod was going to love you. He sees the best in people. And kid?” Ratchet paused at the door.

“You’re someone special.”

———————————————————————

It’s always darkest before the dawn. This…has become a four parter. Dang. Good news is the ray of sunshine will return in style next time.

Some extra tid-bits, I got a head canon that the main side effect Jazz got from the integration process (other than PTSD) is blurry vision. He can see fine while hooked into a mech but can’t get his eyes to focus properly as a human. So Ratchet whipped up a visor that tricks his eyes into thinking he’s still looking through a mecha so he can see normally.

Also, a lot of you guys guessed correctly what was going on with Roddy! Good job everyone!

Lastly I have nothing personal against the dinobots if you love them I’m very sorry.

The next (last?) part will be much brighter. Because the suns coming back.

- SSTP

Oh.....oh fuck....wait WAIT THIS HAS SO MUCH MORE LAYERS THAN I WAS EXPECTING OH MY GOD

I was like. Okay huh. So Roddy can't feel pain right? He must be having this rare condition and? I don't really see where this is going? Huh. Guess it's time to find ouUUUUUH FUCK.

Please. Oh my god. The fact that Ratchet was the one who made him to be like that??? This gives both of them and their dynamic more layers than in a freaking onion. And Roddy didn't just suffer from Ratchets actions. He forgave him. Because OF COURSE he did, he's always giving everyone a second chance I LOVE THIS CONCEPT SO MUCH YOU HAVE NO IDEA

[dancingbirdie]

I interrupt your daily schedules to present some purely plotless Astarion x gn! Reader smut. Courtesy of me listening to an oldie but goodie "What's My Name" by Rihanna ft. Drake during my morning commute.

Note that this is seriously NSFW so don't read below the break line unless you're a horny little gremlin like this pair or me since yeah I wrote it. :)

Like my smut writing? Find more here.

The Things We Could Do in Twenty Minutes…

Rating: MATURE

Pairing: Astarion x gn!Reader

Tags/Warnings: Oral sex (Astarion receiving), hand kink, slight praise kink, slight dom!Astarion/sub!Reader, public sex/exhibitionism

Summary: You and Astarion have been tasked with a scouting mission. You grow a little bored from waiting around and very horny watching Astarion play with his knife.

***

The two of you were leaning side by side against the alley wall. Watching. Waiting. Poised to strike whenever your quarry exited the tavern across the street. 

But it was late. You had been skulking about for hours. You were bored. 

And Astarion, gods damn him, was flush against you, smelling like temptation and sin. Subtle wafts of his signature bergamot, rosemary, and brandy scent teased your nose as his fingers idly spun his blade around in his hands. 

Your breath hitched as you watched him. Watched how gracefully those long, slender fingers absently played with the knife while his eyes scanned the street for any signs of activity. He was totally oblivious to your ogling, which was good because you could swear you were starting to salivate just watching him toy with his weapon. 

You wondered how those fingers would feel scratching against your scalp. Pulling your hair. Clasping your jaw. 

Fuck it, you thought. Throwing caution to the wind, you reached a hand forward to caress his chest. His head whipped around immediately to look at you, brow furrowed. It was an innocent enough gesture, but his eyes caught the look on your face, illuminated dimly in the silvery light of the moon. How your pupils were blown wide with unbridled lust. 

He smirked, one delicate fang peeking out from between his lips. 

“Can I help you?” he drawled. 

“You can actually,” you whispered. Your hand lightly traced down his chest, down his abdomen, before it stopped at the bindings of his trousers. 

You looked up at him beneath your lashes, your eyes beseeching.

“My, my,” Astarion chuckled, his voice like silk. “Wanting to play while we’re on the clock? Tsk. What would our comrades think?”

“It’ll make our cover seem more convincing, don’t you think?” you reasoned, licking your lips as you noticed the growing bulge between his legs. “Just two unassuming lovers, swept up in a moment of passion as they passed this dingy alley?”

“Our target should be leaving any moment now, darling. We wouldn’t want to miss our window of opportunity.”

“I give it at least twenty minutes before the tavern closes. And just think, the things we could do in twenty minutes…”

He gave a throaty laugh. “You make a very convincing argument. How could I ever deny you?”

“Is that a yes then?” your voice was husky, struggling to contain the urge to drop to your knees and taste him. You would wait for his consent. Of course you would wait. But you couldn’t deny the heady desires ratcheting up within you. 

“Yes,” he cooed, nuzzling your neck and planting a quick kiss against the fang marks he’d left earlier that evening. “Go on then, love.” 

“Thank the gods,” you groaned, immediately kneeling before him and undoing the bindings of his breeches. 

You captured him in your mouth as soon as his impressive length sprang free, tasting the salt and musk of him as you took him as far back as your throat would allow. Your eyes watered with the pressure of him pressing down your throat. It was the sweetest pain. 

You heard the muffled thump of his head as it hit the brick wall. You relished the tortured groan that spilled from his lips as you continued to gorge yourself on him.

Then a moan of your own vibrated against him as his hands moved to grip your hair. His fingers scratching against your scalp nearly had your eyes rolling back into your head. With your hands braced on his thighs, you continued to bob your head, sucking, licking and swallowing around him. 

He tasted like the purest drug you could ever inject into your veins. You would never tire of doing this for him. Of hearing and feeling how your mouth and tongue caused him to shiver and quake with pleasure. You could feel your own release building because of it, despite the lack of any stimulation to your groin. It didn’t matter. 

You had no desire for anything but Astarion’s pleasure tonight. 

“Look at me,” he growled suddenly. You felt his fingers clutch your jaw, tilting your face up to meet his eyes. 

You peered up at him as you continued to piston your mouth around his length, whining softly as you beheld the look in his eyes. 

“I want you to look at me while I cum in that gorgeous, sinful mouth,” he whispered, his hips beginning to buck into you, meeting your movements in perfect synchrony. 

You moaned again at his words, your mouth dripping with saliva and pre-cum as you continued to suck him. 

“Are you ready, darling?” he murmured, his other hand reverently stroking your hair. A stark contrast to the absolutely deplorable things you were doing to his cock. 

You gave a garbled assent, taking him in with a surge of passion as you anticipated the feeling of his release shooting down your throat.  

A few moments more and your anticipation was rewarded in full. You groaned as you heard him grunt. Felt his final, feral thrust into your mouth. Tasted the salty sweetness of his cum on your tongue. 

As he came down from his high, you gave him one last, obscene lick before removing your mouth. Slouching against the wall, utterly spent, he watched as you deliberately met his eyes and swallowed his cum with a gulp. He hummed his approval, grinning wickedly. 

“You naughty thing,” he crooned. “You’ll be the death of us both.”

You returned his grin with an impish one of your own before wiping your mouth clean on the sleeve of your shirt and rising to stand next to him once more. 

You surveyed the street. Scanned the tavern for signs of movement. Nothing was amiss. Your quarry hadn’t escaped.

“See?” you murmured, leaning over to kiss his cheek. “Twenty minutes was all I needed.”

***

[witchpassing]

notable categories of wing restraint

type A: elaborately adapted shibari ties, designed to showcase as much as restrict. true virtuosos of the art display their subjects in intricate midair suspensions, wings drawn out and set like the work of a taxidermist, birds hung in the hardpoint-to-hardpoint webs of unseen tarantulae. red rope is, as ever, a popular choice, complimenting or contrasting the plumage of most common morphs.

type B: gear, paired or monowing sheathes in canvas, latex, leather; claustrophobic, and thus best suited for punishment. harness-style binders are also available, if tactile access or an unpanicked angel is a concern.

type C: ratchet straps. you know, those things they use for lashing cargo to flatbeds? you can get them at any hardware store; some angels just don't deserve better.

[weirdlookingsnakewithlegs]

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe being sparklings during the war? Funny af

Sunstreaker and Sideswipe being sparklings during the war and getting snatched up by Autbots? Not so funny

The only way I can think of it happening is maybe one of the trine taking the two out on a scouting mission where they end up getting shot down and taken into Autobot custody. Of course, which ever seeker was shot down is definitely much more worried about the sparklings in their cockpit than being apprehended by the opposing faction.

For humor purposes I say it was Skywarp.

Now, Skywarp is definitely the type of mech that likes to lash out not just physically but with his EM field as well, but he can’t do that with the sparklings because they’re really sensitive to that sort of stuff. So, the Autobots are thinking something is wrong because Skywarp has never held back is EM field and he’s being more reserved, not lashing out physically but he’s still making snide comments and insulting every Autobot within radius.

It’s probably just when they get to the Autobots base that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker start making noise because they love being convenient. It starts with soft chirps, barely noticeable to anyone but Skywarp and unfortunately he’s cuffed, tending to two sparklings while cuffed in an extremely difficult task. He can only hope they stay quiet.

And then Sideswipe starts shrieking and suddenly all optics are on him. I think Skywarp could only really give a nervous smile and take a step back before somebot like Prowl is up in his face and questioning what that noise is.

Eventually, after way too much verbal bullying, Skywarp is forced to open his cockpit and he has to scramble because both of them are immediately attempting to escape.

Now that Sideswipe and Sunstreaker are out in the open it’s pretty clear of what they are, hell their frames are probably just now gaining color at this point.

Red Alert is around I just know he’s accusing him of stealing the little ones because and I quote, “They look nothing like you.”

“They take after their sire.”

“They aren’t seekers.”

“Their sire was a race alt?” Truth is Starscream never told them.

“Who’s the creator?”

“Starscream.”

Immediate silence and Skywarp realizes that maybe he should have claimed the little scraplets but the problem with that is that these two are very sure of who their creator is and would never play along with that idea. Plus that would just confuse them and the last thing he wants is a lecture from Starscream but at this point it may be too late.

The two sparklings, now settled on the ground and hiding behind Skywarp’s legs, are not having it. Their little optics are glaring at every Autobot in vicinity and Sideswipe is even flaring his very unformed door wings at the nearest one.

The group at the moment probably consists of Prowl, Red Alert, and Jazz but now that sparklings of all things were involved, Ratchet and Optimus were sure to be offered a spot in the ring of fools.

Skywarp is immediately shoved(he’s being dramatic) towards the medbay, sparklings hot on his thrusters. Sunstreaker doesn’t bother with the chase, doing his usual cling onto Skywarp’s leg which makes the seeker more hobble than walk. Yet, the moment they reach the medbay, all civil nature is out the door.

One thing Skywarp hates more than Autobots? Medics. And what’s worse than that? An Autobot Medic.

Immediately the seeker’s wings are hiked up the moment he’s on the medberth, positioned to a point they show off any injury sustained from being shot down but also to the point it puts strain on his hinges. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe probably try to copy him only to whine when they feel how uncomfortable it is because ow.

Now, Ratchet is… somewhat civil, and by somewhat I mean he’s actively yelling and waving a wrench at whoever thought it would be a great idea to shoot down one of the Elite Trine especially while he was carrying sparklings. The answers he gets are not satisfactory and both Prowl and Red Alert are chased out, Jazz leaves before things even got bad.

Now, mind you, it’s only Skywarp, the sparklings, Ratchet, and Optimus fragging Prime in the med bay. Skywarp is trembling like a leaf and Ratchet hasn’t even addressed him yet. The sparklings are just as frightened by Skywarp’s reaction and have probably cuddled up tightly against the seeker’s cockpit, though they refuse to go back in.

Eventually a very long conversation is had and Optimus ends up being forced to call the Decepticons to tell them that their missing sparklings were ready to be retrieved. He doesn’t expect to see Megatron cowering when the call is accepted, he also doesn’t expect the amount of screeching in the background.

“Prime.”

At least Megatron still has the class to pretend he’s not terrified out of his processor.

“TELL PRIME I’LL DEACTIVATE HIM”

“Starscream wishes to tell you-“

“I heard… I have called to inform you that we will be handing the sparklings over, along with Skywarp.”

“We will be there to pick them up.” Megatron just barely dodges something being thrown at him, “Starscream is already leaving.” He adds and the call flickers out.

[lets-try-some-writing]

Hi! I was wondering if you had any headcanons for the bots' fears/phobias? Specifically TFP

The only one I have is that Bumblebee is, ironically, afraid of bees for no reason other than I thought it would be funny. I'd like to hear your takes!

Hmm I think their fears would go something like this:

Arcee: Terrified of blood.

She's seen too much energon over the course of her long life. Watching so many good mecha die and losing both her partners has left her with a strange apathy to energon. She's grown used to it. But blood? Human blood is vibrant and so different and yet so similar. When she sees blood, it ignites old horrors and memories she's long tried to suppress. Her servos shake when one of the children ends up getting a cut large enough for her to notice. It's all too similar for her to handle.

Bulkhead: Afraid of Deep Water

Bulkhead is a big mech, one lacking in serious dexterity. He's a combat and manual labor unit and he knows it. When he was young, he fell into a solvent pool, and while unharmed, he was so heavy that he couldn't get out on his own. He was trapped there for almost a whole cycle, and now that he knows what lurks in Earth's waters, he's terrified of falling in and possibly being crushed to death by either the pressure or something that lurks in the deep. He hasn't fallen in any deep water yet, but he's terrified that it may happen and much prefers the desert.

Bumblebee: Scared of Being Alone

The fear of being alone stemmed all the way back from Bumblebee's sparklinghood. Growing up in a time of war meant that he was often left to his own devices cooped up in a base or safehouse while the grown mechs went off to war. He came to despise being left alone, and so joined the war effort both to help and to be with them. The fear of being alone only grew after he lost his voice to Megatron. When he's alone, he sometimes hears the Warlord taunting him. This can lead him to spiral badly, and so he relies heavily on others for support. This is part of the reason he bonded so well with the children.

Ratchet: Paranoid of Biological Agents

Being a Doctor, Ratchet has seen many things. Not a lot bothers him anymore, save for scraplets. But in his mind, that's not even a fear. It's common sense. But with that said, the Cybonic plague awoke in Ratchet a fear he'd never realized lurked within him. After that great plague, he now fears biological agents above all else. Not necessarily germs, but anything that could become a weapon of war. Contaminated items especially. In that regard, he is an increadible germaphobe when it comes to his supplies and will grow frantic if anything is brought into his medical bay that reeks of disease.

Ultra Magnus: Fear of the Dark

Being inside the Magnus armor means that Ultra Magnus, or perhaps Minimus, is entirely reliant on the armor's optical systems to see. The fear of the dark developed the first time he lost his sight and was completely incapable of maneuvering the armor, effectively leaving him open to any and all attacks since he couldn't use his personal field or even his senses to navigate. He has told no one about his fear, but when the lights go out, he often panics and instinctually enters a state of fight or flight out of a pure primal fear that something may harm him even within his armor. The team doesn't understand. Only Optimus knows why Ultra Magnus goes to recharge with a nightlight.

Smokescreen: Frightened by Fires

Smokescreen's fear stems from his time in the Archive. It is a new fear, one he has not fully realized. But seeing Iacon burning and the Archive coming down around him, destroying the home he'd known for so long... it changed him. At the time he was too busy being enthralled in the thrill of potential battle to care. But now, whenever he sees fire in close proximity, he automatically flies into a combat position, often lashing out at the first thing that moves simply because he associates fire with foes. Anything greater than a candle unsettles him.

Wheeljack: Unsettled by Connections

He doesn't talk about it. Ever. However, from what Bulkhead knows, Wheeljack got very attached to his ragtag family back when he was young and promptly lost them all one at a time. He tried to get attached to fellow workers before the war, but every connection fell through. Now he doesn't bother and actively flees anything that could feel like it weighs him down. He's scared of caring enough to actually cry when someone dies. Bulkhead is a rare exception to his rule of no connection, and it is simply because Bulkhead has lasted this long and all but demanded friendship.

Optimus: Petrified of Being Lost

The fear began when he was still Orion Pax. At the time, he got lost almost every time he travelled, and often, he ended up in frightening back alleys and dangerous situations. The fear evolved after he became Prime and now Optimus does not fear being lost in his journeys. Rather, he fears becoming lost within the grasp of the Matrix and the madness of war. It is such a real fear that often, Optimus will throw himself into days long studies after patrols, reviewing everything he knows about Cybertron and the corruption of the Council just so he can reaffirm who he is.

Just so he won't lose himself to the tempting thought of letting go of his morality.

[starpelted-dove]

I personally think that the fanon interpretation of tfp ratchet and starscreams portrayal of mental breakdowns should be swapped more often.

Instead of the usually messy and crying starscream, which i think is pretty unlikely, id like to see more catatonic disassociation. I feel like starscream is the kind of person to go from blind, lashing out and feral rage, to a state of numbness in a matter of seconds. Ive never really been able to see him in a state of actual emotional vulnerability such as crying.

Ratchet on the other hand, should be shown crying more in fan media. Hes actually a very emotional character compared to most. Hes similar to that of arcee, in the sense that hes very emotionally driven, and quick to emotional outbursts. The amount of times where he has literally been seen on the verge of tears compared to the others speaks for itself(examples: the scrapyard scene after op’s “death” and the scene where the team return from cybertron and break the news that their “only hope to restore cybertron” is destroyed.)

Starscream is an emotional character, but his range of emotion is usually restricted to fear, anxiety, rage, and jealousy. He doesn’t tend to show “weakness”(in his mind) like crying. He’s moreso the kind of person to cover up any sort of vulnerability by lashing out and redirecting with violence.

All this to say, i still enjoy portrayals of an emotional tfp starscream, but id like to see more of the other end of the spectrum.

[foggieststars]

Your carcar fic was one of the first fic I read in the carcar fandom and it changed my life 🙂‍↕️

Can I request ignored safeword + carcar? If you’re interested, would also love to see if it can be combined with 23. Possession. Thank you❣️

from the kink prompt asks here, tysm for your lovely words and such a fun prompt!!

-

They can’t have been going for longer than an hour, but time is slipping away from Carlos. He’s trussed up like a party favour, face-down on the bed, hands lashed to the headboard, tied together with the neat safety knots that Oscar favours. Carlos has made fun of him more than once for it, asking him if he’d yet earned his merit badge for knot-tying. He doesn’t feel like making fun of Oscar now. 

His hands are sore where the rope’s chafing against his wrists, and his ass is killing him. It’s not sexy anymore, not like it was at the start, when the sting of the paddle against his skin was something searing, something that made him feel loose and disconnected from his body. That time has passed, along with his second orgasm. 

Oscar stopped using the paddle after the first, swapped it for the skin-to-skin sting of his hand, and that was nice. But now, Carlos’ cock is starting to chafe against the bedsheets, dried come making him feel grimy and unwashed. The vibrating plug nestled right up against his prostate has tipped over from pleasurable to overwhelming. 

He can sense Oscar just behind him, hovering just out of range.

“Oscar,” Carlos croaks. “Oscar - can we stop?” 

There’s silence from behind him, no indication that Oscar’s heard him. Carlos doesn’t - when he gets like this, he doesn’t always have the best handle on how loud he’s being. More than once, Oscar’s had to shush him when he’s fucking him in Carlos’ driver’s room. 

He thought he’d been pretty loud. Carlos licks his lips, filmy with dried spit, tries again. “Oscar,” he says. “Oscar - please.” 

Carlos waits for Oscar to laugh, to give some indication that he’s just joking around. That he’s going to untie Carlos’ hands, massage them with the moisturising cream Oscar bought specifically for the occasion. There’s nothing; just the sound of Oscar’s quiet breathing. And then, the gentle sound of a button being pressed. If the room wasn’t so quiet, Carlos wouldn’t have heard it. But it is, and he did - and more than that, he can feel it. The vibrations of the plug ratchet up a notch, and his back draws tight like a bow. Carlos tries not to thrash, but the feeling is so overwhelming - a cold sort of pleasure, a sweat breaking on his brow. 

He feels like a broken record. “Oscar - I want… red. Red, please - I can’t anymore.”

Oscar does laugh then, at the sound of their safeword. Sweat’s dripping from Carlos’ forehead now. The pleasure is so overwhelming like this, focused on that tight bundle of nerves. Nothing he can grasp at with his hands to channel some of the energy, no way to work out the pain. 

And then - “You asked for this, remember?” Oscar says. Carlos’ stomach gives a painful lurch at the realisation that Oscar’s genuinely not moving, that saying red hasn’t done anything, and then it’s a sickening freefall into oblivion. 

Carlos does remember, is the worst part. After two glasses of wine last week with dinner, curled up on the sofa, enjoying a rare moment of private time. He’d said - he’d asked Oscar to do this. To ignore it when Carlos begged him to stop. Ignore it, even if Carlos uses his safeword. Oscar had been concerned by the idea. Carlos had pushed. It’s his fault. 

It’s Carlos’ fault that this is happening to him.  

It’s a strange feeling, the sensation of pure, unadulterated panic. It’s not something Carlos is accustomed to feeling with Oscar. To know that there’s genuinely no way out - nothing he can say to get Oscar to stop doing this to him. It’s electrifying and horrifying in equal measure. 

“Oscar–” Carlos croaks, hissing when the vibrations increase again. He can feel his legs moving on the bed, but there’s no control behind it, nothing he can do to stop it. “I - Oscar, I can’t – can’t anymore,” he says - begs, really. “I’m sorry,” he finishes weakly, hating the feeling that he’s letting Oscar down, denying him what he wants. But Carlos really doesn’t think it’s possible for Oscar to wring another orgasm out of him - he’s so sore. Probably doesn’t help that the two of them have been fucking like rabbits basically since the season ended, no concern for sore muscles or tight backs when they don’t have to be in the car again for months. 

“Don’t be sorry,” Oscar says, voice steady. “Be better.” 

Those works sink into Carlos slowly, the steady drip of their impact muted, like he’s underwater. How many times has he heard those words - from his coaches, from his father? And now. From Oscar.

“Because you can be,” Oscar continues. “You’ll give me another one, right?” 

Oscar’s doing what Carlos asked him to do. He’s ignoring the safeword. Pushing Carlos past his self-imposed limits. Carlos scrunches his eyes closed, takes a steadying breath, ignoring the feeling of blood pounding in his head. 

Oscar moves closer, thighs bracketing Carlos’ own. He can hear the material of Oscar’s shorts rustle as he moves. “You’ve been so good for me,” he practically croons. He’s certainly improved at the whole dirty talk thing. Especially compared with the start of the season, when he could barely say the word cock without blushing. “So good, and all mine, Carlos.” 

Mine. The word reverberates around Carlos’ mind, driving him to distraction. 

Oscar’s hands smooth over the sore skin of Carlos’ ass, the skin hot to the touch. His hands are blessedly cool. And then, like the shock of touching a livewire, Oscar’s fingers find the base of the plug. He twists it in a cruel motion, bearing down on the base of it. The pressure is unrelenting, almost unbearable. 

“You can do it, right?” Oscar asks. “Just one more. One more and I’ll untie you.” 

Carlos opens his eyes, stares at the crumpled bedsheets in front of him, and lets the word no die on his tongue. 

He lets his head hang between his shoulders, no longer trying to crane around to look Oscar in the eyes. He dips his head once, a slow, purposeful motion, to communicate to Oscar what he’s asking. What he’s agreeing to. He can’t say it out loud - can’t be party to his own unmaking in such an intimate way. This will have to be enough. 

It seems it is, for Oscar at least. He moves closer, and his hands roam the bare planes of Carlos’ skin. His ass, his lower back. Oscar presses his thumbs into the dimples of Carlos’ spine, hitches his hips higher in the air. It helps take some of the pressure off his shoulders, and like an idiot - like some unthinking, drooling whore - Carlos can’t help but arch into it. 

His cock’s half-hard, probably the most it can manage after two orgasms already, leaking steadily like a tap. Carlos cries out when Oscar wraps his hand around it, thumbing over the stickiness, spreading it around the length of him. Even that stimulation is too much, and he bucks backwards, trying to escape it, only to find Oscar’s crotch pressed against his ass. 

Carlos can feel his cock, hard and wanting. Oscar grunts slightly, no doubt as a result of the vibrations from the plug pressed up against his dick. With his free hand, he bumps the vibrations up another couple of notches, until Carlos really can’t handle it anymore. He thrashes violently against the restraints, anything to escape, anything to get away from the steady creep of pleasure-pain that threatens to overwhelm all his senses. 

He screams when Oscar reaches for the plug again, twists it cruelly, hand still stroking his cock gently, steadily. It’s a crude facsimile of fucking, Carlos realises. Between Oscar’s hand on his dick and on the plug, Carlos is rocking back and forth between the stimulation. He keeps bumping against the hard planes of Oscar’s body. 

It’s not a choice, not really. It’s the illusion of one, whether to buck into Oscar’s hand or to let him force the plug against that bundle of nerves. It’s a flagrant attempt at undoing, at complete surrender. 

Whatever it is, it’s working. 

Carlos can feel it approaching, drawing up from deep within him. He’s never - not since he was a horny teenager has he been able to come in such quick succession. 

That’s what initially drew him to Oscar. His sense of responsibility, his work ethic. Carlos recognised something within him, something similar enough to make him reach out, even though he couldn’t stand the guy on track. And look at where it’s gotten him. 

Carlos can feel himself quivering. He grasps the headboard as best he can with his hands tied, something to hold onto. To ground him. 

Oscar leans forward, covering Carlos’ back with his chest. Skin on skin, sweaty and sticking. 

“C’mon,” Oscar pants, breathless himself now. “Just one more. For me.” 

Carlos cries out at a particularly vicious thrust of the plug, Oscar’s hand tightening around his cock. It’s coming, and it hurts, it’s too much too much too much –

Carlos comes with a yell, still only half-hard. There’s barely a dribble of come, his cock spent and sore. His vision goes fuzzy, or he nearly passes out, he’s not sure. All he can feel is the overwhelming pain-pleasure. It aches, like sinking your fingers into a bruise. There’s enough pleasure to drown out the sharpest edges of it, but only just. 

There’s a sickening moment, where Oscar’s hand remains on his cock, heel of his other palm pressed to the plug, still vibrating. Oscar could - if he wanted to. He could do anything. Carlos asked him to. 

Thankfully, he decides Carlos has had enough. The plug stops vibrating, but Oscar doesn’t take it out. He does take his hand off Carlos’ cock though, for which Carlos is grateful. 

Oscar undoes the ties with a deft movement, and Carlos definitely won’t be making fun of him for tying quick-release knots anytime soon. He pitches face-first onto the bed, arms too weak to hold him up. 

Oscar snickers behind him, and then there are hands, cool and callused on his sides, rolling him onto his back. Finally, Carlos can look at Oscar’s face. He’s flushed pink with exertion, spreading down to his chest. 

Oscar presses in close, kneeling over Carlos’ thighs. “That was so good,” he says, and despite it all Carlos feels the familiar hum of pleasure rush through him. A job well-done. “Fucking unbelievable,” Oscar says. “Fuck.” 

Carlos hums, suddenly bone-tired. He wants to smile, reach out for Oscar, but his body won’t do what he’s telling it to. 

Oscar seems to realise that. He cradles Carlos’ face in between his hands, presses a searing kiss to his mouth. 

It’s long, heated and slow, and ends with a healthy dose of tongue. It’s - Oscar’s licking him, Carlos thinks absurdly, and then realises. He’s licking the tears from Carlos’ face. Tears, because Carlos has started crying. When, he’s not sure. It should frighten him, to feel this disconnected from his own body. 

It doesn’t though. Not when Oscar’s holding him like this. 

They kiss for a long time, long enough for Carlos to again grow aware of how desperately he needs a shower. He’s sticky with dried come and sweat, and he feels disgusting. He wants a bath - maybe with those special bath oils Oscar’s trainer likes him to use. 

He also grows aware of another pressing matter - hard, throbbing, and right up against his hip. 

Carlos doesn’t have the energy to move his head, gestures weakly to Oscar’s crotch. “I could - with my mouth?” He offers weakly, still massaging feeling back into his wrists. 

Oscar frowns at him, tilts his head. “Why would I want your mouth?” he asks. Carlos doesn’t understand. Not until he continues – “When you’ve got a perfectly good hole right here.”

He’s tracing around the edge of Carlos’ rim, stretched around the base of the plug. Carlos shudders, shoulders going tight. Oscar pulls it out in one slow movement, lingering at the widest part of it, stretching him out even more. Until suddenly, blissfully, it’s out, and tossed onto the bedsheets. 

“Spent all that time getting you ready for me,” Oscar shrugs. “Be a waste not to put it to good use.” He punctuates the statement with his fingers, two of them, stuffed unceremoniously inside Carlos. 

Carlos makes a noise so high-pitched he’d thought himself incapable of it. He’s loose from the plug, and it’s - he can’t tighten up, not even around two of Oscar’s fingers. He can feel his hole clenching desperately.

“Yeah,” Oscar laughs. “You want it.” 

Carlos shakes his head, doesn’t know how he could possibly muster up the energy to let Oscar - after three.  

“No?” Oscar probes, with his voice and his fingers. He locates Carlos’ prostate with ease - he’s spent all afternoon torturing it, after all - and bears down with his fingers. 

Carlos’ cock twitches, weakly against his thigh. Oscar laughs at the sight of it, and Carlos barely resists the urge to cover himself with his hands. He’s not - before Oscar. He’s not used to this, he’s never… he’s always been the one in charge. He’d thought that would continue with Oscar. Hadn’t expected to be shown another way, 

“Seems like you do,” Oscar comments, like he’s discussing the weather. 

That’s not fair, Carlos wants to tell him. It’s just a bodily reaction - nothing he can help. 

“I’m tired,” Carlos tries, knowing there’s no way out. No escape. 

Hating, more than anything, that he likes that. 

Oscar smiles at him. It’s nothing different to his usual smile - goofy, wide, kind. Front teeth hooking on the skin of his bottom lip. But the words he’s saying are a stark contrast to his expression. “You just lie there - let me take care of you. And this hungry little hole.”

Carlos could move, now he’s been untied. He might be shorter than him, but he’s stronger than Oscar. And his exhausted muscles aren’t that much of a challenge - not really. He’s clambered into the car feeling worse than this, hurled himself around corners going hundreds of miles per hour. He could get up, wrestle Oscar into submission. If he wanted to. 

He doesn’t move.

And it’s that inaction which damns him. 

Oscar’s quick about it, fumbling for the lube, lost in the bedsheets when he’d first opened Carlos up on his fingers, eased the plug into him until Carlos was babbling. He slicks up his cock with efficient movements, spreads Carlos’ thighs wide with his hands. 

They end up hooked around Oscar’s hips. Like this, Carlos is terribly exposed. He can feel his hole clenching in desperation, his body betraying him. He’s spent and exhausted, but he still wants. 

That’s always been his problem. He’s always wanted too much, the weight of his desire threatening to swallow him up. It usually winds up in disappointment. He’d thought, signing with Ferrari - that might - but no. They hadn’t wanted him either, in the end. The depth of his desire too much for anyone to handle. 

Maybe apart from Oscar. 

His hole flutters when Oscar presses the spongy head of his dick to it, and Oscar laughs, watching the point of connection between their bodies. “Look at that,” he comments, and Carlos feels his cheeks burn. 

Oscar moans as he slides into Carlos, and the feeling is mutual. His cock isn’t as thick as the plug, but it’s longer, penetrating deeper into Carlos. His hole is sore with overstimulation, but it still feels good. Good in a way it hasn’t with anyone else for a long time - in a way only Oscar can bring out of him, these days.

Oscar doesn’t waste any time, rutting into him with abandon. He pulls out as far as he can without sliding out completely, slams home with a muffled grunt. 

“So good for me,” Oscar says, voice tight and strained. “Carlos, fuck,” he groans. “So tight. All for me, yeah?” 

Carlos nods, licks his cracked lips. “Yours,” he agrees, squeezing his tired legs around Oscar’s hips. 

Another surprising thing about Oscar. He’s sort of possessive. Hand on the back of Carlos’ neck, brushing against his waist when they cross paths in the paddock. Like a claiming, a reminder. Of who he belongs to. 

“Knew you could take it,” Oscar rasps. “Never enough for you, is it? Always - fuck, always want more.”

Carlos’ face burns at the truth in Oscar’s words, and he nods, looking down and away. Well, trying to at least, because Oscar’s hand on his chin stops him before he can. Hips still pistoning, Oscar yanks Carlos back to face him. Until he has no choice but to meet Oscar’s gaze. 

“Don’t you?” Oscar demands. 

Carlos really might fall to pieces, soon. 

“Yes,” he gasps, at a particularly vicious thrust. “Yes, I want - Oscar.” 

That seems to be answer enough for Oscar, who buries his face in the joint between Carlos’ shoulder and his neck. Licking and sucking at the sweaty skin there, leaving marks they can only get away with for a brief window of time. 

It feels good, like this. His cock is lying limp against his stomach, no chance of hardening again. Carlos doesn’t think he could come again even if Oscar fucked him for hours - like he’s passed some invisible threshold. But it’s nice, like this. It’s a gentle, warming sort of pleasure, one that fills him up from the inside. 

He’s still crying, Carlos notes with some surprise. It’s not bad though, not like this, with Oscar pressed up inside of him, covering him with his body. The surrendering of control, the thing Carlos has always hated, feared the most. It’s not as bad as he’d thought it would be. 

Oscar’s thrusts turn jerky and uncoordinated, his groaning louder. He’d not touched his cock once, during the time Carlos spent tied up. He must be pretty close, need it badly. 

Carlos tilts his hips up, squeezes around Oscar’s cock as best he can. Oscar’s breathing and the sound of the bed creaking under their combined weights are the only sounds, aside from the blood rushing in his ears. 

“Oscar,” Carlos says. He threads his heavy, uncooperative arms around Oscar’s neck, cards through the hair starting to curl with sweat. “I want it - please.” 

It’s as close to begging as he’s yet come. Not in words perhaps, but in meaning. He wants to feel Oscar finish inside him, wants to feel that stamp of ownership he can’t even truly admit to himself that he craves. 

“You want it?” Oscar asks, breathing raggedly. “I know you do. Come on,” he says, hands finding Carlos’ hips, thrusting harder, harder. 

“Fuck,” Oscar pants. “So good, so - Carlos,” he nearly growls out the name. “Can’t believe you,” Oscar says. “Fucking insane, the things you let me - oh, fuck,” Oscar says, and then his hips are stuttering once, twice, and he’s spilling, hot and sticky inside of Carlos. 

It should be disgusting. It is, a bit. 

It’s nice, all the same. 

Oscar keeps fucking into him, until his cock softens enough to slip out. It’s only then, after an indeterminable length of time, that Oscar finally collapses next to him on the bed. He’s breathing hard, like he’s just finished a race, but he looks quietly satisfied. There’s a glow off him. Carlos thinks he might look similarly, from the smile Oscar gives him when their eyes meet. 

“What do you say?” Oscar asks, quiet voice somehow loud in the silent room. 

There’s a halting pause, where Carlos thinks it over. He’d asked Oscar for this. To wrest control from his grasp, push him beyond his self-imposed boundaries. To say - to lay himself bare for Oscar like that… 

There’s no coming back from that. 

Oscar watches him with a quiet smile, like he can read every thought thrumming through Carlos’ overtired mind. Carlos wonders if he knows before Carlos himself does when he makes the decision. When he opens his mouth. 

“Thank you,” Carlos says, and somehow, agonisingly, finds that he means it. 

[jcblifttech]

"SHAKE ME" "IF YOU CAN !" #JCBLiftTech #JCB #jcblovers #JCBIndia #JCBProducts #chainpulleyblock #ratchetleverhoist #electricchainhoist #towstrap #ratchetlashing https://jcblifttech.com/ratchet-lashing/

[emergency-vehicle]

TF1 OptiRatch headcanons, go!!!!

...oh my god... so i just spent the last two ish hours writing a little drabble that has been stuck inside my brain, only for tumblr to make me take a screenshot of it instead of letting me copy paste the whole thing. anyway, irrelevant. the drabble has allowed me to come up with this list of headcanons!

Ratchet

the first time orion and ratchet meet is immediately after the iacon 5000

ratchet HATES the iacon 5000. he thinks its an utter waste of time and resources.

when they meet, D-16 is still very mad and he kind of lashes out at Ratchet too, but Ratchet is like ??? aint no way this bot is mad at me but in the suspicious way, not the angry way

anyway, the entire situation makes ratchet think theyre conjunxes, its very funny.

still ratchet gets absolutely enraptured by orion

big, blue doe eyes are his weakness, and boy howdy does orion pax possess those.

orion is actually very free with his field and while it kind of startles ratchet at first, he realizes that he really likes the way orion's field feels

orion is still very, very giddy and coming down from the adrenaline rush of the race. he's all smiles and laughs and jokes, which pulls ratchet in even more

the best way to describe him is absolutely enigmatic

without even realizing it, ratchet accidentally spends way more time with orion than he does D-16.

Ratchet has always been...suspicious of cogless bots. He knows that there is something seriously wrong. Not with the bots themselves, but with the fact that they have no cogs.

While the medical records had been wiped clean regarding the fact that all bots are born with cogs (unbeknownst to ratchet), he finds it very curious that bots are born with the place for a cog, but no cog itself.

so, ratchet has begun to do some digging on the side. mostly just making notes of patients regarding their frame types and the curious ailments they come in with

orion is not exempt from this

his hands are much too delicate for mining, far more sensitive and dexterous than sturdy and forged for manual labor.

he has to keep reminding himself that theyre not in his private office, nor is this something that he can look into.

ratchet really, really wants to be the one to repair orion's hands. anything to see this very curious bot one more time

D-16 is not having it.

when ratchet leaves he has to catch his breath. it was so hard for him to be professional when orion's big eyes were staring at him like he held all the knowledge of the universe

ratchet does not consider himself someone who falls easily, nor does he really consider himself romantic at all

even then, he felt this pull towards orion. he chalks it up to curiosity, even though it's obviously deeper than that.

plus its not like it even matters, ratchet wouldve sworn up and down that orion and d-16 were a thing.

Orion Pax

orion is fucking grateful that finally it's not just him and D-16 in the room

dgmw, he loves D-16 with his whole chest, but orion always, always struggled with him when he gets like this. mans is not emotionally intelligent enough to deal with his bestie's BPD (yes this is my personal D-16 headcanon, i will die on this hill)

so when ratchet comes in, he almost instantly relaxes

he thinks ratchet is kind of stuffy at first, like he's obviously uncomfortable and the way he talks is very indicative of that

orion immediately wants to help him loosen up. man cannot deal with two socially inept bots at one time. so he opens his field to him

to his surprise, ratchet reciprocates, but only slightly

orion ALSO likes the way ratchet's field matches with his. instant "i want to be your friend" vibes here

when ratchet pays special attention to his hands, orion is internally screaming the entire time

hes generally not used to gentle touch, and theres something about the way that ratchet is holding his hands that makes his spark flutter

he is desperately spinning code so his aux fans don't kick on. this guy gets flustered so easy. he cannot bear the thought of D-16 making fun of him for almost instantly getting a crush on this doctor

that doesnt stop his processor from failing to form thoughts. he knows ratchet is asking him important questions, but all he can think is "pretty mech touching my hands"

if orion didnt already have his gay awakening, this would've been it

i feel like after ratchet leaves theres a good 15 minutes of silence between him and D-16 where orion is just trying to get his Gay Thoughts(tm) under control

final yapping

in the end, i think its incredibly funny to make orion pax like this far less mature version of optimus. he feels everything x10 and doesn't really know what to do with the feelings, so he just kind of acts like a fool.

meanwhile ratchet is out here like "yeah he's pretty but i have a job to do." that doesn't mean orion doesn't haunt his thoughts after though. he definitely does. the image of his big eyes staring at him won't leave ratchet for a long time.

theyre both gay fools. the tiny crush is mutual. its forgotten about though throughout the events of the movie. orion has much more important things to worry about than a pretty doctor who gently held his hands.

the next time they see each other is after orion became optimus. this was for a standard check up, in which ratchet had to run a full diagnostic of him. ratchet can't help but begin ranting about how he knew something was up with sentinel, with the cogless bots, with that entire fucking situation.

the check up ends with optimus listening to this clearly autistic (positive) mech explain every red string he put together, and how the revolution confirmed all of his missing pieces. (im projecting here because this is my personal brand of autism)

tbh, optimus is impressed. they quickly do become friends, and as the war begins, he realizes that ratchet is a very talented doctor and quickly they earn each others trust. they become good friends, too. optimus likes to listen to ratchet talk about science, talk about new medical breakthroughs. he will often bring ratchet decepticon medical tech he finds out in the field for him to reverse engineer.

optimus absolutely enables ratchet's special interest (medicine) and ratchet absolutely loves optimus for it.

in conclusion, theyre gay neurodivergents your honor.

[cozzzynook]

After Optimus has Hot Rod. He's a very fussy sparkling. He's always crying and has a hard time sleeping and eating. He also has a spark condition which is hard on him.

Optimus is exhausted and is struggling to bond with Hot Rod. He's also dealing with the war and one day Hot Rod won't stop crying and he lashes out. He yells at him and pinches him.

Realizing what he has done he takes a step back. He decides to give Hot Rod to Ratchet and Drift to raise because Hot Rod seemed happy with him. He'd stop crying when they held him and would sleep whenever they watched him. They both knew how to take care of his medical problems. Ratchet better than him.

I..*sobs*

*claps* this is perfect angst.

I have no notes. No words.

*sobs* my heart 😭

Optimus is forever going to suffer under the guilt of what he’s done to his sparkling.

Ratchet is so disappointed in him and I’d like to change it a little and say Drift is still Deadlock when they get Hot rod who is the sweetest sparkling they’ve ever seen. He plays so well with their own sparkling First Aide and Hot rod only gets fussy with them like he did with Optimus when he was in pain.

It kills Optimus to know his sparkling was in pain and he didn’t even notice. He thought his sparkling was just bad. He didn’t realize he was hurting.

Deadlock is so protective of both bitties he truly forgets Hot rod didn’t come from Ratchets valve like First Aide did and he gets angry when bots bring it up until he remembers. And then he just says Optimus has no claim to their sparkling not caring how it hurts Optimus until Ratchet tells him Optimus probably had post carriers down spiral.

Deadlocks stops saying it then and doesn’t make anymore hurtful comments to Optimus and apologizes but Optimus feels he doesn’t deserve it because deep down he didn’t want Hot rod and he thought it was karma.

Taking it a step further.

Hot rod knows optimus is his carrier and has the memories from being a bitty.

He’s distant from Optimus and hides that he knows and remembers.

The step further is Optimus having bitty bumblebee and just..having so much love for the sparkling that was so adorable and so much easier. Bee had problems too but not as serious as Hot rods spark condition that couldn’t be cured. Bee may always have nutrient and mineral absolving problems but his treatment is so much easier.

And Hot rod seeing his carrier love and raise his little brother with so much love and caring optics that he never gave him…

It fuels him to become a prime so his carrier will finally look at him like he looks at bee.

Hot rod may have a spark condition but he’s incredible in battle and terribly smart and tactile when he isn’t insecure or doubting himself.

Of course he becomes a prime because he’s shot in the spark but this time by Galvatron and he’s reborn as Rodimus prime.

He comes back ready to see his carrier and show he’s worth something now. Worth loving. That he’s not bad anymore if the matrix accepted him.

But then he just….

Stops…

And something in him breaks because he never had to prove a thing to Ratchet and Deadlock now Drift.

He never had to prove a thing to First Aide his brother or Bee he who came to know and never showed ill will towards. He was jealous for a while but one look at the bitty and he just..felt the need to protect him like he did First Aide and how First Aide excelled in spark conditions to protect him.

Bee was smarter than he let on and admitted he figured out they were brothers in private and asked Rodimus, at the time Hot rod, if they could be brothers outside of blood and Hot rod agreed so easily.

Remembering all these things, how Ratchet never once looked at him different from First Aide or how Deadlock now Drift has always said he has two sparklings and acted like it…

He turns and goes home.

He knocks on his creators door where he knows First aide is also at and waits..they haven’t seen his new frame, don’t know his new name and haven’t heard whats happened to him.

He hopes they welcome him with open sparks and arms like always and waits…

It feels like hours thats really nano kliks until the door is open and First Aide turns his helm to greet the bot at the door when he stops and pauses.

“Hey banders, I um..Its me..Roddy..I,” he goes to explain that he inherited the matrix, still insecure of not being enough, when the mech buries him in a hug.

He’s shocked but hugs his brother back before the mech is pulling back still holding him and dragging him in the house frantically yelling, “carrier! Sire! Roddy! Its roddy! He’s back!”

The silence that envelopes the home as First Aid drags him into the living den makes his spark stop until he hears heavy pedes hitting the floors and his creators are staring at him with wet optics in the doorway.

“Hot rod..”

He smirks sheepish, spark pulsing from emotion that his medicine counteracts making it painless as he stands there blushing, crying, smiling.

“Its um..its um..its Rodimus now..Rodimus prime..,” he bumbles, caught completely off guard when Ratchet and Drift envelope him and First Aid in a frame breaking hug as they splatters tears onto their frames.

“My bitty, you’re okay,” Drift cries ever the secret not so secret emotional sire like always. His carrier scanning him internally not at all trying to hide it as he keeps him close.

“You idiot, you went and got yourself shot in the very thing we drilled into you to protect,” his carrier sobbed, kissing his helm over and over again. Not missing a beat doing the same to First aid who buries his helm in Roddy’s neck cable.

Rodimus can’t, he can’t help but ugly sob…

“I’m sorry..i’m sorry…but I came back..I came back like I promised,” he wails, gripping them tight the best he could.

He feels the injection to keep his spark from overstimulating in his side and knows his sire did it.

Drift always carried his medicines just like his brothers, yes bee too the sweet little slagger, and carrier did.

“I’m sorry i got shot carrier,” it feels so good to say that to the mech who deserves to hear it. To the mech he owes everything to but would have nothing better than his family safe.

“Don’t forget your sire brat, I almost went out to get you,” Drift laughed making him beam.

For a klik Drift and Ratchet saw the sparklings they used to carry in their arms who held servos because it made them feel safe and he cried for a new reason.

“Don’t..don’t leave again okay, roddy?”

“I won’t banders, I won’t,” he kissed First aids helm and the two held servos like when they were sparklings.

“I’m on paperwork and med duty, I won’t be going back out unless another war breaks out and we all know no bots want that.”

Roddy stays home that night and he’s happy to see Bee the next day and reunite with his little brother and lift him even further off the ground.

Now he can be even more of a menace to his little brother, Bee grumbles but doesn’t move away from how close he stands to Roddy, like always, and he joins his brother to see First aid at the new oil shop that just opened.

First aid is blushing like mad as Ambulon flirts with him and Bee flutters his door wings at the sight of Starscream waiting for them. Drift and Ratchet sit at a table with a few of their friends and Roddy joins his brothers and their future conjunxs. He teases them through the comms about conjunxing ceremonies and they throw forks at him making him laugh.

He isn’t laughing so much when he sees Optimus enter the outdoor shop but he hides it and pays the mech little mind.

Things are going well so long as he ignored the way Optimus kisses Bee’s helm and sits with the others after greeting everyone in a friendly way.

The mech doesn’t notice he’s his sparkling right away and Roddy shakes his helmet at his creators and goes back to chatting.

He’s having a good time when he feels a digit tap his shoulder plating after noticing bots have gone silent. He feels a warmth behind him that makes him turn a little. He waves at Magnus and Megatron who sit side by side with the older bots before looking up and feeling his spark be stolen once again.

“H..hey sound,” he stood, smiling at the mech who tipped his helm in what he knew to be a smile.

“Greetings: Hot rod. Happiness: at seeing you well and recovered. Frame: beautiful star.”

The words made his intake dry and his medicine injected into his spark to stabilize it. He turned his optics blushing as a smile took over his face plate.

“Umm..do ya wanna join us? I missed..I mean..it’d be really cool if you joined us,” he vented a little off and he felt his carrier and brother shift closer only for Soundwave to pull out a medical mesh adhesive he had Shockwave design.

He gently lowered Rodimus back into his seat and placed the adhesive on his neck cable just as he did when they were in and out of battle off world.

“Pleasure: would be soundwaves to join.”

The mech politely nodded at everyone and specifically Ratchet, Drift, First aid and Bee before sitting beside Rodimus who couldn’t stop his spoiler from fanning in subtle court ship display.

Starscream smiled behind his cup of oil before saying something that had Bee elbowing him and grouching at the mech making conversation flow and the attention leave them.

Mostly.

He felt his creators watching him and Soundwave and knew they would be grilling him and doing a thorough vetting on Soundwave like they did Ambulon and he looked flustered glancing at them.

They gave him the look and he knew he was cooked.

Rodimus. A grown mech. And still about to be grounded by his creators.

“Hot rod creators: loving. Soundwave: happy to know Hot rod has love he deserves.”

That made Rodimus smile like a love sick puppy in a romance novel until he remembered.

“Oh, my designation..umm..its Rodimus now,” he looked nervous at Soundwave, since they’ve gotten closer he can better read the mech. So he was looking for anger or disappointment at this next part, “Rodimus prime,” he spoke the last part quietly. Unsure of how Soundwave felt.

There was silence until Soundwave suddenly slipped his tentacles on Rodimus and felt his frame.

“I’m okay Sound, all my injuries are healed up,” he giggled, actually giggled like he was some school bot.

“Previous actions: forbidden from repeating,” Soundwave’s deep voice made him smile and he nodded along as Soundwave still checked him over.

He had nothing to worry over. Soundwave would be his friend through anything.

“I’m on paperwork and medic duty now. I’m not doing anymore fighting any time soon,” Roddy assured, seeing his creators give an approving hum. A step in the right direction of a long road.

He was glad.

Though Soundwave resting his tentacle around his waist was not accepted and Drift came over removing it and Rodimus burst out laughing when Soundwave started egging his sire on harmlessly.

The mech was such a troll.

He loved it.

He didn’t notice Optimus horrified look at not immediately recognizing his own sparkling nor did he notice Optimus lower his helm in shame.

Optimus wasn’t at fault for not being able to initially connect with his sparkling after emergence but he was at fault for not bridging the gap and leaving it broken.

[in1-nutshell]

Another thought just popped in how about some possible more interaction with old Predacon buddy and the other cloned predacons maybe just predacon buddy just trying to make sure the other predacons don't get into trouble and basically grounding them

More Old Predacon Buddy coming up! Quite the popular Buddy I see.

Hope you enjoy!

Bot Buddy the Old Predacon with Predaking, Skylynx, and Darksteel

SFW, Platonic, Cybertronain reader

TFP

Buddy needed to take a break.

They had been couped to the base for the last 3 months and hadn’t been able to fly due to the amount of work that needed to get done on base.

The recent Decepticon activity, everyone was on edge.

And Buddy’s patience was running low.

It was bad enough they had to deal with the constant bickering between their teammates over stress, but now they couldn’t even go out without someone telling them otherwise.

Well… Buddy needs their little flight break.

Right.

Now.

“I’m heading out.”--Buddy

Ratchet looks at them.

“What do you mean out?”--Ratchet

“I’m going flying Ratchet.”--Buddy

Ultra Magnus stands in front of them.

“We are to stay in the base until its time to deploy. You especially given your alt mode.”--Magnus

Buddy straightens their back struts and looks at him dead in the optics.

“I am going to go flying Magnus, or are you going to try and stop me? Because believe me, I need an outlet for everything that is being pent up in my chassis. Do you want to be that outlet?”--Buddy

“Let the go Magnus.”--Ratchet

“Ratchet—”--Magnus

Buddy moves past him and runs to the entrance of the base and shoots for the sky.

Magnus just looks annoyed at Buddy’s form.

“Trust me Magnus. You do not want to have Buddy get like that when they are already looking for peaceful solution.”—Ratchet

Magnus grumbles a bit, but silently agrees with Ratchet as he walks back to his habsuite.

Buddy knew better than to go flying to densely populated airspace and areas.

But they did know a place that hardly anyone went to.

To their surprise, someone was there.

Well, more like several bots were there.

It was Predaking and… two other Predacons?

Buddy immediately shot down and surprised Predaking when they landed next to him.

“Predaking.”--Buddy

Buddy walks over to their fellow Predacon.

Predaking nods curtly.

“Buddy.”--Predaking

Skylynx and Darksteel are still tussling around.

“Who are they? I didn’t know there were others like us.”--Buddy

“Shockwave.”--Predaking

“Ah… that explains it.”--Buddy

Buddy tries to introduce themselves but the two are suddenly interested in fighting them.

Predaking is about to lash out at them, but Buddy makes him stand down and dares them to attack them all at once.

Predaking is a bit stunned by the dare but knows full well that Buddy could handle themselves.

“Now boys, on the count of three, I want you to attack me in any way you see fit.”--Budy

“Buddy…”--Predaking

“Its fine Predaking.”--Buddy

“You want us to attack you?”—Darksteel

Buddy stretches out their wings.

“Yes.”--Buddy

“Deal old timer.”—Skylynx

Buddy gets in the ready stance and nods at Predaking to start the count.

“3…”--Predaking

The two Predacons get ready to pounce.

“2…”--Predaking

All their limbs are ready.

“1.”--Predaking

The two Predacons leap at Buddy.

They don’t last 3 minutes.

Buddy standing over them.

“Now, what do you have to say about this old timer?”--Buddy

The two Predacons beneath Buddy are in awe by how this clearly older Predacon managed to handle two younger Predacons at the same time.

They try to edge Predaking to fight Buddy.

Buddy playfully edges him too.

But Predaking already learned his lesson from last time.

The four of them fall into a comfortable conversation before Buddy needs to head back home.

Buddy says goodbye to the others and flies back home.

Buddy lands outside the base entrance panting a bit.

“Buddy!”—The kids

Buddy looks up to see the kids running up to them.

“Why hello to you too.”--Buddy

“You just got back?”--Miko

“Yes…”--Buddy

Buddy takes a sharp intake feeling the dent on their side.

Jack is the first to notice.

“Woah… Buddy are you okay?”--Jack

“I am fine Jack.”--Buddy

“That doesn’t look fine to me.”--jack

“I’m an old bot Jack, I’m bound to get some dents that take longer to heal than others.”--Buddy

“Yeah, but that one looks like someone rammed their head into your side.”--Miko

“…Anyways—”--Buddy

“Don’t change the subject!”--Raf

“…What if I told you tomorrow instead? I’m about ready to drop into stasis.”--Buddy

The kids look a bit unsatisfied but let Buddy go on their way.

They will get the answers one way or another.

[tumblingxelian]

If I may ask with an open enough mind, might I hear out your thoughts on the character of Chloe Bourgeois? I don't expect an answer right out the gate so don't rush on my account. I'm merely trying to collect varying perspectives over what's become a uniquely controversial character.

Oh my that is a doozy of a question, I've debated no less than three separate videos on the topic and multiple essays to boot. Still, she's on my mind and the thing I am working on is obstructing me from modelling or writing but quires breaks to let stuff load so I have time for a longer ask:

So, what are my thoughts on Chloe Bourgeois?

Exactly where to start is rather tricky, so forgive any digressions or rambles.

Chloe is thematically the everyday reality of an Akumatized person.

What I mean by this is that Akuma victims are people in states of emotional distress, tribulation or trouble. Who thanks to the enabling of a power greater than themselves are both encouraged and enabled to lash out at others with borrowed power.

These people are meant to be sympathetic, their emotional tribulation taken advantage of, their situation, methods and thought process untenable. But they do need to be stopped from doing harm, and then healing needs to begin, with some effort made to redress the issue that led to them lashing out in the first place.

Akuma victims are the supernatural theme, Chloe is the reality.

Of course, some might claim she has no reason to have issues but...

Her mother is negligent and largely absent. The time they spent together prior to Queen Wasp, consisted of Chloe praising, giving gifts and trying to please Audrey. Only to be torn down, ignored, rejected or have her efforts disparaged. The woman doesn't even get her name right and the only means by which she earned even a scrap of approval was through being cruel. Something explicitly encouraged by the show's main character which is ???. 

Though it seems Audrey got bored with her fairly quickly regardless.

Audrey is unrelentingly hostile, selfish and cruel and encourages these traits in others and only avoids turning them on a person if they are sufficiently useful, or a match for her in viciousness. You are either her victim, her tool, or a conspirator. This is a hilariously awful parent, the damage she can do limited only by her sheer lack of interest.

Andre is somehow worse.

I am going to ignore the reading undertones of subtext into things but suffice to say that ratchets him up from just a bad parent to kill him with fire parent.

What we see with Andre is a man who explicitly taught Chloe to lie, cheat, intimidate, extort and bribe people to get what she wants. She is fourteen, and has been doing this since before she was in double digits. She's not bad because there's something innately wrong with her, she behaves badly because she's been explicitly taught that was the proper way to conduct herself.

We know full well Andre is capable of reigning Chloe in, be it gently in the Christa episode or with disciplinary action in Kung Food. However he only does this when it suits him, or her actions might cause him problems. For all his alleged affection for her, or her alleged influence on him, Chloe's always on the end of a leash Andre can and will tug back on the moment he feels like it.

This isn't just bad because it's so blatantly hypocritical and self serving. It's bad, because it means he enables Chloe's most self destructive and harmful traits so long as they don't impact 'him'. Given also that he is the one who, to put it charitably, raised her, that means the consequences and fallout of her actions should fall on him.

The fact he is presumably the one who encouraged Chloe to impersonate his wife, given Audrey didn't start rewarding that behavior until Queen Wasp, is also bad parenting. Like even if you ignore the disgust factor, its just fucking awful parenting and like everything else he taught her. It contributed to the fact Chloe is a social pariah hated by most people she has to spend time around.

Because let's get to the next stage, subversions!

In most shows like ML, Chloe as "The mean girl" would be popular, or at least feared, able to pose a threat in a social context, and is usually insulated from the more magical issues.

None of this applies to Chloe.

Even if we don't treat Origins as the shows starting point, she's already only tangentially involved in class stuff. Her fathers hotels own doorman outright says she has no friends, extremely out of pocket of him. & Origins sees one of the first things said to him being that Chloe is a brat and he halfway ditches her before 24 hours are up, and keeps her at nominal arms length for the rest of the series.

We can talk about how there's reasons for this, sure, but the thing that's interesting here is the subversion.

Chloe's mean-ness has not won her friends or influence as it does other mean girls in fiction, such as Heathers or Mean Girls.

Instead, it's made her barely tolerated by her peers and this only grows worse for her as the show goes on leading to her ensuing isolation which only worsens her condition and attitude. This is something Chloe is even varying shades of aware of, as she tearfully confessed to Ladybug when hiding from her Akumatized father. She knows something is wrong, but doing things differently goes against everything her parents taught her or exemplified, so it's not a shock she struggles.

Similarly, compare how Bonnie from Kim Possible could actually out-compete Kim for the role of cheer captain. 

Can Chloe beat Marinette in anything?

No, not really, or least the narrative never lets her do so even when she does have the skills for it, such as 8 years of ballet losing to nice vibes.

This is much less interesting than the previous point because it's basically just the writers using Chloe as a speed bump which gets boring after a while.

Then consider how Totally Spies own Mean Girl, Mandy is rarely tied to the actual adventures save maybe in a way other civilians are; leaving altercations with Clover as civilian affairs.

Does this apply to Chloe?

Fuck no XD

Chloe's frequently targeted by AKuma, even when she either shouldn't be singled out, (Ivan, everyone was scared) or for comparatively minor transgressions (Nathanial, his teacher screamed at, insulted & shook him) or outright targeted by the main villain of the show. (One who has known her since she was an infant!) 

Even before she had a Miraculous, Chloe was a frequent target of violent murder attempts. But this is largely treated as neutral, or even as comeuppance for bad behaviour. The issue is, the sheer scale of what she's being targeted with is so completely disportionate to what she did, assuming she even did things wrong, that it comes off as more unfair than anything else, & liable to give trauma. 

Especially as the show has double standards at times.

I think often-times the writers neglected to actually think through their karmic punishments for Chloe.

Take Pixelator, 

Chloe is the one who recognized Jagged, helped her father, and actually did her fucking job, but is the only student not rewarded with a concert ticket despite having done nothing to piss Jagged off.

Or how when her locker was broken into she's largely dismissed and needs to threaten the principal with her father to get a response. One might say this is abusing her power, but A, it's her dads power and B, we see with Lila later that the principle will basically just bow to whoever can make the bigger fuss. This isn't a Chloe issue it's a Damocles issue and I think being upset people broke into her locker isn't exactly unfair.

Similarly, I noted above how Chloe loses to Marinette even when she shouldn't logically do so. 

A bigger example of the narrative short hand delivered is the fact we see other characters do stuff Chloe does and get free rides.

IE, Kagami can dramatically strut into a fencing hall talking the most boastful shit, actually lose more or less legitimately, Akumatize and still be treated with sympathy and become a hero.

Chloe boastfully auditions to be Ladybug for a music video, but actually is the best audition scene, but loses out to positive vibes, gets angry & through her father lashes out, gets punished & no one gives a shit about her side of the story. 

To be clear, I like Kagami, I find this comparison interesting, I just don't think the show realized that it did this or does stuff like this a lot. 

That whole episode also demonstrates what I said at the start, about Chloe embodying the thematic of Akuma, IE, anger or distress, powerful sponsor, lashing out, ETC. 

So the double standard in how she's framed and treated VS Kagami is framed and treated becomes a weakness of the writing and show. 

We also see this with stuff like her & Marinette sabotaging Kagami, but Marinette largely getting portrayed sympathetically for doing so while Chloe isn't. 

This creates the impression the problem isn't Chloe's bad behavior, it's with her mere existence.

IE, she's the audience and writer's punching bag/designated target, so it feels like the writers just kind of don't bother a lot of the time actually making her wrong or thinking through the implications of their story beats with her, or other characters' behaviour. 

This stuff is present in Season 1, much more overt in season 2 and basically caps off season 3 which is where I stopped watching.

Cos like, the villain who's known her since forever has been actively trying to utilize her through the seasons, who explicitly aimed to puther in a state of severe emotional distress, ambushed her in her own home & had her parents in his grasp.

Right after the show's hero blatantly walked back a previous ruling that kept Chloe from being Queen Bee, (& did so for selfish and if one considered HK targeting known heroes, incredibly callous reasons)

But we're meant to hate the 14 year old for responding badly?

I would also argue stuff like this is a large part of what makes Chloe such an ensemble dark horde to the fandom. Not just because one can read into things about her history and character, but because the author's hand is so heavy it actively hurts and hinders its own narrative in order to harm Chloe and so feels unfair.

Some final notes I couldn't place elsewhere:

Akuma don't usually harm their loved one's. Chloe's mother tried to kill her on sight & then kept looking for excuses to do so & finally did. Andre turned the powerful & willful Audrey into a simpering hanger on and wanted to do the same with Chloe, which again, yikes.

When fused together they declared her incapable of loving anyone but herself. A fact blatantly disproven already but even in the episode itself with her demanding their release in exchange for helping Hawk Moth. & then tried to fucking EAT HER.

Her butler, school friend and teacher seemingly love her more than her own parents.

As an aside, Sabrina's explicitly encouraged to work for Chloe by her father as it makes her "Useful" which has loads of implications. But at least one can't blame Chloe for Sabrina's character.

Madame Bustier, when Akumatized uses having "Taken care" of her father as a lure to try and get Chloe to come to her. So again, yikes if one wants to read into it as it means even as an Akuma who was upset by Chloe, Bustier perceives Andre as the threat/problem to her.

Chloe by all accounts seems to live alone in a hotel suite, not even one of the fancier, super suites but like... The walls are 50% glass with no curtains, that lead to publicly exposed areas (as we see interviews with Jagged being conducted in them) and there's almost nothing to identify it as a space she lives in. Hell, the pictures on the wall are often blank and it seems she's lived here alone since she was a toddler.

That would have calamitous impacts on a Child's psyche & development! 

Despite her portrayal, Chloe was shown to be extremely good at being Queen Bee in many respects.

She almost soloed Mayura.

She is the first person shown able to resist Akuma, got civilians out of an Akuma infested train cart & protected Sabrina during the second red Akuma swarm.

She was able to quickly and easily keep up with Ladybug on the roof tops and using a similar weapon & travel style creates a visual parallel between the two which carries implications of them being counterparts. 

But most especially Chloe proved herself a skilled and heroic combatant during Heroes Day; covering for the other heroes without orders, doing so easily & needing to be targeted by multiple villains all with personal ties to her to be brought down, while protecting other heroes.

But that never really gets acknowledged.

So much like with "Nearly being brutally murdered for being kind of a dick" this sense of narrative imbalance engendered sympathy from those who notice.

I also find it fascinating that Chloe is, despite spending her life surrounded by abusers and enablers both, that she, without any real guidance, managed to soften their behaviors on her own.

Yes she buys Sabrina presents in luew of saying sorry, but she also spends time with her and does fun stuff, Andre just buys her off. She wants Adrien at her side and the like, but she doesn't actually try to stop him from befriending people she hates, Gabriel tries to keep him locked up. She doesn't like losing, but compares her relatively mild huffiness or brief theatrics to Audrey's violent response to merely being snubbed.

She's already doing better than all of them despite explicitly being taught or demonstrated, or victimized with all the wrong lessons and is fourteen.

Chloe also obviously has a deeply unhealthy understanding of relationships as seenin in how she recreates her parents awful dynamic with everyone around her. 

IE,

Andre fawns on Audrey, who is domineering, never satisfied and harsh at best. Chloe acts accordingly with Sabrina, while fawning on her mother and Ladybug who are much the same though  for different reasons. She's internalized this deeply unhealthy dynamic and applies it to herself as much as she does to anyone else.

This is just one element of the fact she honestly seems deeply troubled on a social level. I mentioned earlier that Chloe seems to know "Something" is wrong with everyone hating her & is clearly unhappy about it. But also seems unsure how to fix it, or what the source of the problem is.

The fact she often doesn't seem to get social cues, even from people she's treating like a peer, such as Ala or Adrien, gives off the sense that her problems go deeper than just "Being a brat".

This is further emphasized by the fact that so much of her daily persona seen is her doing an impression of her mother. Or otherwise putting on a show to try and get her dad or Kim, or the principle ETC, to do something.

Because when she's "upset" it's all theatrical prancing and squeals of daddy and then it's over.

But when she's actually upset, like panicking over losing Adrien upset, or breaking down cos Ladybug chose another hero with a known identity over her (Said by Kagami in the episode so we can't pretend it's not true). Chloe usually builds up to a brief explosion followed by a collapse, or just collapses outright into a panicked, curled up state. One that in one instance seemed to be intentionally drawing comparisons to an infant, but again give what we know that says less about her & more about Andre.

Basically, Chloe's life is a performance, we rarely see the real her, because she's always trying to play a role she thinks she's meant to, in order to be liked and successful & is confused, hurt and lonely because it's not working the way her family promises or demonstrated it would.

I also think it's interesting how Marinette & Kagami both firmly instruct her to stop bothering about seating arrangements. Like, we see he react to insults and anger with anger back, but those firm instructions seemed to make her actually inclined to listen, or at least intimidate rather than rile her up.

Also on the insults front, I think it's notable with the pariah angle that Chloe did basically become an open target. No, she doesn't do herself any favors, but her efforts to do video assignments, or participate in art class getting naught but degrading insults. Or her simply not participating in Madame Bustier's birthday causing the class to collectively tear into her says a lot.

Also much like with Damocles, Chloe getting away with mean-ness is not a Chloe thing, the other students get away with it too. At most getting a mild "Well that was kind of mean" which gets shrugged off.

So again we are back into one rule for Chloe another rule for everyone else, which engenders sympathy or frustration in many of the audience. 

Also I find her & Adrien's friendship conceptually fascinating. because like... Adrien outright admits that he totally understands sabotaging a train to try and win a parents love. Meaning he both can likely imagine himself doing the same and also does not grasp how fucked up it is to think one has to go to such insane lengths for someone who treats them like trash.

Am I speaking about Audrey or Gabriel?

Trick question, it's both!

As a sort of final cap off, I quite enjoy the fact that Chloe's so aggressively defiant. Yes she can get scared & panic, but like. She spent 95% of her Stoneheart kidnapping oscillating between bored, pissed off and irritated.

One can say it's a fight based trauma response and I agree, but it's also just a fun dynamic to have for a character who'd normally be relegated solely to screaming damsel.

So yeah, I think she's a fascinating character in concept and at times execution. Who subverts, twists and breaks expected tropes tied to her archetype in fascinating ways but who's handling leaves me wanting, I hope this was useful! 

@princess-of-the-corner @generalluxun @maestro04yayyy you might like this post too!

MAJOR EDIT!

I can't believe I went through Chloe's entire persona section & neglected to mention the fact that her efforts to flirt with guys always come off as so awkward and in-genuine compared to her enthusiastic adoration of Ladybug.

[wifetomegatron]

perceptor wants to study you. afab!reader. nsfw! drabble. skirt mentioned.

Perceptor is a scientist. It is his job to learn. To observe. In many ways, when the situation calls for it, it is also his job to solve things. The most reliable questions to answer were equations, solid and truthful: numerical variables were tangible enough to pull apart and rebuild without straying too far from his reality. They only have one answer.

But you were different. A moving target that never stood still. Always changing and taking him by surprise. You were a blow to his ego. And that caught his attention. A beauty that had no source in his stout and unyielding world. The possibilities were endless.

He wants to drink you dry.

" Open your mouth."

His voice was barely short of a whisper. Do all humans have this ability to render sentient beings speechless, to rob the room of any sound? Maybe they are also capable of manipulating magnetic fields: of defying the laws of gravity to knock their opponents off their axis. That would be dangerous. It was a good thing that you didn't see him as a threat. Not when you were looking at his past your lashes, eyes coy — fingers drawing circles around his shoulders.

" My," You hummed, " How bold of you, Perceptor."

Have you always had this lilt to your voice? He searched his processor for a comparison — the water running down the creek back in your green organic planet, the lonely echo of bullets as they ricochet, the tentative hum of a spark as it reignites. None of them comes close. He feels sick. Dizzy. Maybe he needs to go and see Ratchet.

" Open your mouth, please."

He repeats himself. Voice surprisingly level, even though it felt like his vocalizer was going to snap. And that earned him a smile. He did nothing to warrant your laughter, and yet you indulged him like you always do. Tongue — pink and wet — peeking past the row of pearls you call teeth as you tilt your neck gently backward. His hand moved instinctively, dwarfing the back of your head for support. 

He pressed the pad of his thumb flat across the soft surface and felt the metal sink. Your eyes fluttered shut, legs, slightly parting to let him slot his body in between. He held you in place. Chest to chassis, the thin fabric of your shirt did nothing to hide the subtle race of your heart.

Sinew and muscle, humming, unlike anything he's ever heard. 

This is for science, Perceptor tells you, retracting his servos to pick up his PADD, mind bursting with a flurry of thoughts. He couldn't even remember what he wrote down. He will have to review it later. 

He runs a few more exams. Medical needs it. And yet he had offered himself to run them. He says it was also crucial for his research. 

What kind of research, Ratchet had asked him.

A personal one, he had replied.

No one stopped him, especially not when you were so eager to help.

He kissed you on the lips. Tentatively, once, twice. You sighed into his mouth. Lips soft. Too soft. He needed to know if you were just as delicate between your —

This is for science, Perceptor tells himself, already sinking onto his knees. You were a plethora of texture, so different from his biology. So far from the mundane. While he clings almost religiously to the dependable — facts, numbers, metal — the purest, rawest form of science is the unknown. He nudged your knees with his nose, wider, and you wordlessly complied. 

Every scientist is an explorer at heart. And what is more unfamiliar than the feel of your skin? 

Perceptor rubs up and down your thighs, feeling you shiver. His cooling fans clicked to life, reacting, responsive. And this pleased you. And you pleased him.

Prettiness is symmetry, all things in the right place. And yet you were an artifact of unknown beauty, with no origin, no source. All things have to start somewhere — stars were born out of gases, sparks out of a mass of positrons supercharged by energon. But where did you come from? So alien. So different.

If the Earth was your creator, then you must be molded out of clay, shaped by her gentle hands, not carved, for he was sure even under his touch you would break. That the slightest misplace of pressure would shatter and scatter you into pieces.

But humans were known to be resilient. He likes to call you generous instead. Ever so giving, ever so kind.

Today, you wore what you called a skirt. Isn't it pretty? He doesn't have much to say about its color other than that it was practical and worn with a purpose. An invitation.

You mewled in encouragement when he pressed a kiss square against the plush, wet slit of your cunt.

Perceptor is a scientist. It is his job to learn. To observe. In many ways, when the situation calls for it, it is also his job to solve things. And there is still so much he wants to learn from you. He wants to map every sensitive spot that made you gasp and writhe. He wants to chart every delicate twitch, every clench. And with your body arching atop his table — sweat dripping down your brow, you were his muse.

But make no mistake, this was a symbiotic relationship. You were also studying him, changing him. ( He was certain you've ruined him for anyone else.)

Perceptor knows he should have stayed as an objective observer, standing on the sideline. Yet you were a very seductive hypothesis, just waiting to be kissed to life. There was lubricant leaking down his chin as you reached your high, nails scratching the back of his helm. Objects cluttered off the table in the distance, yet he continues to drink.

You broke his idea of truth, and Perceptor lets you.