#and i know there’s a sizable portion of this side of the fandom that will at least want to keep tabs on the show and i’ll have no choice+

[seddair]

.

[kanonavi]

15, 12, and 22 for the ask game and specifically i am curious abt your thoughts on mistah diluc since 22 asks for hc or smth

Thanks for the ask!!

12 - I'm not really one for super crazy AU ideas (which I know you know, cuz it's why you're asking me this lol), I tend to have the most fun with ideas that could ostensibly happen in canon, since I like to find the little gaps that could be left open to interpretation and fill them in with my own ideas.

The closest answer that I can give to this (which you've already heard about in some detail) is that a few years ago I participated in a crossover rp with a group of friends which basically turned into an AU of my main blorbo at the time, Goro Akechi from Persona 5. He basically went through a (sadly unfinished) character arc of renouncing his former persona awakening before eventually reawakening as a better person, all of which took place in a magically shapeshifting city with all sorts of characters there, all the way from a sizable portion of the Mondstadt and Liyue casts of Genshin to like. actually just Kirby being there for a while if I remember right.

Maybe one day you'll influence me to get sillier with it but for now this is the best I have lol

15 - I don't go back and read my old work that often (out of fear lmao), so I'm not actually sure how much my style has changed. When it comes to my writing style itself, I don't really feel like it has? I know that when I look back at my older xiaoven writings, I can see that my opinions on little details I like with the ship have shifted with time, but my writing style seems pretty similar (aside from maybe lightening up on the italics a bit)

Some of my excesses with incorrect punctuation have begun to shift, mostly with your influence, and I've become aware of some of my more fanficcy habits on account of being in writing workshops for school, but those don't really affect my writer's voice a whole ton. When I work up the gall to read some of my older stuff, I'll tell you how I feel.

22 - A headcanon for Diluc! It's sadly been far too long since I thought about him in much depth (not since the aforementioned crossover rp in fact, since he was my other main muse by the end of it alongside Akechi) but I'll do my best.

Something that I remember thinking very strongly about Diluc is that he's much more proficient with his vision than the average person. This is on account of him having had his vision for over half of his life, considering that he got it when he was only 10 years old, but also on account of the fact that I like to think that he got very good at just, the absolute basest forms of combat when he was in his 4 year exile.

Maybe it's just the chiluc shipper in me who likes the eroticism of feral men, but Diluc to me is a person who is very well-trained in combat, but when the cards are down he'll bite and tear at someone like a wild animal if that's what it takes to survive. And where his vision proficiency ties into that (without going on an entire tangent of how I believe that elemental control works for Allogenes) is that he has such good elemental control that he can just straight up set himself on fire without burning himself.

To me, Diluc is at his most interesting when his Darknight Hero side is a greater contrast to his upstanding, uptight noble side. He's a righteous vigilante by technicality, yes, but also getting into a fight with him should be like getting into a fight with a pack of wild dogs... who also use a claymore? I lost track of the metaphor but you get the idea.

Fandom Ask Game

[the-witchhunter]

I see where you’re coming from, but you’re describing a different phenomenon

I came in through the DP side with some background in DC, and in my experience the reverse is true. A lot of DC fics are lighthearted slice of life, because we tend to get the dark stuff from canon

And a lot of DP content is incredibly dark. Vivisection/Dissection fics are an entire sub-genre in the DP fandom. We get plenty of lighthearted stuff from the canon so we make a lot of darker more serious fics

DC content actually did a lot to lighten the tone in this crossover

What people are really discussing with common OOC moments is that they really don’t make sense in context, or would have wild effects in context

And it would be interesting to actually discuss those effects but it’s hard to when actual discussions of what canon implications are hindered by them only knowing a specific fanfic version of certain characters

As in I can literally point to the fic they actually read

And so the “hey, maybe read some canon” is more of an attempt to be able to connect and be able to share something that DC people enjoy, and apparently falsely assumed people from the DP side would also enjoy on the basis that they keep using the characters

It’s wanting to discuss, and play around with these characters on a higher level, to help branch out and help creat more content, but are unable to because there’s about five plots a significant portion of the fandom know how to use these characters for

You shouldn’t have to do an extensive amount of research or anything to partake or create content for fandom. It’s meant to be fun and should be fun

But it’s weird to see a sizable portion of the fandom actively avoid half of the crossover

DPxDC and OOC

I've had a couple of posts cross my dash recently where people lament that a lot of the dpxdc fandom writes characters very OOC and how we're proliferating these characterizations among each other. I figured I'd add my own two cents.

I think the fundamental discrepancy comes from trying to reconcile two canons with vastly different tones.

Danny Phantom is a comedy superhero show operating on cartoon logic. Why do ghost experts Jack and Maddie never realize their own kid is a ghost? Why is the status quo restored at the end of every episode? Why does Danny shoot an ectoblast out of his butt that one time? Because it's funny. It's cartoony action fun where the plot is resolved in 22 minutes, there's never any lasting consequences and it's aimed at kids.

DC meanwhile wants to be taken Seriously. Heroes get beaten within an inch of their life, traumatized, killed and even the good guys do messed up things (often to each other). Yes there's action and puns, but also horrific violence, actions have consequences and it's (mostly) aimed at adults. When a main character dies the comics show their family and friends mourning and things are very dramatic. Even though at this point we, the audience can pretty much expect every death to be undone within 2-5 years of publishing, but I digress.

So how do we, the fanfic/fanart creators reconcile these differences when we make our crossovers? We either make DP more serious and somber, or we make DC more comedic.

Suddenly we have a DP verse where the Fentons' bumbling obliviousness is elevated to serious neglect or outright abuse. The GiW are no longer a minor annoyance, they are a serious threat with genocidal plans and a desire to vivisect the protagonist. When actions have consequences, we imagine Danny as dealing with serious PTSD from having to be a solo superhero and witnessing his family's death that one time (and maybe also getting vivisected). Danny is not just a teen superhero, he's now the Ghost King with serious responsibility on his shoulders.

On the flipside, if we make DC more comedic we tend to exaggerate character traits for comedic effect, focus more on the interpersonal dynamics (especially the Batfam) and have the characters act more casual and silly. Suddenly the Batfam goes from a group of seriously messed up individuals who have trouble communicating with each other and fight all the time to Batdad "Kids if you don't stop killing criminals you won't get dessert ffs" Bruce. Violence is played for laughs instead of taken seriously. Yeah they fight, but they still Love Each Other.

And THIS IS PERFECTLY FINE. It's transformative work! And trying to reconcile these disparate fandoms is hard! Fandom is a labor of love. We do it for free. We do it for our own entertainment. And no one is forcing you to read fics you don't like. DLDR and all that.

[mirroralchemist]

June 2021 Writing update

Nevermind this is like the last day of June this is coming out 

Word Count: 945 Fandom: FFXIV Notes: I had been working on my semi-sequel to Bound by Fate these past few weeks and I kinda reached an emotionalish part of it so I figured I give a snippet. It’s not the actual part but I figured I’d show a bit of domesticated UriWoL

I paused at hearing the faint sounds of movement echoing. Of course, it could only belong to the only other occupant.  I followed the sounds until I found myself in a kitchenette of sorts. The scent of foods being prepared wafted in the air. Amidst that and the sounds of cookware being used, I heard the faint hum of a melody. One of which I did not readily recognize. I focused on the source of the melody, Urianger. It seemed he hadn't realized my presence just yet. I stared quietly as he seemingly hummed to himself while dicing some meat.

Devoid of the jewelry that adorns his form, I took notice of the actual shapes of his body. It was a rare treat to see him in such a relaxed posture.

It brought a smile to me to see the Elezen in such a mood. I could say this for all of my friends to be honest. After everything dealing with the Primordial Light, especially my own trials with it, we all could be at peace. For the present at least. I gave a knock on the door frame to finally announce my presence. He shook in surprise before laying down the knife.

"I hadn't realized you awakened."

"I've only been for a short while. I needed to walk around a bit."

"I see…"

I made my way closer to the man. There I could see more of what he was doing. He was in the midst of chopping lean meat into a grounded consistency. The various vegetables were laying on the counter top, waiting to be cut. I could see a bowl of finely milled breadcrumbs off to the side.

"Meatballs," he said, "I surmised that you could be wanting for food after your ordeal. My culinary skills, as meager as they are, should be sufficient for such a task."

I didn't hide my surprise at the reasoning. The blush came back at the thought of someone cooking solely for me. I was instantly reminded of Thancred's words that day. There was no turning back from seeing this act in a completely different light.

"Thank you," I stammered out, "Let me at least assist in the preparations. I am well enough for at least that."

He had opened his mouth to try and speak. No doubt to try and deter me from offering my assistance. I knew him long enough to sense his intent. He paused as if deep in thought. Eventually a small breath of air left him instead.

"If you are so intent...I do require some assistance in preparing the vegetables."

With a small grateful smile, I went to prepare myself to help. After cleaning my hands and tying back my hair, I took a clean knife and set about chopping the vegetables. We worked in mutual silence as we prepared the meal. Despite my attention being focused on the task, it didn't escape my notice that I would catch Urianger glancing at me from my peripheral before he would settle back to his own task. It all felt very domesticated; it could make one forget our lifelong duties.

Despite that, there was this feeling of pleasant contentment swelling inside. It really had been so long I had been able to just relax and stow away at such idle activities.

Even before he became more active in the fields, Urianger and I always seemed to work well together on those rare moments we partnered up. This was no different. At the pace we worked, it took little time for us to complete all the food preparations and place the sizable portions in the oven.

"It may take some time before the meal is fully cooked," he said while cleaning, "If you'd prefer, you can help yourself to the multitude of tomes within while we wait."

I nodded. It did sound mighty tempting, not having the opportunity to read for leisure in quite some time. It gave me passing nostalgia of his offer of the same back home.

After all, it was how we became comfortable around one another when I first started within the Scions.

He must have remembered too, if that wry smile was anything to go by.

But alas, I had another idea on the agenda.

"May I touch your hair?"

"Pardon?"

There was no concealing the stunned confusion in his expression. I would have taken some mild pleasure in catching him so rarely off-guard. If not for the fact I was nervous about my request.

"Your hair," I clarified, "I would like to touch it. For a project I'm working on."

He fell silent the moment my request sank in. I looked away knowing how odd it was to request it so spontaneously.

"Oh. Alright."

I turned towards him. He met my gaze with his own. There was little hiding the faint blush that dusted his cheeks. I reached up to touch his hair only to find that my fingertips barely touched enough of his ends. He noticed the issue with our height difference soon enough. With a chuckle he bent down enough for me to get a fuller grasp of his hair.

It was so...soft.

I marveled at how his locks flowed through my fingers. It may even be softer than my own blue locks. I moved my fingers upward until the tips were touching his scalp. He emitted a groan at the contact. I began to pull away but his hand on my wrist stopped me. At that same time, he leaned more into my touch. My heart nearly skipped a beat at this affectionate side of him. Reluctantly I drew my hand back.

"T-thanks."

[the-odd-job]

Harem AU Chapter 2 - Descent to Depravity

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers Characters: Megatron, Sideswipe, Sunstreaker, Rumble, Frenzy, Ravage, Motormaster, Vortex, Wildrider, Brawl, Unnamed Characters Relationships: Megatron/Sideswipe, Megatron/Sunstreaker,  Motormaster/Sideswipe, Motormaster/Sunstreaker (extra brief), Wildrider/Sideswipe, Vortex/Sunstreaker, Brawl/Sunstreaker, Ravage/Sunstreaker, Frenzy/Rumble/Sideswipe, Sideswipe/Unnamed Characters, Sunstreaker/Unnamed Characters Additional Tags: Sticky, Throatfuck/Deepthroat, Oral Sex, Gangrape, Purging, Humiliation, Size Difference, Double Penetration in One Hole, Penetration from Both Ends, (Mild-ish) Torture, Face Slapping, Physical Abuse Words: 11799

Did I just write over ten thousand words of nonstop rape? Yes. Yes I did.

Sideswipe’s portion with Megatron I already posted once here and it’s only gone through some very minor edits, but there’s... A lot of stuff added around it.

Complete Chapter 1 can be found here. Chapter 3 I already posted here, though it may still go through some minor revisions. Revised Chapter 3 is here!

Sunstreaker had never seen anything quite like it. The room was beyond spacious, decked up in warm colors that washed away any chill it might’ve otherwise had. Poles, thin enough for him to have wrapped his arms around, rose up from wall to ceiling at steady intervals, although he in all of his lack of knowledge about architecture didn’t think they looked strong enough to actually support the ceiling.

What were they there for, instead?

At the center of the room there were several tables grouped together in a rectangle with an empty center, clearly intended for mecha larger than him and Sideswipe.

They had no chairs around them, though. Instead, a little ways away from the tables, there were large pillows and thick mattresses strewn about the floors, surrounding the tables completely.

But as much as the surroundings caught his attention, they didn’t keep it.

Because the room was occupied by several mecha, almost all of them larger than they were, almost all of them with red optics. They were standing along the walls or reclined on the pillows and mattresses. There were drinks and conversation–

But it all halted when they were shoved in through the doors that closed decisively right behind them. There was music coming from somewhere, but for a second it was the only sound in the room.

Then… Engines began to rev, and one particularly sizable mech in brown-grey and black spread his arms and said something in Kaonite. They didn’t understand a word, but something made it seem like a greeting.

The other mecha in the room laughed.

Sunstreaker growled in warning, but a few of the mechs closer to them began to approach them regardless. Sideswipe shrank away, back against the door, and Sunstreaker only barely kept himself from doing the same.

But he managed to push through the fright and trepidation in their spark and stood his ground.

The mechs made a grab for them when they got close enough, but both him and Sideswipe dodged out of the way in their respective directions. It only got them more laughter and more mecha stalked their way until there were no more ways to go that didn’t have waiting arms ready to catch them. 

Sunstreaker’s face pulled into an ugly snarl and Sideswipe’s engine was growling with fear and anger as they pressed against each other in the center of a circle of hungry mecha. The big one that had spoken up earlier said something, and another equally massive mech that looked like they turned into a tank of some sort also spoke up.

The mecha around them made noises of disappointment right before the circle closed on them entirely and harsh servos clamped on their plating.

“Get your fragging servos off of me!” Sunstreaker growled at once and Sideswipe cursed the lot of them next to him.

They just laughed and dragged them to the center of the room, past the mattresses, all the way to the tables. The two big mechs came closer as the brothers were shoved against the tables onto their fronts—and then all of the smaller mecha moved away.

Before they could beat it the hell out of there now that there were no hands holding them, the two brutes had already closed in.

Sunstreaker was forced back against the tabletop by the tank, and the other big mech did the same to Sideswipe, bringing one of his brother’s arms behind his back for good measure.

Then he bent that arm until joints were stressed, and even past that point until pain multiplied in Sideswipe’s frame and he cried out.

Much to the amusement of everyone else in the room, from the sounds of things. 

Sunstreaker counted himself lucky that he was only pressed against the table by his neck, held there by a grip applying enough pressure he knew he’d never be able to push himself free of it under his own power.

He tried anyway. “Let go of me, you fragging scrapyard reject!”

His struggles didn’t get him anything more than an amused rumble. The mech holding Sideswipe outright laughed, although Sunstreaker wasn’t sure if that was aimed at him or his brother. Sideswipe had stilled, venting hard under the pain in his straining arm.

They both knew where this was going. There wasn’t any uncertainty about it even before Sunstreaker felt a servo slipping to his aft, slapping it with a clang of metal that made him jolt, then venturing further. A growl rose in his throat. “Hands off.”

He went completely unheard. Thick claws dug into the small seams of his valve cover, pushed in, and ripped it clean off. Sunstreaker grunted, but refused to give anyone the satisfaction of hearing him scream.

Sideswipe did release a muffled yell when the same was done to him despite Sideswipe’s own words of refusal. The onlookers laughed once more and the mech holding his twin purred—at Sideswipe’s sounds, at his pain, at his helplessness, Sunstreaker wasn’t sure which. Or maybe all of them. 

There were two clicks of an interface panel retracting, one directly behind him, another off to the side. Sideswipe’s engine stalled for a moment before he bucked, ignoring the pain in his arm in a desperate bid for a miracle that would see him free. “NO! Don’t you fragging– Keep that thing away from me! Stop!”

Sunstreaker fought against the hold on him too, loud and clear in not consenting... But neither had any success beyond amusing the mecha around them.

Then the tip of something massive pressed against Sideswipe’s dry valve entrance, slowly forcing its way in. Sideswipe’s whine gained in volume as the spike pushed in deeper, scraping against every sensor, stretching the mesh and spreading the calipers around it to a combined effect that was nothing but agony. His brother wailed towards the end of the long and arduous moments his assailant took to sheathe his spike in the frame far too small for it. “Get the slag off of him!” Sunstreaker raged, fighting against the hold on him, but no one reacted to it with anything more than amusement.

As much as every Cybertronian was built with size difference in mind considering the vast size range of their species, there were physical limits to everything.

And Sideswipe’s limits were pushed, and pushed past. His frame could accommodate the length of the spike inching into him, but not the width. His hips might have spread at the seams designed for the very purpose, but just as quickly they were spread too far until there was nothing but pain left. His valve was filled past capacity, the walls trying and failing to fit the spike stretching him—and forced to do so anyway. 

Sunstreaker didn’t know what to say beyond yelling at them to stop it—didn’t know what to do except feel every excruciating second right along with his brother.

Around them the mecha were chatting, leering, pointing and laughing, calling out over the general noise, just… Enjoying themselves.

Sideswipe was sobbing by the time the mech had seated his entire spike into his brother, his groin flush with Sideswipe’s aft. 

As soon as that was true, he was already pulling back and Sideswipe cried out all over again at the rough scrape of a too large intrusion against desert dry walls. If they weren’t built so sturdy, Sunstreaker was sure Sideswipe’s entire valve would’ve gotten ripped straight out.

He didn’t know how much better this was. The mech shoved himself back in after he’d pulled himself all the way out and Sideswipe didn’t manage to stay silent as he was split open all over again, his thrashing frame only adding to the pain via the arm pressed to his back at an unnatural angle.

“This one’s a screamer,” the mech raping his twin laughed in standard as he set up a punishing pace that definitely drew a lot of noise from Sideswipe.

But it was overwhelming. Sideswipe was no stranger to rough interfacing, but this went so far beyond that.

This was just...  Madness. Sunstreaker could barely think straight from the pain and distress flooding their spark, and Sideswipe was doing much worse. The torrent almost distracted him from the words the two mechs were exchanging.

Almost. “Why don’t you try that one?” The tone of the mech abusing his brother was nothing short of lecherous, and Sunstreaker barely had the chance to feel a burst of alarm before the tank behind him shoved in and rammed his spike all the way into his valve in one violent thrust. His hips clanged against Sunstreaker’s aft even as his back arched off the table, or tried to, despite the grip holding him down.

Conscious thought was overridden for a moment by the desperate need to get away, to escape the explosion of pain in his groin and up his frame. Static filled his vision when the mech drew back without even a second’s pause, only to repeat the whole process and drive him into a land of anguish. 

But he didn’t make a sound. His vocalizer seemed to have forgotten how to function.

“Ah, he’s a quiet one,” he could hear through his pained delirium, and all of a sudden he really wished the mecha had continued speaking Kaonite. He didn’t need to hear any of this.

“I like those better,” the mech assaulting his frame rumbled. “It makes it more rewarding when they finally do scream.”

Primus, neither of them had ever hurt this much, and definitely not this intimately. Sideswipe was only spitting static at this point as he was driven into time and time again, his walls chafing raw, sensors abused past their ability to perceive anything as pleasure.

Sunstreaker grit his denta as he was given the same treatment, but he would not give them the satisfaction of screaming. The way his engine hitched and revved unevenly was bad enough, giving some voice to the agony raging in his lower frame. But even through that he could see the other mecha in the room, stroking their spikes while watching them hungrily.

And he feared he knew what they were waiting and preparing for. 

He would’ve probably felt fear at the thought, if he had been able to push feelings past the hurt overcoming their spark from both sides. He was pretty sure both of their afts were going to dent from the way the two mechs chased their pleasure with no need for their comfort—or maybe in an attempt to make this as bad for them as they could.

Sunstreaker had to give it to them, they were doing a good job of that. Not that it was difficult when they were already too big for them to take.

They lasted longer than he would’ve ever believed them to, too. It was like they were already so used to doing things like this they knew how to draw it out, and maybe they were used to it—maybe he and Sideswipe were far from the only ones dragged here for the lot of them to use them as their playthings.

How many of their predecessors had walked out of here alive?

But eventually there was a burst of warmth in the depths of his valve, registering as nothing but searing hurt against his abraded sensors. His frame was shivering when the tank pulled out and released him, and Sunstreaker tried to get up the instant he was no longer pinned down.

He got far enough to turn around, just in time for another mech to approach him—barely a helm shorter than the previous one.

Sunstreaker didn’t want him anywhere near him anymore than he’d wanted the last one. Reflexes kicked in, literally, and he kicked with both pedes at the mech once he came within range. The mech—another tank—stumbled a step back from the force of his double kick, though given their size difference it was probably only because he hadn’t been expecting it.

His first rapist laughed. “Careful, Brawl. This one’s feisty.”

Sunstreaker bared his denta at the both of them, growling hard.

“I’ll frag that out of him yet,” Brawl threatened with a snarl of his own, stepping forward again. This time he was prepared for Sunstreaker’s kick and kept coming in spite of it, proving at once that his strength really was no match. His legs were grabbed and spread, a spike was bared, and then he was impaled all over again before he’d had the time to do more than dig his claws into the seams on the larger mech’s chestplates.

It didn’t hurt any less this time, and his processors swam too badly from the simple pain of it for him to put up a proper fight when his wrists were grabbed, his arms pulled above his helm and slammed against the table until he was laying supine across its surface.

And then he was in perfect display for the mech, Brawl, to frag him at a pace that rivaled the previous mech’s.

He was somewhat distracted from his own frame’s suffering by the splash of transfluid into Sideswipe’s valve, burning him just as it had burned Sunstreaker. The mech with his attention on Sideswipe pulled out, and there was a brief moment of relief before dread took over—for a good reason, it turned out. Sideswipe wasn’t released even for a moment as Sunstreaker had been, but instead turned around until it was his helm facing the spike that had just finished battering him.

“Lick it clean.” 

Sunstreaker’s engine revved harder in unison with Sideswipe’s staticky but furious words. “Lick it yourself!”

There was laughter across the room, and someone piped up with, “You really think that’s gonna work, Motormaster? You’re just gonna get bitten!”

Motormaster growled, a sound that was pure aggression and nothing else. “Let’s do it your way, then.” He grabbed Sideswipe by the helm and slammed it against the table, his helmet barely even withstanding the force of the impact. He groaned weakly, but Sunstreaker could still feel the fight in him even as his focus was partially torn from Sideswipe by a particularly hard thrust into his own frame.

Force of will kept his vocalizer silent even as every slam of hips against his turned more painful with Brawl’s nearing overload. 

When he’d managed to push that aside enough to concentrate on his brother again, Motormaster had already gotten his mouth open, Sideswipe’s daze too deep for him to have prevented that. But he was still ways from giving up, and as soon as Motormaster’s spike was directed into his open mouth, Sideswipe bit down on it.

As hard as he could manage.

And this time it wasn’t Sideswipe that made sound. Motormaster roared in fury even as the mecha in the room laughed in a chorus to that one mech’s, “I told you so!”

But Sideswipe was the one that paid the price. It wasn’t just one time his helm was slammed against the table after Motormaster had removed his spike from the proven dangerous mouth.

No, Motormaster repeated the motion again, and again, and again, until someone yelled, “Don’t beat him unconscious! That’s no fun!”

Motormaster did find the restraint to stop at that, but he’d already gotten what he wanted. Sideswipe was mostly out of it and couldn’t resist this time when Motormaster opened his mouth and thrust in.

All the way in. Sideswipe’s throat stretched far and wide when the massive spike forced its way into it, and Sunstreaker was very relieved Sideswipe wasn’t alert enough to fully appreciate the feeling of it. The only upside to this was that there was actual lubricant in his mouth where there had been none on his valve, but that did nothing to the fact throats weren’t designed for fragging. There was nothing in place to aid the tubing and the calipers to adjust to the massive girth that had suddenly been forced down Sideswipe’s intake.

On the next draw out a pained moan managed to work its way from Sideswipe’s vocalizer despite the snail pace of his thoughts. “That’s right! Show ‘em who’s boss!” someone yelled from the rowdy crowd and Sunstreaker bucked up beneath Brawl’s frame, in some effort to… He wasn’t sure what.

“Get the frag away from him!”

Some effort to help his brother, but he had no idea how he would have done that. They were outnumbered and outmatched, at the nonexistent mercy of these mecha.

And as if Sideswipe wasn’t already going through enough, another mech—although this one blessedly a grounder in their own size class—hopped onto the table and went behind him. Sideswipe’s legs were grabbed and spread to give the grounder room between them.

“Aft up, you little whore,” he grinned before grabbing Sideswipe by the hips and hauling his lower body higher.

He had to keep it there himself, because as much as Sideswipe tried to fight to regain his senses, he was still hopelessly far from having full control over his frame.

“I’m getting ideas here,” yet another mech spoke up, drawing Sunstreaker’s attention back to his own frame. He glanced towards the voice at a rotorflier that climbed over the tables to the empty space in the middle of them. 

And headed for Sunstreaker. 

“Give him here.”

“Frag off, Vortex,” Brawl growled, but all the same Vortex came over and snatched Sunstreaker’s arms from Brawl’s hold, tugging him to the other side of the table until his helm fell over the edge.

It did remove Brawl’s spike from his valve, and Sunstreaker closed his legs as soon as he could. The tank made a noise of aggravation but didn’t bother climbing up to the table.

Someone else did bother, but he couldn’t see them from the rotorflier grabbing his helm.

It freed one of his arms though, and he instantly dug his claws into the nearest gap of plating.

Vortex moaned. “I love it when they fight.”

“You fragging masochist,” the mech at his lower end snorted, a second before his legs were grabbed and pulled apart no matter how hard he tried to keep them closed. He suspected with a great deal of trepidation that it was once again someone considerably larger than him, and that was confirmed without any excess delay when another spike far too big for him entered his body.

He bit back the groan that wanted to rise from his vocalizer, intent on denying them his voice. His servo fell to try to push Vortex away instead, not that he really expected that to work. Although not as large as some of the others, Vortex was still considerably larger than him.

Almost everyone was.

The rotorflier’s sharpened claws dug into Sunstreaker’s faceplates, but he kept his mouth stubbornly closed for all the good it did. Vortex had already admitted he liked his resistance, but Sunstreaker couldn’t bring himself to just give in, no matter how much it might’ve denied the other some of his pleasure.

Whoever it was between his legs wasn’t moving near as fast as the previous two. Nothing could erase the constant, tearing pain of having his frame pushed past its limits, but the slower pace was at least… Not quite as bad. It was no reprieve and he had to fight himself with every thrust to keep his vocalizer silent, but it could be even worse.

Somehow that thought wasn’t a particularly big comfort.

Claws pushed into his mouth past his lips and dug into the gaps between his tightly clenched denta as a distraction from what was happening to his valve, eventually prying his mouth open despite the strength of his biting jaws. A spike was slipped past his parted lips in short order, and taking a cue from Sideswipe, Sunstreaker bit it as soon as he could.

But instead of rewarding anger, he got another moan—and maybe the other mech hadn’t been exaggerating when he’d called Vortex a masochist.

Pits, how did you even fight a mech that enjoyed it when you fought? He could give him pleasure by resisting, or he could give him pleasure by letting him use his frame.

It was a win-win for the rotorflier, and a lose-lose for Sunstreaker.

The spike was shoved deeper despite the scrape of his denta and Sunstreaker gagged hard when it hit the back of his throat. He’d never let anyone push that deep the sparse times he’d even agreed to give someone oral, never having liked the feeling of it.

Now there was no agreeing to anything. His denta clamped down tighter, Vortex moaned louder, and the spike was thrust deeper no matter what he did. It slipped down his throat and his gag reflex went haywire in an instant, pushing out the contents of his tanks with no further warning and no fanfare.

Raucous laughter echoed in the room when what energon he’d had in his tanks pushed past his stretched lips, splattering across Vortex’s groin and legs, and dripping down Sunstreaker’s face.

“That was fast,” the rotorflier commented, not sounding particularly displeased over the mess. Sunstreaker felt nothing more than disgust though, and wanted to wipe even some of it off his face—but when he tried, his arm was caught and pinned to the table.

The mech at his valve increased his pace for a final few thrusts before he felt more transfluid paint his valve walls, diverting his mind for a precious second.

Then Vortex started to move and his attention was snapped right back to his upper end. Sunstreaker’s thoughts scattered to the four winds as his helm was grabbed with two servos and the rotorflier began to use his mouth like he wasn’t a living thing at all. He tried to buck, but someone else was already positioning themselves between his legs, pinning him in place and grabbing his momentarily freed arms before he could put them to use.

The need to get away was overwhelming under the assault on his mouth—harsh, jarring thrusts, violent withdraws, his throat forced open with every push in until the tubing felt bruised and his calipers stopped resisting.

It wasn’t often that his fight or flight instinct was triggered. Now it was all he could think about. He didn’t know where to focus, on his mouth or on his valve, the two points he was rocked between when the mechs used him with no coordination between them. “You hate this, don’t you?” Vortex panted at him, a damned grin in his voice.

The answer would have been a resounding yes, were he in the position or mood to answer.

----------------------------------------------------------

Pain, pain, and more pain. That was all Sideswipe knew at this point. His valve—surprisingly, that wasn’t hurting terribly much. Someone was fragging him, hard, but from the feel of things they were someone he would’ve even, you know, agreed to berth under better circumstances. His valve was beyond sore from Motormaster’s treatment and the worn walls and sensors didn’t appreciate any manner of intrusion, but at least his specs weren’t pushed.

Down there. His mouth was an entirely different matter.

His helm throbbed from the times Motormaster had seen fit to slam it against the surprisingly unforgiving table, but even that was nothing compared to what his throat was going through.

He was getting a good taste of the larger grounder’s sheer cruelty. Motormaster moved fast and hard like a mech possessed, completely disregarding the fact he was pushing Sideswipe’s frame past capacity. His faceplates were drawn tight over the girth of the massive spike, but that he could’ve handled.

He couldn’t handle the relentless assault on his intake, getting worse and worse the more of his faculties he managed to gather. It made him think that maybe he didn’t want to be conscious after all.

But then he wouldn’t know what they’d do to his frame.

Then he wouldn’t be there for Sunstreaker.

As little as he was being there for Sunstreaker right now. He couldn’t even focus on what was happening to Sunstreaker, not when Motormaster shoved his massive spike down his throat over and over. Tears streamed down his face. “Ha, look at the little bitch cry! Aw, what’s the matter? Never had it that big before?” someone cackled.

The tubing of his intake was beyond raw at this point, despite the oral lubricant trying to pave the way. His calipers ached. He couldn’t keep himself from gagging every few push in, his frame tensing in painful waves. Warnings about minor tears and unnatural stretching were blinking on his HUD, as if he could’ve done anything about that.

It hurt. He wanted it to stop, and that feeling kept growing as the torture continued on and his senses returned to him. He tried to pull away as soon as he could, but Motormaster growled and held his helm tight. “Don’t go anywhere, you little slut. This is what you’re here for, better deliver.”

Or else? What could be worse than this?

So he struggled all the same, trying to jerk his hips away from the spike drilling into his valve, only for claws to dig tighter into his plating. “Hey! Stay still, whore.” His aft was slapped. He jerked.

But there wasn’t much beyond that that he could try to do. Motormaster had caught both of his arms and held them at the small of his back with no notable effort no matter how Sideswipe tried to twist free.

And he kept fragging his mouth, no doubt intent on punishing him for his insolence. 

This is what you’re here for.

Two wet holes as receptacles for their spikes and spunk? Was that it?

He didn’t want to be that, but with Motormaster at his helm, he didn’t really have any options. Maybe he could’ve struggled more against someone else, but Primus, the mech was big and strong and knew just how to hurt. His spike kept on ramming down his throat, and as much as Sideswipe would’ve wanted to bite again, his jaw felt numb from the treatment.

Wholly uncooperative, abused beyond its limits.

“Ugh, you really loosened the bitch up,” the mech pumping his valve grunted, slapping his aft again. Sideswipe could barely focus on it past the pain of his intake, but he put in the effort to make out the words. “Wildrider! Come help me out.”

...Wait.

Wait wait wait.

Sideswipe tried to wrench away at the idea, the possibility that his addled mind presented him with. Motormaster held his grip, though, and released his arms enough to strike the side of his helm, dazing him all over again. “What did I just tell you?!”

Don’t go anywhere, yeah yeah, he remembered.

Frag him if he was just going to do as he was told!

...That was exactly what was happening wasn’t it.

He did manage to disturb the mech using his valve, which was a small victory. And extremely short lived, because before he knew it, a third mech was climbing onto the table. “Get beneath him,” the mech behind him said, and Sideswipe thought his idea of where this was headed was becoming more and more likely. 

And he wanted nothing to do with it, loosened valve or not.

But Motormaster kept a hold of his helm, kept being one painful distraction, and he couldn’t think of enough things to do to escape the situation. He tried to push the new mech away when they got closer, but Motormaster caught his arms again, lifting his frame by them to give Wildrider the room to slip beneath him.

It strained his shoulders. It hurt.

So did his throat.

And Motormaster kept on thrusting like he was going to last forever.

Wildrider wiggled his way under his frame, a mech about the same size as he was. Sideswipe could feel his spike brushing his abdomen, and he again tried to jerk even just his lower frame away—but the one with their spike buried in his valve had his claws hooked into the gaps of his armor and rode out his struggles. He was made to straddle Wildrider’s thighs as the fellow grounder settled.

Motormaster jerked hard against his face, pulling Sideswipe’s thoughts back to the abuse his mouth was being put through. He ground against his face, pushing his hips forward and pulling Sideswipe’s helm against his pelvis hard enough that Sideswipe wasn’t sure he wasn’t going to get crushed like this.

Then he could feel searing bursts of transfluid down his throat too, and he couldn’t keep his frame from acting anymore. He gagged, except this time the motion ran through the whole way, forcing the contents of his tank back up—washing the transfluid from his throat on the same go, at least.

He wasn’t sure if his regurgitation would’ve even made it past the unforgiving stretch Motormaster’s spike was, but he pulled out just then until only his spike tip remained in his mouth, allowing his puke to follow him out. “Aw, he didn’t swallow,” someone off to the side said in disappointment.

Motormaster wasn’t as disappointed. “That’s it, you bitch,” he growled instead, releasing his hold on his helm as the mix of transfluid and energon came out to taint his groin and Sideswipe’s face. He reached down and smeared it further on his face, rubbing the humiliation deeper into his struts.

Then a second spike pushed its way into his valve and Sideswipe jerked forward despite himself, driving Motormaster’s spike back down his throat, and regretting the motion instantaneously when his frame heaved again. Not that there was much to bring back up anymore.

The room burst out into laughter. “He likes you, Motormaster!”

“That’s a good whore, throat him again!”

And the second spike squeezed into his valve. He could feel the vibrations of Motormaster’s amusement.

They’d said his valve was looser now, but it didn’t feel like that was true at all. Sideswipe sobbed as he was stretched wide all over again and the two mechs began to thrust in unison, not any more cautious than what he had expected them to be. It didn’t hurt that much less than Motormaster, not when their angles of entry hit different parts of his valve, jabbing in horribly.

But Motormaster pulled out, slapping his face on the withdrawal before he turned and walked away like nothing major had happened.

Like he hadn’t just raped him on both ends. 

But there was nothing holding him in place now except the grip on his hips, and neither mech currently abusing his valve was any larger than he was. This time when Sideswipe yanked forward, he was able to pull away from their hold, dislodging the spikes from his valve and scrambling off the table to sounds of indignation from the two mechs.

Everyone else was either laughing or whistling, not looking that perturbed that he’d escaped them.

Temporarily. Which way was out? How could he have even gotten there? There were mecha all around him; there was barely a gap that wasn’t in someone’s grabbing distance.

He headed for one of those anyway, dashing between two mecha that didn’t look like they were that ready to catch him.

Surprisingly, he got past them and into the room beyond, only to stumble and turn partially around at the sound of one familiar cry.

Sunstreaker never screamed.

But as soon as he focused back on his twin, pain assaulted him and knocked him onto his knees. His vision swam from the amount of it, sending his thoughts into utter disorganization.

Primus, what the pit were they doing to him?

No, not them.

Just one mech. 

The rotorflier had his spike down Sunstreaker’s throat—Sunstreaker hated giving oral—and his claws buried in the gaps of Sunstreaker’s armor.

Not… Not just claws. A prod of some sort too. Or was it a knife?

Whatever it was, the mech was expertly using it to hit sensors they didn’t even know they’d had, sending current through them hard enough that there was no way in a million years it could’ve registered as pleasure.

“Be careful with that thing, Vortex!” he could hear over the noise in the rest of the room. “I don’t want to get shocked.”

“Yeah, yeah, I’ll watch it.”

Another deep thrust, down his throat, up his valve, stab of sharp claws against sensitive components, armor plates bent out of alignment, another burst of current. Sunstreaker’s scream was a hoarse thing as his frame jerked in a desperate attempt to escape the torture inflicted on it.

It was no good.

“Hah, twins are the best! Look at this wench. Vortex, keep hurting that bitch!” Servos grabbed him and Sideswipe was pulled back into his own frame as he was unceremoniously hauled upright, then thrown onto one of the mattresses covering the floor and providing seating for the mecha present. He sprawled onto it.

“Someone keep him down, we want to have a turn,” he heard someone say, turning his helm to watch two little mechs approach him.

Symbiotes.

Too small to hold him down themselves.

Sideswipe got back to his pedes as quickly as his frame allowed him to despite the bursts of pain in his groin, and made another run for it. It didn’t look like anyone had expected him to get that far that fast, and he managed to slip from the circle of mecha all over again. 

The only question was where to from there. There were several doors leading to locations unknown, but they were all closed, and he had no idea which were locked to top.

And… He couldn’t really leave Sunstreaker, could he?

His spark was pulsing in his chassis, fear and hurt mixing with powerlessness. He didn’t know which way was out, and even if he had, he couldn’t have left without Sunstreaker.

He was so stuck.

And there were mecha all around the room, watching him with amusement even as some of their comrades started to approach him.

What could he do?

Trying not to get raped again would be a good start.

Even if he was pretty sure that was an effort doomed to fail.

Sideswipe endeavored to stay one step ahead of them, dodging around the room and trying hard to ignore Sunstreaker’s muffled sounds of pain he tried to bite back—Sideswipe could feel him trying to bite them back, but failing anyway as Vortex flat out tortured him. 

And the rotorflier was getting off on it too, his thrusts into Sunstreaker’s mouth turning more and more arrhythmic.

If Sideswipe thought about any of that, he wouldn’t he able to stay out of the reach of the servos making grabs at him–

But he was already thinking about it.

Three mechs cornered him against one wall, blocking his escape routes and just taking a hold of him. He was dragged back to the mattresses and showed into his front on one of them. Sideswipe managed to get his arms under himself, but someone grabbed his wrists and yanked them forward, above his helm, and he faceplanted into the mattress anyway.

Two other mechs caught a leg each, pinning him securely against the mattress.

And the symbiotes closed in again. “Finally. You’re a slippery one, aren’t you,” one of them cackled as they came up behind him, little digits pushing into his valve.

He grunted at the discomfort, but it wasn’t outright pain–

Up until one of them shoved an entire arm up there. Raw sensors lighted up with pain all over again and he tried to pull his hips away with an agonized whine, but the arm just followed him, and he wasn’t allowed enough movement to do anything more than that between the three mechs holding him down.

“Bro, I think we gotta do this together,” the one with their arm in his valve said. Sideswipe could hear the grin in his voice. “He’s all stretched up already. Basic slut, they never stay tight for long.”

“What you donna do!” the other symbiote, the first one’s brother, intoned.

Neither sounded very displeased.

Sideswipe’s only comfort was the thought they were far smaller than the mecha that had already taken their turns with him. This probably wouldn’t hurt as much.

He hoped, anyway.

“Bring the other bitch here!” someone said, and Sideswipe spared a thought to Sunstreaker. His brother was venting heavily, lightly bleeding past his armor from where Vortex had damaged fuel  and coolant lines, but the rotorflier had wandered off by now.

One spike shoved up his valve, then a second, as the symbiotes seated themselves and started fragging him. They had a rhythm about them that made Sideswipe think they were pretty used to fragging mecha together.

It burned, it hurt, but he could bear it.

Sunstreaker was hauled up from the table and shoved towards the mattresses. A moment later he fell next to Sideswipe, aching all over, his throat and valve the greatest points of pain but far from the only ones now. His optics were clearing out though, now that Vortex was done inflicting more damage on him. 

“My turn,” came a hiss somewhere behind them, and when they both turned to look, another symbiote was stalking towards them. This one was a felinoid, walking silently on all fours.

Sunstreaker expected him to aim for his valve, but instead he walked up to his front, and the twin’s spark sank all over again. Maybe it had been too much to hope they’d leave his mouth alone.

Someone else did take the gaping hole between his legs as an invitation though, and hiked his hips higher only to push in. They were big, but not the biggest he’d taken so far. He still moaned in pain, his valve protesting the intrusion and his stubborn silence long shattered. His arms were caught and pulled back, forcing his chest against the mattress.

“He’s just going to bite you,” someone laughed as the felinoid parked in front of him. 

Sunstreaker snarled at him.

The cat snarled right back.

Sunstreaker snarled louder. “You get that spike anywhere near me and you’ll lose it.”

Primus, his valve still burned despite the transfluid being spread around–

The symbiote scoffed. “Empty threats. You’re in no position to resist.”

He wasn’t wrong, but that didn’t mean Sunstreaker wasn’t going to fragging well try.  

He revved a warning when a mech crouched next him, jerking his helm away when they tried to grab it. That earned him a harsh slap on his cheek and his helm was taken a hold of despite himself. A digit pushed into his mouth in short order, lifting his helm upward and forcing his denta apart far enough that the felinoid could rear up, place his front paws on Sunstreaker’s back, and shove his pelvis forward, the spike pushing into his open mouth smoothly.

The intrusion was smaller than any of the spikes he’d taken before that, but that didn’t make him hate it any less.

“He’s gonna bite any second now,” someone guessed.

And that was exactly what Sunstreaker did.

Or tried to, but the mech with their digit in his mouth only wedged it further back, forcing his mouth to stay open. “We’ll see about that,” he smirked, and Sunstreaker glared at him.

The felinoid began to frag his mouth now that there was no danger of injury on his spike, just as the bipedal symbiotes fragged Sideswipe, just as the mech behind him fragged Sunstreaker. None of it was hurting as much as some of the slag they’d already been put through, but that was a despairing thought.

Raped and abused, and the best they could hope for was it’d hurt a little less than it could?

Where was the end to this? Where was their escape?

None of the symbiotes lasted long, though Sunstreaker got the impression that was just because they weren’t even trying to. The bipedal ones with Sideswipe finished first, releasing dual loads of transfluid into his valve before they pulled and slapped their servos together in satisfaction.

Sideswipe was panting, trying to close his legs, but he was held too thoroughly for that to work.

“I don’t want to get down. Someone bring him back to the tables,” a mech out of their field of view said, and in short order Sideswipe was dragged to his pedes by his neck.

But what had they called Sideswipe before? Slippery? His brother managed to tear himself free and staggered away from the mecha trying to grab him, his engine growling as he bolted away from everyone.

There were sounds of amusement all around the room as Sideswipe went back to his game of evasion with their abusers.

Sunstreaker couldn’t focus on it after the symbiote at his mouth started to overload.

Started to, because it didn’t look like it was the short process to him that it was to most others. He humped against Sunstreaker’s face until he could feel the first burst of transfluid down his throat.

And while it just kept coming, far more worrisome was the way the felinoid’s spike started to expand. Sunstreaker thought he imagined it at first, but once his faceplates started to sting from the stretch, he couldn’t deny it.

A knot. The fragger had a modified spike.

And it got to be absolutely massive in comparison to what the spike had been before swelling. It jammed behind his denta, and his faceplates simply didn’t allow him to open his mouth far enough for him to even try to pull off of it. It locked them together in the most humiliating way possible, and all the while transfluid streamed down his intake. The mech at his valve came too, but that barely registered past the desperation of getting away from the spike in his mouth—partway down his throat.

It was no good though, absolutely no good. He could tug all he wanted, but it only earned him irritable growling and a servo at the back of his helm, pushing him against the felinoid’s groin.

There was a mech at his valve again, and he could recognize the voice. “Your brother was pretty good. How about I try you out too? Sluts like you just love big mecha like me, don’t you?” 

Motormaster.

Sunstreaker screamed around the spike stuffing his mouth when he was split open all over again on the mech’s fragging spike–

And Sideswipe’s voice joined his as his brother was penetrated from both ends elsewhere in their torture chamber.

-----------------------------------------------------------

His valve throbbed, and not in the good way.

Sideswipe struggled to swallow through the aching in his throat, staring up at the ceiling and trying so hard to ignore the talk and laughter around him.

Laughter. The bastards were seriously laughing while raping the wits out of them.

And Sideswipe was honestly coming to his wit’s end. There was no end to the spikes they’d shove up his valve or down his throat. He wasn’t sure how long this had lasted already, or how much longer it would last still.

How much he’d endured already, and how much more he would still need to endure.

If there even would be an end to it. What did he know, maybe they’d keep raping them until they died from it. He felt like he was on the long road to that destination, at least. They’d hit and beat him enough times that he felt more than a little dinged. His throat was raw, stretched past capacity by spikes far too large for him. His jaw ached. He couldn’t get the taste of transfluid off his glossa. His valve burned from being penetrated time and time again without there ever being enough lubricant for even the first one.

At least all the transfluid had started to ease the way after a while. It was seeping out of him now, where he lay spread on one of the tables, unable to quite scrounge up the will to move. It was no use anyway. No matter which way he moved, they’d just manhandle him into the position they wanted him in.

He’d tried running enough times to know it would only elicit uproarious laughter before they’d grab him and throw him back to the center of the room.

Running was a little silly, he had to admit that much even to himself. He had no idea where he was or which door would’ve led to somewhere he wanted to be in—if those doors would’ve even been open. It wasn’t much of a wonder they laughed.

But what else was he supposed to do? Fighting hadn’t worked. He was so vastly outnumbered they had no issues whatsoever just pinning him down until he couldn’t fight anymore, and that was if they didn’t alone already mass so much more than him that they could pin him without any help.

Those spikes hurt the worst.

He could hear Sunstreaker’s ragged ventilations off to the side where they’d dumped his brother onto the floor. Sunstreaker hadn’t tried getting up again, and Sideswipe wasn’t sure if that was because he was too hurt to, or because he had similarly come to the conclusion that it really wouldn’t have done any good.

Endure. That was all they could do at this point.

His ventilations hitched, but Sideswipe continued to ignore the tears that streamed from his optics. They’d made fun of those too, when he’d first started crying. By now it was old news and they only laughed if they got him to cry harder with something they did.

But for the moment there was no one touching him beyond the grip that kept his wrists pinned together on the surface of the table—mech wasn’t even paying attention to him anymore—and Sideswipe took the second’s respite it was to pick the pieces of his pride and dignity off the metaphorical floors, dust them off, and store them for a later moment when he might have a chance to try to put them back together.

Now if they’d just let him pick up the physical pieces of himself too. They hadn’t exactly given him the time to retract his valve cover, doubtful as it was that he would’ve done that voluntarily. And maybe that was what they’d figured, that he might not even do it anyway, so just cut the chase and tear it off completely!

What did he even need it for, amirite?

Sideswipe couldn’t quite contain his sob this time around, but luckily no one took notice of it, because one of the sets of double doors opened just then. Sideswipe turned his helm to look, and his spark shrank at the sight of the massive grey mech even he, a certified gamin, could recognize. 

Megatron. The tyrant of Kaon, dictator of the city-state.

Unquestioned ruler of the whole damn place.

Megatron asked something from the room at large in Kaonite—and Sideswipe still couldn’t understand a word of it—his red optics passing between him and Sunstreaker. Sideswipe couldn’t see Sunstreaker himself, but he heard his twin growl. Down but not out.

One of the beatifically grinning lackeys at Sideswipe’s feet responded to Megatron, in Kaonite as well. Sideswipe growled too now, to the tune of more laughter around him.

Megatron was smiling right along with the rest of the room, a genuinely amused expression at complete odds with the usual furious scowl he was depicted with in all the images Sideswipe had seen of him.

He walked into the room like he owned the place, as he did, with mecha moving from his way as surely as if he had had a physical barrier around him keeping everyone at a respectful distance. He walked all the way to where Sideswipe judged Sunstreaker to be laying, then nudged something—Sunstreaker—with his pede.

Like he was shocked, Sunstreaker lunged to his feet with another reverberating snarl. Everyone laughed again, barring Megatron who merely cocked an optical ridge in amusement. The noise only doubled when Sunstreaker stumbled and fell back into the waiting arms of their rapists.

He only growled harder when he was harmlessly caught, but when he tried to jerk away, they wouldn’t let him.

Sideswipe could see him ventilating hard, before his attention was stolen by Megatron again. He was approaching, and with a wave of his servo the mecha scattered from around Sideswipe.

He shot into a sitting position, a sinking feeling in his spark warning him he likely wouldn’t like whatever was going to come next.

Megatron was next to him before he had the time to force his numb limbs into further cooperation. “Let’s see what you have, little one, hmm?” Megatron asked from him in perfect standard, freezing Sideswipe in place with the weight of his red gaze. His spark was spinning in his chest like a mad thing, and he couldn’t but squeak when Megatron grabbed him by the throat in one sudden motion, forcing him back against the table and spinning him in place until his helm faced Megatron’s crotch.

He knew exactly what was going to come next. “NO!” Sideswipe flailed hard, trying to pull and twist himself free from Megatron’s hold, but it was like Megatron didn’t even feel his struggles with how easily he kept his grip. Sideswipe’s servos shot to the wrist of the hand holding his throat, digging his claws on, but if looks were anything to go by, Megatron’s armor was beyond thick.

He probably didn’t even feel it.

But Sideswipe would feel this. His mouth started aching all over again when Megatron retracted his upper modesty panel and let his spike pressurize.

It was just as big as a mech his size should have, which meant nothing short of colossal next to Sideswipe.

And he didn’t want it anywhere near him, not his mouth, not his valve. Desperate, Sideswipe bent his body in half to kick at Megatron with all the force he could muster—what good could that possibly do for him? Primus, he had no idea—but Megatron merely stepped to the side, his grip on Sideswipe’s throat tightening to a threatening degree.

There was no anger, not even annoyance when Megatron said something to his peers. At once Sideswipe’s legs were grabbed and brought back to the table, and pinned there. He tried to kick free, but it did nothing. “Get the frag away from me!” he barked at Megatron, glaring with undisguised hatred and fear at the mech easily more than twice his mass.

This would hurt so, so bad. Tears were streaming from his optics unbidden again and his throat was constricting from more than just Megatron’s hold on it.

There was an uptick at the corner of Megatron’s serene mouth, but that was all. “Enough of that, now. Open.”

Like hell.

Sideswipe bared his clenched denta and growled.

There was more laughter from all around him, but no sound from Megatron. He made up for his silence with action, bringing his free servo around and slipping one of his massive digits past Sideswipe’s lips, all the way to the farthest reach of his mouth where he could jab it in the empty area behind his denta and force his mouth open.

He did it with swiftness and familiarity that made Sideswipe think he’d repeated that same move far too many times before.

Thick digits were shoved into his mouth the moment there was a gap between his denta, and pushed far enough that Sideswipe gagged on them, his back arching off the table. Megatron kept them there for one torturous moment before replacing them with his spike in a move that was similarly so practiced Sideswipe couldn’t help but despair.

And the spike was so much worse. It instantly forced his jaw open wide enough that his faceplates stung from the stretch and Sideswipe screamed as it was rammed straight to the back of his mouth, hitting his throat and making him gag all over again. Except this time it didn’t end there, like it hadn’t any of the times the others had decided to use his mouth.

Megatron pulled him forward enough for his helm to fall off the edge of the table, straightening his throat so that he could shove his spike down it with a jab of his hips. Sideswipe’s servos tightened around the wrist steadily holding him when his intake was stretched far enough that he was surprised it didn’t rupture right away.

It hurt so much, and none of the other spikes had adequately prepared him to take it. Sideswipe cried out, or tried to, but his vocalizer was all but crushed and nothing but a garbled little peal of static came out.

Then Megatron pulled back until only the tip of his spike was still in Sideswipe’s mouth, leaving his throat a gaping hole, just for him to push back in again in the next moment. 

On the next withdrawal, Sideswipe managed a scream, and he could hear a cheer rise in the room. Celebrating his pain.

And Sunstreaker was yelling above it all. “Let the frag go of him you slagger! Leave him be! Fragging– Take me instead, just leave him alone!”

Megatron had to hear, but he paid it no mind. There was no time for Sideswipe to adjust to any of it, if he even physically could have ever, before Megatron had already increased his pace, pulling almost all the way out of his mouth before thrusting back down his throat.

Sideswipe struggled. There was nothing left of conscious effort in his motions, just the primal need to get away from the abuse, from having his burning throat opened up over and over again by something that was never intended to go down it. He flailed, but they had his legs, and Megatron ignored anything his arms did, whether it was hitting, scratching, or gripping.

Eventually it was just gripping, his servos having landed back on Megatron’s arm to do no more than hold on.

Megatron kept fragging his mouth. His gag reflex could only take it for so long before his frame heaved and expelled the contents of his tanks—what little there was left from the past times this had already happened.

Megatron just ignored it, even as Sideswipe’s regurgitation bubbled past the spike stretching his mouth open and streamed down his face. It mixed with tears and oral lubricant, and the old messes of energon and transfluid already painting his face.

There was more casual chatter and laughter in the room, Sideswipe could hear it dimly past the wet sound of having his throat ravaged—past the pain that kept trying to steal all of his focus. 

It hurt. It wouldn’t stop hurting, and Megatron wouldn’t stop thrusting in and out, stretching the pain filled moments just as his throat was being stretched.

He screamed again in another brief moment his throat was temporarily abandoned by Megatron’s spike, and this time he could both hear and feel Megatron rumble, the vibrations traveling down his spike and touching his sore lips. “That’s it, you little bitch,” Megatron growled at him, lowly, quietly, as if only he was supposed to hear. “Cry for me.”  

And Sideswipe did, yelling weakly again only for the sound to get distorted into a bleat of static when Megatron pushed back in. There was no sense to this. No one gave one single damn about his comfort, his pain, his anything, just as long as they could use his body and whatever hole they pleased to take their pleasure. 

Megatron was no different from the rest, and his words were no different from the abuse already hurled at him, but he was the leader. He was the only one who could’ve made this stop, but instead he sanctioned all of it and partook in it himself.

And took pleasure in it. Sideswipe could feel that much in the way Megatron’s thrusts began to eventually stammer and lose their rhythm. He pushed in deep only to grind his hips against Sideswipe’s face in circular motions that brought a new fresh hell of hurt to his stretched throat.

Tears were running from his optics despite how tightly he’d shut them. Megatron pulled out, did a few shallow humps that barely dipped into his throat, then thrust in deep again and circled his hips.

Endure.

That was all he could do, but Sideswipe doubted there would be an end to this. Now or ever. Wasn’t this what they’d been brought in for?

What would be his way out? Death?

He didn’t want to die.

But this didn’t exactly make him want to live either.

Megatron thrust as deep as he could get one more time before gripping Sideswipe’s throat tighter, squeezing him around his spike through one tiny thrust, then another, before Sideswipe could feel the hot pulses of his transfluid deep down his intake. Mistakenly he tried to swallow on reflex, which pulled a pleased rumble from his assailant. The last thing he had wanted, but it was too late by that point. 

Megatron held him there for what felt like an eternity, rubbing his spike through Sideswipe’s throat and milking the last bits of transfluid out of it where Sideswipe refused to swallow again. His mouth twitched around the stretch his lips were forced into while he waited, and cried, and hurt, and silently prayed for it to stop already.

Panic nearly overtook him again when Megatron didn’t stop there but instead rocked his hips with the threat of just fragging continuing. He flailed, but his legs were still obediently pinned by Megatron’s followers, and this time Megatron struck him across the face for the way his arms hit him.

It wasn’t any small strike either. Sideswipe gasped through his vents at the additional pain in what was already a life of torture.

And Megatron continued rocking, moving his hips just so to slide his spike up and down in Sideswipe’s throat.

Sideswipe had already almost drowned in his pit of despair by the time Megatron pulled out and didn’t push back in again. Immediately the contents of Sideswipe’s tanks followed him all over again, though this time it was mostly Megatron’s own transfluid that came out. Some of it splattered onto Megatron’s thighs from the force of its expulsion, but the tyrant utterly ignored it just as he went on to utterly ignore Sideswipe.

Crying, defiled Sideswipe with his face a mess of tears, lubricant, transfluid, and his own vomit. His legs were released, but he didn’t try to move beyond wiping one shaking servo across his sore mouth.

It wasn’t just his servo that was shaking, it was the whole rest of him too. Shivering, interrupted with larger jerks when his sobs took the better of him.

His throat hurt. He wasn’t sure it would ever return back to its normal size, it sure didn’t feel like it had yet. Maybe it would be better if it didn’t, if this was just going to repeat.

And Sideswipe feared this was going to repeat.

“You were so eager to have your turn. Now you’ll have it,” Sideswipe heard Megatron say, and looked past his veil of tears at him. Megatron had turned his attention to Sunstreaker, his spike still standing proudly between his legs, and Sideswipe thought he now knew the purpose of Megatron’s last little jerks: to keep his spike in pressurization so he could rape Sunstreaker next.

“Please,” Sideswipe whispered, but between the pain and fear robbing his voice and his vocalizer only barely functional from the abuse it had taken, he wasn’t sure if anyone even heard him.

Please, not Sunstreaker.

-----------------------------------------------------

“Don’t touch me,” Sunstreaker hissed as Megatron took a step towards him. He jerked in the grasp of the mecha holding him, but they wouldn’t let go of him—keeping him in place as the tyrant approached.

“Changed your mind already?” the grey mech asked, stroking his spike. “Did your brother’s fate make you think twice?”

Megatron knew, he fragging knew what he’d done was messed up.

And he did it anyway.

Sunstreaker growled, trying to pull himself free so he could slug the arrogant fragger straight on his privates.

It didn’t work, but no one was holding his legs.  

The size difference between them was absurd, but Sunstreaker was flexible enough. As soon as the tyrant was close enough, he kicked up, aiming squarely at Megatron’s groin. Unfortunately for him, Megatron had reflexes he couldn’t rightly laugh at. He rendered his kick perfectly harmless with a simple step to the side, grabbing Sunstreaker’s leg instead.

The mechs that had been holding him let go just when Megatron yanked, pulling him entirely off balance and sending him crashing to the floor. His helm hit it with a clang and a blossom of pain, but Sunstreaker managed to keep quiet. He glared up at Megatron as soon as he’d centered his senses again, trying to pull his leg free.

Megatron didn’t let go, though. Instead Sunstreaker was the one that got pulled as the larger mech simply lifted him off the floor by his leg, hanging him upside down.

Sunstreaker stilled for a moment before a growl rumbled in his engine, rising in his volume as his fury grew. “Let the slag go of me!” He tried to kick out with his free leg, but as much as he managed to hit Megatron, it glanced harmlessly off his armor. “Slagging let go of me and I’ll kick your ass back to the assembly line!”

“Fightful,” Megatron said with approval, ratcheting Sunstreaker’s anger all the higher.

But it was fully impotent against the tyrant, just as it had been impotent against his followers before that. He was slammed to the nearest table in short order, his chest impacting with it with enough force that his already sore frame pulsed pain at him from all the sensors tested by Megatron’s subordinates. His vents gasped, but Sunstreaker strangled his vocalizer until no sound emerged.

Whatever satisfaction he could deny from Megatron, he would. 

“Has my court turned you into enough of a whore yet?” Megatron asked casually as he grabbed both of Sunstreaker’s arms and pulled them behind his back, shackling his wrists together with one servo.

He’d been in a similar position tonight more times than he cared to count.

“Frag off,” Sunstreaker growled, and fought against the tight grip on him despite how futile he knew that to be. “Don’t whores usually get paid, anyway?”

“You’re paid by being allowed to keep your life,” Megatron rumbled at him, just at the edge of outright laughter. Sunstreaker revved until his engine hurt. There was little left of fear anymore, drowned out by sheer rage.

Yet there was nothing he could do about any of it.

Megatron pulled his hips up, placed one of his own pedes on the table’s edge, and drove into his valve.

And Motormaster had been bad. The big mech that had the first go at him had been bad. Every time someone had gotten the bright idea of shoving two spikes into his valve at once had been bad.

But none of them compared to Megatron. Sunstreaker couldn’t tell if his spike was any bigger than what he’d already taken over the course of the… Day, night, how long had it been? It didn’t matter, even less so when his processors were assaulted with the agony of having his frame stretched past capacity all over again. Maybe Megatron wasn’t any bigger than Motormaster or his friend, or maybe he was smaller even, but he was still too big.

What mattered most was the strength the tyrant put behind each and every thrust. It wasn’t just about taking his pleasure from Sunstreaker’s frame, it was about making Sunstreaker hurt in the process.

And by Primus but it hurt. The ceiling of his valve was battered with every rapid, hard push in, and Sunstreaker worried for the rest of his internals. His valve, now nothing more than one big point of pain, wasn’t a vital component by any measure. No matter how it would hurt, it wouldn’t kill him.

But there were parts beyond it that did matter.

And it was as if Megatron was gunning for those directly with the amount of oomph he put behind his thrusts.

Sunstreaker couldn’t hold back his moan of pain when Megatron struck in particularly deep, ramming into components past his valve. Spikes were supposed to be sensitive too, but it was as if Megatron didn’t even feel hitting parts that yielded considerably less than a valve did. He only pulled back out and repeated the motion.

Over and over again. Sunstreaker could only keep quiet for so long before Megatron found the right angle to hit the hardest and deliver the most pain.

His resulting screams echoed among the laughter and cheers that rose in the room, but he could hardly make sense of the words of approval, encouragement, and admiration that Megatron was showered with for getting the quiet one to scream so loud. Maybe that was because some of them were spoken in Kaonite.

Maybe it was just because his processors were bombarded with too many signals for them to work through all of them in time. He drowned in the tidal wave of agony Megatron was delivering on and in his body—gasping for air, trying to press his hips down and away from the abuse.

But Megatron’s claws dug into his hip and kept him in place.

It just would not end. When Megatron got bored of drilling him from behind, he was effortlessly flipped over, his back clanging into the table to another burst of pain from all around his frame. Vortex’s work, he had the time to think before Megatron plunged into his valve again, and found even more points of pain to exploit.

His anguish filled his frame, his mind, and his spark. A heavy servo pressed against his chest, pinning him against the table—his legs were spread wide around Megatron’s hips–

And there wasn’t a damn thing he could do about any of it, now not only because Megatron was simply too strong, but because his thoughts were assaulted with more hurt than he’d ever experienced before in his life.

He didn’t know how he was supposed to take it, but here he was, not dying no matter what he felt like. He could hear Sideswipe’s screams distantly, but for whatever reason that was all that came of it—pinned down, couldn’t help—and all the while the room continued to be a thing of brouhaha around him. Megatron himself didn’t join in on it with anything more than the revving of his engine, arousal kicking it into a higher gear.

Sunstreaker held onto the arm pinning him down, not quite managing to find the wherewithal to try to push it off of him by any means necessary. No doubt none of that would’ve worked.

Then there was a servo in front of him, long, thick claws dipping into his open mouth. They pushed in, struck the back of his throat, made him gag, then pulled out, and repeated the motion in time with the thrusts into his valve. 

Megatron’s pace quickened both down there and up here and Sunstreaker’s frame pressed up against the servo pinning him down for an entirely different reason. Gag after gag Megatron kept fingerfucking his mouth, kept pounding into his valve, until his frame couldn’t take it anymore. Like he hadn’t already done that enough times, his frame expelled the contents of his tanks—others’ transfluid, little else—pulsing it up around Megatron’s digits until it streamed from the corners of his mouth and dirtied his face further.

The tyrant said something Sunstreaker couldn’t make sense of, and he wasn’t sure it was even directed at him. The wet digits withdrew from his mouth as he tried to swallow back down what had already come up once, just to get it out of his mouth.

A massive palm struck him across the face before his jaw was grabbed into a vice grip. Sunstreaker struggled to focus back on the reality around him, barely surfacing from the tides of torment that wanted to wash him under for good—that he wished would pull him down all the way, just so he could escape all of this, however momentarily.

But Megatron had slowed in his pace, now staring at him with intent. “I’ll put that mouth to good use later,” he growled, and it wasn’t as much a threat as it was a promise.

Sunstreaker closed his optics, willing away the tears that wanted to fill them. 

Megatron slapped his face again. “Optics open,” came the command before his helm was grabbed, bending it down until he was forced to watch Megatron’s spike disappear into his frame time after time through reluctantly opening optics.

But he refused to cry.

He didn’t know if that impressed Megatron or what did it, but the tyrant’s field pulsed approval a second before his spike pulsed transfluid into the depths of his valve. He wasn’t sure if the sensation was true or imagined, but he could’ve sworn the come trickled straight into his internals.

He wouldn’t have been surprised if his valve really had torn through from the ministrations of countless spikes, Megatron’s the worst of all.

But at last the tyrant pulled out, a flood of transfluid following his retreating spike. Sunstreaker went to close his optics again, but the further tightening of the servo on his jaw brought them back open. His helm was tilted up now, until he had no choice but to meet Megatron’s piercing gaze.

“These two,” he spoke up with enough volume that the room silenced, “belong to me now.”

Sideswipe’s engine hitched somewhere off to his side, and Megatron used his other servo to reach to Sideswipe–

To shove his digits straight into Sideswipe’s valve. His twin jerked at the contact and tried to pull away, but the claws hooked until he would’ve torn his own valve if he did that.

They were both venting hard, both in pain, both scared out of their minds as the implications of Megatron’s words broke through to them.

“And you will remember that,” Megatron continued more quietly, leaning in. His spike flirted with the entrance to his valve again, but didn’t push in.

Sunstreaker wasn’t sure he had ever been as grateful for anything before, than what he was for the small mercy of not being assaulted all over again on the heels of the first time he hadn’t even recovered from yet. “You will do everything I say,” the tyrant kept on, yanking at Sideswipe’s valve to a pained mewl from him, “and your frames will serve me until I choose otherwise.”

Sideswipe was crying.

Sunstreaker wanted to cry.

Instead he bared his denta and snarled.

----------------------------

( Previous / Next )

[psychicrhubarb]

10 Writer Questions

tagged by @momentofmemory, who is endlessly lovely and kind <3

1. What’s your favorite genre to write?

I don’t know if “character-driven canon-compliant oneshot” is a genre, but that’s what I like to write! Nothing makes me want to open a fresh document like a side character having an underexplored feeling, and then canon leaving a tempting gap for me to fill.

2. Do you pull inspiration from real life, or do you pull things from other books/fanfiction you’ve read?

Both, always both. I really think that all writing is basically a blend of everything the author has ever read, but I also like to tell stories about how weird people are when they’re just--being people, and that’s something I think you have to just observe in the wild.

3. Do you tend to write one-shots, short stories, or longer things?

I have a couple of longer fics and WIPs but my heart lies with oneshots. Short little vignettes. Like, what am I supposed to do, write more than two thousand words about ONE idea?! Come up with PLOT?!?! No thank you.

4. Do you prefer to write description or dialogue?

I definitely default to description, but I’m growing to love dialogue. It turns out practicing is important?! I still probably prefer the power of imagery you get with description but it can be really fun trying to communicate (natural, funny, odd) character in dialogue.

5. Favorite fic/book of all time?

Book: The Amazing Adventures of Kavalier and Clay, by Michael Chabon. My username is from that book!

“During 1941, in the wake of that outburst of gaudy hopefulness, the World's Fair, a sizable portion of the citizens of New York City had the odd experience of feeling for the time in which they were living, at the very moment they were living in it, that strange blend of optimism and nostalgia which is the usual hallmark of the aetataureate delusion.”

Fic: One fic? ONE?!

I have a lot of favorites, but in the interests of recommending one that I think everyone on the planet should read, but every on the planet has not already read: Triptych by @kaikamahine. Or, since I’m thinking about Star Wars already: to the sky without wings by @leupagus.

6. Favorite Trope?

[sigh] I have trouble with the question because I don’t... like tropes? What I mean is, there aren’t any tropes I specifically seek out. I enjoy many fics that use very common fic tropes, but I don’t like them because of the trope, I just think they’re awesome. Couple examples: @toli-a‘s Justified A/B/O fic and @helvetica-upstart‘s Schitt’s Creek amnesia fic.

7. Are you the kind of person to work on more than one WIP?

I wanted not to be. I told myself I wouldn’t be. I definitely am.

I have I think 4 WIPs with active drafts right now (in the Star Wars, Spiderverse Captain America, and The Office fandoms), plus a bunch of scraps in the Notes app that I’m fooling myself into thinking aren’t drafts because they don’t have their own google doc (The Witcher, CQL, Justified, Black Panther).

8. How long have you been writing?

Three years, maybe? I think a lot of people in fandom spaces have been doing so in one form or another most of their lives, but unless you count papers for school, I didn’t write a single thing between the ages of about 5 and 20. I was a math major. It wasn’t required of me, and doing things that aren’t required is a newfound activity of mine. It’s nice. I like it.

9. Do you tend to write more in the morning, afternoon, or evening?

I tend to write when I’m on a tight deadline for something else, and desperate to procrastinate, independent of time of day. I guess that’s mostly in the afternoons, now, given I hate mornings and try to spend time with the people around me in the evenings, but I used to write mainly LATE-late at night.

10. Do you prefer to post and update your WIP chapter by chapter or wait until it’s 100% complete before sharing it?

My current May Parker/Liv Octavius fic is an experiment in posting and updating chapter by chapter, and the results of the experiment are that I should not do that anymore. It makes it feel like more of a chore, for whatever reason: I now have a pact with myself that nothing unfinished goes up on AO3.

Tagging 10(ish) people: ten is a lot of people, uhhhh @gracelesso @girlbookwrm @layersofsilence @jinlinli @hansbekhart @ everyone who sees this and wants to play

[bumble-booty]

Commissions Are Open! (New and Updated Version!)

Commissions are currently Open!

My writing background and preferences!

My Nickname is Bumble Booty or Baby Blue, feel free to use either! My specialty is dark/gore, body horror, psychological horror, and NSFW! However, I will absolutely do non-dark as well, so if light and fluffy is more your preference- I’m still interested in writing it! 

I have a Bachelors Degree with a Double Major and a minor- Psychology (specialized in abnormal), Philosophy (integrative study with Psychology), and Criminology (minor and main focus being crime and homicide). As for other useful background, I actually work for a movie store (and one other place, but that one doesn’t give me plot bunnies)! 

What that means for you is- don’t be shy with any prompt. I’ve probably been in contact with it before through my studies, personal research, or work-related exposure!

My specialty is Transformers, but I have recently fallen for the Hazbin Hotel fandom. However, I have not written for the latter as of yet. I will most likely get into Hazbin Hotel very soon though! If you want something outside of these fandoms, please expect a slight delay as I research the fandom. Please ask though, as I may still take it on with sufficient info!

Disclaimer: On most occasions, I typically stick to more canon-style fics. It is simply easier for me to work with plausible situations that can expand out from there- however, I might still do more crack-style if I feel confident enough. I will also do original works if I have enough information!

What I will Likely/Certainly Reject: These are subtypes I do not feel confident in/have had bad experiences with/ will not touch with a 10 foot pole. 

Pedophilia. 

While age-differences are perfectly okay, molesting a child isn’t. All characters in my work WILL be 18+ for NSFW fics, or you can politely take your business elsewhere. 

Because sometimes this apparently needs to be said, Age Regression is not Pedophilia. If your preferred characters are of consensual age and this is a psychological fic where the boundaries are CLEARLY set, please feel free to message me. If your character is a child being abused as an adult, do not. I can tell the difference. 

Farting/ Flatulence fics. 

This is a strange one, but I have had strange experiences with this subtype and those that request it. I have no opinion on your kinks or likes, but I will no longer be accepting fics with this as a PRIMARY FOCUS. 

If it happens to be something that might come up- for instance, an IBS coping fic, a period fic, an autopsy/drowning fic, etc- I will happily discuss this being an option as far as accurately describing the symptoms/struggles of those that suffer with these conditions/fates. Do not hesitate to discuss it with me, the worst you will be told is no. 

Unusually Predatory/ Targeted Hate Fics.

I am well aware of the trend of shaming someone/ channeling a targeted threat through popular media, and I will not help damage someone’s psyche. If I have reason to believe you are using this fic to try to shame a previous significant other/ trying to use your fic and its exposure to target/mislead someone into what could be a psychologically damaging situation, I will not be working with you. Deciding this is my discretion, and if it is truly not your intent I apologize but stand by my decision. As mentioned prior, If it is not your intent go ahead and email me with your prompt anyway- the worst you will be told is no! 

 Any Other Fic for Personal Reasons. 

I am a person with my own history, and I reserve the right to deny a fic if it strikes too close to home. 

My Pricing, Payments, Refunds, and Alterations!

Pricing: I charge in USD on a rising scale for minimum word counts. 50 cents per 100 words, up to $4.50 for 999. After that, it's a flat $5 for 1,000-word increments. So: $5 for 1,000 words, $10 for 2,000 words, $15 for 3,000, etc. Final Pricing will be established before I start working, but I am very flexible! Should you want something changed/altered while I’m working on the draft, please contact me! 

Payments: Payments are accepted through Venmo upon completion AND APPROVAL of your work.

Refunds: Refunds will not be served, as I usually don’t accept payment until after the work is completed and approved. 

Alterations: If we decide on an alternative prompt after or during the first draft, I will consider this the new commission and write with a new/altered price agreed on by both of us through DM/Email. I will mostly stick with my standard pricing, but any oddities will be discussed privately should something happen on my end to cause a delay. 

Side note: I do not have a maximum word count, and if I go over it's ON ME. My Prices are for a minimum, not a maximum.

Request form!

When contacting me about a commission, please send me this general format for ease of keeping everything straight! If you do not, I will reply with this copied in so I know exactly what you want and can ask for more information wherever needed!

Characters: (This is who you want to see! If you want couples, please mark them in the x/x format, with non-couples listed singularly and separated by a comma.) 

EX: Prowl/Jazz, Optimus Prime, Bumblebee, Unnamed Mecha.

Basic Plot: (SFW/NSFW, what you want to happen. This is the main idea I’m working with!)

EX: NSFW, Jazz returns from a mission in a dangerous head space. He is fairly violent to everyone, and is searching for Prowl due to his ability to calm his coding. Optimus and Bumblebee are helping Prowl contain the rouge Ops mech before he offlines half the base. 

Sub-Plot: (Kinks/Small Details/ Triggers you want to see. If going into more detail on a particular thing, put a hyphen after the general descriptor and continue. End this with another hyphen, then continue listing if you have more!)

EX: Pinning, Biting, Clawing, Mild Body Horror- Maybe Optimus gets some tubing cut loose? Or a random, unnamed Mech meeting a foul end after startling Jazz?  I just want it to be obvious how dangerous Jazz is in this state!- Feral Behavior, Aftercare, and Post-Recovery Apology.

Other: Things you DO NOT WANT TO SEE AT ALL. Please clarify in the same way you clarified in Sub-plot. This is especially important if you are requesting Gore/Trauma fics.  

******Please be clear on this!!!! This can be as broad as "no gore" to as specific as the word "moist". Please understand that it is not necessary for you to explain why, nor do you have to give me any reasoning should I ask for you to expand/elaborate. I do, however, reserve the right to ask if similar words/situations would also be off-limits. As mentioned in the personal background, I have studied Psychology and I do not want to be the reason you expand a phobia or traumatic event.  PLEASE REMEMBER THIS IS A SERVICE YOU ARE PAYING FOR, AND IT IS MY DUTY TO FILL THIS SERVICE IN A WAY THAT YOU ENJOY! Not put you in a bad head space or trigger you!******

EX: Gutting, Descriptive Bone/strut snapping, Overly Possessive Language- especially the word ‘pet’ or other dehumanizing possessive language along those lines- Unsanitary, and the word “Moist”- similar words such as ‘damp’ or ‘sweltering’ are acceptable (I just don’t like that word). 

How To Reach Me!

Email: My work email is “bootybumble@yahoo.com”- please put ‘commission’ somewhere in the subject line so I know to look ASAP. I usually respond pretty quick, but I do hold two jobs. Expect an answer within 24 hours. I will reply to the email you contact me with if I have further questions and clarification, or if I’m accepting/rejecting the commission right away!

If you do not receive an answer in 24 hours, feel free to email me again and explain you did not get an answer- it might be a filtering problem that I need to fix! 

DM: Direct Messages are also acceptable here, but I will warn that I often forget to check! Email is more reliable for a faster reply, but I will do my best do accommodate those that don’t want to/ can’t email! 

Please keep to the same format as you would for an email, but feel free to break it up into sizable portions since messages read a bit weird. I don’t mind the spam messages, I'm that kind of texter myself!

Priority/Timeframe, Rejecting, and Posting/Delivery! 

Priority/Timeframe: Commissions will take top priority over other writing work, and if I happen to get two at once it will be by order of receiving. I strive to have 2,000 words and below done per a one week period, anything more than that I will discuss with you over email/pms due to job balancing.

Rejecting: I would like to mention that I still reserve my rights to reject commissions if I feel I am unable to complete them in a manner worthy of accepting payment, or if I feel I cannot give enough personal effort due to work/personal qualms.

Posting/Delivery: Upon completion of the first draft, I will send you the draft script in a downloaded document (usually .docx format) if you like the draft/bones, please respond with any alterations you would like to see! This is additions, subtractions, substitutes, or changes! You can do anything as small as a word, to as large as the entire fic as long as it is agreed upon. 

After this is cleared, I will go back through the fic and add flourish and final details. After that is the proofreading phase, then I will send you the completed fic. If you are not happy with the final fic, please respond with what you would like changed and I will GLADLY fix the issues!

DISCLAIMER: I will not post your finished product without your permission if it is a payment-finalized product! This means that if you have paid for it, it is yours to keep. If I really liked the fic, I might ask your permission to post it to my AO3 Account with it either listed as a gift fic to your AO3 account, or with a notice placed in the notes at the top of the page that this was a commissioned piece, followed by your username/"anonymous" if you would not like it known that it was yours. 

HOWEVER: I ask that you do not post these works as if they were your own! I work very hard on my commissions and put substantial research into each piece, and I am more than willing to signal boost you on the work as well for sponsoring it! If you have a private archive or something similar that you intend on posting it to, please mention it to me during the initial emails/dms and we can discuss it. (I highly doubt I will mind though, I can understand some organization quirks!)

Samples!

If you would like to read some samples of my works, Check me out on AO3!

http://archiveofourown.org/users/BumbleBooty 

Here are some samples of my personal favorite works within my most popular word count brackets!

Less than 1K- http://archiveofourown.org/works/13413417

Thuck! E's Thuck! - Bumblebee/Grimlock, NSFW, Vore 

1K- http://archiveofourown.org/works/13445199

Those Who Need Us The Most- Bumblebee/Grimlock, SFW, Comfort 

2K- http://archiveofourown.org/works/13356138

The Sweetest Melody- Tarn/Pharma, NSFW, Body Horror

3K- http://archiveofourown.org/works/12662973

Detecting the Undetectable- Jazz/Prowl, NSFW, Heat Cycles

4K- http://archiveofourown.org/works/12275850

SCP 3262- Bumblebee, Original work, SCP Crossover

Just under 5K- http://archiveofourown.org/works/12199893

All For You- Jazz/Prowl, NSF, Candy Armour Vore Style

6K+- http://archiveofourown.org/works/13407669 

Pretty Kitty-Prowl/Jazz/Smokescreen, NSFW, Neko/Werewolf Heatfic

[atricksterproblem]

What are some things you like to gush about your terzo?

Remember that time I said I was saving this so I could use it next time I wanted a free pass to make a gush post? I’m calling that in now. :)

Here’s the thing about Terzo: He’s absolutely stunning. We all know this. A sizable portion of the fandom thirsts after him on the regular. I’m by no means immune. I think he’s the most beautiful person ever and I never get tired of looking at him. 

But his physical beauty isn’t really all there is to it for me. If that was all he was, if he didn’t have the mind he does, he’d be just another pretty face. This blog might still exist, but it’d still be just fan thirsting. It wouldn’t be a self-ship, not like this.

I love the way he thinks. He’s clever, and funny, and well-spoken. His interests are wide-ranging, and when he finds something that really grabs him, his enthusiasm is catching. I love his sense of humor, high and low. I love his creativity and admire his talent. I love his changeable personality. Some call him moody, and maybe he is. He’s intense and expressive and has a beautiful soul.

He’s very well-defended, because he’s had to be to survive. He doesn’t let that many people know too much about him, so a lot of people never see beyond the surface: the pretty boy, the goofball, the party animal. But if you pay attention, you can see there’s more going on than that, and if he does let you into his heart, his love is deep and lasting.

I think a lot of people don’t realize he has this kind of depth to him, both intellectual and emotional. Even so, it is unquestionably there, and it’s why I fell in love with him. 

He’s very silly, but silly isn’t the same thing as stupid. A lot of the silliest people I know are also the brightest. They also often have a lot of dark places inside them, and the silliness is a kind of coping mechanism or cover. 

He’s very flashy on stage. He has to be. He’s a performer and a very skilled one, and his charisma is obvious. Offstage, it’s obvious too. He draws people into his orbit.

But when he’s alone, he has a quieter side too. I can talk to him about anything, and we can give each other peace just holding each other without speaking as well. He needs private time where he doesn’t have to be “on” to recharge. He needs to be loved by someone who doesn’t expect him to always be like that. He needs to be loved for all of the very different sides of who he is.

I don’t think there could ever be anyone else for me but him. He’s the one I was waiting for without even knowing I’d been waiting, and now that I’ve found him, he’s the only one I want. I don’t think most people in the real world get to have soulmates. I think humans might be too messy for that in most cases. But I do believe that in a case like ours where you love someone who isn’t real, it can and does happen, and he’s mine.

[littlestarprincess]

I really love Bam? I always want to talk about him but I never know where to start, but he’s just so amazing and I want him to be happy, no matter what that looks like

(In other words, rambling under the cut about Bam)

Like, he’s not perfect, obviously -- though I feel like people expect him to be, in canon and out of canon. I don’t think SIU is going for that route though. I don’t think Bam is meant to be perfect. He has a hard time letting go of things, and he dwells on the bad stuff and doesn’t notice the friends who are by his side often enough. If I were to pick a minor arcana card to suit him, it would probably be the five of cups because of this -- he spends so much time wallowing over the spilled cups that he doesn’t tend to the ones that are still standing. And people -- Hwa Ryun and Endorssi specifically -- have acknowledged this, so I don’t think SIU means for Bam to seem completely perfect and infallible to the audience. Bam’s struggles are never a matter of “will I be strong enough to physically punch this bad person in the face?” even if from Bam’s perspective that is what they are. Bam worries about if he’ll be strong enough to physically fight, to physically protect his friends -- but the real conflicts of the story aren’t the big battles.

In the Name Hunt Station, for example, it seemed like it was about whether Bam was going to defeat Kaiser, even though we all knew he was going to win without any difficulty. People were complaining constantly about Bam being overpowered (they still are, but you get that in every shounen series. Overpowered heros are great until they’re making the choices you don’t agree with, I guess) because there wasn’t any sense that Bam was legitimately being threatened, especially after what happened with Hoaqin, with Bam having just gotten another power up . . .

But it was really about whether or not Bam was allowed to save everyone. Endorssi didn’t want him to save her (unless he was willing to sacrifice everything for her), and Bam didn’t know if it was okay to save Endorssi when she was his friend, if he was overlooking people who weren’t his friends that also needed saving. Rather than just being a test he had to pass for Yuri’s sake, I think he also felt that he had to defeat Kaiser in order to save the No-Names and that doing what Endorssi wanted would be letting down all those people that he didn’t know. I think that’s why his conversation with Kun was placed after his encounter with Endorssi. Bam was more open about needing to go to the Floor of Death, but he was also troubled by what the Blue Demon had said about all those people being sacrificed for Bam’s sake, and the situation with the No Names and Endorssi reflected this.

Following that, Bam also had to leave behind Wangnan during this time, and trust in Wangnan’s strength rather than allowing Wangnan to follow behind him (as has been the case for their entire relationship, honestly) -- something that was necessary for both of them, and which Bam was finally able to realize at that point -- but then, Wangnan isn’t able to succeed, and we’re still waiting for the fallout of that -- when Bam realizes that he wasn’t able to save his teammates because he wasn’t there for them. Because the NHS arc was about letting people down and disappointing them. Bam let Endorssi down by not doing what she wanted, and by virtue of that he let down Team Leesoo because he wasn’t willing to sacrifice everything to save Endorssi. He “let down” Wangnan and the others by not being there to save them, and he “let down” Rak and Ehwa and the swordsman by not being able to protect them from Karaka. NHS was basically a total loss, even if you can’t tell that from looking at which battles were won (and a sizable portion of the fanbase measures success by which battles are won, even though success is measured by how much of your goals you accomplish. Bam had two goals and he managed to accomplish one, but failed in the other, arguably more important one).

And with the Floor of Death -- obviously they were going to defeat Hell Joe and get the thorn. If they hadn’t defeated Hell Joe it wouldn’t be interesting; if they hadn’t gotten the thorn it wouldn’t have been interesting (though Rachel getting the thorn would have been, and that’s perhaps why, on a meta level, Bam is giving Rachel the opportunity to win the Thorn now). The stakes on the Floor of Death weren’t about Bam & Co defeating Hell Joe -- they were about finding out what it means for Bam to be an Irregular -- and in that sense, FoD was a resounding success, because we have answers now, and Bam has a goal that he can finally start pursuing. . .  .

I honestly don’t know where I’m headed with any of this now, just. I really like Bam and I wish people would stop giving him crap for being “too perfect” or “overpowered” and then turning around to complain whenever he makes mistakes. I know this happens with every fandom but TT-TT

Bam isn’t perfect -- he has a lot of flaws, and probably the biggest one is his “greed” / “gluttony” -- he wants all his friends, but he only notices the ones who aren’t there. But also, he can be incredibly stubborn, and doesn’t really compromise. He’s slow to anger but also slow to forgive, and he doesn’t like letting go of people, even when they’re well in their rights to leave. . . but he’s also trying to improve and like. He does things slowly and deliberately rather than rushing willy nilly so it’s not always obvious, but he’s working so hard to improve himself and think about things in ways that are more fair and to find a way to exist that doesn’t depend on someone else’s presence. Finding the reason he’s and Irregular, and his destiny and what he’s meant to do isn’t just a meta way to free Rachel to be a protagonist or anything -- it’s also in character Bam trying to find a way to exist that doesn’t rely on him chasing after Rachel. He’s trying to be more aware of the friends who are still by his side, and to be more proactive about protecting people who need to be protected, and he’s grown so much and aaaaaah. . . 

/)///w////(\ I love him <3 <3 <3

[rex101111]

I don't know man, I was just curious of the odds in what would happen had deku and ochako are somehow ended up roommates at the dorm., but I have zero imagination, so uh, what do you think would happen???

this got away from me and turned into a huge fanfic oh god why

Oh man! Talk about a call back, I just remembered the time back when the dorms were first announced and just about everyone in the fandom talked about who would be who’s roommate and what nonsense they would get into, before it was reveled that every kid would have their own room instead of rooming together, thus shattering all our hopes, dreams, and most importantly, our fanfics. Ahhh, good times.

As for those two being roommates, I kinda doubt the school would allow two, possibly hormonal, teenagers to live in the same room for a significant amount of time, for obvious reasons, and since there are an even number of both girls (6) and boys (14) in the class, they wouldn’t need too…

But if they DID:

IZUOCHA ROOMMATE AU GO!

Their reactions to hearing they are to share a room are about what youwould expect of them.

Izuku has a bit of an emotional roller coaster at first, on one handhe’s going to be sharing a dorm room with a girl for a considerablelength of time, and his head just floods with how quickly that could becomeawkward and all the ways he could embarrass himself. The more he thinks aboutit the more panicked he grows. The fact that he’s never shared a room with anybodybefore this only compounds the matter.

Onthe other hand, it wasn’t going to be any girl, but Uraraka, one of hisbest friends, someone who knows him and how…weird he could be, and someone hecan actually talk to with some degree of ease, so he figures whateverawkwardness might arise could be smoothed out and laughed off rather easily,heck, it just might be fun! Though…he figures it would still be a littleawkward, since while Uraraka is Uraraka, Uraraka is still a girl…a verypretty girl…with a radiant smile…who probably wears cute pajamas to bed…

All his thoughts of his potentially cuteroommate screech to a grinding halt and whatever relief he might have startedto feel quickly drains out of him when he remembers the sheer volume of AllMight merchandise he brought with him, and he starts to panic all overagain when he imagines what kind of reaction Uraraka would have to all of that.

Asfor Ochako her reaction is rather more…simple. She looks at Izuku from a slightdistance, mulling over the fact that she’s going to share a room with him forthe foreseeable future, her face slowly growing red and her heart thumpingloudly in her ears for a reason she’s only just started to piece together, andthen slowly placing her face in her hands and mutter, very quietly to herself, “Oh…oh no.”

They reach their dorm room, hardly exchanginga word on the way, the both of them nervous for their own reasons; they openthe door, look at each other…and laugh. Seeing that they were both equallyuneasy about this broke some of the tension, and they set off to begin the longand arduous work that is unpacking.

Near the end of the process, Izuku turns to look at Ochako,“Uraraka-san,” He says, his back to his last piece of unopened, andrather bulky, luggage, “We’re friends right?”

Ochakoturns to him, smiling brightly, “Of course we are Deku.” She noticeshow stiffly he’s standing, his back straight and his fists clenched at hissides, and she looks at him a bit questioningly, though still smiling “…Whydo you ask?”

He looks to the floor, worrying his hands, “Well…I just wanted toask that…um…well…” He goes on like that for a moment before sighing andturning to face his last bag, “Please don’t judge me too harshlyUraraka-san.” Finally he unzipped his bag, and slowly reached a handinside.

Ochako is honestly mostly just confused at this; nothing she knows ofIzuku gives her any sort of idea as to what he’s expecting to be judged by herfor, his use of the word harshly hardly helped her at all either, whatwas he going to show her that he’d need to visibly gather courage for?

As Izuku continues to gather up the aforementioned courage, Ochakoremembers a slightly embarrassing episode that she had earlier in the year. Shewas walking around the school during lunch break when she heard snickeringcoming from further down the hallway she was walking in; as she got closer shesaw Kaminari and Mineta chatting quietly amongst themselves, bragging about thesize of their “stash” back home and how well they’ve hidden it, only to stopdead in their conversation when they noticed her not three feet away.

When she asked them what they were talking about, they grabbed her bythe shoulders, dragged her to the dark corner of the school where theywhispering, and got on their knees and begged her not to say a word toany of the teachers and to pretend she heard nothing. She promised, mostly toget them to stop crying as pathetically as they were, but when she asked themagain about what they meant by “stash” they only avoided her gaze and mutteredin unison, “It’s…its private guy stuff y’know?”

That response answered absolutely nothing, of course, but she sawthat she wouldn’t get anything out of them anyway so she dropped it…deciding toask the girls in class instead, knowing the guys in the class would eitheravoid her in much the same way, have no clue, or, in Bakugou’s case, not give aenough of a damn to give her a serious answer.

Momo was just as clueless as she was, and her only contribution to theinvestigation was a guess that was a bit…naïve, “Maybe they were talking abouttheir stash of…study equipment?”

Tooru wasn’t much better, though this time because apparently she knew exactlywhat Ochako was talking about, but the only help she got was a giggle and arather coy, “Why don’t you try asking a few other people? ~”

She caught Tsuyu and Kyouka together, and their responses were the firstreal clue to the answer she was looking for. Kyouka looked rather unsettled, ablush staining her face before she muttered, “Kaminari”, darkly underher breath and turning to stomp away while continuing to mutter, presumably tofind the very same electricity user. Ochako doesn’t want to remember what shedid to him later that same week.

Tsuyu, on the other hand, while looking just as unsettled, simplycleared her throat and, with a much more subdued blush, croaked, “You probablydon’t want to know Ochako-chan.”

Her last option was Mina, who finally put an end to her quandary with acheeky grin, and blunt answer that proved Tsuyu’s guess all too true, “Their‘stash’? Oh yeah! They were probably talking about porn.”

Remembering that answer snapped Ochako straight back to realityjust in time to see Izuku finally begin to take his hand out of the bag. A needto yell at him to keep whatever it is he wants to show her inside the bag and amorbid curiosity to see it (she could practically hear Mina giggle in her ear: whatdo you think his taste are like?) fill up her gut and redden her face asshe watches, her conflicting emotions transfixing her gaze, as Izuku slowlyreveals…

…An All Might action figure, dressed in his famous silver age custom andplaced in his signature pose with its chest puffed out and its fists on itships, and placed it on a table in front of him. Ochako instantly relaxes,letting out a shaky and breath laugh as her full face blush fades to a slightpink tinge on her cheeks, mostly out of a little bit of shame due to thinkingIzuku would be the kind of guy to bring out something like that to adorm, she should have guessed it would be something like this that he wasscared to show her.

She still wasn’t completely sure why he was this scared ofshowing her though; having something like that is nothing to be ashamedof…honestly she was starting to find this whole situation a bit cute…

She opens her mouth to say that Izuku shouldn’t worry about it, butshe’s interrupted when Izuku pulls out another All Might figure, this onedressed in the yellow suit she saw the man wear a few times around school (shedidn’t know people made ones like that), and then another, and another, andanother.

And soon the whole table and a sizable portion of the wall is covered inevery kind of All Might merchandise she can imagine, from All Might figures toAll Might posters to an All Might lamp, it appears that if there existeda kind of All Might memorabilia, then Izuku made it his mission to own it.

Looking at the frankly staggering amount of stuff that Izukusomehow managed to stuff into that bag and place in his half of the room,Ochako finally understood exactly why Izuku was so skittish about showing herall this.

Speaking of Izuku, he finally turned back to look at her, his face redwith nervousness and worrying his hands again, “So…” He choked out at last,“…what do you think?”

She continues to observe his collection, letting herself soak in everydetail and the sheer volume of admiration one person can have for another allat once amazes and doesn’t surprise her in the least, considering who’s standingbefore her, and a smile grows on her face with every object she sees, untilfinally she looks at Izuku with a smile stretched from ear to ear and cheekstinged pink, and exclaims with every bit of affection she can muster, “Justwhat I expected out a geek’s room!”

Izuku’s face fills with embarrassment, falling to his hands and knees,surprising Ochako and breaking her out of her reverie as Izuku pitifullymutters in almost comical despair, “Right, of course, just as expected from ageek…”

“Wait nonono!” Ochako flails a bit, falling to her knees in front ofDeku, worry etched on every inch of her face, “I meant that as a good thing! Agood thing!”

Izuku lifts his face, a bit of the despair leaving his face, “…really?”

“Yeah really!” She springs herself up right, grabbing his hand to bringhim along with her, and gestured to the collection, “I mean, look at all this!”She laughs and picks up the first figure and holds it up to him, “You have alot of admiration for All Might! And you got all this stuff because of that!”She turns the figure in her hands for a moment, before gently setting back down where Izuku put it, “You look up tosomeone and what they represent, you want to be like them, and you want peopleto know it…”

Izuku looks at her, his heart swelling with something he can’t quite puthis finger on, a blush staining his face, “Uraraka-san…”

She looks up so their eyes meet, a soft smile on her face, “Being soproud of your admiration of someone…of what they stand for…putting all of it ondisplay and trusting someone else with it…” She fidgets with the tips of herfingers, her nervousness rising and her face heating up for a reason shedoesn’t want to think about, instead she just smiles wider at him, “I thinkit’s really cool, Deku.”

The only thing Izuku can think to do is stare at her wide-eyed, openingand closing his mouth wordlessly, trying to convey something before he chuckleslightly and matches her smile with one of this own, “Thank you Uraraka-san.”

They stand like that for a while, smiling brightly at each other, theworld a hundred miles away…at least until they notice how close they arefor the first time and taking a step back from each other, each of them lettingout a nervous laugh and looking away, both of their faces glowing bright red.

Ochako looks at the collection again, and laughs again, trying to easethe tension, “You know…to be honest I’m actually kinda jealous.”

Izuku looks up in surprise, “Really?” He follows her gaze to hiscollection and laughs a little despite himself, “Jealous? Of all this stuff?”

She laughs right back at him, giving his forearm a light punch, “Yeah!Of course I am!” She gestures at the merchandise, “I mean look at all ofit! Having so much of this stuff is really cool!” She places a hand onone of the figures, her voice taking on a more wistful tone and the edges ofher mouth tilting up, “I could never have this much stuff or even a little ofit…” Her hand falls from the figure to hang at her side, her smile not quitereaching her eyes, “…It would have been too expensive.”

Izuku’s expression falls, remembering her parent’s situation,“Uraraka-san…”

Ochako whirls to face him, her smile stretching further than it did amoment before, almost as if in response to his tone, “But hey! It wasn’t allbad!” She clasps her fingers behind her back and looks at the celling, “Lots ofkids in my elementary and middle schools brought some of their cooler stuff toshare, so it’s not like I never got the chance to at least play with that stufffor a while,” She sweeps a hand in the direction of the collection that startedthis whole mess, “And now, I have a roomie with the best All Mightcollection ever!” She flashes the brightest smile he’s seen her wear for awhile, but it still doesn’t quite reach her eyes, “So it’s fine! Really! It’s awesome!”

Izuku had a nagging feeling, but decided not to prod, so he just smiled,“Right.” He looked at Ochako again, something still feeling off, “Uraraka-san,”He started, Ochako looking at him oddly, “You sure you never had any hero stuffas a kid? Even something small?”

Ochako kept staring at him for a moment before averting her eyes to thefloor and rubbing the back of her head, “…well, there was that one time…” Shelooked at him with a quiet little smile, “I was about…six I think? My folks andI went to a 100 yen store to do some last minute weekend shopping, when I sawthis really cute All Might keychain…” She let out a sad chuckle, “It was justhis face dangling from a little silver ring, ya know, cheap, but it looked cuteto me so…I kinda begged my dad to buy it.”

She looked down again, fidgeting with her fingers again, ”And he did…onour way back home a thunderstorm started up, a bad one, pouring rainn’everything…” She sighed wistfully, “I was holding the keychain in my hand‘cause I was so excited to have it, but a thunder clap spooked me and I droppedit…rain carried it to a sewer drain and…” She shrugged her shoulders, “That wasthat.” She let out a laugh that was just on the edge of bitter, “Really bummedme out, let me tell ya…”

Izuku had a feeling that ‘bummed out’ was a bit of an understatement.

“I didn’t ask my folks for anything like that afterwards…” The smilecompletely slipped off her face, “Didn’t want them to waste money on somethingwe didn’t need, y’know?”

Izuku felt a bit helpless, his friend slipped more and more into asomber tone as she told that story, until she finally just stared at the floor,her face sullen looking as if she’s holding back tears. He was kicking himselffor getting her to tell a story that obviously still hurt a bit to remember,and seeing her like that made him mentally scramble for a way to cheer her up,but try as he might he came up blank.

“Oh geez…” Ochako started laughing mirthlessly out of nowhere,kicking Izuku out of his mental ditch, “I just noticed my accent slippedout again, I hate it when that happens,” She rubbed the back of her head,still not meeting Izuku’s eyes, “Makes me sound stupid…”

“No it doesn’t!”

Ochako looked up at the sudden exclamation, finally meeting Izuku’seyes, and saw something she hadn’t seen before; he was angry, truly andhonestly mad that she would think that way about herself, fists clenched andleaning over in her direction, the sheer shock knocked some life into hercheeks as she stares at him, “Huh?”

A second passed and Izuku’s mind caught up with his words, causing himto blush and straighten his back, looking away with a sputter, “I mean…um…Idon’t think Uraraka-san’s accent sounds stupid…” He found the mostinteresting spot on the wall to his right and kept his eyes there, blushing upto his ears, “I actually think it sounds kind of…” His voice loweredand lowered with every word until it was almost level with the floor, butsomehow she still heard him say the last one, “…cute.”

A thousand things popped and rattled around Ochako’s chest, knockingagainst each other and causing an unearthly racket, they were causing so muchnoise in her chest that some of the blood that ought to be there fled up to herface to escape it. And now Ochako had a feeling that if she didn’t end thisconversation right now she would do something she would (probably)regret.

“Oh hey!” She exclaimed out of nowhere, startling Izuku out ofhis intense wall staring, “I still have stuff to unpack!” She pointedat the two puny pieces of luggage that were still unopened, “I better takecare of that quick!” With that she hurried over to her side of the room,making a point of not looking at her friend for fear that he’d see how brightlyred her face was glowing at this point.

Izuku watches as she rushes offto her bags with a blush of his own, rubbing his head in embarrassment,honestly, of all the ways he thought he could make living with a girl awkward,he didn’t think calling the girl cute would be one of them.

Seeing her frantically fumble around with the zippers of her last twobags only made him feel worse, he pulled at his lower lip as he thought of someway to lessen the sudden tension in the air. He thought and thought until hishead started to hurt, when suddenly something occurred to him, with a rush hewent back to some of his luggage, looking for something.

Just as Uraraka was beginning to tire of fighting the bags, and rightbefore she started to consider just getting Mina to melt the zippers off, sheheard Deku calling her, “Uraraka-san!”

“Huh?”

“Catch!”

She turned around just in time to see him toss something her way, hereyes widened in surprise as she managed to just barely catch it with a yelp;she gave Izuku a reprimanding look, “Deku! A warning would be nice!” Deku inresponse only grinned at her, “What did you even give…me…” She opened her handand saw a keychain, All Might’s grinning face hanging off a simple silver ring,it looked a bit old, the ring had a few stains of rust on it, but looking at itconjured memories of a long gone rainy day with her parents.

“It’s the one from your story right?”

She looked up at him, eyes astonished and mouth hanging open, “W-why…”Her eyes sank back down to stare at the keychain, her cheeks warm and tearspricking her eyes, “Why would you…”

Izuku’s expression fell a little, “I’ve had that keychain for a longtime, and since you’ve lost yours a long time ago, and I’ve got like…three moreof those back home…” He worries his hands nervously, “I thought you should haveit.”

“D-Deku…you really don’t have to-”

“I want to,” He said with conviction, his eyes apologetic, “I made yousad by asking that question, so I wanted to make it up to you.” He gave her ablindingly bright smile, “Consider it an apology gift.”

Ochako looks at him, at his bright smile and lets the kindness of hiswords wash over her, looks down at her hand and the small, simple, cheapkeychain laying in her palm, she holds it close to her heart as she takes a fewsmall strides to stand in front of him, her eyes meeting his, “Thank you Deku.”

Izuku laughs a little, his cheeks a little red, “It’s no problem Ura-“

Before he could finish, and before she can stop herself, Ochako gets onher tiptoes and plants a short, soft kiss on his right cheek, her warm breathelightly caressing his face, before she’s back on the ground with a facesplitting smile, “No, really, thank you so much Deku.”

A beat of silence fills the room as what Ochako just did sinks inproperly for both of them, their faces running the gamut of shock, disbelief,confusion, before finally settling on a shade of red that is probably more thana little impossible achieve.

The both of them stand there with their mouths hanging open beforeOchako snaps her jaw closed, shacking Izuku awake.

“U-Uraraka-san-“

“OH!”

“Wh-“

“I JUST REMEMBERED!”

“What did you-“

“TSUYU ASKED ME TO HELP WITH SOMETHING!”

“Huh?-“

“I BETTER GET GOING.”

“Hold on a-“

“SEE YOU LATER DEKU!”

“Uraraka-san wait-“ Before he could fully get his bearings and finishhis sentence, Ochako flees the room in record speed, holding her face in herhands and leaving him alone in the room.

As the sounds of her footsteps peter out, Izuku puts a hand to hischeek, the feeling of Ochako’s small, soft lips forever imprinted in his mind;he mindlessly walks over to his bed and falls backwards onto it, his hand stillon his cheek.

As he numbly looks up at the ceiling, a grin spreads across his cheeksunbidden, “Okay…” He mutters to himself, “Maybe sharing a room with a girl won’tbe so bad…” A moment later his mind catches up with his mouth again, and hisface burns anew, and he covers it with a pillow hoping against hope the ground swallowshim whole before his big mouth inevitably says something like that in front ofsomeone else, especially Uraraka.

Downstairs in the common room, Ochako does much the same on a couch, wallowingin despair over her lack of self-control and wondering when her life became ateenage romantic comedy…all the while still holding on to that cheap All Mightkeychain…  

[fansplaining]

A reader letter from grace_adieu!

In Episode 42, we read a portion of this letter, sent to us by email from @grace-adieu. We wanted to publish the full letter as well, since we didn’t have time to read the whole thing, and she makes many great points that we didn’t cover in the episode!

Hi Flourish and Elizabeth!  

I was recently recommended your podcast by some friends from a community established during the wake of the dearly departed Toast and have basically spent the past week listening to the full back catalogue.  This has had the side effect of making me have all the feelings on fandom, so I apologize in advance for how long winded this is about to be.

For some context, I was first introduced to fandom at about 12 in the early 2000s via Harry Potter fic on ff.net.  Somewhat bizarrely, I was introduced to it by my dad, who had seen an article about fanfiction in our local paper and wanted to be supportive of his daughter’s nerdery.  The article was very positive and focused on how cool it was that teenage girls were writing stories for fun, so it is less weird than the current mainstream idea that all fic=porn would make it seem, even though I did end up spending an embarrassingly large portion of my adolescence reading angsty Snape/Hermione fic (I take solace in the fact that that even at my angstiest, I was at least never a fan of Pawn to Queen).

As an adult, however, my primary fandoms tend to be video game fandoms (Dragon Age, Mass Effect, Fallout, Life is Strange, Dishonored) and my engagement with them has been overall quite similar to my engagement with my non-video game fandoms (Harry Potter, MCU, Hannibal).  As a result, I was puzzled by the “Games and Fandom” episode’s framing of video game fandom as being separate from transformational fandom.  While the stereotypical video game fan is certainly thought of as male and involved in affirmational fandom (if they are involved with the work beyond the level of consumption/enjoyment at all), there is a sizable portion of video game fandom that does not align with either of those stereotypes.  Additionally, there is a significant amount of fanfic written for video game fandoms (AO3 has ~41k Dragon Age fics, which is several thousand more than the number of Doctor Who fics on that site). As a result, rather than comparing female/transformational fandom as a whole to male/affirmational video game fandom, I would say there there is a pretty distinctive split within the video game fandom between female/transformational and male/affirmational modes of engagement.

The two most obvious differences I see between transformative video game fandom and other transformative fandoms are the decreased focus on rooting for ships to become canon and the increased focus on OCs, both of which seem to stem from the fact that the most popular video game fandoms tend to be for games with branching narratives and customizable protagonists.  Being able to make your own player character and control their choices throughout the game (or at the very least, control who they romance) means that, unlike movies/tv/books etc., there is no one true canon, but a wide range of possible canons.  Thus, while people have plenty of opinions about which romances are the best written or the most emotionally satisfying, there is no motivation to push one ship as being “ the canon ship” since, in general, the existence of other canonical ships poses no threat to the status of an individual’s OTP.  I can’t imagine there ever being a Harry/Hermione vs Ron/Hermione style ship war in the Dragon Age fandom for example.

In a similar vein, I think that the structure of RPGs has led to the video game fandom being more interested in the creation of OCs.  While some people choose to essentially replicate themselves in the world of the game, it is common for people to take it as an opportunity to create entirely new characters.  As a result you don’t see the same kind of stigma around OCs that you do in other fandoms (no one assumes that fic featuring an OC is going to be an awkward author self insert because almost all of the fic for the fandom features an OC) and you frequently encounter people who intensely develop their OCs lives/backstories via fic/fanart/short headcanons etc.  You also see fans interacting with other fan’s OCs by submitting tumblr asks, creating fanart, and sometimes including them as side characters in their own fics.    

This next paragraph is a bit of an aside, but basically to see if I was talking out of my ass about the idea of there being a gender based split within the fandom in terms of modes of engagement, I looked at the video game franchises with the highest number of fics on AO3 and found that of the top 5 franchises (Dragon Age, Final Fantasy, Mass Effect, Fallout and Overwatch) only Final Fantasy featured primarily male protagonists/player characters.  The rest either had customizable protagonists (Dragon Age, Mass Effect, Fallout) or had roughly similar numbers of male and female playable characters (Overwatch currently has 9 women and 10 men, not counting genderless robot characters or the male gorilla).  Furthermore, when you compare games that are similar in many aspects, but differ in terms of whether or not you can play as a woman, the difference in the level of transformative fandom engagement can be quite stark.  For example, Dragon Age: Inquisition and The Witcher 3: The Wild Hunt are both incredibly popular, critically acclaimed games that came out in the past couple years.  Both are action RPGs set in a version of fantasy medieval Europe with a heavy focus on magic, romance subplots and player choice.  However, while DAI has a customizable protagonist, thus allowing you to play as a woman, TW3 has a set, male protagonist.  Correspondingly, DAI has ~21k fics while TW3 has only 273 (and while I don’t have sales numbers, there is absolutely no way that DAI is 100 times more popular than TW3.  If anything, TW3 is more popular).  Working off of the assumption that women are more likely to play games when they can play as a woman, it seems that the idea of a split based on gender has some basis?

I also was really interested in your discussions about the definition of fandom, especially the idea that a lot of people view “being a fan” and “being in fandom” as more or less the same thing.  To me, being a fan just means that you enjoy the original work, while being in fandom requires a level of further engagement.  I also don’t think that being in a fandom necessarily means that you are a fan of the original work.  While I have trouble seeing someone engaging in affirmational fandom without being a fan, I definitely enjoy transformative works for fandoms where I do not like the source material.  For example, I can’t stand the Star Wars movies, but love jedistormpilot fics.  Additionally, I entered the Harry Potter fandom as a fan of the original work, but as time went on, grew to dislike the books/movies while still loving the fandom.  I know you talked about this a little when you mentioned having read Teen Wolf fic without having ever watched the show, but I think transformative fandom’s ability to take aspects of a work I dislike and build it into something I love is really special.  

Sorry if this is a bit disjointed, I just really wanted to get my thoughts out.  I love the podcast, and while I don’t always agree with what is said, the discussion never fails to be engaging and informative.  I also wanted to thank you for doing such a great job on the Race and Fandom episodes.  I was initially a bit apprehensive about listening to them because I’m used to otherwise intelligent and sensitive white people having a big ol’ blind spot when it comes to race, so the fact that they featured so many really wonderful guests of color (seriously, I just want to listen to Rukmini Pande talk about fandom forever) meant a lot to me as a fan of color.

Looking forward to future episodes!