#did you catch that?

[phoebepheebsphibs]

Did you catch the secret hidden message in .Dead asleeP.??

Why, Why, Why, Please, He's Sorry, So Sorry, So Sorry...

@shr00mi3writefight @that-0n3-shr00mi3

[anbaisai]

The Jamil Viper decision tree when he is (most unfortunately) caught off guard (please disregard the fact that he does in fact have a hood in the "object nearby" branch. he is simply panicked.)

[chloesimaginationthings]

William Afton winning that “idgaf” award in FNAF

[keets-writing-corner]

Thinking a LOT about Lucifer in the latest Hazbin episode. Idk what I was expecting but not this??

As I was watching my immediate thought was just "huh... Lucifer is kinda of weird..." but as the episode went on I realized the issue

the dude is off the chain depressed, like he says it as a joke but holy cow it is SO BAD

He's manically just creating rubber ducks cuz his daughter really like it that one time but it's empty, it's never good enough but he keeps doing it, maybe cuz he doesn't know how to pass the time otherwise.

like I get the feeling he HAS better things he SHOULD be doing than making rubber duck after rubber duck. At first I was like, "Bruh why isn't the king of hell doing anything?" aaaaand then it became clear...

The dude is disassociating so bad he can barely hold a conversation let alone remember information. He clearly WANTS to, he wants to be involved with his daughter so bad, he wants to care about the things she's doing so bad, but his depression keeps interfering. It's like he can only hear every other word and he grasps onto the ones he does hear semi-out of context. Like you can see every time he catches something that he hadn't before and he just "well shit I didn't catch that part"

and that's why he reacts so weird when people talk to him. He is struggling so bad to engage with the conversation he's only getting 50% of it

does that look like the face of a man who knows what the hell the conversation is even about??? he is STRUGGLING

like Charlie spent so long telling him about the hotel, and he STILL didn't understand what she wanted. Yeah it comes off as ditzy but literally I've been in that position where your brain just "nope, not doing this right now" and nerfs your conversation comprehension. So as someone who's BEEN in that position, to me it feels exactly like what he's dealing with. He's sorta engaged with the conversation, but only as much as his brain will allow

For example, when I'm dealing with this, this is what someone talking to me feels like this where the crossed out parts are what I missed and bold is what I catch, "Hey! You know I was thinking for dinner we could either make some chicken with rice? But if you don't feel like cooking, pasta is super easy and you love that right? What do you want to do?" you can kinda get that someone is trying to talk to you about dinner, and towards the end you get the impression that they asked something that needs your input so you can decently put 2 and 2 together and try and pass off, but crucial bits were left out, I would have no idea that either chicken or pasta is in the conversation only having heard "rice". When someone is just talking at me, I can decently pass off as being engaged but the second I'm required to participate in the conversation I'm screwed. Seem familiar? At which point I have 2 options, try to give a bullshit answer, or admit that I missed what they were saying and ask them to repeat

Lucifer, unfortunately, is trying so damn hard to hide that he's dealing with like 24/7 dissociation, so he can't admit that he's missing entire chunks of the conversation, hence his really weird replies. He does eventually get the full picture and then he and Charlie start having the real conversation

Also, the Alastor/Lucifer rivalry was hilarious but also really indicative of more of what Lucifer is dealing with

Alastor is, unfortunately, really good at picking up people's insecurities, and thanks to Charlie's description earlier and watching Lucifer clearly trying to overcompensate, he immediately picks up on the fact that Lucifer KNOWS he struggles to be a good dad (we know cuz it's cuz of the depression, hard to be engaged when your brain keeps turning off) and decides to rub salt in the wound by pretending he's been acting as a surrogate father to Charlie. Now why Alastor decided to pick a fight with the king of hell is beyond me, I do not understand Alastor (and I LIKE IT) (maybe it's cuz Alastor thinks he's hot shit and was expecting Lucifer to at least have heard of him but Lucifer just treats him like a nobody? who knows)(why would Lucifer listen to radio anyways when he can't even pay attention to a conversation it'd just be white noise)

But yeah I just was expecting someone who oozed either charisma or presence and instead I got a depressed dad who's dissociating so bad he can barely function and be present in his life. The only thing it seems he CAN do is make rubber ducks cuz his daughter really liked it that one time

Idk Lucifer is tragic to me. Whatever the full details of what heavan did to him absolutely broke him and he can't deal with it. He's aware of it, and he doesn't know how to fix it, so he tries to over compensate and sorta makes an ass out of himself but no one says or does anything cuz this guy is supposed to be THE king of hell

Suddenly it's making a lot more sense why he just rolls over and lets heaven do what it wants and even told Charlie to go in his place the start of the show. He's not in any headspace to hold a basic conversation let alone negotiate! He didn't even know who Alastor was, he's been so out of touch

idk I like him, he seems sweet, I hope Charlie brings some light back into his life. He really needs to get out of that rubber duck room

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

Your beats make me sick

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[sevinite]

beloved witch girlies

[reanimations]

my favorite detail in beyond re-animator is this newspaper because where did they find that cunty ass picture of him

[wickedsnack-art]

this was mostly an excuse to play with some watercolor brushes i got ages ago and then never did anything with. but it was also a warmup that went too far.

[phoebepheebsphibs]

@boots-with-the-fur-club let's take some time to enjoy the easter eggs in this shot, shall we??

A poster for the Krabby Patty with a picture of Plankton asking "What's the formula?"

A flyer for Señor Hueso's Run-of-the-mill pizza

A poster of Bill Cipher with a bunch of Doritos because I be a silly

A poster that just says "HOT SOUP"

A poster that says "Mickey D's" and has a crudely drawn clown with a burger and fries

A picture of Grimace from Mickey D's

A crossed-out sign for turtle soup

A sign directly underneath that says "DON'T EAT THE SOUP"

A flyer for a TedTalk with the Hand.PNG

As well as

A sign for "Water... drink it. Now."

And "Food... it's so good!"

[midnightenigmados]

Unintentionally Mysterious Danny

No one in the Justice League/Wayne Industries seems to know much about their colleague Danny Fenton. Every time he opens his mouth, he tends to leave everyone in the vicinity with more questions than answers. That is, until they were put on lockdown.

[genesisguidline]

comic#1 of my malevolent p.i au

a domestic sketch #1 if you want something less violent

comic#2(john gets a present)

comicstrip#1(client pov)

this is basically my first try to make a comic so don’t judge me. i did my best 🤷‍♂️

[mobroccoli]

Post canon terumob in Classic anime rom com

I finally decided to post it on tumblr after all these years (?)

[erinwantstowrite]

i finished writing chapter 14 so no one needs to spray me with water to get me to focus (we just have to wait for my beta to wake up and double check that it's good)

so have some timkon sillies in the meantime!!!

[ruinix]

Thinking about Quinn losing his shit after you surprise him with a tattoo of his number on your hip

Hello, lovely… I tried, of course. Let me preface this, let’s imagine the tattoo healed for exactly 2 weeks (google says: the minimum healing time of the (surface) skin is about 2-4 weeks, deeper layers heal for approx. 3-4 months)...so yes. What i wanna say is: Be safe. Hope you enjoy 😌 [Disclaimer: I made Q drink tea here when he doesn't drink tea or coffee 😔]

Breakfast & Tattoos

TW/CW: 18+ MDNI, Smut, Unprotected sex (use protection, silly), Tattoo healing inaccuracy (let it heal pls), Quinn being a literal Horny one

Count: 3544 words | Masterlist

You have that grin. A silly and mischievous grin. Quinn cautiously takes a sip of tea you brewed for him—you might’ve put something in it—but it’s just tea.

He greets you, receiving an immediate response. The grin never wavers even as he cooks you two breakfast. You’re…suspicious. Pretty with your comfy pajama shorts and—his—hoodie but suspicious.

He tries to let you be. Maybe you’ll drop it. Maybe you’ll just outright tease him for his bedhead, because his waves are all over the place from sleeping like dead after a two-week road trip. Maybe you just want to tell him something silly. Maybe. You always tend to do those things. He likes that.

He wants to ask, but you move to the sofa with your iPad, humming a tune. You’re on your back with your legs up an arm rest, feet covered with fluffy socks with strawberries. Still, you throw glances at him, grinning whenever he meets your gaze. He hears the upbeat sound of a game. You definitely found another game. That must be it. You love your games especially on that specific iPad—that was his, now yours—with those stickers of him.

Stickers. They’re cute, but he can’t help the blush on his face whenever he sees them. You’ve never stopped buying stickers from Etsy or from artists on different social media. Of him. It doesn’t matter if it’s memes or little cute cartoons. It’s just him. He knows your little hoarding box where you put your spares which also got their own spares—spare of a spare, you describe them.

It’s adorable but the way he looks so haunted in some of them... He can’t help it. It’s his face.

It’s funny and a bit embarrassing—in a good way

But he never feels bad about it. Not when you cherish every sticker. Not when you are so giddy and filled with excitement every time you buy one. Not when he catches you just gazing at them before hugging it so tightly.

Quinn has to turn away. His cheeks are burning. You make him feel good even through cute little stickers.

Sighing, Quinn finishes up with breakfast. He takes the plates to the coffee table, jumping when you suddenly sit up. You give him a fat smooch on the cheek before you mutter about getting him more tea and your coffee. But, fuck, his cheek burns from your touch. The kiss is soft and quick, but it seeps down to his bones, down to his… It’s way too early to be horny.

Quinn shakes his head, trying his best to clear it. However, he catches your shorts glide up your thighs when you bend over to get something from the lower cabinets. Oh, he’s fucked. It’s not helping how he notices your lace panties imprinting through your shorts.

Somebody, help him.

He looks away, counting down from ten to one, up from one to ten. He’s hard. It’s fucking eight in the morning. What the fuck is wrong with him? He closes his eyes for a second, thinking about hockey, practice, and literally anything else. He fails. His mind keeps showing him the image your ass, grinding against him as he fucked you—

“I think I want some orange juice right now,” he forces out, planting one foot up to hide his erection. He needs something to cool him down.

“mm’kay!” Your sweet voice just made him painfully harder.

“Thanks,” he coughs out. “Maybe a couple of ice?”

“Anything for my Quinny,” you say in a singsong voice, then you start humming a tune, moving your hips with it.

Fuck.

Quinn might need to lock himself in the bathroom at this point. You’re not letting him catch a break. How can he not get turned on after not having his fill of you for two weeks? He can see the jiggle of your ass. He can see your pebbled nipples through your thin and cropped shirt, because you just got rid of your hoodie. Why did you get rid of it? The air conditioning is literally on.

Thank fuck he’s wearing his boxer and his black sweatpants. There would be a dark patch there, because he’s leaking pre-cum. He might even come right there if you don’t stop—

“You want the one with pulp?” you ask, weight in one leg, while holding two orange juice cartons.

“Any,” he barely says, catching a glimpse of something peeking out the waistband of your shorts—what exactly is it, he doesn’t know—but you quickly turn away, bending over again which distracts him. “You slept good when I wasn’t here?” Quin pathetically asks, trying to shake away his hard-on away by pure will—it’s not working.

“Yep,” you gleefully say, finally finishing your instant coffee.

Quinn makes a mental note to make your usual brewed coffee later. He can’t just let you with a cup of instant coffee throughout the day. That’s not okay. His sweet girl deserves the best after all.

Well, after he cools the fuck down.

He settles on the floor, snatching the fleece blanket from the couch to cover himself. He swallows a groan when you slide into the same blanket, leaning against him. Your heat only seeps down his cock more than his shoulder. You are killing him.

He stiffly drinks his juice, shuddering when you kiss his cheek again. He almost doesn’t kiss your cheek too, because he’s a hair away from losing control. But he still does. He gives your cheek a peck. He wishes to kiss you deeper, bend you over the coffee table and just fuck you. He knows you’ll agree if he asks. He knows you’ll let him have his way with you.

He knows.

But he hears your tummy rumble.

He can’t fuck you when you’re hungry. You’ll need energy. Besides, it’s fucking 8AM. He’s so close to punching himself as a reprimand. No one should be this horny this early. That sounds hypocritic, because he remembers several times where he waited for you to wake up so he could fuck you sideways, kissing you through your just-woken-up haze.

Someone needs to bash his head until he gets amnesia.

He’s digging himself a deeper grave. Seriously.

Quinn focuses on breakfast. He loves breakfast with you. He loves it when your weight is partially on him. When you take sips of your coffee, urging him to drink his own beverage. When you talk about what you’ll be doing for work or for your day offs.  When you snatch some of his eggs and replace with potatoes or the other way around, because wanting more of one depends on the day. Today, you are doing the latter. All while, you grin at him with so many things brewing in your eyes.

He finally says, when you two are almost done with breakfast, “Okay, you are acting suspicious.” He narrows his eyes just a tad. “What are you planning?”

You turn and hug him from his side.

Quinn expertly holds you without you getting on his cock. It’s so hard. Especially when you shimmy to get more comfortable over his thigh. He almost starts pleading for you to move and get off him, because you’re so near.

“I have a surprise for you.”

A surprise? He blinks, repeating the word over and over in his head. For him? You have a surprise for him? Excitement courses through his body, temporarily distracting him from his aching member. He likes your gifts. He feels special whenever you give him something. It doesn’t matter what it is. Cookies, shirts, chocolates, a piece of candy. Even if it’s a kiss. Especially if it is. Speaking of a kiss, he wants to kiss you right now.

And he’s back to being a horny fucker.

He can’t help it. Your lips look so delicious, so damn kissable. When you run your tongue over your lower lip, biting it after, he’s done. He kisses you. Languidly. Unhurried in any way. The best thing about kissing you is you kissing back with the same intensity. When he deepens the kiss, tongue sliding past your lips, you are ready for him. You taste like your coffee and it’s perfect.

He missed this while he was away. He doesn’t know how he survived last night with a simple kiss to your forehead. He’s a fucking idiot. He missed out. Not that kissing your forehead is less than your kiss. No. Never. Just kissing your skin makes his heart ache. Just feeling your warmth is enough.

However, kissing your lips while breathing in your exhales, your moans, and your groans, that’s one way to live. If only he can exist with your air. If he can only kiss you every second of his life. If only.

When he parts from you, he feels your chasing lips as his. You two want so much more than a kiss. It’s not enough. It’s never enough.

Still, he must know what your surprise is. He needs it.

“A surprise, huh?” he murmurs, getting distracted by the flush on your cheeks. Wow. Just…wow. “Surprise for what?”

“I don’t need a reason to surprise my boyfriend.” Your nose scrunches, clearly and teasingly dissatisfied with his stupid question.

He can’t help but grab your cheeks, chuckling when you pout for good measure. When he caresses his thumbs over your skin, it makes you relax further into him. Your lips are red from the kiss. So plump. So wet from each other’s saliva. If he kisses you again, right now, he might end up just coming in his pants. Later. In a bit.

He coaxes, “What is it?”

You’ve hypnotized him when you drag your nail over his jaw and kiss along it. He can only cling to your waist. A whine left his lips when you let go. Where the fuck are you going? You can’t just leave him—

“Close your eyes,” you say, putting a halt to his thoughts. There’s that devilish gleam again, yet you add, “Please?”

You don’t need to say please. Quinn closes his eyes, immediately hearing the clatter of dishes and mugs being taken away. His hands curl into fists, turning irritated. You don’t need to clean up for him. He can do it, but he keeps his eyes closed, not wanting to betray your wishes. You are surprising him. He’ll be an idiot if he tries to sour the mood. But he dislikes it. If you’re going to do the dishes, he’ll do it with you. He doesn’t like not doing things with you, especially when it’s the regular season. He’s always away. It’s exhausting but you make it better.

One moment he’s horny. The next he’s acting pathetic.

“You’re overthinking, Quinn.” Your gentle voice hums, easing his troubled soul.

He feels and hears you sit down in front of him. On the coffee table. He fucking shivers when your feet brush the outside of his thighs. No blanket can mask your warmth, your touch. He can feel your eyes running all over him. His face. His neck. His hair. His chest. His cock. He really, really, really might fucking come.

He can hear your shaky inhale. You finally notice. Your voice turns higher, “Come closer.”

He does it. It’s more of moving the low table rather than scooting closer. Oh, the tiny squeak that you let out is adorable. You always forget that he’s strong. You’ve admitted that to him, that he looks small on ice, that he’s cute. He couldn’t blame you. He is just 5-foot-10 around people who are 6-feet and taller. You told him he looked like he wouldn’t be able to lift you. So, Quinn learned to remind you that he can lift you and more.

Now, his mind pesters with image of you against the wall, legs around his waist while he fucks you hard. That’s his favorite way to prove it—Can he fucking stop? Seriously?

He feels your touch over his shoulders, thumb rubbing into his muscles, up his neck, up his jaw. Soon, you have your forehead against his. Quinn’s trying to feel the table any clues about your surprise. So far, he hasn’t found any. He’s so curious. Just what is it?

“Open your eyes for me, handsome.”

Quinn does. He instantly gets mesmerized by your eyes, the eyelashes delicately framing them, your blinks. You’re just beautiful. He won’t have any complaints if this is your surprise. A simple eye-to-eye contact minute with you. Now that’s an amazing gift. Because now, he sees the details of your eyes—the darker and lighter specks of your color and the impossibly wide pupils.

“I love it,” he says with satisfaction.

You laugh, blushing so hard. “You’re silly.” You kiss the tip of his nose, taking his hands to plant it around your waist. “Look down…”

Again, he does. He gazes at every inch of you like he hasn’t. He can’t help but feel your breasts, thumb swirling over your nipples that were begging to be seen and touched and freed from your shirt. After hearing you moan and making your back arch into his touch, he moves on, smirking when you grumble about your need. Later.

He teases your skin, your navel. He’s so lost seeing how you tremble, hips slightly moving and trying to create friction. He bet you’re soaking through your pretty panties—

Quinn stills the moment he catches something on your skin. On your hipbone. What the fuck. What the fuck is that?

His heart hammers against his chest as he hooks a thumb into your shorts and tugs down.

Holy shit.

No matter how much he blinks it doesn’t change.

A tattoo. A fucking tattoo on your left hip.

‘QH43’, it says.

Quinn is literally felt his stomach flutter with fucking butterflies, thumb subbing over it, trying to see if it’s temporary, but it doesn’t have a shine nor does it crack.

He should be worried. It must’ve fucking hurt. It’s over a bone. He should shake you and ask if you got caught up in a dare. He should be livid you kept this from him. Tattoos are big decisions. You always confide in him for big decisions. You didn’t have this when he left for the road trip. It looks healed. He should’ve been with you and helped you take care of it. Damn it.

Yet, the more he looks at it, the more desire courses through his veins. It melts his worries.

It’s just ink in your skin. Ink in your blood. His fucking initials and numbers on you. Permanently. Forever.

QH43. Just four characters in a normal script. So simple yet it’s enough to get him all shaken up.

“Why?” He asks, taking a hand into his cock. He looks up to your eyes, except you aren’t looking at him. You’re staring at what he’s doing with a blush on your face like you haven’t seen him jerk off, haven’t seen his dick in your pussy. You’re cute.

“Because I want it.”

“It’s bad to have your boyfriend’s name tattooed on your person.” Quinn wants to smack himself for saying that, because he likes it.

“Good thing it’s his number.” You crossed your arms, smirking and unfazed. “Besides, my boyfriend will never leave me. He promised me all the time.”

“Yes. I will never leave you.” He nods, moaning when you put a hand over his cheek. “’m so turned on.”

“I can see that.” Your nails scratch over his jaw again.

He’s losing it. “Did it hurt?”

“It stung but not too much. Want help?”

Quinn shakes his head. He needs an initial relief. His hand will do. For now. He can’t help but preen as you snatch away the blanket. Sweat starts to bead on his skin as he nudges his pants down, tightly gripping and working his cock. Fuck.

“Wanna cum on it?” You ask, your voice shaking as you pant. You lean back, planting your hands on the table, spreading your thighs wide, showing him the wet patch over your thin shorts. You’re evil for that.

Quinn doesn’t know he can get any harder, but he does. Especially when he can basically smell you, taste you through it. He missed this so much. An ache forms in his chest for missing out, for not being with you.

“Is that safe?” Quinn moans, swiping a thumb over his slit, shivering as his pre-cum dribbles down his length. Totally forgetting how he was rubbing it a minute ago, he gasps, “Don’t want it to hurt.”

“It’s healed,” you reassure. “Ugh, I hate my panties. They’re so wet.”

See, you’re really complaining. The annoyance is clear on your face, but it’s cute as fuck. You shimmy your shorts and panties down, shivering when your arousal creates a string from the lace to your pussy. You still sit at the table, waiting for him to come on you.

“You’re killing me, my Love.” Quinn crawls up to his knees. “All wet for me?”

“Yeah.” Then you slide one hand over your pussy, parting it for him, making him see you quivering hole. “You really like my tattoo?”

Quinn can only nod. There’s a lump in his throat. He’s panting as he chases his relief. The way your pussy drip is getting to his head. Fuck, why is he still jerking off when your pussy is right there? He scoots closer, sliding his cock along your pussy. Both of you groan. You feel so good and he’s not even inside.

“Quinn,” you gulp, hands coming up his shoulder. “Maybe. You can jerk off later? I’m right here. I need you, handsome.”

He feels your pain and he feels the same. He presses his dick in your entrance. He warns, “I’m going to come soon.”

“Yes, please.”

Something snaps.

It’s his control.

You really know how to make him lose it. Those two fucking words. It might as well be a prophecy. He will listen and make it happen rather than wait for it to come true.

One smooth movement, he’s inside. His eyes nearly roll up as your pussy squeezes around him, seemingly determined to milk his cum out. By some miracle, he doesn’t come right away. He doesn’t it matters he did. He fucks you with urgency.

You feel divine. Your pussy. Your heated skin. Your arms that slot over his shoulders, urging him to fuck you faster. Your long nails dragging red stripes down his nape and back. Pain and pleasure sears down his soul.

“Quinn,” you call, tugging at his hair.

He moans your name like a prayer just for you. For his Love eternal. Fuck, he deeply loves you so much that it. More than anything in this world. You are the light of his life. Light, not a flame that would burn him. A light makes everything clear and visible. He’ll never get lost with you by his side. Lost in you, now, that’s a different topic.

He catches sight of a sweat dripping down from your temple, your cheek, your jaw, your neck, to your collarbones. He’s there, licking it up from its destination and up your jaw. Fuck, your taste—the saltiness, your scent on his tongue—is alluring.

Your moans mix with his, drowning out the buzz of the air-conditioning, the slight creaking of the coffee table, the ringing of his fucking phone. Who the fuck is calling him this early in the morning? It doesn’t matter. Not important right now. No.

Your hands cling to his arms, nails digging deep crescents into his skin. When his thumb circles your clit, he feels your pussy walls contract and pulse, making him come deep inside you. One spurt. Two. Three. Then he pulls out, so he spills right over your tattoo. You both pant, watching his cum make a mess on your skin, watching the cum dripping down your used pussy.

Your hand wraps around his cock, squeezing him fucking dry, making sure every drop is on your skin, your hips, and your thighs. He can’t help but gasp, forehead resting against yours.

He can’t believe he got you to come before him when he was so close to the edge.

So happy that you did.

So fucking ecstatic that he starts rubbing his cum into your skin, swiping its thickness into your damn tattoo, making sure it’s thoroughly coated. This is what you wanted. He also fucking wants it. His other hand travels to your pussy to push his cum back in. Your thighs quiver, shaking. Your moans and whines are loud and clear in his ears.

Fuck, he’s still so hard.

And you know it. How can you not? You’re holding him. It’s so evident that he’s ready for more.

You meet his eyes as you pant. Your lips are so red from being bitten. Quinn reaches up, taking his pushing his thumb slicked with his cum in your lips. When you immediately lick and suck on it, he can’t stop himself from grinding on your pussy. You’re just as greedy as him.

He loves that and he needs to fuck you again.

“Another?” he pleads.

“Yes,” you murmur, kissing his thumb. “Please.”

You don’t need to say anything else.

[poorly-drawn-mdzs]

A procession of confessions.

[First] Prev <–-> Next

[velvetwyrme]

bringing back the question for 2025: who in the autobots would fuck a car and/or have an sti

hi i thought too long and hard about this. then i made a silly comic about it which quickly got derailed into another silly bit. and then it kept getting longer and more terrible

i don't know whether you're the same person as the original anon or not but im gonna freakin cry either way. is this my legacy...

on one hand this ask gave me lots of motivation for some reason, so thank you for that, but on the other hand it motivated me to draw a 6 page comic about robot STIs.

i put too much effort into this lmao. for my actual conclusions AND some extra notes about the comic click the read more 👍

Ratchet: No and no. Has HAD STIs before. When he was younger. True across continuities except... in TFA he would have an STI. I can see it.

Ironhide: Yes carfucking, but I feel like the carfuckin was also a one time thing specifically. No STI. To quote my notes: "Frag no, Chromia or Ratch woukd kill him". Typo included.

Jazz: Yes carfucking, no STI because if he got one he'd be on top of treatment. Originally there was a bit in the comic with Jazz and Prowl arguing about which is worse: fuckin a car or havin a STI but it got cut because its already like 6 pages

Prowl: No carfucking and yes STI. He thinks carfucking is Really Weird. Wait. Purely off of vibes because I still haven't watched ES (someday...) but ES!Prowl would fuck a car.

Optimus: Who else do you think gave Megatron the STI? (/j /j... unless?) Carfucking and STI status varies wildly across continuities imo. G1? Yes and yes. IDW... depends on what point in time. I feel like its a yes to both but not at the same time. TFA would not fuck a car but he definitely has an STI. TFP! and ES! OP is a mystery to me, you guys can tell me if you have strong opinions on them. Hm. Armada OP would fuck a car.

Sideswipe: originally it WAS going to be him in the comic but as I mentioned, it got derailed. He'd absolutely give a car an STI.

Wheeljack/Trailbreaker/Hot Rod: Yeah, probably both. Maybe not at the same time though. Hot Rod was only so low on Prowls list because hes Literally Offworld but who knows what hes capable of.

Yes to carfucking, no STI: Lets see... Bumblebee, Cliffjumper (despite Prowl and Ironhide's assumption in the comic, THIS is my actual opinion lmao), I think Mirage would as well, but he'd vehemently deny it. Also *leans in close to the mic* Elita-1 would fuck a car. But she'd do it and it'd be like. Cool.

No to carfucking, yes STI: *long pause as i look into the middle distance* mmm...Smokescreen. I don't know much about TFP!Smokescreen but he can get lumped in there too. Sunstreaker as well, but more because he says he didn't fuck a car but he could be lying and you genuinely can't tell if he is. Also Brawn for some reason.

As for other characters elsewhere... Rodimus is a strong contender for giving a car an STI. So is Whirl, but I feel like he's slightly less likely to have an STI, yknow? Only slightly.

Other notable ones I think would have both but NOT at the same time: Swerve, Skids, Drift (specifically because of Rodimus because even if they don't fuck they seem like the type of friends who share drinks), I think First Aid fits in here too, and is the only medic who would have an STI that I can think of off the top of my head. Oh also Armada!Jetfire.

I also think that the Aerialbots are all contenders for this category too. Some more than others but it wouldn't matter because they all end up with an STI and it's miserable.

ALSO...

The alternate punchline to the comic, had it been set on the Lost Light, is... a meeting (in which the general consensus is that Rodimus fucked the car that mysteriously appeared on the Lost Light, AND he gave it an STI)

Then, Nightbeat bursts in with Brainstorm in tow, and he reveals that it was in fact Brainstorm's fault- NOT because he fucked the car (he's far more interested in er... lab equipment, lets say) BUT he made a gun that fucks cars, and accidentally gave the GUN a STI

ALSO SIDEBURN FROM TF:RID (2001). he would ABSOLUTELY fuck a car and give it an STI. He canonically loves red sportscars and you KNOW that mans got an STI.