#first aid headcanons

[hoiststowline]

_first aid x reader hc's

to First Aid, his love language is little more difficult to pigeonhole. if you were to ask him, he'd probably say he's inclined to all of them, but over time it becomes glaringly obvious that actions speak a lot louder than words with him. his love language is definitely acts of service, because he has a natural tendency not only to assist, but desire to make his s/o's life a little easier. uses phrases such as: "here, allow me," or "please, let me help." but he isn't hovering over your shoulder or overbearing regarding it, he can detect and notice when you need an extra hand or need a break from something. but it's an action that goes both ways, when his s/o does a thoughtful action or a favor for him, he feels the most loved.

picks up little things you do/say. you joke that he's been around you too long when he starts quoting things you've said or adopting habits of yours. he's an observer, he finds comfort in the familiar but isn't opposed to the unknown. First Aid just likes to learn, and based off that, he can't get enough of the media you consume either. tv, music or books- he's fascinated and wants to know more. in contrast of just reading or watching it himself, he prefers your analyzation or retelling, just because he knows your version has a lot more passion and excitement in it.

naps, naps naps. being Chief Medical Officer (CMO), he's likely got a busy schedule and falls into a habit of taking short naps rather than getting a good nights rest, undisturbed. it's an small break that he's actively seeking you out for, and even if both of you are sleeping or you’re wide awake, he still wants you there. sure, he knows he’s bad company in this instance, but it’s the sleepy before and after that makes it worth it. if First Aid can have a moment to catch up with you once throughout the hours it’s much better than waiting until the end of the day, or even the next day. he just wants to see you, and mismatched schedules and sleep hours sometimes prohibits that. more than he’d like to admit.

he is hilarious but doesn’t realize it. he’s partial to say something in a deadpan or mumble sentences under his breath. these airless sentences are uttered mostly for only you to hear, just his own commentary to a movie or conversation. he always finds himself surprised and confused as to why you erupt in a fit of laughter, because he wasn’t his intention to make a joke there. but you must’ve found something funny mixed in his words, and he can't even remember what he said as he watches you laugh so hard your cheeks become rosy. when you praise him to others, you include how funny he is, but to him, it’s more of a “if you say so,” situation. said with a smile and short laugh of his own, not really so sure but willing to humor you, always.

if he has one complaint in your relationship, it’s schedule conflicts. every so often there’s long periods of time where the both of you are apart, and the hours you’re asleep overlap with the hours he’s working. you have responsibilities too- work, school, etc, and in this case scenario I think he'd probably be big on text messages. it's not the ideal way to catch up with you, but for the circumstances permitting, it's the best way to speak to you when he only has moments here and there. one thing is concrete in this relationship, is that he's never too busy for you, and will do everything he can to make it work in the healthiest way possible. First Aid has a relatively sturdy work/life balance, but there's always situations beyond his control that cause some variance. his s/o is understanding of that, and it provides him utmost solace, working continuously to ensure that the balance is never tipped.

[magmary]

Sketchy sketches

[niiwa-angel]

"Optimus doesn't take time off because he's too self sacrificing"

Wrong!

Optimus can't take time off because he knows the second he isn't white knuckling the riens, Elita-One, Ironhide, Jazz, and Prowl are going scorched Earth on the Decepticons. It will end the war but it may also classify as a total annihilation.

Optimus, sleeping slightly deeper than he usually would: 😴

Prowl: Optimus is out of commission, I am now in charge. Elita, break out those plans we told him we didn't make, Ironhide, ready the acid bombs, Jazz, grab us a jet. We're ending this war tonight.

Elita "the ends can justify the means" One: You know, I don't think we've properly considered the elegance of germ warfare. We wouldn't even have to get our hands dirty.

Ironhide "I'm just showing him my cannons" the Weapons expert: That'll take too long. Nukes, that's the best way to go.

Jazz "I lead the most lethal fighters on this team" the Spy: We've got one shot, I can sneak in and stash some explosives in their barracks, they'll never catch me. Blow their whole base sky high.

Optimus, waking up in just the nick of time: I am begging you to stand down!

Ironhide: Told you we should have slipped a sedative in his high grade.

~~~~

Optimus, literally fighting to get out of the Medbay: You don't understand! They're plotting!

Ratchet: You have a broken leg and a head injury, sit your ass down!!

First Aid, who's been secretly trying to help the four of them end this thing: I'll grab a sedative. He may need a week of bedrest.

Meanwhile

Elita-one: Now, I did some research and did you know that half of our war crimes aren't considered war crimes on this planet?

Jazz: Fascinating. What a creative group.

Prowl: Indeed. And Optimus does want us abiding by the laws of this planet.

Ironhide, nodding along: He does.

Prowl: Whelp! Gotta follow orders obey the laws of this planet. It's not a war crime here, Jazz, get the rust bombs.

[boxofoxberry]

THE SIBLINGS EVER

[wifetomegatron]

an alchemy of ore & eu de parfum : how i imagine cybertronians react to human perfume (afab!reader) (nsfw!)

most of the lost light crew only knew about it in passing. rumor was that before the war, the wealthy would import organic plants from off-worlds to extract their oils: steam distillation, boiling, maceration. of course, it wasn't very popular when the planet's atmosphere lacked the proper gases. without volatile elements in the air like oxygen, the exotic scents hardly smelled like anything. it didn't stick against their armors the way it clings onto organic skin. so it became a short-lived experiment that barely dented the surface of the planet's long history of achievements. mechs, trying to replicate organic perfume. it sounded ridiculous.

until perceptor caught a whiff of it: phantom light, brushing against his olfactory sensors. he lifted his helm, finally compelled to tear his optics away from the datapad to look at the human liaison. he inhaled experimentally, failing to be discreet. embarrassed, you tell him it's the new bottle of body wash you've tried: a mixture of wild violets and pink hibiscus. do you like it?  he thinks of strange fragile flowers, drifting under the wind. perceptor nearly missed the question, slowly nodding as you leaned closer in worry. it took the mech a lot of self-restraint to not pull you flush against him when the new, alien fragrance hits him square in the chassis like a bullet.

minimus drags his human's wrist across his intake, peppering light kisses along the skin. it was where the sweet, smoky odor was strongest, luring him closer. with you sprawled across his lap: trembling, laughing at the ticklish sensation, minimus couldn't contain the small, helpless groan that escaped him. shamelessly tipping your chin down to press your lips against his. the fragrance of mandarin and jasmine, crowding the space between your bodies.  the scientist hovered above your shoulders, mouthguard grazing the junction where your neck meets your jaw. brainstorm tightened his grip against your wrists, pining it above your head. he wants to melt into you, to drown in the overwhelming scent of amber. tyrax, benzoin; he knows they're just a cluster of chemical reactions coming to life along the curve of your collarbones. bonds breaking and fracturing to release something tangy, saccharine. but you're telling him that bulgarian rose, sandalwood — foreign, outlandish names of floras he'd never heard about before was making you smell celestial ? he was the universe's biggest heathen, but primus, save him. you were wiggling underneath his frame, back flat against the pristine table. he says he wants to run a few experiments, noticing how your pupils respond by widening, skin prickling with excitement. 

he's trying to be gentle, servos encasing your hip to lower you down his spike. megatron watches as you take him, inch by inch. with your back pressed against his chest plate, he could feel the thrum of his spark against the line of your spine as it bows and curves in pleasure. as you spread your legs further to sink further, he rewards you with a kiss — brushing your hair aside to press his intake against the pulse point beneath your ear. and he tastes it, or rather, breathes it in. he didn't need to, but when your sweat mixes itself with the perfume you always wore: bergamot and peony, he inhales and loses himself even more.

the habsuite reeked of sex, and it crowded the air: humid and heavy, whirl's optic nearly offlined at how obscenely wet you were around his spike. already drunk on your pheromones. so when he lifted both your legs higher — up to his shoulders — to fit himself up to the hilt, whirl didn't expect to catch a whiff of your perfume around your ankles. you whined, a high-pitched, desperate sound, when he stopped thrusting to press his enstril against your achilles heel. that was enough for him to snap. he hoisted you up into a mating press, driving into you with a new kind of vigor. 'you did this on purpose', he emphasized by roughly grabbing your ass to push further into your already trembling cunt. causing you to moan into the dark. 'you knew we'd end up here. like this. filthy, little —'

sicilian mandarin and citrus musk. you made a mental note to yourself to wear the combination around your lover more often.

a/n : for @robot-horde because you're brilliant and left a comment on the tags of this post and it just inspired me to make more.

[monabee-draws]

Thinking about my Crow Rook Emmaline and how her and Lucanis' best and worst parts of their lives lined up so opposite to one another.

Rook is a happy, healthy and beloved Circle apprentice around the same time Lucanis becomes a Crow fledgeling. While he's thrown into the deep end and beaten under guise of training, Rook is desperately happy to be out of the alienage, well fed and finally learning to be literate.

Then, during the early years after Rook is made Tranquil and serves in the Circle, Lucanis grows into being a Crow. He's on good terms with his close soon-to-be Talons Teia and Viago, and he and Illario aren't thinking too hard about Caterina's eventual choice of First Talon. It's probably the happiest part of Lucanis' youth, and the unhappiest part of Rook's (if she had the capacity for anything but endless neutral indifference.)

Then when Rook joins the Crows, Lucanis is reaching the height of his fame as the Demon of Vyrantium. Everyone knows his name, Illario is off with him somehow, Caterina is ever more demanding. But he's doing good, he's completing his contracts, he's protecting his family. Rook is busy being perfectly thorough, efficient, and scaring the shit out of Viago who - despite his wariness at hiring a tranquil to his house, feels some degree of sympathetic responsibility for Rook. Maybe he sees the inevitable endpoint of their profession in Rook's blank compliance. Maybe that makes him hold Teia a little tighter in the morning light. Either way, both of them are teetering somewhere between downfall and joyful belonging, but remain passing ships in the night.

And then, air. Rook is no longer Tranquil. She is free and brazen and drunk on life. She is learning to wield magic in service of her work. All the rage and the screaming on the inside bursts out and makes her sloppy, but she keeps being given passes for it so long as things get done. All the while, Lucanis is being mourned. Missing, suffering, trapped physically the same way Rook was trapped mentally.

Two more years pass like this. In her freedom, Rook goes too far, messes up the Antaam job, and doesn't regret a moment of it. Viago sends her away, care even in that. In the end she brings back the brother they thought they'd never see. For the first time in their lives - world-ending events notwithstanding - both Rook and Lucanis are unbound, supported and safe. And they get to be that way together.

[justxplosions]

Wanna infodump What I think modern Defensor's personality would be. (Using some of my own headcanons for the individual bots lmao)

Absolutely the sweetest, chill, and level headed bot alive. Blades' gentle kindness, Groove's general chillness, First Aid's bleeding heart, Streetwise just beeing cool, and Hot Spot's commucative and diplomatic nature. He's a sweety.

Utterly ruthless when need be, though. Like he gets restraint from First aid and Groove, but he'll kick the shit out of someone who needs it like Blades and Hot Spot. It was hard to find Streetwise's fighting habits but it seems he'll also fight when needed. ESPECIALLY someone who threatens his humans/ humans in general. Theyre all protective of humans so times that by 5 and put it together you get this dude "Omae Wa mou Shinderu"-ing you before you can lay a finger on one.

Speaking of multiplying feelings. Blades adores Cody already, and I imagine the 0thers learn to like him as well, so that all mixed together Cody is Defensor's favorite human. He might get a little overboard in his affection but he has 5 times the capacity for everything including love, he can't help it.

So yeah, terrifying to his enemies, but to his friends he's like a 3 story tall teddy bear.

[lara-prism-light]

I think I'm the only one in the fandom who doesn't headcanon First Aid as a bit of sadism lol

This isn't a bad thing, I'm just a little shocked that most of the content I've seen from First Aid is him being a bit of a freak.

I like this! I'm just a little shocked that this is the most popular headcanon for the character!

I normally headcanon him as being a bit sensitive and kind, well I guess I'm the only one lol!😅

[novafire-is-thinking]

Medicine? More like Magic.

One of several conversations @cadet-songbird and I have had where we’ve shared in the suffering (and humor) of trying to figure out how Cybertronian biology works. Songbird’s medical knowledge and training can only do so much. jdsjkjs

[inkybinkyboink]

god urinetown in the summer must suck. in springtime it's marginally better, it might even rain if they're lucky, but nobody's really lucky in urinetown. mostly it's just humid, like there's water but it's impossible to get. tantalizing. and it just makes everything smell worse. the days are way too long, and the heat makes everyone hide in boarded up houses anyways, like bugs. late july is the worst month. too hot and dry to do anything, people go crazy, which means more police patrol. barrel's knuckles are bruised all month long, and officer lockstock just can't seem to get the iron-like smell of blood out of his nose. there's no ice to soothe any of the injuries, so miss pennywise reluctantly gives a cold coffee cup to a beaten joseph strong in place of proper medical aid. everyone is hot and exhausted, and their hatred for the rich only deepens. the ugc claims that they're all in a tough time, but the poor don't buy it for a second. they're not blind. they see that their suits are still dry and clean, working towards a death that's the result of a curved spine and carpel tunnel rather than dehydration. even little sally sees it, but she doesn't really care. they'll all end up in the same place eventually.

[hoiststowline]

would you be willing to write something cute with first aid? thanks!

first aid x reader

[a/n: yeah! thank you!]

Upon several glances, some way too ambitious and not inconspicuous enough, it’s realized that First Aid moves with resolve. Almost as if he put in every ounce he had with no guaranteed successful output- even against menial tasks. Handfuls of words come to mind, mostly determined and committed to seeing things through and then some, but it was never in a distorted light. Ones some describe as admirable traits, and others argue are taken to a fault, it seems to never bother the medical officer.

He’s doing an inventory of all things, moving languidly around the room and paying you no mind. Not exactly ignoring, as you had nothing substantial to bring up in conversation, yet seeking his company. First Aid could never be that harsh, yet the amount of sanitized jumper cables momentarily ranks a little higher than wondering what you were up to.

You couldn’t even bring yourself to be disappointed regarding it, you’re the one who took it upon yourself to sit on the counter whilst he was busy. It’s the same song and dance; he always comes to you once he’s finished his responsibilities, and it's a respectable notion.

In this instance, you’re not preoccupied by something else, a book or a slew of missed messages or emails. You take it upon yourself to survey him, observing the way his left hip extends just a bit out to the left as he counts salient things within the cabinet, well beyond your line of sight.

“…really red, are you alright?”

Something within you dies at that, blinking thrice before recognizing he’s no longer across from you in the room. It’s even more jarring to find that he’s long since moved, standing just to your right in front of the counter, waving a hand slowly in front of your face.

He asked you a question, and you’d been too occupied to even comprehend he was inquiring one.

Hesitantly, you shake your head, appallingly feigning nonchalance. “I’m sorry, run that by me one more time?” Spoken poorly, as do most who’ve been caught in a miserable situation.

First Aid pauses, his hand dropping unceremoniously back to its rightful spot, at his side. “Hm. I said your face looks really red. Are you okay?”

Immediately, unsteady hands come to your cheeks, feeling the twinges of warmth that have settled just beneath the skin there. It’s like a double whammy-you’d been caught staring and the most unfavorable color had strongly adhered to your face.

“I’m fine,” You insist, palms sliding the remaining length of your face to drop rather dramatically into your lap. “S’just hot in here.”

"Is it?" He casts a glance over his shoulder, eyeing the thermostat, finding that it is of normal temperature within the office. "No, it's not. I'd say it's cold, if anything,"

Peering around him, your stomach twists to find it really was only about sixty degrees, yet every exposed square inch of skin burned hot. "Huh. Weird,"

"Are you unwell?" He tries again, taking a step closer, shortly followed by another. Several red flags were arising within his processor, concerns brewing at the situation, and your responses did not make well enough sense.

"What? No." You insist, fingers dropping from your face to settle behind you on the counter, leaning your weight backward.

"Humor me," A digit comes to your forehead, then effortlessly slides down to the apple of your cheek as if checking your temperature. As if you would squirm or move away, the unoccupied hand cups your jaw, thumb pressing gently against your chin.

You have nothing to say, a stuttering mess beneath his shadow. He's so close, yet disquiet was the root of his gesture, inching so near that you have to draw your knees up to your chest to allow him to move flush to the counter.

"You are really warm," First Aid concludes, touch lingering a moment too long before dropping altogether, though he never takes a step backward. "Are you sure you feel up to par?"

"Positive," You squeak, fingers squeezing your kneecaps so tightly your joints are screaming for mercy. "Totally fine."

He eyes you curiously as if he doesn't quite believe you but relents, taking one step rearward that alleviates some of your lovesick nausea. "Let me know if it gets worse, okay?"

"Huh?" Not doing yourself any favors, your eyes meet his in a stern stare-down.

"Your temperature?" Proposed sincerely, though you weren't lessening his fretting. "Let me know."

"Right," You nod, shrugging off such a warped idea, fearful you were just digging yourself deeper into the same rut. "Yeah. I will."

[cyber-streak-2]

G1 Bumblebee, IDW First Aid and IDW Ambulon with Cybertronian Reader getting their voice box ripped out in front of them

(G1) Bumblebee, (IDW1/MTMTE) First Aid, & (IDW1/MTMTE) Ambulon with Cybertronian Reader who has their voice box ripped out:

Bumblebee

[He doesn’t actually see it happen to you in person. You got captured, so he and his fellow Autobots go to rescue you, and he accidentally trips over something, activating a video- which plays what happened. Someone recorded it.]

[He’s horrified and panicked, wanting to find you even more- the whole time, he’s comforted by whoever went with him to save you. It doesn’t take long before he finds the cell you’re in.]

[You’re panicked, too, and in a lot of pain. At least there isn’t any energon leaking/pouring out from where your voice box got ripped out. He feels bad for you.]

[He’s talking to you the whole time (trying to comfort you) and get you out of here. Although you can’t speak anymore, you can at least mouth the words (if you aren’t wearing a mask), or you’re just doing gestures. He understands... sorta.]

[When you get back to the base, safe, Bee is there to comfort and reassure you as best as he can.]

[Getting a new voice box isn’t exactly impossible, it’s just difficult, because Ratchet doesn’t just have one in the medical bay, but he’ll look- Bee will help, too.]

First Aid

[You all got into a fight with some aliens that managed to board the Lost Light. First Aid finds himself being held back by some, while you’re trying to help him.]

[He watches in horror as one of the aliens just grabs you like a light sack, and rips out your voice box. The noises you made as it was ripped out were heartbreaking, and he remembers them.]

[Some help comes for the two of you, though by the time First Aid gets to you, you’ve suffered some extra damage, and you lost consciousness- either from the pain, or Energon loss, or probably both.]

[When you wake up in the medibay, you notice First Aid nearby, staring at something, with Ratchet trying to reassure him. It’s only when you knock against the berth, that they know you’re awake.]

[First Aid goes to your side, apologizing, and promising that he’ll help you.]

[You realize the item that he was staring at happened to be your voice box. It’s not in perfect condition- it’s crushed up, but not the worst that it could be- it’s fixable.]

Ambulon

[You got taken along with him and First Aid to where Pharma and Ratchet were. You’re not too sure what’s going on, though, you’re pretty off, as you’d been recovering from something else.]

[Although, the next thing you know and feel is your voice box being ripped out— and, primus, it hurts. You can also hear Ambulon shouting. You can hear other things, too, like Pharma talking, but you aren’t focused on him.]

[Ambulon wants to help you- he’s never liked seeing you in any sort of pain. Although, there’s nothing that he can do right now with what’s happening. He guesses he’l have to do it once this is all over...]

[You losing your voice box isn’t going to be the worst kind of pain that you feel here...]

[robot-rarepairs-dotcom]

THE WHIRLAID SHIP IS SUCH A GOOD IDEA I CAN'T BELIEVE I NEVER THOUGHT OF IT

do you have any hcs for it? (sfw and nsfw)

Sure

Sfw:

Based on an art I saw, they like bar hopping together

First Aid thinks Whirls jokes are funny

Whirl likes carrying First Aid around like a ferret

They sleep in weird sprawling across positions together

First Aid gets fussy when he’s not sleeping close to Whirl

Whirl won’t sleep at all if First Aid isn’t there

Whirl can and will kill for First Aid

Head bonks

Nsfw bellow the cut:

First Aid is LOUD during facing and Whirlpool loves it

Whirls claw thingies make good hold able things. Perfect for holding legs apart

They’re more valve users. Rarely they use spikes and Whirl often sticks his claws into First Aid

First Aid has more kinks than should be possible and Whirl thinks it’s hot

First Aid loves tying up stuff wether it’s him, Whirl or Both

Slight sado/masochism, clawing each other and such

They’re very flexible creatures :3

[wifetomegatron]

a study in metal and silk. mtmte imagines.

I think there's just something about the stark contrast between fabric and metal that makes me feral. The sharp, striking counterpoint of sentio metallico against human skin. It makes me lightheaded to think of the gentle brushes and soft strokes exchanged between cybertronians and their humans lovers — how painfully tender these titans try to be with hands that have most likely torn ships apart.

Fort Max holding your coat up and letting you glide one arm in after the other, cashmere wool against cyberium — and to think that when in oil form, it has the chance of poisoning you. Yet welded into his armor, the metal was ( what you claimed ) your favorite thing about him. You'd pepper kisses along his servos, feather-light and playful, against each finger to thank him for being such a gentlemech. He was always at a loss when it came to your soft gestures as if his hands hadn't been bloodied and torn and scathed with energon. Yet he doesn't have the strength to protest when you lay your cheek against his palm, which was big enough to cover your entire head, even with his mass displaced.

First Aid helping his beloved into their shirt, your eyes barely open as the sunlight hits you square in the face. You wanted to ask him why he had opened the curtains this early in the morning, on a Sunday too, but you can't seem to focus on anything else but his servos. The bed creaked and dipped on his side, the mattress straining under his weight even if you've lined it with a layer of metal below. He looks funny against the pristine blankets, and despite his reputation for a set of steady hands, they were still bulky and square. So he takes his time looping the buttons into their respective holes, and you rest your forehead against his shoulder, already lulling back to sleep. Your heartbeat was a strange, distant sound against the humming of his spark.

Minimus slowly eased his human out of their ballet slippers, untying the ribbons one by one: careful, patient, servos already soothing the irritated skin. The pink satin looks alien against his grip, out of place. And yet he handles them with care, knowing how much you prize them. His mouth ghosts over your knee, trailing down as he massages your ankle. He's saying something about not pushing yourself too hard, and you want to call him out for being a hypocrite, but it's impossible to speak when you're drowning in the sensation of his touch as it brushes over the hem of your skirt. So you sit in silence; admiring, watching, as he continues to give you a lecture (lovingly, of course).

Rodimus, adjusting you as you cling onto his back, arms looped around his neck as he grips both of your thighs on either side of his waist. He gives you a playful squeeze, and you laugh into his jugular cables, high heels — black leather and polymer — dangling off your fingers as he piggybacks you back home. He tells you that you should've gone with the more practical choice, and you tease him about sounding like his co-captain. Relishing in the subtle thrum of his frame against your chest, slumping forward to press your lips against his cheek — smooth, unbending, yet warm to the touch. Different from your perception of what metal feels like, you have to remind yourself living metal is far from cold. 

Ratchet sliding your gloves over your hands, the article of clothing an inconvenient little thing to a Cybertronian. And yet, for you, they help keep the cold out — especially when insulated by wool. The golden brooch by the ends of each wrist glinted under the streetlamp. Above, snowflakes danced in the light, a choreographed ballet conducted by the gentle wind. You tell him you feel warmer already, yet the medic doesn't seem convinced, holding your arms and lifting your fingers to his intake. He ex-vents, once, twice, the air warm enough for you to feel past the fabric. He then lays your palms across his chest and scoffs, pulling you flush against him. Ratchet says that if you were cold, you should've said it ages ago.

(suggestive, mdni!)

Megatron kneeling before you, servos dextrous as they give your stockings an experimental tug upwards, before rolling them down to your knee in one fluid movement. He hovers his intake over your inner thigh, the stiff arch of his helm, dipping against the curve of your skin. Your breathing quickened, and he seemed to hear this, already moving to undo the other leg. He holds you like you'll break any second. As if you were a porcelain doll, a thing of glass. You tell him that you can be malleable. That you can learn to bend and embrace him — and he seems drunk at the thought. He pushed the straps of your chemise, thin and flimsy, down each shoulder. Easing you back on the bed. And the fabric pooled around your waist to reveal your chest, silk moving like water against the seams of his plating.

[sliding-graphite]

Hello fellow Seduce me fan! Since you have come out as Asian I have a question! I'm trying to give Aezeara a human name and I really like Longmu for its similarities to her life and her husbands five sons. (One of which is a dragon.) And since Dragons are demons I thought she would consider being ″the mother of dragons″ a good thing as in she is calling her son powerful. However Tella warned me Asian women are stereotyped as dragons in a bad way so I was hoping for your opinion.

Sorry for all the words! Thank you!

Firstly, “come out as Asian” is such a phrase and I love it ironically. Salaam, aku ialah seorang online.

Secondly, Big Stepping Stone that you gotta do is select an Asian region or culture. Depictions of dragon or dragon—like creatures will differ.

South Asia (Pakistan, Sri Lanka, Bangladesh, etc.) cultural mythology will differ from Southeast Asia (Thailand, Indonesia, Philippines, Laos, Myanmar etc.),

in way that East Asian places will have their differences in dragon myths and naming (Korean, Japanese, Chinese tribes, etc.)

Once you have your region, or even your main dragon myth, it all goes easier from there.

Thirdly, if your main thing is about choosing a good name for Aezeara, especially as a ‘mother of dragons,’ I’d suggest you look up names of either past queens and/or historical figures. Whether they themselves were mothers, nobles, or were just ‘witches’ or villainous women from history, take your pick!

Look up a list of such women from your main culture (from your chosen myth), and be ready to take a deep dive!

(Speaking of which, thanks for reminding me to do some personal history homework.)

Hope that all helps, and this ‘non-closeted Asian’ will be signing off!

[gothicjuicebox]

I need someone to draw all of ratchets "kids" just judging ratchet as soon as he comes in with his new hippie boyfriend. And all of them are just comparing drift to the past boyfriends lmao just like

"So you your not gonna cut us in half? Blow up anything you make? cause fights?'

(First aid and the aerialbots coming from ratchet and pharma)

(Dino bots coming from ratchet and wheeljack)

(Chaos twins or sideswipe and sunstreaker being adopted by ratchet and ironhide with a little of wheeljack)