#god fucking forbid i point out the damage being done to communities that i care about because they're human fucking beings.

[vulpinesaint]

i appreciate how fierce you are in your slander against blood libel the game. costing peace of mind to lead this battle, defending jewish and trans people along the way. you're doing amazing <3

anon i love you for real. this is very sweet, thank you 🖤 happy to delete stupid transphobic shit from my inbox for at least the sake of making sure my blog is a safe space for my trans and jewish mutuals if they didn't know that already. i'm carrying such an indescribable amount of anger over this so if you see me devolve into incoherent violence in the next few days just try and be niceys to me for a little bit haha <3

[morgana-ren]

utterly lack critical thinking or comprehension and couldn't understand nuance or perspective if you gave them baby's first homework assignment on it

This. This so hard. And its always us that are wrong for blocking them or even god forbid trying to explain. I'm 34, my blog is full of dark content and it's so creepy and worrying to having kids following! I end up going through a blog check every week

I want to say thank you to everyone who has messaged me and pointed out the minors in my follows when I might've missed them. Some of them try to hide, others are unabashed, but all of them get blocked.

The ones that see this and snidely think I have missed them, the damage is on your head. I'm sorry, but that's the reality of it. If you lie to me, or hide yourself, there is quite literally nothing I can do. My responsibility over your life ends there.

Thing is, I remember being that age. I remember being a child and trying to worm my way into adult spaces. All my life, I had been told I was so mature for my age, and that I was an 'old soul.' I was "different" from other children; I could handle it. I understood 'more than they did.' I was smart and clever and everyone around me made a point to impress that on me, and I believed it.

I thought I could handle it, and I didn't learn for many years until after the damage had already been done.

Children are headstrong and stubborn, but they are also foolish and unlearned and have no experience. They haven't been alive long enough to realize this yet, though, and it isn't their fault. That is something that comes with age. They do not understand the depths of damage that they can cause to themselves or others. They do not understand that most people who tell you how 'smart you are' or how you're 'mature' for your age are usually out to manipulate you. They do not know how to engage in these spaces in a safe manner because it simply isn't possible.

They do not understand, and they do not care to. Children are selfish. It's not meant as an insult. Really. It's just part of growing up. It's why they invite themselves into adult spaces despite being told they are not wanted. Their viewpoints are correct and true and they are right and you're just a boomer. You don't get it.

They are still developing. Still learning. Still growing. They literally do not understand because they have no way to. They think that they can handle it because they have no reason to believe that they cannot. They do not have the life experience or wisdom that comes with that experience.

They do not know how to engage these fandoms, which is why you will find them arguing their viewpoints when no one has asked or starting fights over different characters or plotlines they don't like. They don't have the experience to be able to understand nuance or storytelling and a great many other things. It's usually children that are spearheading the 'fiction equals reality' movement because they are, and forgive me for saying this, but too foolish to fully grasp what they are saying and the long reaching implications and consequences of it. They are children in mind and body, no matter how desperately they don't want to be.

They demand to be accepted into adult spaces, and then demand to be protected by the adults in those fandoms who do not want them there (which, in my experience, is a relatively new phenomenon) despite the fact that it is not possible because the source fucking material was not made with you in mind. They engage in smut writing and violence and other themes that their brains cannot fully comprehend beyond an initial understanding of what the content is. They do not understand that they are causing damage with their presence. They are causing damage to themselves and others and the community at large.

They don't care. They have no reason to.

They don't care if they are putting you in danger. They do not care if they are putting themselves in danger. They do not care.

At the end of the day, there is only so much that we can do. We can try and explain it. We can tell them. We can try to appeal to the little bit of empathy they have developed. We can explain things as nicely as possible and hope that they see reason in our words. We can give them our personal experiences and our hardships and plead with them not to tread the same path. But most of the time, they will not listen. They believe they are different and special, and they won't learn for many, many years that they are not.

They cannot grasp this concept, so needless to say, it is entirely pointless to try and explain to them why they might be a bit too naive to engage with certain fiction. Why their ideas on characters and stories might be a bit underdeveloped and ridiculous. They get angry and lash out. They demand respect but do not give it. They demand protection and yet put everyone at risk.

It's not their fault, in a way. They don't understand. They can't. It's why we do what we can to keep them out.

I am genuinely sorry that their parents and the world around them has failed them. I am sorry that they are freely allowed to attempt to engage in things they do not have the ability to understand yet. I am. It's not their fault. They don't understand. How could they?

They can be angry at us all they'd like. They can lash out and throw tantrums, because it's all they know how to do. They can say how wrong we are and that we're old and the other arsenal of insults they like to throw out. They can set out to prove us wrong while ultimately proving our point.

I'm not trying to be an ass, here. I'm really not.

That being said, it's not fair to us either. Like you said, we end up in catfights with kids and we're the bad guys for engaging, we're the bad guys for blocking, we're the bad guys and get dogpiled even though what in the hells would you have us do? We cannot ignore them, clearly. But in their eyes, they're right and we're wrong and that's that. They don't understand. They can't.

We can put warnings and DNIs, we can actively block children that meander into our spaces thoughtlessly, we can try to protect ourselves. Being the bad guy to a thirteen-year-old is a small price to pay for trying to keep them safe, even as they hate it.

But again, there is only so much we can do.

I feel horrible for the creators that are experiencing the deaths of their creations because of this. Influxes of children in their space that make them feel like bad people for simply creating because there is nothing they can do. It's miserable and frustrating and ultimately, you have no choice but to either kill your own creation or be called a horrible person for persisting even though you have no control over who engages. To be called a bad person for engaging in fiction because children don't understand it or the reasons one might do so. I feel horrible for children who are ruining their future psyche and mental state because they don't understand. It's a horrible situation all around.

We do what we can. And we'll keep doing what we can. We will protect them even as they hate it. But there is literally only so much you can do. What do you want an adult creator to do when someone else posts their content on tiktok and attracts hordes of teenagers who are naive? What do you want them to do when children ignore the warnings on AO3? What do you want them to do when children follow them and they lie about their age?

It sucks. It's a genuinely miserable situation all around. All we can hope for is that children, in their own little way, will grow up and stay out of spaces not meant for them. It won't happen, most of the time. But we can dream.

[the-odd-job]

Close Your Eyes to This Disaster Chapter 4: …Trapped in Your Cage

Rating: Explicit Warnings: Chose Not to Use, Rape/Non-Con Category: Other Fandom: Transformers G1 Relationships: Megatron/Sunstreaker, Megatron/Sideswipe, Sideswipe & Sunstreaker Characters: Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Megatron, Soundwave Additional Tags: Dubcon, Sticky, Abusive Relationships, Mind Games, Manipulation, Gaslighting, Canon-Typical Violence Words: 5290

( Previous )

After the little incident with Megatron, some smartass decided that it wasn’t safe to assign the twins to the longer patrols. Or the mid range patrols, even. Or any that went outside of highly populated areas. The only good thing about that was that they were stuck on asphalt roads and not abusing their undercarriage on someone’s orders.

Those restrictions alone would have been annoying enough, but on top of them they got a command all the way from the Prime himself that they weren’t to leave the Ark’s vicinity even during their free time.

Because it wasn’t safe. Primus forbid something happen to the twins. Their own concerns over the situation were rapidly drowned out by everyone’s intent to fragging coddle them, as if running into Megatron without backup was the worst thing that could ever happen.

Granted, it would likely end very badly for them one way or another, but slagging pits shouldn’t they have been the ones to make the choice on whether or not to take that risk? Did the command really care for their wellbeing that much, or was it about their value to their faction? They may have lacked rank, but not skill. They were an asset on the battlefield, and held no illusions to the contrary. Losing them would be a notable hit for the Autobots.

Whatever the underlying reasons that they ultimately cared little about, the brothers didn’t last long before their frustration mounted to uncomfortable levels. They sparred and sparred some more, got even more promiscuous than they usually were, but their efforts to expel their energy only pushed back the inevitable. There was a whole planet right there, and they were forbidden from making the most of it? For god’s sake, it wasn’t as if they were traveling in fragging space and stuck on a ship because of that! It would’ve been a good reason to just put up with the whole slagging thing, even if it would have started to get tiresome.

This? This didn’t have a good reason, no matter what some others seemed to think. They endangered their life every time they stepped on the battlefield, but they wanted to effectively lock them up until risking the battlefield was the only risk they were allowed to take? They hadn’t signed up for this.

Things came to a head, but not violently—for once. Instead they approached Cliffjumper when the minibot with Brawn were scheduled for one of the longer patrol routes. There was no love between them, and they predicted right that Cliffjumper didn’t give two frags about their safety in relation to Megatron. He was happy to change shifts with them after Sideswipe bribed him well enough, not one word said about the what if.

What if something did happen?

Who the frag even cared at this point. They sure didn’t.

It was a nighttime patrol, half intentionally on their part—late hour and most of the mecha were following the planet’s day-night cycle and opting to recharge. Less sparks to catch them sneaking out, to the effect that they did indeed get out of the Ark without anyone stopping them.

They were far enough from the downed spaceship to relax when none other than Prowl pinged their comms. They could guess what that was about, and when they opened the connection, sure enough…

::Twins. Turn around and return to the Ark and your assigned duties.:: Prowl’s tone was clipped in the way it had a habit of being when he was pissed.

Were they anyone lesser they may have even listened… But they weren’t. ::Nah, don’t think I will,:: was all Sideswipe said as they continued onward, following the patrol route like good little mechs.

::That. Is. An. Order,:: Prowl not quite hissed, not quite growled, but still managed to make it clear he was getting angrier with every word. Disobedience just didn’t set so well with him.

::We’ll be back after we’re done with the patrol, don’t worry,:: Sideswipe assured him, as if Prowl wanted assurances right then.

::Should the end of Cliffjumper and Brawn’s patrol be your time of return, I promise you, you will regret it.::

Honestly, they probably would, knowing Prowl. Did they care?

After being cooped up because of someone else’s will, not really.

::We’ll return after the patrol,:: Sunstreaker growled. ::Do what you will then.:: With that, they cut the connection, blocked out their comms, and drove faster—just in case Prowl got the bright idea to send someone to fetch them back, unlikely as that was.

But they got what they wanted in the moment: they were on a patrol that should take them most of the night. If it wasn’t a chance to let loose and unwind, Sunstreaker didn’t know what was. So they drove… And drove… And drove, along roads near abandoned by the humans, enjoying the starlit sky and the crescent moon, the lights of a city in the far distance. The cool night air washed through their vents, taking the heat from their roaring engines.

Two and a half hours and absolutely nothing happened. They weren’t lulled into a false sense of security during that time, but still holding onto their caution or not, that helped them none when the sound of a jet approached them at a concerning speed.

It wasn’t an Earthen jet. No Earthen jet sounded like that.

They went for their comms immediately, but those were already thoroughly blocked. A bit of a déjà vu?

They could never outrun a fragging jet, so the twins stopped instead, in the middle of absolute nowhere with nothing in the form of cover nearby.

In other words, they were screwed.

But that didn’t mean they’d go down without a fight. Transforming out of their alt-modes, the brothers turned to face the flier that could be no one but Megatron, a fact confirmed not with the help of a signature—there was none to be found—but with their optics once the jet got close enough. They could recognize it well enough. Cybertronian in design, making not the slightest effort to blend in on the organic planet, and colored in simple silver. Soundwave was likely aboard, judging by the effectiveness with which their communications were obstructed.

Megatron flew all the way to them, only slowing down to transform some paces from them. Soundwave did indeed appear on the same move, landing next to his leader. The Decepticons wasted no time, approaching as soon as they were on their pedes.

The twins held their ground, Sunstreaker’s deep growl sounding his rising anger in time with his field lashing out with the same emotion. Slagging Megatron was the fault they even had gotten written off patrols like these, and now that they had managed to get on one anyway? Look who’s here.

They drew their weapons, all four of them, a rather clear indication that this wasn’t going to be a friendly meeting. Sunstreaker squared his shoulders and took two steps closer to the Decepticons, ready to meet them with the violence that was really the only appropriate response in situations like these, no?

But… “You haven’t changed,” Megatron said unexpectedly—almost fondly.

That was enough to halt Sunstreaker, and Sideswipe by extension, the both of them frowning in confusion.

Changed from what? “The pit’s that supposed to mean?” Sunstreaker demanded, his engine revving in warning when Megatron was mere inches away from the range of his sword. No surprise, Megatron didn’t take heed, and unlike last time, took the first attack.

Sideswipe would have attacked the warlord with him, had Soundwave not moved to intercept him, forcing his brother off to the side where he wouldn’t be able to intervene without going through the Third first. It was to be just Megatron and Sunstreaker, again. This time Sunstreaker was expecting it and quickly took notice that it didn’t look like Megatron’s goal had changed—injure, cripple, but don’t kill.

Well, Sunstreaker was out to kill. The bastard had managed to become a personal problem on top of being the embodiment of the entire enemy faction. He had no reason to hold back, and every reason to give it his all. He made Megatron work to cut down the amount of damage the tyrant was receiving, but, unfortunately and as before… It was quickly Sunstreaker that began to gain the greater number of injuries despite his best efforts, even if he managed to stay out of the way of the worst of it—block this or dodge that with only half of the damage intended actually landing on him.

Half the damage too much. Megatron wasn’t faster than he was, he wasn’t as agile, but he was several times stronger, not to mention more durable. He could take more punishment than Sunstreaker could ever dream of, and there was strength behind his attacks that Sunstreaker simply couldn’t match, and couldn’t take in full force. One strike of Megatron’s sword across his chest cut him too deep for comfort, even if it was clearly not intended to stab him in a way that would have endangered his spark. Another sank into his thigh, barely missing components that if damaged, would have given him one mighty limp. His shoulder got the same treatment.

Pain or not, Sunstreaker didn’t allow himself be distracted. That would only result in… Well, not death by the looks of things, at least not instantaneously, but definitely in Megatron succeeding at whatever the fuck he was trying to achieve with all of this.

However, he paid a bit too much mind to the warlord’s sword, and with Sideswipe occupied by Soundwave, his brother couldn’t alert him to Megatron’s intent before it was already too late—a servo armed with wicked claws struck forward, catching into the gape on Sunstreaker’s chest Megatron’s damned blade had left behind, and thrusting up.

And this time his spark was definitely threatened. Sunstreaker could feel the claw tips pressing against his spark chamber, and didn’t fool himself into thinking Megatron wouldn’t have had the strength to pierce through all of the shielding and snuff his spark within seconds.

An ugly snarl twisted Sunstreaker’s faceplates, but he slowly and with very clearly broadcasted motions placed his sword back into his subspace. Dropping the thermal blade to the ground would’ve only started a wildfire, a fact he trusted Megatron was aware of, and the tyrant did indeed allow him to subspace his weapon fully.

He was staring potential death on the fragging optic by meeting Megatron’s gaze. He couldn’t read it, though. He couldn’t read his damn field for that matter, the current thoughts and emotions of the nemesis of their race veiled from him. Expecting the worst all the same, Sunstreaker tensed from helm to pede when Megatron retracted his own sword and reached for him–

But instead of ripping his helm off his shoulders or whatever, his servo came to his chin and the tyrant’s thumb–

Brushed across his lower lip.

If Sunstreaker wasn’t still before, he sure as fuck became still as a mech already grey at that move. The surprise that hit them like a freight train had Sideswipe stumbling with a gasp, and Soundwave ruthlessly took the chance to send him crashing down and pin him there. His brother cursed, but quickly confirmed he wasn’t going to escape the hold with his life intact, and… That was it for them, was it not? They’d lost good and proper.

But they weren’t dead. That was one small victory, but time would show whether it would remain that way.

It would just be lovely to know what the slag Megatron was doing.

“Do you not remember me?” Megatron asked, his thumb running over his lip again, this time with just a touch more force. Sunstreaker scowled and tried to jerk his helm away, but Megatron both caught his chin and pressed the servo in his chassis deeper, clear in not allowing something like that.

Sunstreaker scowled harder. “What kind of question is that?” he growled back, quite effectively submerged in a pit of confusion. Somehow he got the feeling Megatron wasn’t just meaning his formless status as the enemy leader, or the times they’d seen each other in the battles here on Earth.

Megatron didn’t look pleased or displeased by his answer. He merely… Glanced to the side, at Soundwave and Sideswipe, and nodded.

At once Soundwave had forced one of Sideswipe’s ports open. “Hey–!” was all his twin managed before the telepath plugged into him, both him and Sunstreaker flinching at the potent intrusion into Sideswipe’s systems and psyche. Sunstreaker jerked to go help instinctively, a snarl rising from his engine–

But Megatron stabbed his digits upward just so and Sunstreaker’s vents seized when the tyrant’s claws truly did pierce into his spark chamber’s shielding. Not deep, not deep enough to take his life, but the warning was beyond clear. Sunstreaker had to still himself, his optics flicking between Megatron and Soundwave, uncertain which of them he was supposed to glare at when Soundwave went about rooting in Sideswipe’s systems.

There was a method to what he was doing in his brother’s head. He cleanly cut through all of Sideswipe’s internal defenses and went deeper and deeper into his programming, Sideswipe shivering beneath him from the sensation. The look in his optics was distant, and Sunstreaker had a front row seat to the way the red twin could do nothing but watch as Soundwave descended into the deepest reaches of his… Memory files?

He aimed into the distant past, yet ignored everything he came across until he arrived to the long span of blank they had never had an explanation for. Where they had simply assumed something had wiped those memories from existence entirely, Soundwave now focused on the empty space and… Uploaded a patch into Sideswipe’s systems? He went on to install it on that empty space, which had to mean there was something there after all–

And after a few more commands forced upon Sideswipe’s inner workings, it all came back. Every memory of that time was restored to its full glory and Sideswipe could do nothing but gasp as it all reintegrated with him.

Their optics widened at the same time, the memories of Sideswipe’s frame bleeding through to Sunstreaker as knowledge.

Knowledge of where they had been at that point of their life, what they had done…

With who they had been.

True recognition flooded in. Emotion, old emotion bled into Sunstreaker’s field before he could stop it, and as it swelled past his control, Megatron purred. “There you are.”

Sideswipe was wheezing and didn’t even try to get up when Soundwave released him. The telepath came over to Sunstreaker instead, and he wasn’t sure he would have fought the opening of one of his ports even if Megatron’s servo hadn’t remained as a warning in his chassis. Now knowing where to look, Soundwave took little time to locate the same blank in Sunstreaker’s memories. The same patch was uploaded and installed into his systems, and the memories, every last one of them, restored to their rightful places. It wasn’t just Sideswipe’s memories anymore, vaguely passed by their spark. Now they were all ones belonging to Sunstreaker’s own frame.

And Primus, there were so many. Vorns worth of them, and it would take a while to reintegrate all of them, but when he made a query—Megatron, Megatronus—the amount of returns was… Something else. The sheer size of the role Megatronus had in those memories spoke volumes of everything he had forgotten, and quite well explained Megatron’s seemingly abrupt interest in them.

It wasn’t abrupt. Just opportunistic. Old.

But as he shifted through the memories as fast as he was physically capable, a trend quickly made itself known. Sunstreaker’s optics narrowed up at Megatron who was staring at him with something expectant–

And Sunstreaker said: “You’re a real jackass, did you know that?”

Megatron raised just one optical ridge at him. “Really? That’s the first thing that comes to your mind?” There was still an undercurrent of a purr to his voice, his field pulsing with something entirely suggestive, and when the warlord’s thumb pressed against his lower lip again, Sunstreaker could make an educated guess of where his thoughts were supposed to go, according to Megatron.

But he wasn’t going to just play along. “Was it not supposed to be?” he asked instead, cocking an optical ridge of his own. “The last I remember you were trying to prevent me from going to a goddamn party.”

“You put up quite a fuss over that—and then you disappeared,” Megatron said, and now there was… A hint of a growl. Anger. Sunstreaker didn’t feel like it was directed at them, this time, but rather at whatever—whoever—had so stolen them from Megatron’s clutches.

If nothing else, the servo in his fragging chassis was carefully pulled away. Sunstreaker shuddered at the stabbing pain it caused, but couldn’t say he wasn’t relieved to not have the tyrant’s claws threatening his lifeforce anymore. Memories or not, he couldn’t bring himself to trust the mech any further than he could’ve thrown him. He carefully rubbed at the gaping wound once he was free to do so, not that that achieved anything more than more grating discomfort.

And he glared.

“You look different,” Megatron commented in the silence that followed, and oh dear but he didn’t sound happy about that.

“Yeah, well, if you haven’t noticed I’m not a Pit fighter anymore,” Sunstreaker grumbled, because this was one topic where he didn’t find himself in disagreement with Megatron’s obvious displeasure. He’d liked his looks, but of course, he very well couldn’t look quite so Kaonite among the Autobots.

So here he was instead, not looking as he had.

“Did the Autobots do this to you?” the warlord asked, now outright growling and gripping Sunstreaker’s jaw tighter until the smaller mech was grimacing. Oddly, Megatron’s hold immediately loosened.

“They didn’t do anything I didn’t agree to,” Sunstreaker argued back, but he knew his discontent was too visible. There was no way Megatron would buy that, even if it was the truth. Mostly.

“Did you have the option to refuse?” Megatron asked, confirming that no, he didn’t buy it.

But the golden twin just barked a laugh. “Some slag, coming from you.”

“I would have never stripped you of your edges like this.”

“What about all other shit you would do and have done?”

“Such as?”

“Primus, you really need to ask?” Sunstreaker growled and tried to jerk his helm away, not that Megatron was having any of it. “I can think of a goddamn laundry list off the top of my head, but we’d be here the whole night if I started repeating all of it. How about that party incident though, or how many times you straight up forced me into an interface?”

“And how many times did I give you pleasure? How many nights did we spend together?”

“Is that supposed to–“

Before he could say more, Megatron had leaned down and pressed their lips together, softly, gently—but when Sunstreaker tried to turn his helm away with a low snarl, Megatron only grabbed one of his helm fins and kept him right where he wanted him. Still Sunstreaker refused to return the kiss despite Megatron’s glossa requesting entry; the twin stubbornly kept his mouth closed. Megatron didn’t seem to care too much about that, and while he kept his control of Sunstreaker’s helm with one servo, the other began to… Travel. It started from his neck, blood soaked, dangerous claws brushing against the cabling there and then wandered down—carefully playing in the open cuts left on him by Megatron himself until Sunstreaker shivered from the shy increase of pain.

Then it moved on, slipping to his waist, dragging along seams… Lower still.

There was no question of what Megatron was after.

“Why?” Sunstreaker snarled, then gasped when the servo flashed between his legs, scraping the edges of his valve cover.

“Do you not miss this? Miss me?” Megatron murmured against his mouth, but didn’t give him a chance to answer before his glossa thrust in past his now parted lips.

Sunstreaker shook. There was no way that he could have missed something he didn’t even remember, but now he remembered.

He remembered the attraction, the danger, the strength—the bad and the good. He hadn’t made a habit of ogling the enemy leader, but now he didn’t need to have done so to know every detail of Megatron’s frame. Unlike Sunstreaker’s, it had barely changed over the millions of years the war had ravaged their species.

The millions of years they had been apart.

Had his spark had the time to forget those emotions? All the perilous thrill that had come to such an abrupt end, the magnetic allure that had never cooled back then in spite of everything, and perhaps still hadn’t. He couldn’t strike from his mind the way Megatron’s physique had always titillated him, how he’d loved every curve, every spike in his thick armor, making him look as dangerous as he really was—the embodiment of everything it was to be Kaonite, a gladiator.

Now it was wrong. They were on opposite sides of the massive chasm their race had been torn into by the same damned mech now touching him–

And still he couldn’t deny it. He couldn’t deny the way his spark quickened in its rotation, pulsing urgently.

It hadn’t forgotten.

Megatron’s touch never turned rough as he toyed with Sunstreaker’s valve panel, teasing and coaxing until Sunstreaker was squirming in place, unable to pull away with the grip Megatron maintained of his fin—and the tyrant still kissing him with heat. Where Sunstreaker had forgotten, Megatron had no reason to have done the same, but it looked like the warlord hadn’t gotten over his own feelings for him any more than Sunstreaker’s spark seemed to have.

Whatever those feelings actually were. Sunstreaker wasn’t sure what he should have called it, recalling all of the behavior Megatron had always displayed. Was it just his version of genuine love, or only possession and obsession?

If one day he might know, now wasn’t that time. In the present Megatron was expertly turning Sunstreaker’s frame against him, and before long he could no longer pretend his valve wasn’t slicking, that his ventilations weren’t turning unsteady. It wasn’t just about the physical sensation, either. That had to be the worst part. Memories, so many of them of situations just like this, pushed to the forefront of his mind—reminded him of just what Megatron could do to him, the ecstasy he could bring. His spark responded too, pulsing with vim even as his mind rebelled against it all to no notable effect. Good sense said he shouldn’t be doing this, that this was everything he shouldn’t be doing–

And yet, on one scratch across his cover, Sunstreaker couldn’t keep himself from groaning, and couldn’t keep his panel from retracting.

Megatron’s digits dipped in immediately, encountering all of the lubricant that had already gathered, and the tyrant purred with clear pleasure. Indeed, what reason did he have to not enjoy the way he could turn Sunstreaker on with such ease, as if he was irresistible to Sunstreaker… And maybe he was. The past sure suggested he was.

He should have fought it. Maybe that would have gotten him exactly nowhere, but he should have fought it out of principle. They were enemies. They had to be. Megatron was a Decepticon. Sunstreaker was an Autobot.

This was wrong.

But still, despite knowing that with every reasonable thought he had, Sunstreaker didn’t fight it when Megatron pulled from his mouth only to take a hold of him and gently lower them to the ground until Sunstreaker’s back hit it with barely a thud. Megatron didn’t quite pin him even as he caught Sunstreaker’s servos in his own and pressed them to the ground a little above his helm. Despite the tenderness of that and everything else, Sunstreaker wasn’t certain he could have actually pulled away if he had tried.

But he didn’t even try, not even when Megatron’s spike cover transformed aside. Sunstreaker didn’t look. Not like he needed to to know exactly what he was getting into.

Megatron released one of his servos to run his hand down Sunstreaker’s frame, all the way to his hips that he then lifted, aligning their equipment. The tip of the tyrant’s spike nudged against his valve entrance and Sunstreaker shuddered with his entire frame, his helm tilting back as Megatron began to push—slowly, but never once stopping. The entry was controlled, methodical, and Sunstreaker did no more than feel every inch, every caliper that expanded, gave way to the wide length pushing into him. Among the Autobots, few on top of Optimus could compare to this, and Sunstreaker wasn’t sure his frame and spark didn’t welcome Megatron with far more affection and eagerness than they had ever done with the Prime.

He was gasping by the time Megatron’s hips were brought flush to his. The warlord rumbled as he stopped there, simply enjoying the heat of Sunstreaker’s frame and the uneven clenching of his calipers as they adjusted around his girth. Sunstreaker gladly took the moment to try to arrange his thoughts into some sort of order.

Tried to remember he wasn’t supposed to want this for so many reasons.

Then his once lover began to move, pulling back leisurely, pushing back in with the same calm ease—gentle as he ‘faced him. His mouth came to Sunstreaker’s again, lips pressing against lips. Sunstreaker’s parted before conscious thought caught up and Megatron claimed the invitation it wasn’t.

They kissed until Sunstreaker couldn’t find the will to not return it.

“Oh, how I have missed this,” Megatron breathed, pulling away from his mouth only to dip his helm to the side. “Missed you,” was whispered directly into his audial.

Sunstreaker moaned—just a small sound, but he moaned all the same, as if those words were something he wanted to hear.

As if they brought him pleasure the same way the steady thrusts of Megatron’s hips did.

“You were mine once upon a time,” the tyrant continued. “Do you remember how I cared for you? Protected you, from your owner, from your inexperience—taught you until you could win every fight to the death.”

“Don’t take all the credit,” Sunstreaker would have liked to growl back, but the words only came out as a husky groan. “You weren’t the only one we trained with. You weren’t–“

“But I was the best and the only one who loved you. Recall my affection. Recall everything I did for you and still claim I didn’t have your best interests in mind.”

“Oh, I recall,” the twin managed to hiss. “Every time you tried to order me around, all the control you tried to exert over me. Tell me what to do, what not to do, when this, when that, who to associate with–“

“And you never listened to me. Don’t you see you left me no choice if I wanted to keep you safe?”

“My safety wasn’t your concern–!”

“But it was. Your misguided attempts to deny my help were just that: misguided. Was that not what led you here? Without your memories, no knowledge of all the time we spent together, as lovers, in love?”

Sunstreaker’s arguments died in his throat as Megatron sped up the steady rhythm of his hips, while still remaining as gentle as he knew the mech to be capable of. The softness… He doubted many had ever seen it.

But Sunstreaker had. It had belonged to Sunstreaker. Wasn’t it proof that not everything Megatron said was a lie? That maybe the now-tyrant really believed what he said? He’d brought terror upon their entire species, all but torn their planet apart, killed millions… Yet he fucked Sunstreaker so gently.

Kissed him with such care.

Sunstreaker could find no words to speak against the grey mech’s lips as the charge climbed higher, as his spark danced in all those long forgotten things he had been given back…

His overload was sudden and anything but insignificant. Sunstreaker’s back arched as the whiplash of energy exploded in his frame, sending him higher than he could remember being in a stupidly long time. He groaned deep from his chassis and Sideswipe repeated the sound to the side of them, where he still lay and now pressed his face into his arm as the overload claimed them both.

And the arrhythmic tightening of Sunstreaker’s calipers had Megatron growling two thrusts before he pushed in as deep as he could go and Sunstreaker felt the transfluid pumping from his spike, into the very back of his valve.

He slumped against the ground once the energy stopped exchanging between their frames, venting heavily. His optics fluttered back open, only to see Megatron already looking at him, his gaze the deepest red, reflecting nothing but his immense power.

Just as Sunstreaker remembered—and like he had never feared the intensity in it, all the promises it held of what Megatron was capable of… He didn’t fear it now either.

Megatron’s digits came to brush the side of Sunstreaker’s face, still so loving, at such complete odds of what he knew most thought of the warlord. Megatron wasn’t loving. Megatron wasn’t gentle.

Megatron was violence and brutality, ruthless in his pursuits. Nothing stood in his way.

And yet here he was… Anything but that, just for Sunstreaker.

Well, aside from the “nothing stood in his way” bit. Certainly Sunstreaker’s reservations were of no concern to him when they didn’t align with what Megatron wanted.

“Don’t forget me again,” Megatron murmured with one last stroke along Sunstreaker’s jaw before he withdrew from his valve, leaving the twin to shiver from the sensation of his retreat against sensitized sensors, and that of copious amounts of lubricant and transfluid both leaking out of him afterwards. Sunstreaker didn’t get up even as Megatron rose to his pedes, merely propped himself up on his arms and quietly watched as the warlord walked over to… Sideswipe.

Sideswipe, who still hadn’t gotten up himself, but was staring at Megatron with rapt attention. Their old lover crouched in front of him and hooked just one digit under Sideswipe’s chin, gently guiding him up onto his knees before laying a kiss on his lips too. It was a fierce thing, desirous, and Sideswipe mewled into it, unsure of how he was supposed to react—aside from the knowledge that he certainly, certainly shouldn’t have allowed it.

But he did. He did allow it, and when Megatron pulled away with one final bite on Sideswipe’s lower lip, his twin’s arms were shaking from the inarticulate bundle of emotions violently ricocheting between them. They could only name desire and qualm out of it all.

Megatron said nothing more; neither did the brothers. Or Soundwave, for that matter, whose presence they had managed to mostly forget with how still and unresponsive the telepath had been through everything. They only registered him again now when he transformed onto Megatron’s servo, the tyrant following that with his own transformation around his Third.

Then he was off, all over again, just like that… Except this time he had gotten what he wanted.

And by the pits the things he had wanted—and however more he would still want, now that they remembered. Now that they knew, again.

Megatron was their past, and after all this they wanted to make no guesses as to what their future would be.

( Next )

[pokeheros-drama]

As someone who grew up on pokeheroes and is still friends with a lot of people from there, I feel the need to say how horrible of a community pokeheroes is and how it's run by people who don't actually care about the users. The site has only served as a breeding ground for traumatised adults due to the absolute incompetence of moderation from the staff or from the community itself. I would even go as far as to say that this blog is doing a lot of damage to the current generation of new users but I can't confidently say that due to not having looked too deep into it. My reason for this is simply looking at what has become of my friend group who was either harassed on pokeheroes or in the previous dramablog. My partner at the time has internalised how they are a horrible person because they had a failed relationship on pokeheroes and for whatever reason their partner faked suicide just to spite them(we only found out it was fake years later). Getting harassed by 30 different people and labelled as human scum and as a murder for just not being a good partner at the age of 16 is a lot for any child to have to go through. It took them fucking YEARS to get over that whole ordeal and what punishment did their harassers receive? Absolutely nothing??? I had to convince not only them but like half of my, at the time, close group of friends not the end it all because of how pokeheroes WILLINGLY HOUSES MENTALLY ILL TEENS THAT ONLY SPREAD THEIR NEGATIVITY TO THEIR IMPRESSIONABLE FIRENDS. This is not the only incident I've witnessed during my time on this hell site but I feel like this is the worst I can name. Blogs like the drama blog only serve to platform fighting between the community which leads to unsupervised 10-17 year olds harassing eachother and normalising that its okay to be a dick to others as long as everyone around you is also doing it. Honestly the website shouldn't be even marketed for children if it's willing to house pedophiles and harassment and do literally nothing about it. I can't even imagine the damage that letting an unsupervised child on this website will do to them. But that's only the community, the staff team manages to be even worse(for the most part), with Riako being INCAPABLE of accepting any criticism on the performance of his "Game"(more so a cheap cash grab using a pre existing IP to attract children), his immature and power hungry staff that are willing to over look ACTUAL RULE BREAKING from friends of theirs but are more than happy to ban a person for outing their problematic actions or god forbid POINT OUT AN ACTUALLY DANGEROUS USER. The one time Riako SUPPOSEDLY did something about the mod team turned out to be an absolute lie that was only done to get away with his inaction and masterfully evade solving the problem. You would think that maybe after what? 8 years of me being here, things would change eventually but NO. Sure the names change, new faces joined and left yet the same problems arise over and over again. If this does get submitted, to whoever is reading this PLEASE DO ME A SOLID and stay away from the "drama" ESPECIALLY if you are a minor. Sure you may think "oh but I am so mature for my age so this is clearly aimed at the more innocent and childish minors in the community" NO ITS NOT, I used to think i was such a smart little shit that was unaffected by this and could handle serious situations, only know that I am almost an adult did I realize that I REALLY shouldn't have been talking my friends and romantic partner out of suicide at the age of 14. THATS NOT NORMAL KIDS, YOU AREN'T THERAPISTS. If your parents didn't tell you I will. Don't interact with sexual content, even if you "are mature enough" you are still a kid, best case scenario you will end up cringing at it years later, worst case scenario you get exploited by the horny adults that PH houses which actively lurk for children that think they know more than they actually do. Additionally if you get in a drama that stresses you out, if a hoard or whatever is calling you a shit person, log off. Straight up log off for a

week, think about your actions objectively, if you feel like you are in the wrong then apologize, if not straight up just don't log in again until the rage dies down. Don't put your mental health at risk and don't hang around with people that make you feel bad. If possible talk to older friends who have gone through the ringer or even a parent every time your friend does anything questionable to make sure if its a red flag or not. Stay safe yall!

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