#his helm is hard to draw

[v-exian]

Fanart for @thegoldenshi-shi !! Hope you like it :’D

[skleech]

redraw thingy 

[jessenitrogen]

but the real darts were his words

((close up under cut))

[its-not-ohneey]

Lastly (not including Oni) but not leastly, Deadlock's own Wraxe, Ox!

I'd add more scars to him, but drawing him took enough effort as is and I'll fucking forget where they go, so no I won't.

Ox, as his humongous stature would suggest, is the resident tank and heavy-hitter.

His weapon of choice is, what else, but the wraxe aka that huge wrench axe thing. He uses it to sweep, whack and fell foes with little effort. He's typically the last defence before Faun, leaving most of the foes that slip by the rest of the gang to him, where he typically easily takes care of them.

Ox is typically rather stoic, only ever really showing emotion when very excited, especially during a fight. He typically doesn't argue whenever suggested to do something by Oni, unless he feels very opposed to it. Even then he often holds his tongue until he can't bear to any longer. He's also oddly honor-bound and very serious about keeping one's word. His casual wear is basically the same as his work clothes, but without all the straps and armor. He likes exploring the city, art and animals.

He became a part of the group last, after letting his ego get outta hand and challenging Oni to a one-on-one. The battle was actually rather equally matched for the most part, Oni ending up coming up on top in the end mostly by sheer luck. Ox then later offered to join Oni's group as a show of good-faith and a reward. The gang was nervous about it at first, but they warmed up to him rather quickly.

He's also normal human color instead of chalk white because he could handle the mutation process better (built different).

[oceantornadoo]

persephone (simon riley x f!reader) age gap, a bit coercive, dark

—

it started with fruit.

you were simon riley’s secretary, working for a man clouded in darkness and gold. you’d hear whispers on the street, see pitying faces when you mentioned who you worked for to strangers. to them, he was a cold, hard beast. to you, he was a king.

he started by bringing you fruit, pomegranate seeds and ghost-white pears. small quips about eating healthy now while you were still young enough. ms twenty something meets mr not-yet middle aged, the lines of his face just starting to crease but the beer belly nowhere to be found. he mined diamonds, you heard. he owned cemeteries, said another secretary. they call him ghost, whispered a personal assistant. you didn’t care, didn’t need to when that wasn’t your job.

he had scarred hands, craggly things winding into the cuff of his midnight black suits. didn’t wear a mask but always seemed to be covered in darkness, his face unrecognizable in half lit rooms and empty offices. he always stayed late so you did too, indulging in the extra car he ordered for you, his driver called charon. simon never held long conversations but simply beckoned you, some string in your belly pulling tight at his recognition. at least a third of his day spent with you, murmuring soft nothings, inquiring about your mother and the upcoming winter, the beauty in the death of the trees. “y’ smell like spring, love.” he’d said one morning, and you resolved to wear that same pomegranate spritz indefinitely.

and then it moved to jewels. congratulations on your one year preceded by a tennis bracelet. a trinket of a three headed dog, something small to keep on your desk. the hours draw on later and later, canceled plans with your mother and nymph-like friends piling up like leaves. his touch starts lingering, hard calluses on soft skin.

a hand on your back, guiding you into a conference room. your hair brushing against his torso, the intimacy of it jarring. you twisted your ankle one day, the height of your heels overindulgent. ended up on the couch in his private office, his hands massaging your foot. “like a delicate flower.” he’d murmured, rewarding you with an anklet of diamonds once the pain wore off.

three years in, an invite to his private island. no service, leave your phone at home. sign an nda, we’ll work remote, gone for a month maybe more. pack some nice clothes, maybe a white dress if you’ve got one. take my card if you don’t.

stepping off the helicopter, charon at the helm. you weren’t there against your will but the hairy arm around your waist was heavy, a reminder of the cost you’d paid to visit the underworld. two weeks in and you couldn’t even act surprised when he proposed, on one knee with a glint in his eyes. “you and me, love, against th’ world.”

and if you said yes to the fruit, the diamonds, the care, the attention - saying yes to this was just the next step. an elopement, he’d already drawn up the license - “why wait, dove? y’r so fragile already.” you’re not, have a hidden strength under you, but ghost doesn’t care, ghost takes what he wants, and you, legs spread and eyes soft, are it.

when he fucks you, that’s when it’s settled. cunt dripping on his fingers, his face, his cock. he mutters something about a vasectomy and you’re taking him bare, making eye contact with a ghostlike gardener who walks past the window. your jaw unhinged, drool at the corner of your mouth as he fucks you from behind, one hand on your throat.

“such a good secretary, hm?” and you nod ferociously like the three-headed puppy on your desk. you’ll never work again, too busy with his cock in your mouth or his remote vibrator in your cunt at dinner. the jewels drip into a roar - diamond encrusted toys you’re not sure are entirely safe, bejeweled handcuffs, glittery collars. he’s pluto, the riches of the earth following his orders when he chases you in his private woods. simon’s presence is otherworldly, taking you with the strength of a god as you squirm against his grip. his oldness disgusts you but makes you gush all the same. “gonna be good for daddy?” and you agree vehemently at the king before you, on his knees.

[keferon]

Ahhhhhhhhh! The TF mecha Deadlock and human Ratchet drawing! I just saw it before sending this. His squishy! But yeeee! Continuing from the last one I wrote. Just pulled ideas from other posts you and others have done in this TF mecha universe. This is fun! :P

****

Ratchet's living quarters is much like the hanger where his lab is. An open area with some dividers up to make separate rooms. Scaffolding and catwalks line the wall and stairs are at each corner of the hanger. The interior is smaller when compared to the lab but the ceiling is much taller, allowing Deadlock the ability to sit up right comfortably. It looks like a little maze to Deadlock who can look down from above. Out of the five rooms in this hanger turned living quarters, Deadlock can't see into three of them. Ratchet's berthroom, the kitchen, and washrack all have ceilings to them. Ratchet's office is connected to the sitting area. Being the largest area in the hanger Deadlock has taken over the sitting area to recharge and heal in. Being the Chief Engineer no one has questioned Ratchet for having Deadlock in his hanger because Ratchet always takes work home with him. Also don't question Ratchet.

A click from the main entrance door has Deadlock stir from his recharge. Old instincts and habits have made him a light recharger. He opens one optic, a red glow fills the room. Blinding bright and staticky at first but dims and clears as his visual boots up. He see Ratchet opening the tiny entryway to slip out. He rumbles knowing it is way to early for Ratchet to head back to his lab. Ratchet had maybe, at most, gotten two hours of recharge. Deadlock gives a rumble/grunt again, this time it sounds more like a wheeze as he starts to shift to grab his little squishy who has already opened the door and stepped half way out. He is using the door to make himself unsnatchable not without breaking the thin metal.

Number one rule while in Ratchet's domain: Don't break Ratchet's things, he NEEDS them. The objects Ratchet chuck do not/can not hurt him. The disappointment and tired frustration however does hit something deep in his war worn spark. "Power back down kid. Just leaving for an emergency meeting. When I get back I'll check your intakes and engine. It's rattling and straining hard again." Ratchet says in a deep rougher voice used only when he wakes from recharge. The door click behind the human not giving him time to reply in his drowsy state. He rubs his fresh welded wounds and with a unhappy grunt curls loosely back around what Ratchet calls a lazy-e-boy chair and entertainment center.

ALL DAY! All day Ratchet has been gone. Deadlock should be use to Ratchet's long work days. But Ratchet didn't fuel before he left, he hasn't recharged in a long while. Two hours is not a recharge. Not for him, not for Ratchet. He is worried, it oozes out and around him from his EM Field like a shadowy murky cloak. His audial fins are pinned down and back as far as they can go. Ratchet looks so worn down. Overworked and shoulders heavy with responsibly the Cybertonian knows the bioengineer should not have to bare. The tv is on to use as a distraction but it no more then background noise as his proccesor runs through scenarios of what could be keeping Ratchet this time.

The door lock clicks and Deadlock instantly perks up. His EM Field fizzles away from gloomy to a more warm and bright mood. "Ratch-" He stops immediately when Ratchet comes through the door. Deadlock rakes his claws into the concrete floor and his field starts boiling with the energon in his lines. Ratchet is bruised and bleeding. The humans forehelm and knuckes are covered with fresh and dried blood. His glare intensifies as Ratchet closes the door and slumps against it with a grumble. Ratchet grunts as he takes off his shoes and dirty jacket. Deadlock's helm is filled with static and his spark heavy and spinning way to fast. He can taste energon on his glossa thanks to his fangs. Rage is not what is taking over his sensors and proccesor. Something more like a deeply rooted need, something instinctually feral burns hot in his frame. "WHO'D DARE-" Ratchet holds up a hand and makes a hushing noise, Deadlock snarls engine rattling harder to keep up with his burst of energy and restrained energon lust. His limbs shaking with just as much restraint. The only thing keeping him from ripping the hanger down is Ratchet's hunched form at the entry way. When Ratchet looks up at Deadlock his jaw snaps shut, denta slamming hard against each other with a harsh clank. The fragger looks amused! Tired, frustrated, and hurting but Deadlock knows that look. Those lips are ever so slightly turned up into an amused smirk, "R a t c h e t." Deadlock hisses out passed his denta audial fins pinned back.

"Relax, before you blow a fuse. You should see the other guy. These are just scratches Drift." The fragger chuckles wiping some blood from his lip with his thumb. That does something to Deadlock that he will not acknowledge right now. His spark flutters and pulses harder, EM Field a confusing mix of emotions that Ratchet can't feel, "I had a disagreement with some of the others in command while another sister base visited. I am fine. Been in more then one scrapping in my time." Ratchet hums as he limps into his office, Deadlock claws at the floor again. "I did not party and study my whole younger life away just to get my PhD in biomedical engineering and be told how to do my job. I may have got a tad heated." He chuckles again at Deadlocks snort/huff.

Deadlock relaxes slightly as Ratchet pulls out a medical kit. His systems are running hot and HUB flashing warnings at him do as Ratchet suggested. He relaxes slightly and presses his servo against his helm. "Frag doc starting fights for a disagreement?" He rasps out watching Ratchet closely while he steadies his intakes. The human carefully works on cleaning the blood stained knuckles, Deadlock takes some pleaser in knowing all that blood is not just Ratchet's. "You're just as much of a hot menace as me."

"For you." Ratchet mumbles as he gently rubs ointment on the cuts. "They wanted me to turn you over to the field officer. Told them that you are still a work in progress that needs more time. That you came to my lab mmm.." Ratchet realizes it's the next day, a whole day wasted arguing in a concert room with metal chairs. With stuck up, pathetic excesses for- "Two days ago now.. said I activated some guardian protocal that day by accident which what brought you looking for me. They think you are imprinted on me. Something like that." Ratchet winces as he wraps his most bruised and swollen hand. A whine leaves Deadlock's stuttering engine, the tip of his pointer digit's claw has been hovers over Ratchet's helm as the doc talked, "What is it Drift?" Ratchet pauses from reaching for the alcohol soaked cotten ball. He looking up into overly bright, almost white with worry optics. Ratchet's optics dart around looking over Deadlock's form and healing welds.

Deadlock wants to huff, to roll his optics at the bioengineer's worry for him. But he can't stop his spark and fuel tanks from turning while he watches the red liquid drip down Ratchet's forehelm and optic ridge. "I... can't help you. You are hurt.. cause of me... and I can only watch you patch yourself up." He admits dimming his optics and looking down. All of this because he got impatient and hunted down his squishy to get him to recharge for once.

Ratchet's optics soften slightly. He shuts the kit with a sharp snap and huffs as he straightens from being hunched over. "Hand down please." Deadlock's audial fins perk up at the request. He carefully and gently, as gently as he can, places two digits into the office room. He lifts Ratchet up slowly once the small being had found a good spot to sit on his servo. He doesn't want to risk even the slightest breeze to brush against the bruised and cut flesh. He makes certain his servo is locked so it doesn't twitch on them. "This is high enough. Stay still." Deadlock is about to scold him when he thinks Ratchet is going to check the welds on his chassis. Instead Ratchet pops the kit back open and works on himself. Deadlock's vocal box clicks a few times as he tries to comprehend what his squishy is doing. His spark flutters with his EM Field when he realizes Ratchet is using his metal plating like a mirror. Ratchet dabs the cotton ball on the cut above his left optic ridge. "Didn't feel like going all the way to the bathroom. So thanks kid."

Deadlock purrs and almost melts from the thanks. Yes he will happily be a mirror. "Clever thing to do doc. Have those idiots thinking I am loyal and protective to only you will mean I can follow you around more. I am content being imprinted on you. Just tell them you can't undo it doc and if they touch you ever again I will pluck their little tiny servos off and feed it to them." He rumbles in a flat tone towards the end. He rolls his optics at the small ping from Ratchet flicking his chassis, "You may start a fight doc but know I will finish it."

"Didn't really start it either kid." Ratchet sighs looking at his reflection with a solemn expression before going back to dabbing the cotten ball harder against the cut, "Wasn't just about you Drift. They wanted.... they want..." Deadlock wants to curl around Ratchet the tone he is using now sounds like defeat, that's not his Ratchet. Deadlock lifts his free servo and retracts a claw so he can rub Ratchet's back as best he can to comfort him. "I can't." Ratchet rasps placing his forehelm against Deadlock chassis. Deadlock's engine settles to a purr Cybertonians use to sooth each other. It seems to work. Ratchet's shoulders relax and he seems to be getting his thoughts together. Deadlock stays silent and even if he doesn't need to keeps his EM Field in check. He only giving off support, warmth and calm, "It's inhumane, evil... Tourture... It would break down to much of the muscles and cells of the body. The hippocampus, the cerebral cortex, and the frontal lobe... that much damage to the brain would... I can't do what they want me to. Not to anyone Drift. Not what they ask. I can't. To adults, to teenagers, To Children. Young kids not knowing what they have signed up for. Never told. No choice. No way in hell could I ever-"

The strain and deep pain in Ratchet's voice is killing Deadlock. Deadlock can feel the trembling coming from Ratchet as the human catches his breath. He keeps a steady presser against Ratchet's back for support as he moves him up. He ignores the small gasp from Ratchet when he presses Ratchet to his cheek gently. Warm smooth metal touched warm soft skin, "Never. Never will you do what anyone demands of you. They can not make you harm anyone. You have never done anything you didn't want to and you won't start now. You are to much for them to try to control. My little squishy scraplet. I will kill them if they try. You have my glyphic, honor, and spark on this." Deadlock pulls back feeling something wet on his faceplate. Before Deadlock can get a good look at Ratchet's face, the bioengineer is shakily wiping his optics in a rushed motion aggravating the wound on his forehelm making it bead up with fresh blood, "Woah easy doc!" Ratchet bats his digit away when he tries to stop him.

"Stupidly cocky little shit! Lets get you feeling better before you try taking on a whole mecha filled base for me!" Ratchet laughs and smacks the digit still pressed against his back. That laugh does something to Deadlock's systems and spark, "We'll need to discuss a plan. I don't ever do anything half ass. I will not go into anything blind. But you are right, this is not the place for me to be anymore. Sad really. I was doing a lot of good here, made things safer for our pilots. Slowly sure but less were dying... so horridly all the time." Ratchet mumbles the last bit under his breath before shaking his helm. Deadlock likes the smirk that comes back to Ratchet's lips, "Now lay down so I can check that engine. You are starting to sound like a shitty abandoned junker car. Think you knock something out of place."

Deadlock matches Ratchet's smirk with a slag eating grin as he lifts the human a tad higher to press his forehelm against Ratchet's. He feels Ratchet pulls back after a moment, a stuttering raspy purr rumbles pleasantly through him when Ratchet places his servo against his forehelm and rubs. Yeah he does sound like slag and his HUB is flashing warnings, "What ever you say Doc. I am your guardian knight after all. You just tell me when to start swinging." He hums as he shifts to lay down.

Y O U. YOU JUST WROTE THIS ABSOLUTE MASTERPIECE OF A FIC??? AND I DONT EVEN KNOW YOUR NAME?? WHOEVER YOU ARE, ANON, I LOVE YOU I LOVE YOU SO MUCH NGKGKFGBFHGH YOUR WRITING DOES THINGS TO MY BRAI N

Also. Al s o. I just realized. Oh my god.

We have two Cybertronians on Earth at the moment right. Prowl and Deadlock. But Prowl is very much restricted in his actions because he has strong moral codex and also he's not a very good fighter (at least on his own).

But then we also have Deadlock. And the only thing keeping Deadlock in check is. Ratchet.

Like. Oh fuck just imagine. He isn't restricted by any moral implications except Ratchets opinion. He doesn't really give a fuck about other organic life or laws of Earth or anything. He is also a really fucking good fighter. He doesn't commit murder because that would disappoint Ratchet, but if. IF. Something happens to Ratchet?

THE HELL he would unleash would be visible from outer space.

Him being so sweet and caring and protective over Ratchet doesn't mean he behaves like this with everyone. Him being protective over Ratchet means that if anything takes Ratchet from him, he'll drown himself in blood. He'll burn, claw, gnaw, punch and tear his way back to his human.

All so he can be nice and sweet and caring again right afterward:)

Next

[physalian]

Pacing your Story (Or, How to Avoid the "Suddenly...!")

Arguably *the* most important lesson all writers need to learn, even for those who don’t give a damn about themes and motifs and a moral soap box: How your story is paced, whether it’s a comic book, a children’s chapter book, a doorstopper, a mini series, a movie, or a full-length season of TV (old school style), pacing is everything.

Pacing determines how long the story *feels* regardless of how long it actually is. It can make a 2 hour movie feel like 90 mins or double the time you’re trapped in your seat.

There’s very little I can say about pacing that hasn’t been said before, but I’m here to condense all that’s out there into a less intimidating mouthful to chew.

So: What is pacing?

Pacing is how a story flows, how quickly or slowly the creator moves through and between scenes, how long they spend on setting, narration, conversation, arguments, internal monologues, fight scenes, journey scenes. It’s also how smoothly tone transitions throughout the story. A fantasy adventure jumping around sporadically between meandering boredom, high-octane combat, humor, grief, and romance is exhausting to read, no matter how much effort you put into your characters.

Anyone who says the following is wrong:

Good pacing is always fast/bad pacing is always slow

Pacing means you are 100% consistent throughout the entire story

It doesn’t matter as much so long as you have a compelling story/characters/lore/etc

Now let me explain why in conveniently numbered points:

1. Pacing is not about consistency, it’s about giving the right amount of time to the right pieces of your story

This is not intuitive and it takes a long time to learn. So let’s look at some examples:

Lord of the Rings: The movies trimmed a *lot* from the books that just weren’t adaptable to screen, namely all the tedious details and quite a bit of the worldbuilding that wasn’t critical to the journey of the Fellowship. That said, with some exceptions, the battles are as long as they need to be, along with every monologue, every battle speech. When Helm’s Deep is raging on, we cut away to Merry and Pippin with the Ents to let ourselves breathe, then dive right back in just before it gets boring.

The Hobbit Trilogy: The exact opposite from LotR, stretching one kids book into 3 massive films, stuffing it full of filler, meandering side quests, pointless exposition, drawing out battles and conflicts to silly extremes, then rushing through the actual desolation of Smaug for… some reason.

Die Hard (cause it’s the Holidays y’all!): The actiony-est of action movies with lots of fisticuffs and guns and explosions still leaves time for our hero to breathe, lick his wounds, and build a relationship with the cop on the ground. We constantly cut between the hero and the villains, all sharing the same radio frequency, constantly antsy about what they know and when they’ll find out the rest, and when they’ll discover the hero’s kryptonite.

2. Make every scene you write do at least two things at once

This is also tricky. Making every scene pull double duty should be left to after you’ve written the first draft, otherwise you’ll never write that first draft. Pulling double duty means that if you’re giving exposition, the scene should also reveal something about the character saying it. If you absolutely must write the boring trip from A to B, give some foreshadowing, some thoughtful insight from one of your characters, a little anecdote along the way.

Develop at least two of the following:

The plot

The backstory

The romance/friendships

The lore

The exposition

The setting

The goals of the cast

Doing this extremely well means your readers won’t have any idea you’re doing it until they go back and read it again. If you have two characters sitting and talking exposition at a table, and then those same two characters doing some important task with filler dialogue to break up the narrative… try combining those two scenes and see what happens.

**This is going to be incredibly difficult if you struggle with making your stories longer. I do not. I constantly need to compress my stories. **

3. Not every scene needs to be crucial to the plot, but every scene must say something

I distinguish plot from story like a square vs a rectangle. Plot is just a piece of the tale you want to tell, and some scenes exist just to be funny, or romantic, or mysterious, plot be damned.

What if you’re writing a character study with very little plot? How do you make sure your story isn’t too slow if 60% of the narrative is introspection?

Avoid repeating information the audience already has, unless a reminder is crucial to understanding the scene

This isn’t 1860 anymore. Every detail must serve a purpose. Keep character and setting descriptions down to absolute need-to-know and spread it out like icing on a cake – enough to coat, but not give you a mouthful of whipped sugar and zero cake.

Avoid describing generic daily routines, unless the existence of said routine is out of ordinary for the character, or will be rudely interrupted by chaos. No one cares about them brushing their teeth and doing their hair.

Make sure your characters move, but not too much. E.g. two characters sitting and talking – do humans just stare at each other with their arms lifeless and bodies utterly motionless during conversation? No? Then neither should your characters. Make them gesture, wave, frown, laugh, cross their legs, their arms, shift around to get comfortable, pound the table, roll their eyes, point, shrug, touch their face, their hair, wring their hands, pick at their nails, yawn, stretch, pout, sneer, smirk, click their tongue, clear their throat, sniff/sniffle, tap their fingers/drum, bounce their feet, doodle, fiddle with buttons or jewelry, scratch an itch, touch their weapons/gadgets/phones, check the time, get up and sit back down, move from chair to table top – the list goes on. Bonus points if these are tics that serve to develop your character, like a nervous fiddler, or if one moves a lot and the other doesn’t – what does that say about the both of them? This is where “show don’t tell” really comes into play.

4. Your entire work should not be paced exactly the same

Just like a paragraph should not be filled with sentences of all the same length and syntax. Some beats deserve more or less time than others. Unfortunately, this is unique to every single story and there is no one size fits all.

General guidelines are as follows:

Action scenes should have short paragraphs and lots of movement. Cut all setting details and descriptors, internal monologues, and the like, unless they service the scene.

Journey/travel scenes must pull double or even triple duty. There’s a reason very few movies are marketed as “single take” and those that are don’t waste time on stuff that doesn’t matter. See 1917.

Romantic scenes are entirely up to you. Make it a thousand words, make it ten thousand, but you must advance either the romantic tension, actual movement of the characters, conversation, or intimacy of the relationship.

Don’t let your conversations run wild. If they start to veer off course, stop, boil it down to its essentials, and cut the rest.

When transitioning between slow to faster pacing and back again, it’s also not one size fits all. Maybe it being jarring is the point – it’s as sudden for the characters as it is for the reader. With that said, try to keep the “suddenly”s to a minimum.

5. Pacing and tone go hand in hand

This means that, generally speaking, the tone of your scene changes with the speed of the narrative. As stated above, a jarring tonal shift usually brings with it a jarring pacing shift.

A character might get in a car crash while speeding away from an abusive relationship. A character who thinks they’re safe from a pursuer might be rudely and terrifyingly proven wrong. An exhausting chase might finally relent when sanctuary is found. A quiet dinner might quickly turn romantic with a look, or confession. Someone casually cleaning up might discover evidence of a lie, a theft, an intruder and begin to panic.

--

Whatever the case may be, a narrative that is all action all the time suffers from lack of meaningful character moments. A narrative that meanders through the character drama often forgets there is a plot they’re supposed to be following.

[lovesculprit]

乂 The Knight's Vow

Ft. Nanami Kento

sum: knight!nanami can't help but be captivated by a rival knight

contains: nsfw content {mdni}, fempov, pnv (unprotected), creampie, oral (reader giving), mentions of blood/fighting, out in the open but they're not caught, grabs a fistful of your hair wc: 4.3k

a/n: knights have too many layers so maybe the undressing is inaccurate but i do not care, you guys are here for smut (repost from yesterday, sorry :')

Your sword clashed against Nanami's, the scent of blood in the air. Every strike, every parry was powered only by hatred-or so you had been telling yourself.

Repeatedly you tried to force your blade past his defences. His eyes glittered in the shadow of his helm, following your every move with a terrorising precision, but there was something else dancing in his gaze now. Something unsettling.

Your feet slid in the mud, remnants of earlier battles mixing with the earth. You'd already taken one blow to your side, and with every breath, the sharp sting was fresh. You forced yourself through the pain; Nanami couldn't see weakness in you, you refused.

"You look exhausted," he sneered, twisting his wrist and forcing you back a step. His blade flashed in the dim light with a swift and merciless violence. "Maybe you should've stayed out of this fight."

Your mouth was full of the taste of copper as you wiped the blood from your split lip. His cuts were vicious, each swing of his sword meant to kill, yet you met his savagery with equal fervour, refusing to back down. Your very muscles ached in protest as you lifted your weapon and launched yourself at him once more, channelling every last measure of strength into the attack.

You manage to catch him off guard this time; your blade cutting a line across his chestplate. Not deep enough to do serious damage, yet enough to draw blood.

Nanami stumbled backward, breathing hard, his chest heaving beneath his armour. For one moment, you thought you had him-that maybe you could end this. But then you saw it: the way his eyes darkened, the slow smirk curling the corner of his mouth. His blood dripped from the cut, but rather than anger or pain, something far more dangerous lit up his face.

"You're… vicious," he breathed, tone thick with the sudden, uninhibited pleasure. His eyes roamed over you, drinking in every bruise, every drop of blood, and the rise and fall of your chest with the effort of the fight. "I didn't know you had it in you."

You struck again, and this time he didn't move to defend himself. He leaned into your attack, letting your blade graze his arm, as if he relished the pain. His groan-low and guttural-filled the space between you. And it wasn't from agony.

It was pleasure.

"You should stop before you get yourself killed, " you spat, though even as the words left your mouth the way he was watching you unnerved you. It wasn't fear in his eyes. It wasn't even hatred anymore. It was raw, carnal desire.

"Why would I stop?" Nanami rasped, closing the distance between them, his voice gravelly with arousal. "Look at you. Fierce. Beautiful. Dangerous." He was breathing hard now, not from exertion but from something very primeval. "The way you fight… I could watch it forever."

You swung at him again, desperate to shut him up, and he was faster this time, catching your blade in his gauntlet, the metal shrieking as he twisted your sword away from you. His bloodied hand wrapped around your wrist, yanking you closer until your bodies slammed together. The heat of his breath against your neck, the tautness in his hold-how his fingers quivered, not with weakness, but with need.

"Do it," he growled, his lips brushing your ear. "You want to kill me so badly, don't you?"

Your other blade hovered at his throat, the tip pressing into his skin just hard enough to draw a small drop of crimson. His eyes burned into yours, dark and hungry. But instead of fear, he leaned into the blade, daring you. Daring you to finish it.

His body tensed against yours as his breath came in sharp, uneven gasps, and for a moment, you felt his heartbeat racing beneath his chestplate, wild and primal.

"You're shaking," he whispered, his voice thick and low with lust. "Do it. Or was this all what you wanted? You want me on my knees for you?"

The heat between you was unbearable, battle lines blurring into something far more dangerous. Nanami's lips curled into a wicked smile as his hand tightened around yours on the hilt of your sword, guided it closer to his throat—as if he craved the pain, craved the power you held over him.

"Gods," he groaned, his voice dipped in lust. "You're magnificent when you're trying to kill me."

You could feel the pulse of his desire throbbing, as undeniable as the blood spilling down his neck. It twisted in your chest, a knot of fury and confusion. This wasn't the way this was supposed to be. He was supposed to hate you, supposed to fight you.

But the way he looked at you now—with raw, unbridled hunger—made it clear that this was more than just a battle.

With a sudden movement, he wrenched your second blade from your grasp, the steel clattering to the ground. The action had been unexpected, violent—the proof of his strength that for a moment left you breathless. In one fluid motion, he closed the gap between you and pinned you against the rough bark of a tree.

Your heart was pounding as he pinned you against his body, holding you in place. The weight of his armour, crushing into your side, was a constant reminder of battle, but more than that was how he looked at you—his desire mixed with a hunter's gleam that made your breath hitch.

"Tell me you want this," he urged, his voice a mix of lust and challenge. "Tell me you want me to break you."

You swallowed hard, torn between the fury of battle and the electrifying pull of his words. "You think I’m afraid of you? That I’d submit?" The defiance in your voice felt shaky, as if the very words were fighting against the heat building within you.

His lips curled into a smirk; confidence and amusement danced together in his dark eyes. "I don't believe you are scared though I can see how your body reacts to me. You're fighting it, but you want this just the same as I do."

He turned suddenly, his lips coming close to your ear. "Let go of that anger, just for a moment. Let yourself feel."

The warmth of his body against yours was intoxicating, bringing a fire that swirled deep within. Your heart raced between what was left of the violent fighter you'd been but seconds ago and the coursing tide that now coursed through you. You'd always clashed with him, battled against him, but this…this was something else altogether.

"You think you can manipulate me with your words?" You shot back, but even you could hear the unsureness in your tone. The bravado felt fragile in the face of his overwhelming presence.

"I don’t want to manipulate you," he replied, his voice low and genuine. "I want to challenge you. To see how far you’re willing to go."

He caught your wrist in one motion, firm, yet still soft enough to remind you of the line you were walking. He pulled back just enough to search your eyes, his expression an intoxicating mix of mischief and sincerity. "If you want to fight me, then fight me. But if you want something more, don't be afraid to take it."

Your pulse quickened as his grasp on your wrist remained, a silent challenge hanging between them. His eyes bored into yours, searching and daring you to step outside of your anger and pride, while every fibre in your body was screaming to wrench free, to push him away. But there, within his gaze, was a strange magnetism that held your surrender.

Something in you broke in that moment. The walls you had built around yourself began to tumble. You leaned in, closing the distance, your heart pounding. "You don't know what you're asking for," you whispered, barely letting the words pass your lips.

"Then show me," he dared, his eyes dark and intense, an invitation edged with danger and longing.

You lunged forward without another thought, closing the space between you in a heartbeat. Your lips crashed against his, a collision of heat and urgency that set your skin alight. The world around you simply dropped away, reduced to nothing but the two of you: the bitter rivalry forgotten in the heat of this singular moment.

His lips moved over yours, and a fire was lit that consumed you both. The kiss deepened into a hungry, fierce connection, moving from tentative exploration. The tension of your earlier battles unravelled and was replaced by fervent desire that pulsed through your veins like wildfire.

His hands went to your waist, fingers pressing against the cool metal of your armour as he pulled you closer, like he couldn't get enough. You melted against him, the intoxicating mix of heat and desire that flowed between you, even as the constricting weight of your armour felt both comforting and stifling. The rough bark of the tree presses against your back, holding you in place amidst the whirlwind of wild emotions swirling all around.

A low growl escaped him as he titled his head, deepening the kiss, the taste of victory mingling with the coppery tang of blood that lingered from the fight. You responded eagerly, fingers tangling in his hair, pulling him closer, and pressed your body against his armoured chest, craving more. It was wild, it was reckless, and it was everything you hadn't realized you wanted.

Time stopped existing, lost in the moment with every kiss that drew you closer into the chaos and passion that embraced both of you. The battleground dropped away, and with the pounding of your hearts, that electric connection holding you together, the weight of your armour became a simple backdrop to the fervour igniting between you.

As your lips met, the world outside melted entirely away, leaving only the heat and urgency of your pressed-together bodies. His hands, avid, a little clumsy, sought the edges of your armour; his fingers fumbled with the straps as he tried to find a way past the constricting barriers keeping you apart.

It was palpable, the power in his touch, the way he seemed almost to tremble with need as he fought with the buckles. "Damn this," he muttered, frustration threading through his voice. "Why do they make this so complicated?"

As he wrestled with the obstinate buckles of your armour, you took advantage of the distraction to direct your own attention to his. Your fingers met the cool metal of his chest plate, finding the straps that held it in place. You felt a shiver of excitement at the close contact, the barrier of armour that had always separated you slowly giving way.

"Be still," you said, voice a little breathless as your hands worked deftly at the intricate clasps. His body tensed under your touch, heat radiating off him growing stronger as you worked to free him from his armour's confines.

"Easier said than done," he returned, his low chuckle only feeding the fire kindling between you. "Especially with you this close."

You couldn't help but smile as with each passing moment, tension filled the air. Even the clinking of the metal echoed as you awkwardly fumbled with the straps, your hands brushing against the curvatures of his muscles and feeling the warmth of his skin just beneath the layers. Each touch ignited a fire within you, and you could not help but be further pulled into this moment.

With a final tug, the last strap came undone, and his armour fell away, revealing the hard contours of his chest. Your heart was pounding at the sight of some deep place inside you responding to the contrast between the battle-hardened knight and the vulnerable man standing before you.

You took a moment to regard him, how the muscles in his torso flexed under your gaze, the way his breathing quickened as your fingertips brushed against his skin. You could not deny the heat radiating between you, nor the way the outside world seemed to melt further into unimportance.

You kissed him before you could think twice, your lips crashing against his in that kiss of desperation. The touch sent shivers which blazed throughout your blood. The urgency of the moment swallowed you whole, pushed every thought except the two of you out of your mind.

His palms grazed over your waist as fingers splayed wide across the small of your back, pulling you closer in as though he could not stand to have any space between you. You leaned back into him, hands twisting through his hair, holding him as close as you could manage.

The kiss deepened, transforming from a hungry collision to a primal, passionate kiss. You could taste on his lips the remains of battle: blood and sweat mixed with the intoxicating sweetness of desire. It fed your hunger, demanding that you go deeper into him, hands trailing down the firm planes of his abdomen.

Your hands roam over the contours of his body, scars marking him—each one telling a story of battles fought and won. His hands grip your hips, pulling you closer, the heat of his body searing into yours.

"I want you," he whispered hotly against your ear. "I want to feel every inch of you, to claim you as mine."

The words washed over you like a wave of longing, and you felt yourself melting against him as your body gave in to his touch. The world around you simply dissolved, leaving nothing but the two of you afloat in this pool of passion.

As his hands roamed over your body, a soft moan escaped your lips.

"You're beautiful," he whispered, "I've wanted you for so long, fantasized about your body against mine."

Your heart was racing as he grabbed a fistful of your hair, the slight pain only adding to the intoxicating mix of sensations. His grip was firm, commanding—a stark reminder of the power he held over you in this moment.

"On your knees," he commanded, his voice low and husky.

The words, they sent a shiver down your spine, a mixture of anticipation and wanting. For a moment, you hesitated, your warrior's instinct rebelling against the submissive position. But there was no withstanding the heat in his eyes—the promise of pleasure.

You dropped down to your knees very slowly, in a highly intentional way, before him, locking your eyes with his. The earth was hard and cold under you, against the warmth of his body.

"Good girl," he purred, his free hand stroking your cheek, the touch both tender and possessive. "Always wanted you to yield to me in battle, just like this."

You looked up at him, and the intensity in his eyes almost took your breath away. His fingers still gripped your hair, reminding you just how he had complete control over you in that very moment.

"You're an interesting combination of rebellion and submission," he said, his voice low, imbued with need. "It was what attracted me to you from the very start."

With a rapid motion, he let go of your hair and started shedding the other barriers of his clothing, each article hitting the floor with a thudding sound.

He leaned closer, his hand cradling your chin, turning it up to face him. His thumb slid over your lower lip, and the touch sent a spark of electricity through you.

"Tell me how much you want this-" he whispered, his hot breath against your skin.

You felt a wave of heat run through your body at his words, your breath catching in your throat. The intensity of his gaze bore into you, as if he could see right through to your very soul.

"I- I want this," you managed to say, your voice barely above a whisper. "I want you."

The admission was a weight off your shoulders, the release of tension that had built up between you for so long. His eyes darkened, a mix of hunger and satisfaction flickering within them.

As you knelt before him, your breath caught in your throat as his cock sprang free from its confines. It was a sight to behold, thick and hard, aching, begging for attention.

"Take it," he commanded, his voice rough with desire. "Show me how much you want it."

You reached out, your hand trembling slightly as you wrapped your fingers around his shaft. It was hot and throbbing, pulsing with need. You leaned forward, your tongue darting out to taste the bead of precum that had formed at the tip.

It was salty and musky, and a taste that was uniquely him. You moaned softly as you took him deeper into your mouth.

"That's it," he groaned, his hand tangling in your hair, guiding you as you bobbed your head up and down his length. "Just like that."

"Every time you drew my blood in battle, I imagined this," he admitted, his voice rough with desire. "Pictured you on your knees, worshipping my cock with that pretty mouth."

He thrust his hips forward, his cock sliding deeper into your mouth. "I'd think of all the ways I wanted to make you submit, to claim you as mine."

His grip on your hair tightened, a delicious mix of pleasure and pain. "And now here you are, just as I dreamed. My perfect little warrior, kneeling before me."

You wrapped your lips around his thick shaft, your tongue swirling around the sensitive head. You hollowed your cheeks, sucking hard as you took him deeper into your mouth.

You bobbed your head up and down, setting a steady rhythm. Your hands gripped his muscular thighs for balance as you worked him over with your mouth. Lewd slurping noises filled the air as you sucked him with enthusiasm, determined to give him as much pleasure as possible.

You continued your relentless assault on his cock, your lips gliding up and down his shaft with practiced ease. Your tongue swirled around the sensitive head, teasing the slit and tracing the ridge.

"Ah, fuck!" he cried out, his hips thrusting forward to meet your mouth. "Just like that, baby. Don't stop."

You took him deeper, suppressing your gag reflex as the tip of his cock hit the back of your throat. Your nose nestled in his pubic hair as you held him there, your throat muscles fluttering around his length.

"Holy shit," he gasped, his fingers digging into your scalp. "You're amazing."

You pulled back, gasping for air, a string of saliva connecting your lips to his cock. You looked up at him, your eyes dark with lust.

The heat between you had reached a fever pitch, and it was clear that he had to have you, right here and now.

He leant down, gently guiding you as he lowered you down onto the grass. His body covered yours, pinning you beneath him. The weight of his muscular frame pressed against you, the heat of his skin searing into yours.

"I need to be inside you," he growled, his voice rough with desire. "I need to feel you, all of you."

His hands roamed your body, exploring every curve and valley, leaving trails of fire in their wake.

"Please," you whispered, your body arching into his touch. "I need you too."

He removed the remaining barriers before tugging your underwear down, chucking it over towards his knight pouch, the action not lost on you.

With a low groan, he pushed your legs apart, settling between your thighs. The head of his cock slid along your folds and nudged against your entrance, teasing you with the promise of what was to come.

"Look at me," he demanded, his eyes locking with yours. "I want to see your face."

You met his gaze, your breath coming in short, shallow gasps. The world around you faded away, leaving only the two of you, lost in the heat of the moment.

"Don't look away," he said, his voice low and commanding. “Please-”

As he pushed forward, the head of his cock sliding inside your pussy, you let out a sharp gasp. The sensation was intense, a mix of pleasure and pain that left you breathless.

"Fuck," he groaned, his hips stalling as he fought for control.

With a growl, he captured your lips in a bruising kiss, his teeth nipping at your bottom lip.

"I'm not going to last," he panted, his hips moving in shallow thrusts. "You're too fucking perfect."

He bit down harder, the pain mixing with the pleasure, creating a dizzying cocktail of sensations. You cried out, your nails digging into his back as you held on for dear life.

"That's it," he growled, his voice muffled against your skin. "Let me hear you. Let me feel you."

He thrust into you with a desperate hunger, his hips slamming against yours with each powerful stroke. The sound of flesh meeting flesh filled the air, a lewd symphony of passion and desire.

"God, you feel so good," he groaned, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "So fucking tight."

He set a relentless pace, pounding into you with abandon. Each thrust sent shockwaves of pleasure coursing through your body, pushing you closer to the edge.

He changed the angle of his thrusts, hitting a spot deep inside you that made you see stars. Your back arched off the ground, a scream of ecstasy tearing from your throat.

"I want you to ride me," he growled, his voice low and husky. "I want to feel you in control."

He rolled onto his back, pulling you atop him. Your hands braced against his chest as you positioned yourself above him.

"Take what you need," he urged, his hands gripping your hips. "Use me for your pleasure."

You sank down onto his cock, a moan escaping your lips as he filled you completely. Your hips began to move, rising and falling in a steady rhythm.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his head falling back against the grass. "Just like that, baby. You're so fucking sexy."

You rode him harder, your breasts bouncing with each movement. The friction was intense, the pleasure building with each thrust.

You rode him with increasing intensity, your hips undulating in a sensual dance. The pleasure was overwhelming, a tidal wave of ecstasy crashing over you with each thrust.

"You're so fucking perfect." he panted, his hands gripping your hips tightly.

His words spurred you on, driving you to take him deeper, harder. You leaned forward, changing the angle of your thrusts, and he let out a guttural moan.

"Shit-" he gasped, his fingers digging into your flesh. "Don't stop, baby. Don't you dare stop."

Your movements became more erratic, your body tensing as you neared your peak. He thrust up into you, meeting you stroke for stroke, his hips slamming against yours.

As you rode him, lost in the throes of passion, you caught a glimpse of something in his eyes. Amidst the haze of lust and desire, there was a flicker of something deeper, something that looked suspiciously like love.

The realization hit you like a ton of bricks, stealing your breath and making your heart race. In that moment, you knew that this wasn't just a fleeting tryst born of battlefield frenzy. This was something real, something meaningful.

"Kento," you gasped, your voice trembling with emotion. "I... I think I..."

But before you could finish your sentence, he surged up, capturing your lips in a searing kiss. The kiss was different from the others, filled with a tenderness that took your breath away.

"I know," he whispered against your lips, his eyes locked on yours. "I feel it too."

You leaned back, bracing yourself against his thighs as you rode him with wild abandon. The new angle allowed him to hit a spot deep inside you that made you see stars, and you cried out in ecstasy.

The pleasure built inside you, coiling tighter and tighter until it finally exploded, sending shockwaves of bliss through you. You threw your head back, a loud moan tearing from your throat as you came.

"Fuck, yes," he groaned, his hips thrusting up into you, prolonging your climax. "That's it, baby. Ride it out."

Your inner walls clenched around him, milking his cock for all it was worth. He let out a guttural moan, his own release fast approaching.

"I'm gonna come," he panted, his hands gripping your hips tightly. "Gonna fill you up-”

With a final, powerful thrust, he buried himself deep inside you, his cock pulsing as he emptied himself inside you, ropes of white painting your walls. You could feel the heat of his release, the sheer volume of it, and it only served to intensify your own pleasure.

"You're incredible." he gasped, his body shuddering beneath you.

You collapsed onto his chest, your body spent and sated. He wrapped his arms around you, holding you close as you both caught your breath.

"That was... intense," you panted, a wry smile tugging at your lips.

He chuckled, the sound rumbling through his chest. "Understatement of the century."

You propped yourself up on your elbows, looking down at him with a playful grin. "I guess we both needed a break from the whole 'trying to kill each other' thing."

He ran his fingers through your hair, his touch gentle and affectionate. "So, what happens now? Do we go back to trying to kill each other, or...?"

You shrugged, a mischievous glint in your eye. "I suppose we'll just have to wait and see. But for now..."

You trailed off, letting the implication hang in the air. He grinned, his hand sliding down your back.

"For now," he agreed, pulling you closer as he leaned in to kiss you once more.

reblogsノcomments are greatly appreciated <3

© lovesculprit → do not copy or translate any of my works

[revelboo]

All of us gremlins when we get part 2 038 of one of your fics XD Stop what you're doing, stretch, eat something and hydrate!!!! >:)

I’m hoping none of them go that lengthy 🤣 if I can figure out the scheduled posts thing, I’ll do that tomorrow. If not, I’ll be on the road for 7 1/2 hours and won’t post until later. I’ve reached the upper limit of the stress I can handle and I’m going to hide from it for a few days instead of dealing with it.

Over It Now Pt 16

IDW Jazz x Reader

• Primus, he’s selfish. Watching you huddle deeper into your warm coat, a blue and white bundle of cloth in your hands and shivering so hard you’re trembling, sends a bitter ache through him. Because you want to spend time with him despite how cold it is now, your breath fogging the air as he reaches for you. Unable to send you away. Hands lifting you to settle on his thigh, you curl your legs under you, distracting him to no end with things he shouldn’t want. Can’t have. Then you’re going up on your knees, unfolding that bundle of cloth and gesturing imperiously for him to bend down. Obeying and venting as you drape the thing around his neck. “It’s a scarf,” you say, sounding absurdly pleased with yourself as he reaches to touch the soft material. “I made it.”

• “Doll, I don’t get cold like you do,” he says and you feel your expression waver. You knew that, but he looks cold sitting out here waiting patiently for you. Wanting to do something for him and not knowing what. Shoulders slumping as you sit back down on his thigh, your face heats. Yeah, it was a dumb idea. And he mass shifts under you, an arm hooking around you when you almost fall sideways. “I never said I didn’t like the gift.” Growling, he presses his face against the side of your neck, lips brushing you as he speaks and tingling through you in awareness. Suddenly you can’t get enough air as he rests his other palm on your thigh near your knee.

• Those expressive eyes of yours give you away, that hurt you’d tried to hide when you thought he didn’t appreciate your gift. Like you don’t have a clue how much the little gesture means to him. How much you mean. But he’s never bothered to tell you, has he? Too scared of losing the one person who doesn’t need him to smile and pretend everything is okay even if it’s not. Feels you shiver and push against his hold, trying to get away. Reluctantly letting you go, expecting you to retreat. Definitely not for you to turn and straddle him. Fingers toying with the scarf as you avoid looking at him. Before he can say anything, you lean up and your mouth crashes against his.

• Just a kiss. A kiss can’t hurt anything. And you’ve wanted to have at least this for some time, but he’s not been your size since that first time when he’d scared you. You feel him go still against you as your mouth slides against his, but he doesn’t kiss you back. Shocked that you did it most likely. Face heating, you draw back and his servos tangle in your hair. His head ducking so his mouth can claim yours. And it’s as wicked as you’d imagined his lying mouth would be. Aware of his other hand on your hip, servos pressing against you. Lips parting for his glossa to slide inside, tangling with your tongue, exploring hungrily.

• Can’t stop now that you’ve given him permission, now that your taste is on his glossa. Greedy for as much as you’ll allow him. Thinks about your smutty book. About just laying you back and taking his time memorizing every inch of you with his servos and mouth. Only the cold keeping him in check, tempering his need with concern over you. “Give me this, just a taste,” he murmurs, servos sliding under the back of your shirt to find warm skin. Mouth sliding along your jaw down to your neck. Kissing, nipping, and licking as you make a soft, breath sound that goes straight through him. “Let me have this.” Not sure if he’s begging you or Primus, as your soft hands touch his helm and pull him back to you. Your mouth warm against his. Losing himself in the heat of you, in the honesty of his need.

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[takamimami]

I am a fucking idiot my brain clocked out while I was reading the prompts

All Angst;

2, 8, 11.

All with both Law and Kid (seperate)

Hello, my dear. Thank you for the request! I have been needing to crank out some good old heart-wrenching angst, so this request was much appreciated!

That being said, I am a sucker for both Kidd and Law, so this will be a two-parter - sorry to keep you waiting :3 but I promise there will be plenty of angst and smut in the next part, so hopefully it is worth the wait <3

Kidd/Law x F!Reader - SFW - "Please don't talk about yourself like that." - STORY UNDER THE CUT CW: ANGST; kidd is prideful and stubborn, law is moody and sensitive, crew mate!reader ---word count ~1k each

A simple comment about him controlling his temper was all it took to have you and your captain at each other’s throats. You couldn’t understand how he could be so brazen and hot-headed when danger stared him in the face, and he didn’t give you a chance to explain where your concerns stemmed from before he dismissed them completely, his stubbornness rearing its ugly head as he cut you off in the middle of your sentence.

“I don’t care to hear anymore, Y/N. I am the captain of this crew, and I will handle things my way. The pirate I am has gotten our crew to where we are so far - so if you have a problem with the way I handle things…”

🌷

“...Either keep it to yourself or get lost!”

You barely heard the words leave his mouth as he stared down at you, chest puffed out and breathing heavily as he yelled. Your eyes burned, but you didn’t want to give him the satisfaction of knowing how hard his words hit you. Instead, you looked over to Killer - who normally played peacemaker between the two of you during your squabbles - to find him rubbing his temples as Kidd turned and stormed away from you, leaving you standing in the middle of the deck. Unbeknownst to you, Quincy was also lurking near the stairs to the helm, witnessing the fall out of what started out as a heart-to-heart with your captain.

You let the first sob shake your shoulders as the door to Kidd’s workshop slams shut, and Quincy and Killer are immediately on you, both of them reaching a reassuring hand to your shoulders. You brush away from their touch, storming to the bow of the ship to get away from everyone, feeling your chest tightening as you struggle to draw in breaths.

To your surprise Quincy follows you, lingering a few feet from where you grip the railing, trying your best to level your breathing as tears continue to sting your eyes. She doesn’t say anything, not wanting to leave you alone, but also not wanting to impose on your space as you try to settle your mind.

“He didn’t mean it,” she says softly, shifting closer to you as you turn and lean against the railing, keeping your eyes on the ground as she approaches.

“Yes he did,” you murmur, feeling the familiar self-doubt creep into your mind as you think over the argument that just occurred. “He’s always told me I’m too emotional for this lifestyle, so maybe I don’t belong here after all.”

Quincy flinches at your words, reaching her arms out and pulling you into a hug by your shoulders. “Don’t talk about yourself like that, Y/N,” she chastises, pulling away to look you in your eyes as she continues. “Kidd is just… emotionally constipated. Like, all the time. He views emotions as a sign of weakness, and he doesn’t realize that if everyone on this crew acted as irrationally as he did, we wouldn’t have made it this far.”

You hold back the new tears forming in your eyes as you look at Quincy, talking in her words as she offers you a gentle smile. 

“C’mon,” she nudges, “I know where Killer keeps his comfort snacks.”

She giggles as your lip curls into a smile, following her to the kitchen and immediately feeling a lump in your throat as you open the door to Kidd and Killer arguing in the kitchen.

Kidd’s eyes flick over to you, not even flinching at your disheveled appearance before he returns his gaze to Killer, who looks exasperated as he nudges his head in your direction. 

“Apologize.”

Killer’s authoritative voice makes you flinch as you keep your eyes on Kidd, his throat bobbing as he holds Killer’s glare. 

“Last time I checked, I am the captain of this crew,” he says between gritted teeth. He turns his gaze to you, eyes fiery with rage as he grows more defensive by the second. “And I don’t recall one of my responsibilities as captain to be coddling my crew when they don’t get their way.”

You feel your jaw tense at his words, and before you can swallow down the retort you take a step forward and press your hands to the counter. 

“Stop acting like a self-righteous prick, Kidd,” you snap, feeling the rage bubbling up from your gut as you lash out at him. “I only said what I did earlier because… I love you.”

The last words leave your mouth quieter than the previous ones, your voice cracking from the vulnerability behind them. This was only the second time you’d dare utter the words to Kidd, the first time you had been the day he lost his arm - when you weren’t sure he would make it. The two of you hadn’t spoken about it directly, but you knew Kidd was mindful of the way you felt for him, at least you thought that was the case until today.

You can feel Killer and Quincy tense as Kidd’s stance sharpens, his lip curling as if he were going to snarl at the words leaving your mouth.

“I didn’t ask you to love me.”

Your breath hitches as you hear the words hanging in the air, the weight of them bearing down on your shoulders as the tears burning your eyes begin to fall. 

Kidd looks away, almost wincing at your reaction as he speaks again.

“I am the way that I am, Y/N. You of all people should know this,” he grunts, moving from his spot across the kitchen and heading towards the door. “I don’t need any of you trying to change me or tell me what I should be doing.”

With that Kidd kicks open the door to the kitchen and stomps away, back out onto the deck. 

You try your best to hold in the sobs as you saunter over to the door, desperate to go curl up in your bed and try to sort through your thoughts. 

“Y/N,” Killer calls to you quietly, causing you to pause at the door as you try to muster the strength to answer him. 

Your lip quivers, the hole in your chest growing as you hear Kidd’s words echoing through your mind, and instead of saying anything you just look back at Killer. The pain in your eyes must have said enough because his shoulders slump as he watches you leave the kitchen.

Your vision blurs as you disappear below deck and into the women’s quarters, grateful that no one was around to hear you as your sobs rock you into a fitful sleep.

🐯

“...Maybe it's time to re-evaluate your position on this crew.”

You could feel your nails digging into your palms as you squeezed your hands into fists at your sides, feeling that familiar burn in your eyes as you watched Law resume wrapping the wound on his arm. 

He winces as he struggles to lift his shoulder, and you instinctively lunge towards him to assist him with wrapping the wound, your jaw tight as you work in silence. You fought the urge to tie the bandage too tight in retaliation as Law watched you work, his eyes softening ever so slightly as he took in how your delicate hands traced over his skin.

The door to his office swings open behind you as you finish tying off the gauze, and Bepo strolls in and drops a stack of paperwork onto Law’s desk before turning it over to the two of you. 

“Captain,” he says wearily, nodding awkwardly as he feels the tension in the air between the two of you. “Shachi and I are done sorting through the documents you brought back, and these are the ones that looked the most promising.”

Law turns his attention from you to Bepo, and you take the opportunity to shift away from him, shuffling towards the door in an attempt to dismiss yourself. 

“Y/N,” Law’s stern voice cuts through the air, Bepo flinching a bit as he casts a sympathetic gaze your way. “We’re not done, here.”

You squeeze your hands again, feeling your palms sting as you stop halfway through the doorway. You breathe in deeply before looking over your shoulder at him, his brows furrowing as he catches your heated glare.

Bepo salutes awkwardly as he shuffles towards the door, distress evident on his face as he disappears back down the hall, leaving you alone with Law once again.

You turn around and lean against the wall, eyeing Law from across the room as he hobbles over to his desk, skimming over the papers that Bepo left as he contemplates the next thing to say.

“I don’t appreciate being questioned, Y/N,” Law murmurs, eyes lifting to meet yours as he sits down behind his desk. “At the end of the day, the crew will do as I say, and I will take whatever necessary measures are needed in order to ensure we are successful.”

You roll your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest as you refocus on him. “So we are supposed to just stand idly by while you make reckless decisions, regardless of how risky they are? You expect your crew to just sit back and be yes-men?”

He grimaces at the tone in your voice, his eyes dropping back down to the papers on his desk. “I want my crew to trust me, and not question their captain’s decisions.”

“Well, I can’t do that, Law. Not when I care about you this much.” You feel your breath catch in your throat and your pulse rise at the realization of your admission. 

Law’s hand tightens on the edge of the table, and his eyes shoot back up to meet your heated gaze. “If you can’t trust me, Y/N, then why are you part of this crew?”

You suck in a shallow breath at Law’s question, wondering if he was asking it to you or to himself. 

“If you don’t want me here, just say that,” you say through clenched teeth, dropping your chin to your chest as you feel your eyes begin to burn.

Law grimaces, still holding firm as he keeps his gaze on you, “Your words, not mine.”

Not an admission, but his answer leaves little room for comfort as you slowly release the breath you had been holding. You can feel your pulse in your temples as you do your best to fight off the tears, turning away from Law and storming out of the room as you feel the first one slip through your lids.

You waited half a beat for him to call out to you, to come rushing after you to offer you the reassurance you were seeking - that he wanted you on his crew. But Law remained in his office chair as your trembling legs carried you down the halls of the polar tang, stopping as you round the corner to release the pressure building in your chest. A sob rakes through your body, your throat immediately going raw as the tears spill faster and faster. You bring a hand to your mouth to keep the sound from reaching your crewmates down the hall, ducking into the small corridor that leads to the small women’s quarters. 

You quickly enter the room and shut the door behind you, leaning your head against it as your sobs intensify, the sound vibrating off the walls of the empty room. You turn and lean against the door, sinking down to the floor and holding your knees to your chest as you try to get a grip on the emotions swirling through your chest. You hear footsteps approaching from down the hall and try to muffle the sounds of your cries, but Bepo’s soft knock at the door for some reason brings a whole new wave of emotions washing over you. 

“Y/N,” he calls gently through the door. You drop your head down onto your arms and continue sobbing, letting the pathetic sounds tell Bepo everything he needs to know as he lingers on the other end of the door.

“I’m fine, Bepo,” you croak, knowing you don’t sound anywhere near as convincing as you wanted to. “I’ll be gone soon, so you and the others won't have to worry about me. I’m sure you’ll find someone better suited for this kind of thing anyway.

Bepo leans into the door, wishing he could somehow offer you an embrace through it.

“Please don’t say that, Y/N. We need you.” 

Silence is all you can offer him as your eyes begin to burn again, fresh tears cascading down your face.

He stands there for a while before giving up, realizing you need this time to be alone as he places a supportive paw on the door opposite you before walking away. His footsteps disappear down the halls, leaving you alone with your thoughts - the sound of Law’s voice haunting your dreams as you slump onto the cold floor.

Part Two

100 Follower Event Masterlist ✨come say hai :3✨

[theangrycomet-art]

TFA: Ariel/Elita 1's Squadron, Team Orthia

I fell down the wiki rabbit hole last night and now I have these.

Everyone's heights are off/going to change in the future because I wasn't sure on everyone's alts when I was first drawing out the line up.

I mostly just wanted to get ideas down on paper.

COMMISSIONS OPEN

Transcript of my Handwriting Plus Other Lore:

Nothing here’s set in stone I just wrote down ideas/compiled thoughts as they came to me.

edit: Changed Lancer’s Profile Info to match new ideas I have

TFA: Sheild of Solus

Operation: Failsafe

Purpose: To sabotage any and all Decipticon efforts of gaining any headway in this war. First, start off with the infiltrators, next, hit them where it hurts.

After discovering a spy had infiltrated their ranks, Alpha Trion took it upon himself to assemble a team to sabotage any Decipticon efforts to gain a foothold on Cybertron, hoping that they would be able to counter any threats on Cybertron.

Ariel/Elita-1

Commander and the Leader

High-ranking member of the Elite Guard

Alpha Trion’s inside eyes

Alt Mode: Cybertronian Heavy Duty Truck -> Monster Truck

Special Upgrade: Classified

Good-Morningstar Mace: Morning star with detachable head

Laser Kusarigama: This weighted chain serves Elita well when she needs to tie up the enemy (or retrieve your teammate as her gravity fluctuates again)

Tidbit: One of the few of the Elite Guard to not have gone to the Academy, Elita rose through the ranks through her skill and ingenuity, despite other’s misgivings. A bit rough around the edges, she is always there for her fellow bots. When her former mentor requested her aid in his mission, she had no hesitation joining. (It helped that it got her away from her more tiresome coworkers)  

Chromia

Second in Command

Recon Specialist, Infiltrator

Former Intelligence Officer; she retired when she was not allowed to investigate Highbrows abrupt disappearance and opened a private investigator business.

Alt Mode: Cybertronian Trike -> Trike (like Harley-Davidson Tri Glide Ultra)

Special Upgrade: Lockpick: with enough time she can pick any lock and hack into any systems with the extensions in her servos. However, this can takes a lot of her processing power and leaves her vulnerable.

Laser Sabre: Good for clashing blades and slipping between the seams of an enemy’s armor

Tidbit: Despite her worrying over her teammates, Chromia has a habit of diving helm first into her work with little disregard for herself, whether that be forgetting to refuel and recharge or tempting fate with more self-sacrificial tendencies. She’s been working on it, but bad habits die hard…

Novastar

Search and Rescue, Transportation and Retrieval

Served in the tail-end of the Great War

Worked previously in Search and Rescue with her partners Inferno and Red Alert

Through this line of work, she developed extensive connections.

AltMode: Cybertronian Truck -> Narrowbed Truck

Special Upgrade: Furnace: Nova is able to generate massive bursts of flame, and she has refined the practice into an art. The flames on her head are no only an aesthetic choice, but an outlet for the excess heat she generates. These are easily extinguished; a fact Inferno took great joy in abusing the damn firetruck bot.

Blowtorch: During her time in field during the Great War, Nova lost her left servo to a Decpticon when retrieving soldiers from behind enemy lines. She had it replaced with a blowtorch prothesis that allows her to pinpoint flames to temperatures that can cut through even the toughest of materials- temperatures that otherwise would melt her frames

Tidbit: Novastar has been trying to locate Inferno, who has recently gone MIA after responding to an off-planet distress beacon with a new recruit with little to no luck. She is hoping the new job title will grant her greater resources to expand her search.

Greenlight

Engineer

“The Miracle Worker”

A student of WheelJack’s

Greenlight’s inventions can be brilliantly or devastating (or if she’s lucky) both. She tends to get attached to her devices, however, and gets rather despondent when they are broken or do not work as intended.

Aloof, she doesn’t see the need to waste much time with small talk. It requires a bot with a lot of patience (and ability to pester) to get her to come out of her shell

Alt Mode: Cybertronian Offroader

Special Upgrade: Tasers: Though not a combat bot, Greenlight saw fit to mod herself out with some decent defense. The tasers stored in her arms can generate enough volts of electricity that can through bots thrice her size flat on their backs.

Boom Cannon: A weapon still in its testing phases, she has been building it up from stolen Decepticon specs in her free time.

Tidbit: If asked, Greenlight will say that she agreed to sign up to get out of community service for accidentally demoing a perfectly good lab with one of her inventions. While partly true, a larger part of why she joined was because she didn’t want Lancer doing this alone.

Lancer [Edited]

Researcher

Unofficial Medic

Student of Perceptor

Alt Mode: n/a, missing T-Cog

Special Upgrade: FlipScreen: her “skirt” doubles as computers, monitor and keyboard included. This grants her access to ALL of her files and more importantly allows her to run any necessary scans, analysis, or algorithms she needs when or wherever she needs. It is also a bold fashion statement

BackPack Variety Hour: She has a variety of “backpacks” each serving different purposes, though if you ask anyone but Lancer they all look identical. Despite their incredible weight, she carries them with ease.

Backup Generator: Via the generator on her back, she could keep a city fully powered without straining her spark. Most of this energy goes into the powering the extra processors she has stored in her “skirt”

Star Splitter: a powerful laser spear, though she more often then not uses it for pole vaulting than actual combat

Tidbit: Lancer has been a researcher for the Autobots for longer than many bots have been alive, mostly regarding projects Ultra Magnus would rather not go public. Despite the JetTwins being by far the most successful of these endeavors, Lancer quit shortly after. When Alpha Trion offered her a more savory research position with Twam Orthia she was quick to accept and get out from Ultra Magnus’ thumb.

Moonracer

Sharpshooter/Sniper

“Best in the Whole Galaxy!”

Graduated top of her classes at the Autobot Academy but has struggled to keep a longterm position due to her impulsive behavior, with her last job being messenger-bot for Security.

Alt Mode: Cybertron Compact Car -> Vector W8

Special Upgrade: Internal Gravity Manipulator: As labelled on the tin, she has the ability to shift her gravity, decreasing AND increasing. Typically, she uses this to “float” or “moon walk”. The change in gravity can be extended to objects she comes into direct contact, but maintaining it drains her very quickly.

Velicotron Build: Speedster Though not as fast as the infamous Blurr, Moonracer is incredibly quick both as a bot and her alt form. Combine this with her gravity-defying abilities leads to some devastating results.

Custom Ion Pistols: Dual pistols that can combine into her sniper rifle.

Tidbit: Moonracer is a good bot with a good head on her shoulders. She will always do what she thinks is right- but she tends to jump the gun on things which gets her into trouble. With inexperience comes naivety, but how is she supposed to learn anything if nobody gives her a chance to do anything?  

Individual Shots

[cyberrose2001]

First time request! How about TFP Megs with breeding kink. Just wants the perfect sire to fill both holes with as much cum as they can and to keep going until Megs is satisfied

TFP Megatron x Cybertronian!Reader

i turned megs into a bit of a sub for this, it felt like the right thing to do

Warnings: Breeding kink, Sub/Dom, Cum dump megs

Word count: 482

"What a fraggin' whore," Sharp clangs of metal hitting metal fill the private suite contrasting your deep gruff voice, "Do your followers know how much of a spike slut you are? How the great, mighty Megatron longs to submit to one of his own?"

Pressing your servo to the back of Megatrons helm, you push it further into the berth. Your other servo keeps a tight grip on his spinal struts as you roughly draw him back. Though he's a giant, seemingly all-powerful mech, it doesn't take much force for him to comply and follow through with your thrusts with his own bouncing. Long, muffled whines emanate deep within the gladiator's vocalizer as he does so.

"Answer me, Megs."

"No! Of course not-" Megatron is cut off by a digit forcefully pushed against his glossa.

"Do you want them to know?" You punctuate with a hard thrust and lean over his frame, your grip tightening on his hip, "'Cause I can make that happen... overload inside you until that pretty valve of yours is utterly flooding."

Megatron growls at the thought and because you've dropped to an agonizingly slow pace. His tight valve clenches around your spike, calipers massaging and begging to be painted with your pink stickiness. He whines around your digit as you play with his glossa, drool starting to drip from his lips.

You take his whine as an answer and lean upright, massaging his aft with two servos. Once Megaton is free to speak once again, he whips his helm around and barks insults at you.

In retaliation, you draw his hips back so hard and fast it shuts Megatron right up, throwing his head back with a loud moan.

"Outside of these walls you are Megatron," You thrust your hips and dig your digits into his protomass, your desperation for a release catching up to you, "But in here, on my spike, you're just a transfluid dump. A frag toy for me to use and for you to take, you got that?"

That seemed to make him forget about you being a cock-tease. He nods his helm stupidly, whining and begging for his first fill of transfluid for the night. You clench your dentae, pounding into Megatrons tightening valve with every moan and plea you draw from his intake.

With a mix between a growl and a cry, you press your spike impossibly deep against his tanks as you overload. Your spike throbs and aches as your transfluids fill him to the brim, but he'll want more, he'll always want more.

"Finally..." Megatron almost weeps, arching his back struts when the transfluids seep out. He doesn't give you time for recovery as he starts bouncing along your spike again, desperate to be a dripping aching mess below you.

With a hiss, you follow his lead, keeping your promise to fill him as many times as he wants.

[triangularz]

ZORO- FORGIVENESS

sfw- last line nsfw, maybe 700 words, soft zoro, est. relationship, wisely waiting to be forgiven, reader envisioned as blk/f, enjoy and imagine your thing! many of my fics are really "dense fanfictional narrative character studies" or something like that. Working on including more dialogue

Zoro's apologies are total like his sweet, unyielding love, seeping from his bone marrow, from every red blood cell- earnest, absolute, lived. Never burning or suffocating, each moves like convection heat from him to you- always warm, always healing. He has no need to search for you when he's caused distance, or use haki to sense your aura- instead, he draws on what he deeply and so accurately understands about you, and drains every drop from his stores of intuition to see beyond your rough exterior, passed your strained smile- notice your rigid movements or one too many blinks to hold back hot tears you hope he won't witness.

To fix and fuck the feelings away- shit that's all he wants; he hates it, hates it, but these are his consequences, to wait and refrain and respect, to fight his will, to conceal his impatience while pensive and in pain.

He refuses to weigh you down, won't allow you to become the comforter because of his own self-pity, scrambling to assure him you won't leave, that you do love him, that he isn't a horrible man. He'll own and absorb his mistakes, bow and honor you. So he makes no promises to placate you, doesn't bargain with you or swear on his life he won't do it again. To do those things would be to erase or medicate your pain without healing the wounds he's caused, and the promise would be a lie; perfection doesn't exist. He might- he will speak too harshly, ignore your needs, act selfishly... apologize again. But the coin's other side pisses you off and is hard for him: He won't take your upper-handed shit while he waits, allow you to be manipulative or lash out in ways he knows you'll regret; he gently pushes back. Later, you can't thank him enough for it- having calmly stood his ground with such love.

When you forgive him, he recognizes that hurt or anger or sadness may not dissipate right away, and he'll gladly wait longer, quietly processing how best... to be better. He stands on the edge of your universe, making his way towards your galaxy, then your solar system, then your planet and eventually back to you when you signal readiness for it. It feels like an age to him, but it's never long before you extend your hand and walk him home to your heart.

This perspective, this agony- he's stumbled to learn it in ways grievous to you both, after raging, fists through the side of the crow's nest, blame and defense, bewilderment. Shit you've also inflicted heinous wounds- but what happens in it (he, with a smidge of advice from Sanji and Nami) really is as beautiful as it is messy, your roots together growing deeper and stronger, better handling drought.

▪️

This morning, he scribbles a note on torn cartography paper before joining Jinbe at the helm: I know you'll have a good day. Don't let me spoil it. I'll miss you. Challenging for him to write, but a small thing you can choose to throw away, maybe smile about. Instead you cry, experiencing every little word and recalling a moment yesterday- his sorrowful eyes, his restraint and clenched fists when full of anger you left to wander the ship:

"Heading out."

"Okay. Whatever you need." Not me. I know.

*

The bed dips now with his weight; he'd first hovered near the bedroom while you showered and changed, giving you space before you sleep.

"This ok?" His hand rests tentatively on your hip.

"Yeah." You struggle with ambivalence- an urge to punish him and your own desperate need to reconcile.

"Thanks... I'm so sorry. I mean it," he whispers. Gratefulness to touch you again and a precious few words he always means; they melt away the last of your angst. You gently grab his hand and nestle it on your chest, interlacing his fingers with yours, and he cautiously plants a kiss on your shoulder- you aren't delicate, but he recognizes the kiss should be. It's automatic after a few minutes, to cuddle closer to you when he thinks you're asleep. His soul relaxes, but he doesn't, every muscle flexing to keep you close, aroused and fine with it, expecting nothing. You're wide awake, and just as he's found contentment, your back melts into his chest and your ass presses against his cock, heart pounding. You're repaired. He fucks you through tears, both relieved, and roots stretching longer into nutrient-rich earth.

▪️

[onlyyvette]

TF NSFW Headcanons #2 - Optimus Prime

Warnings: sub/bottom Optimus Prime + heavy praise kink + breeding kink + he's so malewife + size kink + lots of kissing + rough sex + oral fixation + slight humiliation kink + he's such a whore for praise + i hope you guys like transforming trucks

A/N: The interpretation is up to the reader, but I was imagining idw Optimus while making this.

-> Frame Optimus is your type of mech if you like big, beautiful mechs who are most likely stronger than you. Optimus has wide, heavy set hips and thick white thighs that many of his berth partners ask him to suffocate their heads with. He has a wide and heavy chassis that's warm and soothing to the touch especially due to the matrix inside of him. His finials are actually very sensitive and he loves to have his partners tug on them as he whines a bit. His deep baritone is so soothing to listen to, and sounds heavenly when he lets out long moans or the occasional whine or whimper when he's overstimulated.

Optimus' array is exactly what you'd expect from a mech of his size. His spike is quite proportionate, the same gray color as his faceplate with red and blue strips of biolights decorating it. His valve is so pretty, a blue color with blue pulsing biolights and a bright red node which also happens to be very big, drawing his partner's attention. Optimus' valve is plush and deep, softly massaging his partner's spike as they sink themselves in as far as they can. His matrix-powered frame has built in magnets that makes his valve suck in his partner's spike even deeper and stimulates their spike.

-> Breeding If there's anything you want to do with Optimus during interface to guarantee that he'll overload is to promise to breed him. This kink shows when Optimus hears his conjunx talk about how they'll fill his gestation tank up with their transfluid and have him carry their sparkling, he doesn't take it as a threat, he takes it as a promise. When his conjunx finally frags him just how he likes it, his deep moans fill the room as his valve takes the spike inside of him deep. Once his conjunx announces that they'll breed him well and good, no matter how close or far he is from his overload, he will overload so hard that he might just short circuit, his HUD flashing with warnings of overheating. Finally, the feeling of transfluid filling his gestation chamber is so euphoric that depending on how far off he is, might result in an overload so powerful it causes his whole systems to reboot. This kink makes mating press is his favorite position<3

-> Size Kink Optimus has a size kink but not in the way that many people would think. Optimus doesn't care too much about the size of his partners, but he definitely enjoys when his partners can manhandle and dominate him, especially when they're smaller than him. He loves to see his smaller partners on top of him as they push him into whatever surface they're interfacing on and just frag him so hard that his helm is left spinning. His smaller partners get an ego boost when they see how compliant the Prime is for them that it riles them up, giving them the energy to last longer in Optimus' tight valve as they tease him about how desperate he is for a mech that's almost half his size. It makes him burn with humiliation yet he just can't get enough of it.

-> Oral Fixation Optimus loves to have something filling his mouth. He gets easily excited when his partner brings their servo up to his mouth and presses their digits into his intake, prodding at his glossa. He'll gladly choke on those digits if his partner wishes so. Even more gladly, he enjoys sucking spike. He'll worship any spike in front of him no matter the size, his glossa working itself up and down the spike's length, deepthroating it as far as he can. And he will take all of it. He lets out adorable moans as he bobs up and down on the spike in front of him, making sure to pleasure his partner. Even he gets off on it, his charge quickly raising as he services the spike in front of him. And if his partner fucks his mouth? He'll absolutely lose it. Optical fluid will streak down his face as he lets out choked moans, his partner ramming their spike down his intake. His panel will retract and his lubricant will drip onto the surface below as he tries desperately to not touch himself.

-> Kissing Connecting to his oral kink, Optimus loves to kiss his partner. It's embarrassing for him to admit, but intense makeout sessions is one of his biggest kinks. The way that his partner's glossa invades his intake, wrestling Optimus' own glossa for control. Optimus gets so light headed that all he can do is whimper into the kiss as he allows himself to be dominated. He enjoys it at any pace, whether the glossa invading his intake is slow and loving or rough and passionate. He could very well overload just from the feeling of his intake being assaulted by a highly skilled glossa, bonus points if the mech is holding his hips or waist tightly as they grind their leg against Optimus' panel.

-> Praise Optimus has a praise kink. No arguments. The poor mech has the weight of the whole world on his shoulders, his autobots always looking up to him as their leader, all his enemies wanting his head, it's just so much for him to deal with! But whenever his partner has their servos roaming his frame as they coo into his audials of how much of a good bot he his, how beautiful he is, he'll be putty in their hands. He always whines when he's being praised because he truly doesn't think he's deserving of it :(. Optimus loves being praised while sucking spike because it makes feel so good. To just swirl his glossa around a spike as his partner grunts above him, praising him for all the hard work he's putting into servicing them. It always gives him this fuzzy feeling in his processor and is the easiest way to get him deep into subspace.

[oz2b]

A Silent Dove

Last of the Trio, Gareth! (Garroth)

Also no chibi version!

He gave me quite the trouble for sure ahaha, overall I am happy with his final!!! Might tweak stuff here n there though!

Wip's as usual

also the speedpaint if anyone is interested!

Wasn't as happy with his chibi's so...don't look too hard at them okay?

I wanted to give him a fun shape with his clothes and helm!!! I also made his clothes main colors opposite of Lulu's heh..

Ft goofy doodle of him n LuLu

Last of the main Trio, I would like to draw the other's at some point!!

[gnomishcunning]

zevlor’s a hopeless romantic. bruised and beaten, but still achingly tender.

more than anything, zevlor’s a man of faith. that doesn’t necessarily mean religion, even if it once did. but devotion? belief? working, fighting, living, dying for a cause?

think about it. he was a hellrider, a title that a soldier would hold for life - literally. if you wanted to try to quite, you’d be given a suicide mission, and if you succeeded? you’d be stripped of everything you’d ever acquired and shunned as an outcast. moreso, he was a paladin, too - a warrior who empowers themselves with a promise, who draws favor from the gods through sheer force of personality. even moreso, he was follower of Helm, the god of guardians! every bit of living he’s ever done has been for was for the sake of protecting his city and his people.

(even if he wanted to prove the world wrong, that tieflings weren’t thieves and heretics, that doesn’t discredit the way he chose to prove the world otherwise: by giving all of himself)

and then Elturel fell to the hells.

we hear his thoughts in the depths of the mindflayer colony. it wasn't his oath that shattered, it was his faith itself - in the good of his paladin order and the people of Elturel himself. regardless of title or dedication, he was stripped of everything he'd worked towards, and cast out of the city for the singular crime of being born of infernal blood.

and at the end of the day, he still found the good faith to lead his people from Elturel to Baldur's Gate.

he's still a man that endeavors to do good. to bring goodness into the world of his own volition, to keep innocents and innocence alive in the face of so much tragedy. if not for himself - he'd undoubtedly see himself past the point of redemption - but for the good of others.

and it's not like he's naive or in-denial. zevlor is painfully, painfully aware of the way the world views him and his kin. it's part of why he endeavors so hard to do good, to prove the assumptions of the world wrong at every turn.

but it boxes him in, too. he goes to every length to present himself as the infallible leader and the wise paladin, no matter what he's lost or how much it hurts him to occupy a mockery of his former self, just so his people have something to believe in. and gods, do they need something to believe in after everything they've been through.

think about that type of man. brow-beaten, back-broken, stripped of every accolade and merit ever earned; and still endeavoring to make right, to be someone he thinks he's not for the sake of others.

think about that man, and tell me he's anything less than a hopeless romantic.