#if no one's giving me suggestions

[hansoeii]

crowley

[taxinealkaloids]

kill your darling, it's just that easy!

[robolvrr]

forged to please. ｡⁠*ﾟ⁠+

some mild suggestive headcanons. unhealthy dynamics.

sentinel prime x cybertronian secretary

airachnid plucked you from your filing job with unsettling familiarity. you quickly learned after the debrief that her optics, touch and croons were simply an extension of your shared's prime.

his very attention is shattering.

sentinel has no need for actual assistants. your first few cycles don't end up at his doorstep, so in your confusion of servitude you busy with the boring.

analytics. cancelling meetings as he's constant on the surface, rescheduling abandoned polls. when the lights flick you remain obedient at your desk, digits skimming through glass pads.

you do have a cog. however, you still pale in comparison to your coworkers and do not speak out of turn. you're not a miner nor are you cogless — but there are levels to status and you're still at the first couple of rungs on the metaphorical golden ladder.

little did you know, you're being watched. approvingly, even when your helm dares to dip back when your processors prompt recharge.

everyday, you arrive early. place your holopads in neat piles. slip an energon cube from your stack past your cushy, gray dermas and sit straight in your assigned seat.

frame flawless, as expected by a cog. since you don't race or proctor, you're more on the winsome side.

"them? really?"

"yeah. crazy right?" sentinel lazily watches the filmy recording, nestled camera aimed right in the corner. he can see your chassis. your cog and the ridges between your plating. clean. no mining dust. no scratches.

"look at 'em go. do they know that half what i give them is just.. nothing? they're so... so diligent. it's cute, no?"

airachnid shares a sideways glance.

slowly, your office grows more lavish. you notice changes to your desk arrangement. a golden twist of flora at your desktop. new chair, with cushion - a rarity and a treat. a fresh mug of engex earlier than you arrive.

and even slower, your coworkers start to distance farther than even you pushed them. you're being moved around cycles later, to higher floors. the work is a constant buzz that requires the utmost care and attention to detail.

you once question airachnid as she glides by silently just what you're doing here. you ex-vent when she leans forward, pursing her intake at you.

"don't ask questions you don't want answers to. you do good for him, you'll do good for a lifetime."

straightening, you're left unfortunately with more than before and you nervously return to your desk, with a beautiful view of iacon and an inkling that perhaps your constant promotions weren't as perfect as you previously assumed.

[ quota — increased. overtime required. ]

frustration bites as your digits flutter across keys. the office space, grand and empty and dark fills you with impatience. not that you'd dare show it, on the clock.

you guess that overtime still counts, though you prudently knock over data as you arise before you can coach yourself to calmness. you practically live here. serving, serving, all the blasted time. had you not proved your loyalty?

a watchful gaze peers at your aft when you saunter to the lounge, fed up for the day.

the smile directed your way isn't promising.

oh. so you can misbehave.

you practically live at work now. what started as a few assignments seemed to increase tenfold.

you're working overtime but know you're much too high the chain (and for such pointless, needless tasks) to back out.

you have no friends. no coworkers. the pretty knickknacks and golden pens and job security start closing in more like a gilded cage.

when the comm is received, you're almost weak at the joints. you reset your sight system several times at first because you assume it's a prank.

[ your prime requests your presence over the latest report. arrive promptly. ]

you're stumbling towards the elevator like a cyber mouse.

sentinel shouldn't enjoy the way you lose your professionalism. taking peeks in the slivers of mirror and spark no doubt rattling in that little chest of yours.

he shouldn't, in fact, hired you at all. you were a face along with many admirers. and primus, did iacon adore their prime.

he shouldn't have been seeing how much it took to break your mentality, either. a cruel experiment from a bored god of sorts.

and the recordings. airachnid made it clear her opinions of his.... enjoyment while you worked in element.

sometime in the toying, he's scrutinizing your frame. you barely make it up to his knee. your alt-mode upon a curious search isn't particularly flashy.

is that why he's so drawn to you? because you wallflower yourself, determined to hide despite the haven he's forced you in?

perhaps. or, he just hasn't had his fix yet.

the racers are always fun to play with. they lick, bite and rev when he chuckles his praise.

he's never been in a position of power like this though and taken that step over the line and suddenly, he rubs the kibble on his chin imagining you staring back at him, bent over, servos tied at the back of your waist.

his processor wanders. you, with flushed cheek plates. you, calling him boss. prime. whatever he fancied more. crawling towards him, balancing a glass of sweet, high-grade on your aft while he chats it away.

"my prime?"

sentinel does not turn to you, at first. you can see his wings, large and flawless. when he turns in his seat, you think perhaps the rumors of primes and their bright, piercing neons were true.

he grins. grandeur rolls off his glossa and you're shocked he knows your designation. as if he senses your shock he reassures he knows because he's kept close to your progress.

"you look tired. what good are you if not rested?"

sheepishly, your helm tilts away, tries to avoid the observation by curling into yourself. it's the funniest and most pathetic thing he's seen in awhile.

he leans forward, but not down to you. sentinel just invades your space because it's his.

you're his.

cutting off your stammers because he'd rather hear them in a more fitting context - fit, he wouldn't - his gesture tempts you closer. there is no need for collar and leash, not when this whole city dances at his every word.

you miss how his stare bores into you. peels back metal, cord and wire.

"listen. i couldn't bear my best struggling. but i also have to be firm. this great city, all of your fellow cybertronians, play a part in something bigger. which means... that work can't be unfinished."

he does not miss how you flinch. where are those kliks of rebellion? those whispered utterances of his name and hoping he'd be knocked down a peg?

"it can't slow down. in order to keep the spark of this very place alive, we all keep it turning."

he can sense your guilt. recall all the times you've actually cursed quietly, kicked at your desk, cried in the refreshers. cute.

"so i do have to ask. because if you can't handle it, i would rather you tell me right here, right now. no hard feelings."

the hopeful look almost makes him break out into laughter. and just like you're programmed, you look at him only when he nods, trying to find out what he wants.

"no. no, i can. i want to do more. want to be more." for you.

"then show me."

as much as he wanted to crack you open right then and there, he was curious how you would take his offer.

would you scorn him out like those endless nights? step back and make excuses? or would you surprise him?

his weight slides in the crushed velvet of his towering throne, watching as you bend.

your head meets the floor. his optic ridge ticks towards the sky.

"tell me what to do and your will is mine."

the prime hums.

well, now you're just making this too easy.

robolvrr 2024.

[onyourowndaisymae]

seventy-two pacts

have some sol thirst (i would go feral if this were me)

content + warnings: suggestive, solomon x reader, solomon has visible pact marks and reader does too

word count: 462

"damn."

the word comes out quickly, before you can even think. you cover your mouth in embarrassment-- justified, considering you couldn't keep your reaction in-- but you can't peel your eyes away.

solomon's peeling off his shirt. in the midst of joking around and pouring some for you two to enjoy, he'd knocked the rim of one of the glasses against the bottle, spilling it all down the front of his shirt. so, to avoid soaking himself further, he immediately began to take the long sleeved garment off.

then you said it, and now he's frozen, shirt halfway off.

can you blame yourself, though? you've seen your fair share of shirtless men, as is expected when living in the chaos of the house of lamentation. but they're all smooth-skinned and flawless. some of them have a couple of scars here and there from the great celestial war. their muscles were obviously impressive in their own right. but they all missed something that solomon had-- something you're just now seeing for the first time.

swirling black lines run across his pale skin, curling around muscles, decorating the smooth planes of skin in intricate designs. from across the table, you can make out little latin characters. pact marks. a lot of them. the ornate symbols decorate the exposed part of his lower abdomen, luring you in with strange words and beautiful lines before disappearing beneath his beltline. do they-- do they follow his v-line? holy shit, you're about to start drooling--

"haha, mc, my eyes are up here!"

his charming, light laugh catches your attention. his eyes are sparkling with mirth, lips curled into a cheshire grin as he removes the rest of his shirt and bunches it in his hand.

the pact marks dance up across his broad shoulders and down his arms. they're gorgeous, arcane and mystical as they sprawl down his biceps and spill onto his forearms. you've seen his sleeves rolled up before, so you knew he had a few pact marks, but-- 72 pacts never looked so damn good.

the seven pact marks on your skin had always been a point of your own fascination. but seeing the sigils on solomon's skin made you wonder if you'd ever be covered the same way.

"i need a new shirt," he declares, smirking at you. he take a couple steps towards his room, then stops when he sees you still at the table. "c'mon."

"huh?" you feel like you've missed something.

"you think you've seen all of my pact marks? no, my dear apprentice, i have plenty more where that came from. and since you're so curious, i figured i might as well show you."

you scurry up from your spot and follow him like the obedient little apprentice you are.

[musubiki]

redraw of this limochi post from 2020!! 🍭

[schlechtenhunde]

overhaul lick

[anonymouscheeses]

Fascinated x normal

"Do you need to throw up?"

"Nnnnyoe"

Random jmpscare doodle dump. Barely even doodles but like here ya go anyway 🥰

[surreal-duck]

master artist and his number one fan

guy who is being so normal about the new additions to their profiles. i think abt midoris initial infatuation with his art slowly developing into appreciating yuzuru himself as a person and idol to the point he worries about how he sees him (ex: a bit of home party and in workplace survival rules) sometimes thats a lie i think about it a lot. and yuzuru learning to enjoy art just for the sake of drawing!! seeing the lets try diy story where he doesnt even refute drawing on midoris desk and was only worried that his doodles might cover up the mascot design compared to how discouraged he usually would be in earlier ! stories. everything to me i adore their dynamic if that wasnt obvious by *gestures to basically everything*

and happy pride month 🏳‍🌈

[dontcareimbusyreading]

The Caraval universe would be better if it was more gay. Thank you for your time

[queenlucythevaliant]

Just to clarify my thoughts (since I've had a number of people ask me about it) re: Job and cursing God. There's a big difference between cursing God as used in Scripture and how we generally would think of cursing at God today.

Cursing someone, in the Bible, has a lot of depth to it. It's not just saying "screw you " in anger, it's got a sense of forsakenness to it. It's the opposite of a blessing, a removal of blessing. If the blessing is presence, your face shining on the person you're blessing, then a curse is absence. In some translations, Job's wife tells him to "renounce God and die," which I honestly think makes a lot more sense to modern ears.

Job says a lot of unpleasant things to and about God in his anger and grief. So do the Psalmists. A number of the Prophets. So can we. God can take it if we come to him with honest expressions of our emotion, including those not-so-nice ones directed at him. I don't think there's anything wrong with getting mad at God and saying, "How dare you, you bastard" when you suffer unjustly. You can say much worse, I think, without sinning, though I don't feel particularly inclined to give examples. But as long as it's an honest expression of your heart, I think you're doing exactly what prayer is for. You're presenting him your heart with an open hand. He can use that. Opposite of love is not hate but indifference, etc.

Job doesn't renounce God. Neither should we. But I think when you're truly suffering, you're gonna have those feelings toward God either way. He'd rather you address them with him directly than try to avoid them. Cursing at God in the modern sense is actually a great way to keep the relationship strong and not end up cursing/renouncing him in the Biblical sense.

[fossilizedhysterics]

cw for suggestive humor🙏 . . . . . . . . . .

today, i bring you more funnies. tomorrow? who knows.

[winkious]

cas adventures pt. 1

[moeblob]

(softly) I forgot Freedom Wars Remastered was today I'm so sorry...

[enviousbug2]

Give me three kitties...

ignoring the fact it took me months to get to this; mhin acquires a third kitty!!

a link to my other two posts on this mini-series since it really has been that long:

one kitty

two kitty

[aluminia]

I'd like you to draw transfem edgeworth and maya having a sleepover!

Here they aaare. I first considered having Maya do the brading, but I think shoulder-length hair fit Edgeworth's style more and you can't really braid that sadly.

Imagine her night robe being a nice, full red to match her nails (I forgot my coloured pencils home)

[zarnzarn]

after the events of three in the morning, safe inside Athena just kinda tucked ody under her wings.

Idk why I think that but anyway it's cannon now that after ody gets thoroughly fucked Athena pulls him close and wraps her wings around him like a cocoon

yessss she sort of chirrups and coos down at him with the owl head tilting, nuzzling at him as she cleans up. she'd do it to penelope too but homegirl is practically steaming from how overheated all the exercise made her so she just goes and usually falls asleep face down on the bed until she's cool enough that athena can drag her closer as well.

in general i think athena would be there for the aftercare because I don't see post canon odypen knowing when to call it quits, which leads to both of them being absolutely exhausted and useless after the last round. she usually just rolls her eyes shakes her head and handles it all; but they both know she's awake for hours just trilling down at them and staring happily.