#leg callipers

[menedits]

A perfect little combination of leg callipers and wonderful orthopedic boot - happily showing them off with shorts

[weirdlookingreptile]

Thoughts on Ratchet going back to his party ambulance days and getting a little too freaky with the Decepticon High Command?

Oh it would definitely start with knockout getting his servos on him.

Ratchet would be captured and kept in the Decepticon medbay, where knockout would nitpick all the problem's in the old bot's frame brought on by neglect. (I head cannon that knockout is pretty much the same age as ratchet but still looks young because of self care.) The Decepticon medic would lecture him through every little repair, even going as far as to touch up his paint, buff his armour, and massage away the tension in his cables. With all that touch and attention you can't blame Ratchet for popping his panels on accident, nor for accepting the absolute devouring his valve is subjected to.

Next would be starscream. Lured in at the prospect of interrogating a high ranking Autobot, getting all worked up with the banter. Ratchet all chilled from an amazing valve eating session and just exuding interfacing appeal. He's already fragged one officer, what's another? Bonus points for getting screamer to shut up. It wouldn't take much, just a calculated spread of a thick thigh and a heated look and he'd have Starscream between his legs in an instant. He'd try his best to be dominant, acting like he has any weight to hold over the more experienced mech. But just switching on a low vibration mod and a calliper sequence would turn him into a whimpering, pathetic mess of soup clinging desperately to Ratchet's plating as he humps into party ambulance valve.

Soundwave wouldn't take any convincing at all, having already witnessed the excursions with the other two command members over his extensive camera systems. He'd initiate it in fact, in his own cryptid way. He'd approach Ratchet in the specialized bring they had built at attached to the med bay, appraise him for a moment, and offer himself via a little frame brushing and questioning head tilt. Attention well received, he'd waste no time in baring his valve, climbing into Ratchet's lap, and riding the mech like no tomorrow. They'd both leave the interaction quite sated.

A session with Shockwave would definitely be due to a calculated set up on Soundwave's part, though the convincing process would be long and arduous in a way only the two waves could stand to argue. Eventually, the logic of biological processes would win out and shockwave would begrudgingly set Ratchet to work on his frame as he continued his work. With Ratchet's skill though, he wouldn't be getting work done for long, especially with all the spike mods assaulting the mech's so rarely used valve. Try as he might, the big and powerful Shockwave would eventually fall victim to his own frame's desires and pleasures.

Getting frisky with Megatron would be a battle of wills. Both are aged, snippy, and unwilling to back down from one another, dancing to a song only they know. But eventually they would fall together in a heated, hateful facing. They'd each take pleasure in knocking the other down a few pegs with well aimed thrusts or calliper squeezes, alternating who's inside who and who's on top. Stubborn shits that they are, they'd go till damn near shut down, ending with an exhausted and slow chase for a final overload before falling into one another and being forced into near instant recharge cycles.

Of course Ratchet would eventually be rescued, or traded- whichever comes first, and return to his faction satisfied and with only a few more paint transfers than he left with.

[veryconnoisseurcherryblossom]

Bastard Boyfriend

Summary: Starscream and you had another argument... Which leads to the inevitable.

pairing: Starscream/Reader

fandom: Transformers

rating: Explicit

warnings: None

tags: Sticky Sexual Interfacing, Hate Sex

“Fr-frag you!”

“I’m a bit busy fragging you!”

Starscream snarled back at you, slamming his spike into you with a ferocity you haven’t felt since the last fight you both had… so about 2 weeks ago. His grip on your hips strengthened- you were sure to have dents and paint transfers you’d need to fix after this, but that wasn’t anything new.

Every thrust caused the table to scoot over the floor, the screech joining the cacophony of wet slaps, metallic clangs, fans, curses and grunts. You glared at Starscream, biting your glossa to keep yourself from moaning.

Primus, you hate him. Despised him. This was, what- the second, no, third time he openly flirted with another bot? Stupid Screamer, barely able to keep his optics off of someone else's aft. So obvious about it until he gets called out, then it’s, no you’re imagining things.

You could do way better. Someone way more trusting, more friendly, more worthy. All your friends told you this every time you both fought. Pits, you knew you could do better. But it always ended like this, after every fight or break up, with you being-

“What did I say about zoning off or thinking about anything but this frag!?”

Starscream’s screeching voice and a particularly hard, delicious thrust brought you out of your angry thoughts with a loud wanton moan. You shut your mouth tight when you see Starscream smirk triumphantly. Scowling, you venomously berate him.

“Maybe if you fragged like that more often I would be so- frag - so pissed-!”

A dark look crossed over Starscream’s red optics. Sneering, he pulled out of you and pushed you down by your legs, a loud whine ripping from your vocalizer. You were now laying on the table, your knees on either side of your head. You looked at Starscream’s face, he had the most… Starscream-iest smirk you had ever seen. There was no way to describe it. It promised something immense.

“Fine then!”

Before you could respond- yell, call him a glitch, a fragger or any other insult, he began to piston into you with fever. It left you stunned, your vents hitching for a brief nanoklik before they whirled to life on full. Your optics flickered, the sudden pleasure of you valve being so roughly treated, like you were nothing more than a common two bit piece of shareware on Velocitron-

“Oh frag! Yes, yes!”

You couldn’t help yourself, throwing your helm back and you glossa rolling out of your intake- you bet you were a very pretty picture for Starscream. He might have been recording you, and you couldn't bring yourself to care. Starscream looked so pleased with himself when he saw your face twist in pleasure.

“Tch! Look at you- so easily tamed!”

You moaned at Starscream’s insulting words, tears beginning to form in the corner of your optics. Letting go of one of your legs, he moved his servo down to your valve, pinching your anterior node. Squealing in pleasure, you began to beg.

“D-don’t stop! For Primus’ sake, don’t stop-!”

You were close- so close. Perhaps arguing was a form of foreplay for the two of you. It certainly got you going. He continued to thrust into you, chirping in Vosian. Almost growling- you were too busy thinking about how good it felt for his spike to ram against your ceiling node, the way he pulled and rubbed at your anterior node to care about what he was saying.

Primus, it felt too good.

“St-star, I’m- I’m close!”

You moaned out, ex-venting heavily. Starscream smirked- it should be illegal for anyone to look that good smirking, especially in such a smug way. You callipers worked feverishly on Starscream’s spike, each thrust of his lighting up your valve sensors and bringing you closer and closer to the edge. Starscream sneered, his denta glinting in the dim lighting.

“Go on- overload for me! Show me how you really feel!”

With a cry, you came undone. Overloading so intensely you optics went offline, your frame shuddered and vented heavily with each wave of pleasure washing over you, your transfluid squirting onto his modesty plating and spike. Starscream never stopped fragging you, his pace however became frantic and uneven, he too was reaching his end.

“Fr-frag!”

He pulled out and overloaded over your abdomen and chassis with a loud groan, coolant dripping down his face. Glowing pink transfluid streaked across your chassis and abdomen. God, his beautiful, beautiful face- the picture of perfection, especially when he’s coming down from an intense sex high and-

And you scoffed, disgusted. Your optics came online and you glared at the venting seeker.

“You fragging glitch- you know your transfluid ruins my finish!”

Wordlessly Starscream bends down and grabs your face, softly taking your derma into his own. You didn’t fight back, you brought your arms around his neck, keeping him there as you moved your derma against his. It was the softest thing he had done all week. It made you feel like your spark was melting and bursting at the same time, your tank felt like it was full of robotterflies.

All too soon however, he pulled away from you, your arms gently falling to your sides. Maybe you were too spike drunk, but the way he looked at you right now almost seemed affectionate. Loving, even. He pulled a cleaning rag from his subspace and began to wipe his transfluid off of both of you without a word.

“... I’m still mad at you.”

You mumbled, looking away. Starscream smirked, his optics becoming a dim red. He moves his servo down your chassis to your valve once more, languidly circling your anterior node with his thumb. His voice is low and sultry as you gasp and moan.

“I know how to make it up to you.”

[rowanmutt-afterdark]

Kinktober Day Two: Gags

Day Two: TFA | Gags | Ratchet

The gag was lodged in your mouth, restricting your sounds while you laid on the berth before your lover. Ratchet sat beside you, reading his datapad while you withered beside him. You wanted to beg him to do something more than just keeping the vibe on your anterior mode on a low level. Muffled whines and moans left your vocalizer, but he just sat there. Ignoring you.

That would not do.

Taking it upon yourself, you moved your thighs enough to start moving them to grind your anterior node against your leg, the pleasure that shot up your spinal strut made your optics shudder closed as you felt that very small overload that wasnt building up quick enough started to build and build until you felt it starting to peak over. Your frame shudders as you overload and cry into the gag as your valve winks and gaps open as transfluid slowly leaks from your overstimulated valve. You fall back against the berth as you vent harshly as the overload passes over you.

A tsk beside you makes you freeze.

“I told you I would get to you, now I have to punish you because you can’t wait a fragging second.” Ratchet grumbles from beside you as he sets the datapad aside and picks up the remote increasing the toy up to full blast making your back arch up and a loud muffled sob left you as you squirm and whine as your valve struggles around the toys teasing your sensitive callipers withing your valve.

Worth it, totally worth it! You finally got Ratchet away from his work to spend time with you. It has been a while since the two of you have had a night alone with just the two of you. Spending time with one another was difficult and an overall issue, some nights you spent alone in your shared berth as he was busy working all night and then slept for a small amount of time before heading back to his med-bay and lab to work for Primus knows how long.

You've pleaded with him to spend more time with you, and after an argument that resulted in almost a week of silence between the two of you. You both finally decided to sit down and discuss your feelings and what would be best to keep this relationship steady and strong. Prowl suggested trying something new, your interfacing activities were rather vanilla and dull, so you did some research and found out some things to try.

One of these was a gag, and so far from how Ratchet looked at you. He was enjoying himself. He got aroused at seeing you wiggle and writhe in your bindings and mumbling behind the gag. Seeing your drool and blissed out expression was everything to him. The mech moves a smidge closer and thumbs a digit over your node making your back arch and a muffled squeal of pleasure leaves you as he teases the sensitive bud of your valve.

Oh, yes~

He enjoyed this very much.

[mychlapci]

Now I know horny egg posting is just horny egg posting.... but it got me thinking about the logistics hdjhshd. How much of a problem does it cause in the army when the dang SIC and their two front liners are all full of eggs. What the heck part of the army is functioning then

Maybe Ratchet makes them take the eggs out. At LEAST for battle. They cannot be running around like that and they really can't afford to have so many soldiers unfit for duty

Ratchet would have them laying on his medical berth, a soft basket to catch the eggs, as he coaxes the eggs out of them

Prowl would do it on his front. He's agreeable to this- he understands he has his duties, but he doesn't want to look Ratchet in the optics for this. He supports himself on his knees and elbows, doorwings quivering as the medic's fingers scissor in his valve. The stimulation helps, he was told. The lubrication and his calipers and systems clenching should help his body be ready to push the eggs out. Ratchet spreads his fingers and Prowl let's out an embarrassed gasp as he bucks his hips.

"Come on. Push. I can feel you aren't pushing," comes the deadpan order from the medic as digits spread Prowl's valve open a little more. Prowl wordlessly nods and does as he's told. It was so easy to unload his eggs into his twins. He can do it. He clenches his gestation tank and shudders as he feels the first egg push its way out. Oh they feel bigger now than when they went in. He knows his sensor panels are shaking, he can hear them rattling, as he whimpers and feels the egg stretch him... and then pop out into Ratchet's waiting servos.

"My scans show a few more. Keep going." He does keep pushing, the next egg coming out with a pleasured gasp. The eggs push against all his sensors as they come out. Lubricant runs down his thighs and drips onto the berth. He can feel the slick beneath him as he shuffles himself on his knees. As the last egg pushes its way out, it's finally too much and Prowl loses himself in the throes of an overload, crying out before collapsing into his own puddle of slick. He vaguely registers Ratchet patting him on the small of his back as his fans whir and he tries to calm down

Sideswipe, on the other hand, needs a little more coaxing to part with his eggs. You know how he is. He thinks he can take deceptions down with his tank full of eggs. No biggie. Ratchet has to force him to sit down and yells at him to spread his legs. Now, please.

Sideswipe sits with his legs spread wide and panel open, letting Ratchet play with him. Ratchet grumbles and pinches the red twin's anterior node until the bot starts squirming and he sees lubrication start to leak from his valve. Then, with his other servo, digits enter the wet valve and wiggle.

Sideswipe whines and leans back, supporting himself on his servos now, but keeps his optics trained on the medic working on his valve. He likes the way Ratchet looks so serious about it, all his attention on Sideswipe's needy array.

Ratchet knows how to coax eggs out of a mech. It's not difficult if the patient doesn't resist. He continues the stimulation, feeling the callipers flutter around his digits, before he crooks his digits and massages. He lets himself smirk as Sideswipe moans and throws his head back. Almost there.

The servo busying with Sideswipe's node moves to the twin's lower torso, gently pushing down, massaging. With a few more crooks of his digits and a little more pressure on Sideswipes front, the twin groans and Ratchet feels it, an egg being pushed out and hitting his digits in Sideswipes valve

"Good mech," he coos softly as he guides the egg out of Sideswipe's shuddering frame. Now just a few more to go

Sunstreaker is the worst. He didn't even want the eggs. Or so he says. But damn you to the pit and back if you want to take his eggs. He's so defensive about it. The moment Ratchet tells him the eggs need to come out his look goes so cold. How dare Ratchet demand his eggs

Ratchet grumbles and pinches the bridge of his nose. Of course at least one twin was going to make his job hell.

"I'm not taking your eggs. I will just be incubating them for a while whilst you go on that mission tomorrow," Ratchet growls through gritted denta and Sunstreaker glares back at him.

It ends up being a little scuffle. Just a little brawl, if you will. Ratchet has to pin Sunstreaker to the ground, on his front, as he scrambles to gain access to Sunstreaker's modesty panels. (Honestly the only reason Ratchet can get Sunstreaker pinned is because he's not fighting as hard as he says he is. Internally he's already agreed. Ratchet knows this. But that damn pride of his has to make this a fight before he lets the medic have his way)

Sunstreaker roars as Ratchet plugs into his medical port and overrides protocols to have his modesty plating snap open. Another command has his gestation tank activate and slick start leaking from his valve

If Sunstreaker really wanted Ratchet off him, those firewalls would have been way harder to bypass. Ratchet would laugh, but he's too busy for that right now. He makes quick work of shoving his digits into Sunstreaker's wet valve, spreading him wide and preparing to receive the eggs that he instructs to be pushed out

Through the cable that now connects them both, Ratchet can feel himself inside Sunstreaker. It feels good. The twin pretends to fight but he's shaking in pleasure rather than rage. The first egg is squeezed out of that sopping wet valve and Ratchet groans with the twin, the feeling of that stretch and then sudden emptiness echoes from Sunstreakers frame into his own

The squelching is obscene as he pushes his digits in again. He can feel lubricant collecting behind his own plating as Sunstreaker pants below him. They're both going to be a mess after this. But, hey, that's part of the job

hgrhgh Yeag. Ratchet needs to collect the eggs from the front liners, I mean, they’ll get hurt, that is a fact, and no matter how skilled they are, and they can’t risk hurting the eggs... since they’ve decided to reproduce, they better be responsible!

mhmm I can imagine Sideswipe looking for his brother and finding him curled up on the floor of the medbay with Ratchet, a pile of eggs between Sunny’s legs as they both shake and gasp...

But the real fun comes when the incubation doesn’t hold anymore and it’s time to put the eggs back in. Sunstreaker, Sideswipe and Prowl get put on maternity leave so they can carry to term. Hell, throw Ratchet into the mix - the eggs are pretty big, splitting the weight between the four of them is advised!

[cyberrose2001]

i’m coming out and this is probably no surprise but i’m the sentinel fucker anon.

anyways, you remember the big ass ask that i sent 👀 yeah… could i get some of that (oral, pegging, crying, multiple orgasms, aftercare) with a ftm reader if possible?

not entirely off topic but i love your horny rambles (if i can call it that), very entertaining and easy to agree with (especially when the characters are so…. MMMHFH).

TFA Sentinel x ftm!Reader

Hi Micro! Thank you for enjoying my horny rambles (and thank you for yours). Here’s your order! I hope you like it because I started this before I went away and forgot where I was going to go with it askdjheb

Anyway, here’s Sentinel getting pounded by ftm reader!

Warnings: Pegging, crying, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, some oral (reader giving).

Word Count: 1154

“Oh, Sentinel, what’s wrong, hm?” You lift your head from his valve to take a quick breather, “You want more, is that it, baby?”

Sentinel desperately nods as your slicked fingers massage against his clenched callipers while your other hand works magic, stroking his already weeping spike.

It’s almost too easy to turn Sentinel into a blabbering mess, and it’s what you love about him. Nobody apart from you knows how he whines and begs for you behind locked doors, how much of a slut he is for you. Because the one orgasm you’ve already given him wasn’t enough, he’s always desperate for more. And Primus, were you going to give him more

“Hm, that doesn’t sound very convincing, baby.” Your cheek presses against his hot anterior node as your strokes slow until you are only palming at his spike, innocent eyes gazing at how his thickness throbs against it, “Remember when I said to use your words?”

Your gaze falls onto Sentinel's teary optics, and you can feel his hips slowly rocking against your cheek.

“Please, I want more,” He blinks a few times, and you can see the lubricant fall down his face onto the pillow below, “I’ve been good for you. Primus, frag me, please.”

You beat on it for a moment, enough to fully take the sight of him in. His back struts gently arched, the tiny jerks of his hips you can’t see but only feel against your face, his servos fisting the damp sheets below, the old tears from earlier already staining his faceplate like dried-up rivers. It was a gorgeous sight, and you’re going to fucking ruin it.

You prop yourself up onto your knees, your silicone strap-on bobbing up and down between your hips as you do. Grabbing behind Sentinel's knees, you roughly pull his hips closer to yours until your dick presses against his node, causing Sentinel to draw a sharp intake.

“You want it?”

“Mmmh, yes…”

“Louder,” A swift slap to the inside of his thigh has him flinching and sobbing at the sting, “Tell me how much you want me to fuck your pretty valve.”

“Fuck I need it! I need it so bad, please!” Sentinel squirms under you, and a new flood of fresh lubricant pours from his optics.

His pleads send shivers down your spine. You usually wouldn’t have given in to him so quickly, making him wait just a bit longer until his processor almost fries from overstimulating him or the sheer amount of lubricant clogging his systems. But you’re pretty pent-up now, so you line up and slip straight into his valve with no resistance.

“Oooh, frag, yes!” Sentinel squeezes his swollen optics shut as you push yourself to the hilt. However, you didn’t need to do much more work due to the sheer suction on you.

To gain more leverage, you lift his pedes over your shoulders and push your chest flush against his chassis, drawing a delightful whine from him. You loved fucking him this way, if not to see his facial expressions come undone as he loses himself but also to hear him weep against your ear.

And boy, does he. You start rolling your hips down into him, trapping his legs between your arms whilst holding down his servos on the sheets like a yoga session gone right. And you start pounding.

“Ouugh frag it!” Sentinel moans out, the side of his helm buried into the pillow. You know him well enough to know that he’s not only hiding from you out of pleasure but for the downright dirty noises his wet valve is making. He finds it embarrassing.

You find it hot.

“C’mon, baby,” You pant; you’re exhausted from how long you’ve been fucking him for. Your muscles are seizing up, and your hips are aching, “One more, can you hggf… gimme one more?”

“I can’t! It’s haHAAgh too much!”

At this point, Sentinel has overloaded approximately three times. Not that you’ve been counting. It could’ve been more, but it’s hard to tell when you have him crying out and spilling fresh tears against your cheek with every thrust. But either way, you’re not a fan of uneven numbers, you’ll make it at least four.

“How about I give you a helping hand?” You sit up and away from his chassis, splaying a hand against it. His pedes still hang over your shoulders, but you manage to manoeuvre one off. With the extra room granted to you, your hand latches onto his bouncing spike, and you start to jack him off.

“Oh, Primus!” Sentinel cries out as he starts bucking into your tight grip, “Feels so g-good! Oh, slag, I love you so much!”

“Is that right, baby boy? Will you love me more after you cum on my face?” Your fist speeds up in tandem with your thrusts, desperate for him to finish one last time, “I know you can do it, c’mon, sweetie.”

The thought of being able to finish on your face must’ve been the final Jenga block that caused him to come crashing down. Sentinel arches his back as he hits his last overload of the evening. Jets of warm trans fluid hit your cheek and spill over your knuckles, mixing with the cooled-down spillage of his previous excesses on his pelvis. Fresh tears also pool from his optics as his hips bury themselves into the berth to try and escape the continuous milking of his overstimulated spike.

“I- ahhhnnn oh slag! Please, no more!” Sentinel whimpers out, and you finally let go of his spike, watching it twitch and bounce against his abdomen.

After lovingly observing your spent mech for a moment, drenched in his slick transfluids, you pull your strap out and watch as he jolts from the added stimulation. You unbuckle the belt from your hips and toss it across the bed. You’ll deal with the sopping-wet phallic object later. For now, you grab the damp towel on the nightstand and crawl on top of him to straddle his chassis.

“Are you ok? I wasn’t too rough on you, was I?” You gently coo, cupping his chin with one hand while you wipe under his optics with the cloth.

Sentinel is still catching his breath, giving you a slight whine, “Y-Yeah, I’m alright. I forget how talented you are with multitasking, though.”

“I’m a man with many talents, Sentinel,” You laugh softly, moving the cloth down under his chin to wipe the rest of the stains away, “But I’m more impressed with how many overloads you gave me, I think I lost track at one point.”

“Hah, I wasn’t even counting.” He gives you a slight toothy grin, and you can’t help but lean down to capture it with a kiss.

Sentinel hums into your mouth, moving his shaky servos to rest on your thighs, “Can we shower now? I think I got transfluids in my circuits.”

[spacemagicandlaserswords]

The Clone Wars 4.09 ‘Plan of Dissent’ Reaction Take 2

I think out of all of the episodes from the Umbara arc, this is my favourite. If it’s possible to have a favourite with everything that happens. There’s so much of the clones themselves in this episode. So much of their interactions and personalities and characteristics and lives.

Hello to Fives' very nice thighs and crotch. There’s just something about a clone lying on their back, legs splayed, knee bent, as they do mechanical work on the underneath of a ship. Insert your own references to the 2 nickels meme here. Also inserting the gif of Tech doing the exact same thing because I can.

There are definitely moments where Fives voice gets husky and it is very nice. I am not complaining at all.

Obi-Wan is looking rather boxy there

Krell completely changes when he’s talking to someone with equal or more power than him. Slimy bastard.

I know they mean arms as in weapons but every time they say ‘arm’ all can picture is crates full of actual arms.

That tiny head shake from Rex. He is so done.

Ugh that look up from Rex. Ugh.

Ahahahaha it definitely looks like Fives is about to burst into an earnest and deeply emotional ballad in the music video as part of his 90s boy band. So, the important questions are: Who are the rest of the members of this clone boy band? And what is their name? These things, I must know them.

Look at Rex’s big beautiful brown eyes there

Paused the episode only to realise Jesse has an exclamation mark on the front of his chest plate.

Tup waving his space screwdriver grabby thingy around to make his point. I think it’s a calliper? It looks similar to the one Tech has on his belt or in one of his 2000 pockets. Just noticed Tup has the same hairline as Tech too.

“I do think his desire for victory has blinded him to the fact that there are lives at stake. I’ve never seen a General with these kind of casualties.” – I love this moment from Jesse. Especially because he doesn’t go after Dogma, he just calmly but firmly points out what isn’t right about this situation. The adorable nose scrunch is also out in full force.

“I don’t have a better plan.” Rex, you always have a better plan

Fives: Why don’t we just do the same thing we did before!

Lmao Fives’ little chaos face as he explains his plan

Gif by @nickleister from this glorious post

REX THIGH

That ‘do it’ from Rex was very Palpatine of him

“Yeah, he wasn’t really flying. More like avoiding crashing.” Tup going for the jugular there

Omg that was not subtle at all. “What’s going on?” “Eh, nothing.” *awkward*

Oh, Rex and Fives are fighting. That line from Fives about them all being not just another number really hit home too.

I know this is supposed to be a serious moment and all that but omg Fives is built like an absolute unit. Boy is thicc.

Well this is going well. Fives, why are you standing underneath the fighter that Hardcase is barely able to control?

Fives: Hardcase, what are you doing?! Hardcase: If I knew, I wouldn’t be doing it! CACKLING

Who's the random clone helping out Fives and Hardcase? They’ve got different paint but I can’t tell who they are.

“Great, this can’t get much worse” Well now you’ve gone and jinxed it

Oh, so that’s where that shot of Fives standing there comes from. Who knew the absolute chaos that was going on behind as Fives stands there looking all gorgeous.

Fives: “Nothing’s out of control down here.” Hardcase: *actively destroying everything*

Omg the absolutely over the top agonised full eye and body roll that Fives gives while he draws out a long “Uh” to try and come up with a cover story for what they’re doing. 

That has got to be a homage or reference to Han Solo doing basically the same thing in A New Hope.

“That’s gonna leave a mark.” Hardcase, you just melted the door!

“No harm done.” Says Hardcase, standing amongst the ruin he has just created

Absolutely losing it at Hardcase’s cover story for what they were getting up to. To be fair to him, he actually sold it fairly well and it was a decently believable cover story to come up with on the spot. Fives, on the other hand, cannot lie to save himself. Rex is not falling for his bullshit one bit.

Aaaaaaaaaah Hardcase’s little wiggly sneaky fingers. You utterly adorable dork. He looks so pleased with his idea at the end too. It’s the best idea guys!

Hardcase is in. He wants chaos.

Anakin telling Fives that the trick to taking out a control ship is to hit the main reactor from the inside? Well that’s totally not going to come back and bite him in his shiny black asthmatic arse in approximately 20 cycles or so. 

Jesse and Hardcase’s doubtful scrunched up faces as the listen to Fives’ “plan” are utterly adorable

"I can’t help you, when you get caught." — That exchange between Fives and Rex definitely sounds like Rex has put up Fives’ crazy bullshit before. And you can tell how much Rex cares and knows this is the right thing to do yet he’s stuck and he can’t do anything to help them or protect them when the shit hits the fan.

If those fighters are supposed to be locked down, then why are they conveniently sitting outside?

I found this scene of Dogma and Tup in the barracks really uncomfortable. I’ve been trying to reserve judgement on Dogma and not be so harsh on him because I know what happens in the end and he seems like a fan favourite. But it really felt like he was bullying Tup into snitching on Fives, Jesse and Hardcase. I don’t know what Dogma and Tup’s connection to each other is. They seem fairly close so I’m going with close or best friends, if not batch mates. I know Dogma thinks he’s doing the right thing (I know, please don’t come at me) but it felt really uncomfortable watching him bully his best friend/batch mate and vod into doing what he wanted. I think I’m reacting to this so much because I relate to Tup so much. The constant anxious worry. Being bullied and peer pressured into doing things you don’t want to do (hello school trauma). Out of everything that has happened, and a lot of truly awful things happen in this arc, it felt like this was the worst thing Dogma did. Even if he didn’t mean it, that doesn’t excuse it. 

Paused the episode at the start of the next scene and Rex is standing there in the dark looking down at his datapad and fuck me is he a tall glass of water.

The look on Rex’s face when he sees Fives, Jesse and Hardcase fly off in the fighters! I mentioned this in my first reaction post but man, is that a multi-layered expression. Deep long suffering at putting up with their bullshit. Admiration and respect that the crazy bastards went and did it. Worry and concern about what they’re about to do and how they’re all going to deal with the fall out. And probably a bit of satisfaction and amusement that it’s going to piss off Krell.

“I’m just doing it for fun!” Hardcase knows what he’s about

Well that’s a shit fight

Is that a blimp?

Fives, telling Hardcase not to get an itchy trigger finger is like telling you not to be a chaotic little shit. Utterly pointless

Omg the supply ship is even sphere shaped, just with a giant rectangle in the middle. It’s just a B-grade Death Star.

“I’m sure the report will make your strategy more effective.” Rex you sly bastard

So I know everyone says clones can’t lie to save themselves but Rex was pretty damn believable right there, covering for Fives, Jesse and Hardcase. It didn’t feel like a cover story that was made up on the spot either, so Rex had to have come up with it already. He knew they were going to go off on their own hair brained mission, and, even though he was disagreeing with Fives, he still came up with a way to cover for them and protect them as best he could. So he’s bloody smart and cares deeply too. Ugh, I love him so much.

Rex running interference for Fives, Jesse and Hardcase

“Regarding, what?” CACKLING

“Yeah, that’s what I thought.” asdf;lkj why are you so badass. Though it does feel sad that all of this has started to pit the clones against each other. And doesn’t that come back in an even worse way later on.

Oh look, it’s a trench run to a reactor! I wonder where we’ve seen this before!

That tactical droid didn’t consider Fives in his equations

Oh man as soon as Hardcase’s fighter got hit, that was the moment you knew he wasn’t coming back. 

That gesture Fives made to stop his fighter made him look like he was using the Force

Nooooo Hardcase what are you doing

“This is for the 501st. Don’t wait for me.” *sobs*

Hardcase calls Fives sir. Again, I am baffled as to what the rank system is here, though I’m assuming ARC Troopers are at least above standard clone troopers in some way?

“If I know Hardcase, we better leave.” That speaks to a lot of experience with Hardcase making things going boom

“Live to fight another day.” Dammit now I can’t see the screen through the tears. Hardcase had a little happy smile on his face too.

Guys, you only blew up half of it! Though I should imagine the rest of it went up too.

That smirk from Rex. He knew.

Very interesting that Tup’s here with Rex. I wonder if Rex took him aside after intercepting him and Dogma or if Tup came to Rex.

It’s a tiny moment but Fives jumps out of the fighter and there’s a shot of his feet and legs landing on the ground and his kama is swooshing around his legs looking all badass

Rex’s look of concern when he sees only Fives and Jesse. He knew.

Oh Hardcase

It’s an equally blink and you’ll miss it moment but this is where that gif of Rex glaring over his shoulder comes from. I think this is going to be like the “On your knees” moment for me. Definitely hot in isolation but now knowing that Fives and Jesse just told Rex and Tup that Hardcase died, it’s going to take me a while to separate what’s happening in the moment from the hot glare.

Rex trying to take the blame for Fives and Jesse and then Fives refusing to accept this and making sure Rex and Jesse don’t get hurt and the agonised way Rex says “Fives!” and Jesse’s worried expression the whole time and just aaaaaaaaaaah *pained noises*

“Oh, do you?” I hate Krell even more. Piss off you overblown bullfrog

Being executed for disobeying orders seems way too steep. I could understand being reprimanded but shooting someone because they didn’t do what they were told? At least Krell gets what’s coming from him in the end.

[darkmaga-returns]

THE eradication of polio has been hailed as one of the great vaccine success stories. Yet one professor disagrees and says polio data is an exercise in smoke, mirrors and sketchy statistics. Polio cases have been hidden by redefining the disease, and unthinkably, vaccines can cause paralysis, the very symptom they are designed to prevent. Finally, polio is not just a virus, it is also caused by toxins in the environment, the result of pesticide poisoning.

The image of children crippled by the disease strikes fear into most parents who consider vaccination against it vital. Few doctors have researched poliomyelitis and blindly accept the vaccine miracle. Scratch the surface, track down its origins, and the picture looks entirely different.

‘Many believe that polio has been eradicated by vaccination in the West,’ said kidney disease specialist Dr Suzanne Humphries, who worked as a nephrologist in the conventional medical system for over 20 years and witnessed vaccines causing kidney failure. ‘But to fully understand where it went, we must understand what polio was. Once you understand that, it becomes clear that it is impossible to eradicate it with a vaccine. However, the vaccine did lend itself to many well-documented – although not well-known – problems.’

Poliomyelitis describes paralysis in the legs caused by inflammation of the grey matter in the spinal cord which can also affect the brainstem. The inflammation causes the horrific problems we associate with polio and your mind jumps to images of child victims, strapped into painful-looking callipers to correct hip and leg deformities. Or worse, locked in an iron lung to aid breathing difficulties caused by the most serious and deadly form of polio, bulbar poliomyelitis.

[dacialogansuperfan]

cywhirl fic under the cut

rated e

warnings for some violence! also edited and posted on ao3

“you still want to kill me,” whirl says, preternaturally casual even laced with static, vents roaring as he rolls his hips upwards, a sinuous movement that sends charge flowing up cyclonus’ valve and deep into his circuits. the arch of his slender hips is magnetic, a sin to write ballads about.

“no,” cyclonus gasps, claws digging furrows into the berth. “i just -” his vents stutter, voice breaking off as whirl’s spike drags across his ceiling node, “picture it sometimes. it doesn’t mean anything.”

whirl laughs, an utterly bizarre sound from a mech without a mouth. like his voice, it seems to come from everywhere and nowhere on his frame, lacking any of the depth and resonance that comes with funnelling the sound through throat tubing and out of an intake.

“it’s fine, y’know,” whirl’s claws at his hips, folded back into a mockery of a grip around his waist, but bearing none of his weight, “i don’t mind.”

cyclonus shutters his optics. of course whirl doesn’t mind. if it were any other mech, cyclonus might suspect them of lying to him to - primus forbid - spare his feelings, but whirl isn’t any other mech. he’s whirl, uniquely himself and still - despite what cyclonus fears is a genuine friendship forming between them - uniquely irritating.

whirl’s voice, pitched low and crackling with static, is likely meant to be seductive, but sounds to cyclonus’ ears like nothing so much as anticipation. “you should try it.”

“what?” and then, because he knows whirl, “now?”

cyclonus can feel the charge ripple through whirl, flaring his plating before surging through his spike to ground itself in cyclonus’ valve. for a second he forgets about the conversation entirely, gripping whirl’s forearm guard as he rides through the shock, arching his back to try and push whirl deeper. he just needs -

and then his chest scrapes whirl’s cockpit, a screech of metal on glass and he’s thinking about how easy it would be to push his fist through, grab a handful of whirl’s internals and pull.

whirl must see it on his face, certainly feels it in the inappropriate clench of cyclonus’ callipers because suddenly his optic housing is right in front of cyclonus’ face, his pace frantic as his claws switch from cradling cyclonus’ hips to curled loosely around his arms. cyclonus’ back slams against the berth and whirl follows, his stripped frame no weight at all but managing to crowd him all the same, cockpit to chest and slender legs bracketing his own, optic pressed to cyclonus’ forehead, goading.

“do it.” whirl is shaking, full frame rattling shivers that set cyclonus’ teeth on edge. whether from excitement or arousal cyclonus’ doesn’t know, is beginning to suspect that for him - for both of them, as cyclonus realizes he’s grinning, an expression that rarely makes it onto his faceplate outside of battle and now, interface - interface with whirl - the two inextricably linked in his processor sometime recently without his knowledge - it might be both.

(if he’s honest with himself, which he will be - when his fuel isn’t pounding through his lines, his thighs splattered with lubricant and transfluid, a burning desire to overload like he hasn’t felt in eons pushing all other processes but one, the one that lights up his combat protocols and strat-tac system and somehow manages to exist concurrently, perfectly with his interface array, to background processing - he knows exactly when the merge happened. when a helicopter, dripping in energon and full of an anger so incandescent it consumed even the planet cyclonus’ has loved above all else until it, too, faded into the background, launched itself at him and demanded to be noticed. and then, again, when whirl understood. he forced cyclonus to look at him and looked back, seemingly easily, like cyclonus’ was no more difficult to take apart than a simple clock)

cyclonus wraps a leg around whirl’s waist, one hand reaching up for whirl’s throat while the other leverages them into a spin. he manages to flip their positions and slam whirl’s helm into the berth without dislodging him from his valve, needing the contact, the feeling of some part of whirl inside him right where it is. the rough impact only drives whirl farther in, and cyclonus has to grip the side of the berth, the soft tubing of whirl’s throat to anchor himself through another wave of spiralling charge.

he doesn’t realize he’s still choking whirl until a sharp elbow cracks across his jaw and he rears back, nearly stumbling off of whirl completely before that same arm warps around his neck and pulls him back in.

whirl is laughing. his spike is still fully pressurized, hot inside cyclonus and pulsing with rapidly increasing bursts of charge.

his vocalizer must be stored somewhere in his throat, because his laughter is interspersed with bursts of static that only seem to make him laugh harder. his arm is still around cyclonus’ neck, optic housing resting on his shoulder in a way that feels strangely intimate, the sharp edges of it brushing cyclonus’ hollow cheeks.

“that can’t be all you got. come on,” whirl’s voice takes on a wheedling edge, designed to get under cyclonus’ plating as his claws scrape over his back, ineffectually, until he manages to force one into a wider transformation seam and scrapes it over the wires underneath. they catch, then pull, and finally snap with a fritz of electricity and a sharp, radiating pain in cyclonus’ back that shouldn’t be exciting except that it is. whirl’s claw is still tracing a destructive path through cyclonus’ internals as he whispers, “show me what you’ve been thinking of, cyclonus,” desperation in his vocals, almost, as his hips grind up into cyclonus’ valve.

he reaches back to yank whirl’s claw out of his back, heedless of the destruction it causes as it rips through a section of plating on his lower back, deforming it. it burns as cyclonus stretches himself over whirl to gather both of his spindly claws into one of his hands, slamming them down onto the berth above his helm. it will be tricky to hold if whirl fights, and whirl will fight, so cyclonus digs his claws into the berth to form a kind of clamp, burrowing them into the metal to the knuckle.

whirl tries to yank his hands away almost immediately and the clamp holds. there’s breathless laughter from under him, hips still driving into him and cyclonus groans, grinding down. just lets himself feel it, for a moment.

it’s an awkward fit with cyclonus stretched over whirl’s cockpit, but that is easily fixed. he brings his other hand up off the berth and lays it over whirl’s cockpit. whirl cocks his helm, optic unblinking as he stares up at him.

cyclonus keeps his optics on him as he slowly, slowly pushes down. it strains the servos in his arm, pistons leaking steam to billow out of the gaps in his plating but he manages to push in, crumpling whirl’s cockpit until the glass covering shatters, sprays shards of brilliant, sparkling glass over the berth. some embed themselves into cyclonus plating and it’s good, so good he starts riding whirl in earnest, as much as he can with his arm still stretched over whirl’s head.

whirl doesn’t scream when his cockpit crumples. instead, he moans, matching cyclonus’ pace and straining against his hold less because he’s trying to escape it and more because the power of his thrusts is jostling the entire berth.

“that’s it, that’s it,” he keeps saying, hips driving into cyclonus’ with more force than rhythm. cyclonus can’t remember it ever being this intense between them, but then he thinks that he was likely the one holding back.

overload crashes through him with enough force to nearly offline him. his optics flicker and die, sparks leap from his ravaged back to ground on the berth. he grips the edge of whirl’s cockpit through the aftershocks, and it’s only when his sensory net completes a full reboot that he knows whirl has overloaded too. his fans are still whirring where cyclonus’ are steadily ticking down, and at some point when cyclonus was knocked senseless, he’s managed to pry is claws out of his grip, although not without dislocating one of his servos. it hangs limply against the berth, a loose bundle of wires just visible under his armour.

now that it’s over, cyclonus turns away from him, leveraging himself up into a shaky kneel. he hadn’t actually wanted to hurt whirl. at least, he didn’t think he did, and now that he has it’s - hard. to look at him. to see the evidence that maybe some part of him did.

a loose, floppy claw slaps against his chest and forces him to do it anyway. maybe to make things easier for him, whirl’s optic light is curved into a facsimile of smile. it might be the first time he’s ever actively tried to make cyclonus comfortable.

“hey, stop that.” the claw slaps against his mouth this time, when cyclonus tries to open it. “no, don’t do that,” whirl continues. “don’t get all… mopey about it. it’s fine. this was good. it was fun.”

cyclonus opens his mouth, to argue the point, maybe, or to assert that he isn’t moping - whirl is good at that, misdirecting the conversation, and while cyclonus is usually better at ignoring his obvious attempts at dodging subjects he’s uncomfortable with, he’s still feeling… unbalanced. never a good position to be in, around whirl. he shifts his weight on the berth, closes his mouth again when glass crunches under his knees.

“you need to get to the medbay.” whirl scoffs, waving his limp claw around for emphasis that fails spectacularly when it flops against his forearm guard.

“yeah, okay, that’s fair.” he starts to push himself off the berth, stumbling only slightly. cyclonus considers offering him a hand, an arm around his shoulders to steady him, thinks better of it. he follows him out into corridor, leaning a hand against the bulkhead when his knees threaten to buckle. he’d almost forgotten about his own injuries.

whirl looks over his shoulder and scoffs.

“need a hand?” he raises his uninjured claw to beckon cyclonus over. cyclonus stares at it, wondering if that was, possibly, a pun. after a moment in which whirl waits for a reaction, letting him know that it was, cyclonus says nothing but moves to fit himself under whirl’s outstretched arm. it settles comfortably under his shoulders, supporting him, and cyclonus slings his own around whirl’s waist.

they manage to cross the rest of the habitation suite in blissful silence before whirl succumbs to the need to break it.

“it doesn’t always have to be like that, y’know.” cyclonus had been avoiding thinking about it. he needs time to process, to let the memory file compile and sort through his own reactions to it. he isn’t sure anymore, what he wants, but he doesn’t think it’s just this. he doesn’t even know if it’s this at all. it was good in the moment, almost cathartic, this intersection of interface and battle, but in the aftermath, with whirl’s crumpled cockpit in full view, it’s difficult to remember why he enjoyed it.

“and if i don’t want to do it again at all?”

whirl’s response is instant. “then stop thinking about killing me when we frag.” it isn’t a rejection. briefly, cyclonus has a sinking doubt that whirl only agreed to this to indulge him but then - then he is comforted almost immediately by the fact of whirl. simply being who he is - cyclonus is certain he wouldn’t have agreed to anything just because cyclonus wanted it.

“but seriously - it’s fine. i’ll get fixed up, good as new, and we both got a killer overload from it. stop overthinking it. besides,” here whirl’s arm trails down cyclonus’ back, one claw gently caressing his armour in a soft imitation of his earlier assault and cyclonus shivers, “i got you pretty good and you don’t see me crying about it.”

it actually startles a laugh out of him. cyclonus lets himself focus on whirl’s claw down his back, the spike of pure, uncomplicated want that it inspires.

“we’ll see,” is all he ends up saying. it’s all he has, for now, but whirl doesn’t seem to mind. he lets the silence sit, for once, his claw lingering over the edge of cyclonus’ torn plating his final say on the matter.

it’s shockingly convincing.

[menedits]

Another handsome English guy wearing shoes to show off his leg callipers and orthopedic sneakers - very typical British style of leg brace and supportive orthotic boots

[rapidhighway]

9 and 13

9.whats something you always come back to when drawing?

not sure if this question is about themes or what… umm.. tits? lmao i guess at least a bit. on second thougth the thing i draw CONSTANTLY when im just, like, doodling, is this pose, more like, just the legs

i've used it in fanarts before and it will definitely come back because. idk my brain is obsessed with drawing this idk its really satisfying

also, the pose where the character is standing with their legs slightly apart and their hips are just, throust forward so hard it kind looks like their spine is braking? i do that all the time. im never going to stop

13. talk about a wip you like!

i wish i could show you the wip i was looking for today but it still remains lost forever ToT here's a thing i freaking. forgot about. which is knuckles sleeping in a chair, at my oc Calliper's apartment. this happened, like, once. My man has like a, one room apartment and this kid barged in because he needs help with a bunch of ancient cups he found or something. I often find myself drawing scenes like this, where characters are napping in a warm light. i reaaaally messed up the layers and stuff on this one though. it is a. mess. so i guess it will stay in limbo unless i become a much braver person all of a sudden and decide to fix it fnhgdfdghf

thank you! Artist Ask Game

[austerulous]

Just a basic note to say that my Hanzo is, in fact, fitted with lower leg cybernetic prosthetics.  This isn’t Blizzard canon, but who tf cares? ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

To give a general gist:

Hanzo was born with Charcot-Marie-Tooth disease, or something similar. Basically, a hereditary condition characterised by high arches in the feet, instability in the ankles, and an inverted bottle shape to the lower legs, among other things.

As the firstborn son of Sojiro, the one who would succeed his father and inherit the Shimada empire, it was imperative that he appeared strong and physically able.  Hanzo was coached to hide his disability as far as he was able.  He opted for discreet, lightweight callipers that could be worn under his clothes, and attended his physiotherapy sessions religiously.

Meditation was one way he learned to acknowledge the pain and exhaustion associated with the disease.  Kyūdō – archery – was also an escape, as it was a skill that could be honed without needless stress on his suffering joints (thank you @vaqro for this detail ♡).

It wasn’t until after Sojiro died, after the attempted murder of Genji, after Hanzo’s desertion of the syndicate, that he found himself standing in a cybernetics clinic.  Tired of hidden pain, now looking for work as a mercenary, and perhaps influenced by a certain curiosity – after all, his own brother lived on as a cyborg – he made the choice to have his lower legs amputated from just below the knee.  The surgery was performed in Kyoto and was as successful as could be hoped for.

It is no accident that his prosthetics can pass for armoured footwear – this was very much a conscious design choice.  Even now, Hanzo is intensely private about his condition, and still feels a deeply ingrained need to appear strong, complete.  As he is in the habit of bathing daily, he will use this time to remove, clean and reattach his prosthetics in privacy.  Sometimes he takes them off to sleep, but only when he is alone, and able to lock himself away.

Hanzo’s disease is progressive and can, in its later stages, begin to affect the hands and arms.  When he whittles, writes, or draws his bow, he is always looking out for signs of its spread.

[mistantiques]

https://mistantiques.co.uk/product/antique-18th-century-french-wooden-divider-or-compass/

An architect, ship right, carpenter, mason or cartographer’s tool for measuring distances. Made from beautiful pieces of old oak, secured with a hand forged central panel this draughtsman’s tool works as a calliper. The outer leg is slightly longer and fitted with wonderful old iron pointers, which have been hand woven into place using thin metal wire. This is a practical artisan tool of beauty and a rare antique piece.

[menedits]

Cute British lad with a fantastic built up orthopedic boot with leg calliper

[cheri-translates]

[CN] Gavin’s 2021 Birthday R&S

🍒 Warning: This post contains detailed spoilers for an R&S which has not been released in EN! 🍒

[ This was released on 24 July 2021 ]

[ Chapter One: Model Aircraft Competition ]

The cicadas outside the window are clamorous, and the dark green trees cover the blazing sun, casting shady and cooling patches.

This is an incredibly ordinary late afternoon. The summer vacation is about to arrive, and the classroom is filled with the buzzing chatter of students, as rowdy as usual.

Gavin is asleep on the seat next to the window. Sunlight passes through the crevices of leaves and linger on his shoulders, bright and indolent. However, he isn’t actually sleeping, and the conversation between his deskmate and the student in front of him drift to his ears clearly.

“Hey, are you going for that model aircraft competition the teacher mentioned a few days ago?”

“I heard all the middle schoolers in our city will be participating. Those who get prizes will have extra marks, and the person who gets first place can visit the Aviation Headquarters!”

“Then again, you’ll need the capabilities to win. If you're participating, I’ll watch.”

“Hehe, you speak as though the person who lags behind in every subject can bag a trophy.”

The two of them attack each other with taunting remarks. After lapsing into a moment of silence, they suddenly turn their gazes to Gavin simultaneously.

Gavin’s deskmate pokes his arm and calls out to him.

“Gavin, you aren’t asleep, are you?”

The figure wearing a blue and white school uniform remains plopped on the desk, unmoving. A slightly muffled response drifts from him.

“What is it?”

Gavin’s deskmate and the student sitting in front of him look at each other, then speak excitedly.

“Do you know about that recent model aircraft competition?”

Gavin lets out a “mm”.

“Aren’t you going to participate?”

“We had a discussion about it, and felt that in the entire class, you’re the only one with the capabilities to win a prize. The others are just a bunch of useless troops, and they’d be of no use even if they went.”

Gavin stirs slightly. His deskmate looks at him with anticipation. In the end, he simply cushions his head using the other arm.

“Not interested.”

“Huh?”

His deskmate stares at the back of his head in utter disbelief.

“Your dad’s a military officer, and you’ve seen more real planes since young as compared to the number of models we’ve played with. This competition is basically made for you.”

Gavin doesn’t respond. In the sunlight, a few strands of hair on the back of the youth’s head stick up disobediently, clearly showing that he isn’t in the best of moods.

At this moment, the dismissal bell rings. Along with the cheers from students, the classroom erupts into a state of chaos.

Gavin finally sits up. After stuffing the English book he used as a pillow into his sling bag, he turns around and leaves the classroom.

After the figure vanishes at the door, Gavin’s deskmate turns to the student sitting in front of him, expressing puzzlement.

“Why do you think Gavin doesn’t want to participate? A few days ago, I saw him at the bookstore outside school buying an Aeromodelling Atlas.”

The student in front of him shrugs, signalling that he has no idea.

“Maybe he got bored.”

[ Chapter Two - Proof ]

When Gavin reaches home, his mother has yet to return.

Placing his bag down, he suddenly notices a new post-it note on the fridge. On it, there’s a menu written in delicate handwriting: Stir-fried tomato and scrambled eggs, fried stuffed tofu, stir-fried duck with pineapples.

There’s a smiley face drawn on the last line, and the words “The dishes Little Gav loves to eat” are written at the side.

Only then does Gavin remember - his birthday is coming.

Every year, his mother would start preparations way in advance. It’s as if in her eyes, this particular day is even more worthy of celebration as compared to all other festivals.

And this year is no exception.

The post-it note is a little crooked. Gavin uses a fridge magnet to straighten it, then returns to his room.

The small room is covered with traces of youth. There are posters of basketball celebrities on the walls, and there's a globe and a few books on the desk.

After hesitating for a while, Gavin pulls open his bag and takes out a pamphlet. On it, there’s information pertaining to the model aircraft competition.

He reads the information seriously. A breeze blows the the white curtains, and the lights and shadows of dusk outline the youth’s straightened back profile, casting specks of light on a book. The words “Aeromodelling Atlas” can be vaguely seen. 

While reading, he suddenly recalls the words his deskmate said-

“Your dad’s a military officer, and you’ve seen more real planes since young as compared to the number of models we’ve played with. This competition is basically made for you.”

His grip on the pamphlet abruptly tightens. Gavin rolls it into a ball and tosses it on the table, getting up in frustration and leaving the room.

Everything in the living room is clean and tidy. The school uniform he had changed out of is drying in the balcony. The large uniform drifts with the wind, and the air is filled with the fragrance of soap.

Even though there are clear traces of diligence and attentiveness, certain things can still be seen.

Model robots and clay crafts are displayed neatly on the left side of the built-in cupboard. However, there’s nothing on the right side.

All the cups and plates form a complete set. However, one cup is placed upside down on the cup rack. Although it has been a long time since it was last used, its owner wipes it spotlessly every day.

It’s as if the person she’s waiting for has always been around. Disappointment has repeated itself in endless cycles, but she continually harbours hope.

Gavin ignores such traces. He walks over to the fan in the living room, furrowing his brows as he squats down.

This fan has been spoilt for several days. Each time it’s turned on, it releases a strange clacking sound, akin to a heavy wooden door being pushed open with great effort.

-

When Wardia steps in with a bag of groceries, she sees Gavin half-squatting and studying that fan which has been broken for numerous days.

She calls out to Gavin.

“Little Gav, the fan is spoilt. I’ll ask a worker to fix it tomorrow. Don’t mind it.”

“When you called yesterday, the worker said that he wouldn’t be free these days. He probably won’t be able to drop by tomorrow either.”

Gavin pushes the outer shell of the fan lightly, and the white netted cover stirs gently, letting out a muffled buzz.

“No need to call for a worker. I can fix it.”

Wardia is stunned for a moment. Then, her eyes crinkle into a smile.

“When did our Little Gav become so incredible?”

Gavin stands up, his tone very certain.

“Leave it to me.”

Wardia casts a contemplative glance at Gavin. He’s going to be 14 soon. At this age, children tend to think about a lot of things, and may be exceptionally sensitive in certain areas.

Since a particular point in time, he had already been working hard and learning how to become a man with an indomitable spirit.

She can only nod.

“Okay. Mommy bought green beans today. I’ll prepare you a cooling soup later to alleviate the summer heat.”

With this, Gavin responds by heading to the kitchen to get a bowl to soak the beans for his mother.

The green coloured beans are immersed in water. Some float and some sink, and their colours are clear.

Wardia looks at Gavin. After a moment of hesitance, she speaks in a light-hearted and leisurely tone.

“Little Gav... Daddy took up an urgent mission recently and was sent to a very faraway place. He might not be around for your birthday this year again...”

“Mm, I’ve got it.”

Gavin’s tone is very indifferent. It’s as though whether that person returns or not has nothing to do with him at all. Wardia wants to say something, but after opening her mouth, she turns around, forcefully suppressing her emotions. 

Gavin carries the bowl with both hands. When he sees his mother’s back, he suddenly grows quiet.

Why harbour hope when one clearly knows the ending?

After dinner, Gavin returns to his room. The pamphlet is still on the desk. He pauses for a moment, then reaches out to pick it up.

He’s going to be 14 years old soon.

Becoming one year older is something his mother looks forward to even more than he does. Because of this, she feels even guiltier with every year of his father’s absence.

Even though he knows he doesn’t need that person to wish him a happy birthday, he hopes that his mother can be a little more genuinely happy on his birthday.

Gavin makes a decision.

He smoothens the pamphlet on the desk. In a serious manner, he fills up the registration form on the back with his name. When he sets down the pen, his eyes sparkle with a certain determination.

He wants to participate in the model aircraft competition, and he wants to get first place.

He wants to use something he likes to prove to that person that he has already grown up, and has become even more incredible than he imagined.

“I’m going to prove to you that I can still do it without Evol.” He repeats resolutely once more.

If that person left this house back then because of how small and weak Gavin was, he’d definitely have a slightly different answer when he sees the current Gavin.

He’d definitely want to... return and see this family.

[ Chapter Three - Wings Waiting To Fly ]

Aeromodelling books and scattered materials are piled up in Gavin’s room. When Wardia enters while carrying chilled green bean lily bulb soup, she sees Gavin sitting cross-legged on the floor, using a vernier calliper to measure the wingspan.

Wardia carefully steps across the spare parts, placing the bowl on the desk.

“Little Gav, why are you so diligent in this competition? You’ve been fiddling around in your room for several days.”

Gavin wipes sweat off his forehead.

“This is a really large-scale competition. The teacher says that the person in first place will get to visit the Aviation Headquarters. I want to have a look.”

He’s determined not to tell his mother the true reason.

Wardia nods, giving him a “work hard” gesture.

“In that case, Little Gav must continue working hard and strive to be a guest at the aviation base.”

Wardia pauses, then looks at Gavin seriously.

“But Little Gav, even though this is a very rare opportunity, you must remember that no matter what happens at the end, Mommy will be happy for you. Because I know that you’re doing something you like, that you’ve worked hard, and have obtained happiness in the process. And that’s enough.”

Gavin nods.

“I know.”

“Oh yes, Mommy also wants to use this chance to discuss your birthday plans with you.”

Wardia grins while posing a question.

“What does Little Gav want as a birthday present this year? And what kind of pattern do you want your birthday cake to have?”

“Do you want to invite your classmates over to celebrate with you?”

Wardia prattles on endlessly as she counts the plans she has for his birthday on her fingers. That pair of beautiful eyes are layered with gentleness, but also hide a twinge of guilt.

It’s as though she’s exerting her all to ensure that other aspects are done even better to make up for that guilt.

After Gavin ponders for a while, he shakes his head.

“I’ve already grown up, so there isn’t anything I specially want as a birthday gift.”

“I just want Mommy to always be happy.”

When Wardia hears Gavin’s words, she’s taken aback for half a second. Her eyes stir slightly.

After this, she walks over to hug Gavin gently. Gavin has no idea why his mother is suddenly doing this, but he puts down the blueprint of the aircraft wing, reaching out to return his mother’s hug.

Wardia speaks softly yet resolutely.

“Little Gav, even if you become an adult in the future and become a man with an indomitable spirit, your birthday is still an important thing.”

She pauses.

“Because this day doesn’t just belong to you. It also belongs to everyone who loves you, and the people who have prepared and looked forward to this day for a very long time.

After his mother leaves the room, Gavin looks at the blueprint of the plane which is just beginning to take shape. He repeats what his mother said softly.

“It also belongs to everyone who loves you, and the people who have prepared and looked forward to this day for a very long time...”

Those clear eyes seem to be filled with an even greater determination to win the prize. He picks up the vernier calliper and continues measuring the wingspan.

[ Chapter Four: Heading In Another Direction ]

There’s only one week till Gavin’s birthday.

That huge pile of materials in Gavin’s room has turned into a beautiful white plane with blue wings and smooth lines.

At the competition venue, that white aircraft model ascends, spins around, flies upside down, and lands under Gavin’s control. Everyone is astonished at how perfect it is.

Without any reservations, Gavin wins first place.

The person handing out prizes is a certain officer from an aviation base. He places a small plane-shaped badge into Gavin’s hand.

“You referenced the air freighter Y2251 for the style, didn’t you? I could tell from a glance.”

Gavin nods, and the officer pats him on the shoulder.

“You reconstructed it very close to the original. Being this outstanding at such a young age, I believe your father will definitely be proud of you when he knows about this.”

Gavin lifts his head sharply, staring at the officer.

“Do you know him?”

The officer who handed him the award chuckles.

“I met him at an international meeting in the past. He’s a very outstanding soldier.”

Gavin doesn’t speak further. He lowers his eyes, tightly gripping that badge which symbolises the sky.

-

At night, Gavin sits at the edge of the window, lifting the small aviator badge to his eyes, staring at it meticulously under the moonlight.

The badge isn’t large, but the wings on it have been engraved vividly. It’s as though in the very next second, it could break free from the heavy fetters of metal, flying freely towards the horizon.

Gavin looks at it for a very long time, then reluctantly shifts his gaze away from the badge.

The summer evening breeze passes by his lapel, bringing with it a cooling and refreshing scent. The trees in the courtyard are very tall, and the sprigs of blossoming plants stretch to the edges of the window, touching his ankle.

This is the first time he has attained honour based on his own strength. Does this mean he now possesses the strength to be acknowledged by others?

He looks at the badge. Finally, his eyes crinkle into a slight smile, unintentionally revealing the wilfulness and pride that a youth should have.

Using his hands to support himself on the edge of the window, Gavin turns around and leaps back into his room. He locates a plain white envelope from his drawer, then picks up a pen. On the address line, he fills in his father’s current location, then stuffs the badge into the envelope solemnly.

After hesitating for a while, he scrunches up the envelope slightly. A few creases immediately appear on it.

Only after he leaps over the wall and heads out to slip that envelope into a mailbox at the corner of the street does Gavin release a soft sigh of relief.

This is a proof of pride, and it’s also an invitation from a youth. 

An invitation for the person whom his mother cares about to return to this place, and spend a birthday together which could constitute a “reunion”.

Gavin stands in front of the mailbox, lifting his head to look at the star-studded sky.

Tonight, the Milky Way seems to be brighter than in previous nights. Sagittarius emits a resplendent light, and the bow formed by stars points towards an unknown, faraway place.

[ Chapter Five: Indentations of Growth ]

On the early morning of Gavin’s birthday, Wardia cooks him a bowl of longevity noodles, and there’s even a soft-boiled egg burrowed underneath the noodles.

“Happy birthday, Little Gav.”

“From today onwards, you’ve grown one year older.”

His mother smiles as she says her well wishes to Gavin. After he’s done eating the noodles, she holds out a measuring tape.

“Shall we measure how much taller our Little Gav has grown this year?”

“...okay.”

Gavin is slightly resigned but accustomed to it as he stands next to the pole in the corridor. 

Right now, he has already grown much taller. In a serious manner, Wardia uses a pencil to draw a mark near the roof of his head.

“Our Little Gav has grown much taller. Wow, one, two, three... four centimetres.”

His mother keeps the measuring tape and Gavin steps away from the pole. There are numerous deep and light indents on the white body of the pole - traces that witness one boy’s growth each year.

"Looks like I won’t need to measure you next year. Little Gav has already grown taller than Mommy.”

Gavin immediately cuts in, his tone extremely certain.

“I’ll protect Mommy.”

Wardia taps Gavin’s forehead lightly.

“Mommy doesn’t need to be protected by Little Gav. Mommy will protect Little Gav. I’ll celebrate your birthday with you every year until you grow up.”

“What will happen after I grow up?”

His mother grins as she turns around and enters the kitchen. Her gentle voice drifts to Gavin’s ears, and sounds a little hazy.

“After you grow up, you’ll meet someone like Mommy who is willing to celebrate a lifetime of birthdays with you.”

While his mother starts busying herself to prepare Gavin’s birthday feast, Gavin decides to fix the fan in the living room.

With the successful experience of aeromodelling, Gavin picks up the instruction manual and fixes that clanking fan very quickly.

The fixed fan starts rotating to and fro in a leisurely manner, releasing a cooling wind. Gavin closes his eyes to feel the breeze, and his hair is blown up, fluttering messily.

“It’s fixed.” Gavin opens his eyes, turning his head to look at the time.

Noon passed not too long ago, and it’s still very early.

Gavin thinks for a moment, then heads into his room to retrieve the model aircraft. He sits on the steps of the courtyard.

A chunk of paint on the model aircraft cracked a few days ago. Gavin holds a small brush, slowly giving a fresh coat of paint to the tailplane.

The cicadas on the trees are noisy as always, and the brilliant sunlight filters through the leaves, falling on Gavin’s face.

While using the small brush to mend the plane with layers of paint, Gavin occasionally lifts his head towards the nearby door.

Judging by the time, he should still reach today, no matter how late it is.

Birds soar in the sky, and the sun continuously shifts to the west, until it brings twilight with it, turning into a semicircle about to be swallowed up by the horizon.

Gavin sits on the steps for a very long time, from noon till late afternoon, and until the beautiful lines on the model aircraft have been mended, laying beside him quietly.

Yet, that door doesn’t get pushed open.

A few leaves are blown by the wind, and they fall on the wings of the model aircraft. Gavin reaches out to pick the leaves up.

He grips the leaves in his palm, lowering his eyes and thinking about something unknown to anyone else.

With a sudden creak, the sound of a door opening drifts from afar, and footsteps land on Gavin’s ears.

Gavin instantly straightens up, but he quickly faces away.

The tender dusk envelops him, illuminating the slightly upturned corners of his lips.

[ Chapter Six: A Heart of Well Wishes ]

The people who pushed the door open are his maternal grandfather and grandmother.

Carrying a birthday cake, they brim with smiles as they walk towards Gavin.

His grandfather grabs Gavin into a hug.

“We wish our Little Gav a happy birthday.”

His grandmother lifts the cake, waving it at Gavin.

“Grandpa and Grandma specially bought a cake to see you, and to celebrate our Little Gav’s birthday.”

“Thanks, Grandpa and Grandma.”

Gavin receives the cake from his grandmother and heads towards the living room with them. Before walking up the steps, Gavin casts another glance at the door.

The door remains quietly caged in twilight, waiting alongside Gavin.

But even until the evening grows dark, it is never pushed open again.

Wardia notices Gavin’s abnormal silence. When she follows his gaze and looks at the door outside, she realises something.

However, Wardia doesn’t say anything. She simply pauses, then is full of smiles as she opens the cake box.

“Here’s wishing our birthday boy a happy 14th birthday!” His grandparents grin while singing the birthday song.

“Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you. Happy birthday to you, happy birthday to you...”

After singing the birthday song, his mother looks at Gavin, speaking gently.

“Go on and make a wish, Little Gav.”

Gavin stares at the cake and remains silent for a while. Then, he speaks quietly in his heart.

It’s fine if that person doesn't return. It’s fine if he isn’t acknowledged. Anyway, he has celebrated his birthday today, and has grown one year older.

He can fix a fan for his mother, and can use his strength to protect this home.

So-

It’s fine.

-

After dinner, the family sits in the courtyard to enjoy the cool air.

Hearing from his mother that Gavin won the first place in the aeromodelling competition, his grandparents are extremely surprised.

“Little Gav is truly incredible. Isn’t it really difficult to build models? What reward would you like? Grandpa and Grandma will give it to you.”

“There isn’t anything I want as a reward.”

However, his grandfather is very stubborn.

“You’re still so young. How can there be nothing that you want? Just suggest something, and treat it as a gift from your Grandpa and Grandma.”

At this appropriate time, Wardia cuts in. “This is a well wish from your elders, so just accept it.”

Gavin lowers his eyes and thinks for a moment. Then, he lifts his head and responds softly.

“In that case, I want our family to be like this every year in the future.”

He pauses, his eyes carrying within them slight warmth and ease.

“We’ll eat cake together, talk together, and sing the birthday song together.”

"That’s such an easy feat. Every year in the future, Grandpa and Grandma will bring a cake and celebrate Little Gav’s birthday with your Mommy.”

“It’s a deal.”

The evening breeze blows past gently, blowing up stray hairs in front of Gavin’s forehead, revealing a pair of clear amber eyes. He turns back to the courtyard and watches as his grandparents and mother engage in small talk and laughing to their heart’s content.

This is a complete family which has been mended with love, and it has much warmth and many things to look forward to.

It encases the youth’s heart, enabling him to not feel lonely at this moment.

The Milky Way is as magnificent as always. Beneath the brilliant star-studded sky, the tree which has been growing in the courtyard for a very long time stands quietly, as though it would remain this way every year.

Cheri’s Reflections:

Imagine if the letter wasn’t sent because Gavin forgot to put stamps LOL T^T

Not-so-fun fact: Wardia died when Gavin was 15, so this is the last birthday they spent together...

And MC not reading his letter back in Loveland High and leaving him waiting for hours hurts even more now because it probably reminded him of how he waited for his father to no avail

✈️ Spreading Wings Date: here

✈️ Support the cafe by dropping by the tip jar!

[leonhardt-simp]

The Girl Who Wrote Me Letters IV.

[post-canon/canonverse] | chapter 4 pt 2.

summary: Actions speak louder than words now. Annie is met with difficult decisions but she’ll do anything to figure out what happened to the girl without a voice.

Series Masterlist

warnings are in the masterlist.

Please read them before continuing.

———

Not too far from the location in another medical office building…

A bandit carefully walked through the medical office halls, their eyes wide to capture everything that made a noise or seemed out of place. It felt odd being in this place when everyone else had long gone home.

However, they were on a mission. They were to find any evidence of traitorous acts against her superior’s department.

Letters, papers, constant symbols, anything notable or suspicious. It was to be reported.

They needed just something, anything that would bring some information that was worth anything. It was a noble act, If their department was happy then they would be. It was time to get rid of the weeds and let new flowers bloom in their place.

They weren’t going to fail this mission.

Besides, who could say no to money? Money makes the world go round, especially in these lower parts of the kingdom.

Once they turned down into a hallway, they noticed the light of their targeted office had still been on. So with caution, they slowly approached it, pulling their knife out just in case. With every creak of the floorboards, they felt nervous.

Their eyes were met with something unexpected.

There inside the office, There she was, sleeping in her office chair at her desk. her head tilted back and on top of her face was a book, She seemed to have given up on any papers she had been writing. It was evident as her chalk board to the right of her desk seeming to have been filled with writing.

The writing of many random factors and elements, equations that seemed not to fit so perfectly yet. Perhaps, she fell asleep due to frustration.

The bandit foolishly entered the office, their footsteps approaching the unaware doctor. Once they had gotten close enough, their hands slowly reached up to remove the book from the doctor’s face.

Suddenly the door slammed, a gun cock following right after that sent the bandit jumping back and knocking the office chair to the side. The body in the chair fell, the face underneath being just an anatomy dummy that the doctor had in her stead.

Grey eyes met with the doctor’s eyes.

“Dr. Quil…” They muttered with slight fear, their eyes wide as the doctor revealed herself.

The doctor walked with a limp, her calliper aiding in her right leg as she approached the bandit. With a firm hand, her hand stayed on the gun to keep the other at gunpoint, her eyes assessing the factors at hand. When her eyes noticed the knife in hand, she made quick work.

BANG.

She lowered her gun down finally, her head turning to look out at the window of her office as she began to hear the distant gunfire. ‘Seems like I'm not the only one..’

Her E/C eyes turned back to look at the unfortunate soul, her hand reaching for one of the books from her desk. She signed her sorry, kneeling to gently place an open book on their face.

As a doctor, you have to take lives sometimes to give life to somewhere new.

That was how life worked, right?

Yes.

taglist: @the-camilucha @cess02