#ratchet nails

[kobiisworld]

What i think TFP’s nails would look like!! (Autobots)

Optimus prime

Short

Probably chipped in some places

Tries to keep up appearences- kindaa

Ratchet

Really short so he can work better when helping the rest of the auto bots

Keeps his nails HEALTHYY! Like the fancy oils and shit

Plain bc he doesnt really care abt the color, just the quality

Oh wait orrr

His nails are terrible bc he forgets to take care of them(workaholic tm)

Its a 50/50 tbh

Bumble bee

Black and yellow bc it matches his paint job

I feel like he would like to keep his nails fancy-ish bc its just pretty!!

Prob has to convince Ratchet to take a break so they can do nail care together like once a week

Arcee

Probably has been doing her nails the longest

Learned how to fight w her nails

Just yk casual ig?? I dont rly have any other ideas lol

Bulkhead

CAMO NAILS CAMO NAILS CAMO NAILS!!!

He would LOVE camo nails i cant say this enough

Like hes litterally a jeep

Def has chips , but he tries his best to keep them from getting too damaged, esp when ratchet does them

Lmk if u want pt 2 w any other characters?

[lancelotslair]

"Get This One Right And You'll Win A BRAAAND NEW ALT MOOOODE!" - Windsheer, mid-surgery, the Decepticons most annoying medic haha hehe transformer oc. He's a technically VERY skilled medic but he haas this oneeeee little flaw: he considers himself to be truly gifted and destined to be a glorious glorious Game Show Host. Few willingly play his games but hey short term kidnappings/using your patients while they're stuck under your control is always a good idea! Not shown here is his LOVELY assistant (in medical (mal)practice and show business) Showboat a triple changer whose alts are a Boat and Car grand prize yea he's a helicopter and has a dragonfly vibe goin on :) hes not intentionally malicious just annoying and a loosey goosey moral code also: this bit v

[jellysnail-draws]

Randomly remembered how Lawrence was a real one for knocking Qwark out in UYA to help his boss out lmao

Seriously

This was one of those rare moments I realized someone seemed to genuinely be on Nefarious’ side. Everyone else could be flakey, but Lawrence was the only one who stepped in to save Nef when he needed help and I just think about it a lot ok

Also do not mess with the butler or else he’ll knock your ass out fr. I love that he’s lowkey a threat too but he just doesn’t care enough to act on anything

[thewintersoldierdisaster]

OMG SHOW US THE HOCKEY THEMED RING 😍🤩

OKAY SO it’s really hard to see in the pic but i got this ring custom from a small shop im obsessed with during their black friday sale and it’s stamped with 13•37•76 because i’ve been having the time of my life writing hockey fic the last few months and it’s just kind of a reminder to me that i have this skill that im kind of good at and brings me joy 🥰

[cottoncandykissesxo]

Bought a new gloss! It's the Maybelline Lifter Gloss in Petal 🩷🌸🌷🌺

[on-blast]

Avoid em'. At ALL cost...

[pin-k-ink]

breaking point // hinata shoyo

tw ⇢ possessive!hinata, groping, obsessive behavior, semi-public fingering, cunnilingus, mating press, unprotected sex, dirty talk, mentioned masturbation, rough sex, squirting, fingering

wc ⇢ 4.4k

a/n: not proofread

"And here we have the star of today's match, Hinata Shoyo!"

Your bright voice immediately commanded Hinata's attention, shattering his previous conversation into irrelevance. As his eyes landed on you, he felt the breath still in his lungs.

'Good god, she's beautiful.'

The thought blossomed before he could stop it. You looked so perfectly poised and professional with your microphone raised, camera ready. But all Hinata could focus on was the elegant line of your jaw, the flushed hue across your cheeks, and the way your lips seemed to glisten invitingly.

Swallowing hard, he wrestled to regain his composure as you launched into the standard post-game questions about his performance. Hinata responded automatically while his gaze drifted lower, hungrily taking in the tantalizing glimpse of cleavage exposed by your blouse's neckline.

Get it together! He gave himself a mental shake, panic rising at his inability to tear his eyes away from your body. This was just a damn interview - he'd done hundreds, for god's sake! So why was he reacting like a hormonal teenager catching his first glimpse of undressed skin?

Maybe it was the way your skirt caressed the gentle swell of your hips as you shifted...or the soft, floral scent of your perfume that seemed to wrap around his senses in the most maddening way...

Inhaling deeply, Hinata dragged his wandering focus back to your lovely face, only to feel his attention immediately ensnared by your lips. They looked so incredibly soft and inviting as you spoke, he could barely track the meaning of your questions.

Without realizing it, Hinata found himself slowly drifting closer, drawn to you by some inexplicable gravitational pull. By the time your brows knit in confusion at his distracted responses, he was near enough to see the slight iridescent shimmer of your lip gloss...near enough to catch the lightest whisper of your shampoo's fragrance...

Fuck, get a grip! Hinata cursed inwardly, finally registering the wildly inappropriate hunger blazing through him like a fever. This was meant to be a professional interview, not his own personal peepshow!

And yet, he found himself utterly powerless to pull away from your enticing presence. His gaze flicked down to the gentle swell of your chest again as you inhaled, and he swore he could detect the barest hint of cleavage peeking from beneath the fabric.

"Is...everything alright, Hinata-san?" you asked with a small frown, no doubt perplexed by the dark look of unveiled yearning that had overcome his features.

Hinata's tongue instinctively swiped across his suddenly dry lips as his eyes locked on yours once more. Every fiber of his being screamed to close what little distance remained between your bodies and capture those perfect lips with his own. To satiate this maddening, inexplicable thirst you had instantly awakened within him.

But somehow, some small shred of self-restraint stopped the words from spilling out.

"Perfect," he husked instead, the gravelly timbre of his voice dripping with the undisguised want smoldering in his eyes. "Everything is...perfect."

After that first unsettling interview, you found yourself assigned to cover Hinata with increasing frequency. His star power was rapidly rising, and your segments with him always drew impressive views and engagement.

But each time you sat down with him, the charged tension seemed to ratchet higher.

During one post-game interview, Hinata casually rested his hand over yours on the microphone, his calloused fingers stroking your skin as he leaned in close to answer.

"That last set was a real nail-biter," he murmured, his intense gaze never leaving your face. "I love keeping the crowd on the edge of their seats, never knowing what I'll do next..."

You had to fight down a shiver at the double meaning layered beneath his words. Hinata's eyes sparked with mischief, clearly enjoying the effect he had on you.

Another time, as you wrapped up a courtside interview, Hinata unexpectedly pulled you into a quick hug. The gesture would look friendly and spontaneous to any onlookers...

But as he drew you against his chest, you felt his hand dip low to squeeze your ass, lightning-quick but unmistakable. Your gasp was muffled against his shoulder before he released you with a cheeky grin.

"Thanks for the great interview," he chirped brightly, as if he hadn't just groped you in front of thousands. "Always a pleasure!"

Then there was the interview after his Sports Illustrated cover was announced. Hinata kept you close as you spoke, his arm slung casually across your shoulders in a gesture that skirted the line of professionalism.

"It's such an honor," he said earnestly. "I couldn't have done it without the support of my biggest fans."

At that, his hand drifted down to toy with the ends of your hair, twirling the strands around his fingers in an unmistakably possessive gesture. To any viewers, it would look like an absent fidget.

But the heat in Hinata's gaze as it locked with yours made it clear - he was staking a subtle claim, right there on live television. You had to fight to keep your composure, even as your skin tingled beneath his touch.

As the months passed, Hinata grew bolder and bolder in his flirtations, always toeing the line while maintaining plausible deniability. Lingering touches, weighted words, heated stares that felt almost tangible in their intensity...

It was a dangerous game you were playing, trapped under the watchful eyes of the cameras. And part of you wondered how far Hinata would push before the tension finally snapped.

After a grueling five-set match, you found yourself waiting outside the locker room to snag a final quote from Hinata. The hallway was deserted, the rest of the press having already dispersed to make their deadlines.

You leaned against the wall, reviewing your notes, when the door suddenly swung open. Hinata emerged, his hair damp from the shower and his gym bag slung over one shoulder. He stopped short when he spotted you, a slow smile spreading across his face.

"Well, well," he murmured, sauntering closer. "If it isn't my favorite reporter. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

You straightened, trying to ignore the way your pulse jumped at his proximity. "Just hoping to get a quick quote about that final spike. It was a pretty spectacular finish."

Hinata hummed, stepping fully into your personal space until your back hit the wall. "Is that so?" he mused, bracing a hand beside your head. "And here I thought maybe you just wanted to get me alone."

Your breath caught at the blatant suggestion, your eyes widening. "I...no, that's not-"

"Not what?" Hinata interrupted, his voice dropping to a low rasp. "Not incredibly tempting? Because I've got to say..."

His free hand came up to toy with the press badge dangling from your neck, his knuckles grazing the sensitive skin above your collar.

"...the thought of getting you all to myself, away from the cameras? It's been driving me crazy for months."

You swallowed hard, your head swimming with his intoxicating nearness. This close, you could see the flecks of gold in his warm brown eyes, could count each individual eyelash framing his heated gaze.

"Hinata-san," you managed weakly, "we can't. I'm supposed to be interviewing you."

His lips quirked up in a wicked grin. "Then interview me," he purred, ducking his head until his mouth hovered a hair's breadth from your own. "Ask me how badly I've wanted to taste your lips. Ask me how many times I've imagined peeling that prim little skirt off you and finding out what you're wearing underneath. Ask me how often I've had to jerk off in the shower, thinking about your mouth on my cock..."

A shaky exhale escaped you, and Hinata's eyes darkened with triumph. He knew he had you cornered, in every sense of the word. His body caged you in, his breath fanning across your parted lips in a maddening caress.

"You have no idea," he rasped, his nose brushing yours in a ghosting almost-touch, "how crazy you make me. How hard it's been to keep my hands to myself every time we're together."

To punctuate his point, his hand released your badge to trail slowly down your arm, calluses catching on your sleek skin and igniting sparks in their wake. Your breathing grew ragged as his fingers skimmed across your hip, circling to the small of your back.

Then he was hauling you flush against him, the hard planes of his body searing into your softer curves. A needy sound caught in your throat at the feel of him, firm and unyielding, against your frame.

"Hinata-san," you gasped, but whatever protest you'd intended died on your lips as he pressed his forehead to yours, his eyes blazing with raw hunger.

"Tell me you want me," he commanded roughly, his voice gravelly with desire. "Tell me I'm not the only one losing my mind with how badly I need you."

You trembled in his hold, your heart hammering against your ribs as his words seemed to brand themselves into your skin. Every nerve ending felt electrified, raw and oversensitized where his body pressed against your own.

But even as your very soul cried out to give in, to surrender to the magnetic pull of him, your rational mind clung to the tattered shreds of reason.

"Hinata, we...we can't," you managed, your voice thin and thready to your own ears. "This is...it's not right."

His jaw clenched, a muscle ticking beneath the taut skin, but he didn't release you. If anything, his grip on your waist tightened, his fingers digging into the soft flesh possessively.

"Not right?" he echoed, a humorless laugh escaping him. "God, if you only knew how many nights I've laid awake, fantasizing about all the 'not right' things I want to do to you..."

His head dipped, his nose skimming along the column of your throat in a barely-there touch that had you shivering. You swore you could feel the heat of his lips hovering just above your racing pulse.

"I could take you right here," he rasped against your skin, his breath searing you like a brand. "Against this wall, until you're shaking and begging for me. Would you like that?"

A broken whimper escaped your lips, and you felt them curve in a wicked smile. "Yeah, you would," he purred darkly. "I bet you'd fall apart so sweetly on my cock, squeezing me like a vice as you come..."

Your head thumped back against the wall, eyes squeezing shut as his filthy words painted vivid pictures in your mind. It would be so easy to give in, to let him strip you bare and take you apart until you forgot your own name.

But the tattered remnants of your professionalism, already strained to the breaking point, wouldn't allow it.

"I can't," you whispered brokenly, hands fisting in his shirt as if to hold him at bay...or pull him closer, you weren't even sure anymore. "We can't do this, Hinata-san. Not...not like this."

For a long, endless moment, he remained motionless against you. You could practically hear the war raging within him, the primal need to claim you battling against the yoke of propriety.

Then, with a low, frustrated growl, he released you, stepping back just enough to sever the contact between your bodies. The sudden absence of his searing heat left you feeling bereft, unmoored, but you didn't dare reach for him again.

"This isn't over," he bit out, his tone dark with promise as his heated gaze raked over you. "Sooner or later, I'm going to have you. And when I do..."

He leaned in, his lips a hairsbreadth from your ear. "I'm going to ruin you for anyone else. You'll be mine, completely and utterly. Don't ever doubt that."

With those words searing into your very bones, he grabbed your jaw in a rough grip, capturing your lips in a hard, bruising kiss. His tongue swept into your mouth, claiming, conquering, and you were powerless to stop the whimper of need that fell from your lips.

Then he was gone. Turning on his heel and stalking away, leaving you weak-kneed and trembling in his wake. As you watched his broad shoulders disappear around the corner, one thing crystallized in your mind with startling certainty.

Hinata Shoyo was a man who worked hard to get what he wanted. And god help you, he wanted you.

The studio lights bore down on you as you sat beside Hinata, the camera crew adjusting the final settings before your joint interview. It was a big opportunity, a chance to discuss his recent accomplishments with a major sports network.

But all you could focus on was the heat of Hinata's thigh pressed against your own beneath the news desk.

"Thirty seconds!" the producer called out. You straightened your notes with hands that trembled imperceptibly, hyperaware of Hinata's solid presence mere inches away.

As the crew did their final checks, you felt a feather-light touch against your knee. Your breath hitched, gaze flying to Hinata's face, but he was staring straight ahead with an expression of perfect nonchalance.

Then his hand slid higher, fingers grazing the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. You barely suppressed a gasp, your entire body going rigid as he began to trace idle patterns against your flesh.

"Ten seconds!"

Hinata's touch grew bolder, his palm flattening against your thigh as it crept upward at a maddeningly slow pace. When his fingertips brushed the hem of your skirt, toying with the edge in a teasing caress, you thought you might combust on the spot.

"5, 4, 3, 2..."

You pasted on a bright smile as the camera light flashed red, signaling you were live. But even as you launched into your practiced introduction, you could feel Hinata's hand continuing its torturous exploration beneath the desk.

His fingers danced along the edge of your skirt, occasionally dipping just beneath the fabric to graze the lace edge of your panties. Each touch sent sparks of heat crackling through your veins, your focus splintering as you strained to maintain your composure.

Beside you, Hinata answered the questions smoothly, flashing his signature megawatt smile at the camera. But the hand on your thigh never ceased its maddening ministrations, slipping higher and higher until he was tracing the crease where your thigh met your hip.

You clenched your teeth as a shudder tried to rip through you, your hands white-knuckled. God, how were you supposed to concentrate with him touching you like this, live on national television?

But Hinata seemed utterly unaffected, bantering easily with the hosts even as his fingers crept to the apex of your thighs. When he boldly cupped your clothed pussy, barely stifling a groan at the damp heat he found there, you nearly bit through your lip trying to hold back a whimper.

"...wouldn't you agree?" the other host suddenly asked, turning to you with an expectant smile. Your heart lurched into your throat as you scrambled to recall what the question had even been.

"I...yes, absolutely," you managed, hoping your voice didn't sound as strained as it felt. "Hinata has certainly been a driving force behind the team's success this season."

Hinata's fingers pressed harder against your clit, the sudden friction nearly buckling your spine, and you had to disguise your choked gasp as a cough. Somehow, you maintained the semblance of poise, nodding as the host turned his attention back to the ace.

But beneath the table, the fingers between your thighs were a maddening pressure. He traced along the edge of your panties, then dipped below the lace to slide a thick digit along your folds.

"Shit," you breathed, barely above a whisper. You hoped the sound wouldn't pick up on camera.

Hinata smirked at you from the corner of his eye, clearly enjoying watching you come apart at his hand. With an agonizingly slow motion, he circled your entrance, spreading your slick wetness as you struggled not to squirm in your seat.

"Well, I couldn't do it without the support of my fans," Hinata interjected smoothly, shooting you a sly wink. "Especially my biggest fan right here."

You felt your cheeks flood with heat at the blatant innuendo, praying the camera would attribute your blush to the flattery. If only they knew just what Hinata was doing to you beneath the professional veneer...

The interview wrapped up shortly after, much to your relief. You maintained your smile as the hosts signed off, barely suppressing a shudder when Hinata gave your sensitive flesh a final, teasing squeeze before withdrawing his hand.

The second the camera light flicked off, you were shooting to your feet, your breath coming in shallow pants. Hinata rose more slowly, a knowing smirk playing about his lips as his dark eyes dragged over your disheveled form.

Heart pounding, you hurried into the dressing room, desperate to compose yourself after Hinata's bold touches during the interview. Your skin felt electrified, every nerve ending buzzing with barely suppressed need.

You braced your hands against the vanity, trying to slow your breathing. But then the click of the lock sounded behind you, and your pulse jumped into overdrive.

"You didn't think I was done with you, did you?" Hinata's voice was a low, dark rasp that sent shivers cascading down your spine.

You met his gaze in the mirror, your breath hitching at the raw, undisguised hunger burning in his eyes. He stalked towards you with predatory intent, his movements fluid and purposeful.

"Hinata," you managed weakly, your voice thin and thready. "We can't...not here..."

But he was already crowding into your space, his chest pressing against your back as his hands settled on your hips, firm and possessive.

"I can't wait anymore," he rasped, his breath hot against the shell of your ear. "I've held back for so long, but god, the way you respond to my touch..." His nose skimmed the column of your throat, making you shudder. "I need to feel you come apart for me."

Your eyes fluttered shut, a broken whimper escaping your lips. Every logical reason you shouldn't allow this, every professional boundary, seemed to evaporate like mist under the searing heat of his desire.

"Please," you whispered, the single word dripping with longing.

Hinata's hands tightened on your hips, a low groan rumbling through his chest. "Fuck, the things you do to me..."

Then his mouth was on your neck, your jaw, claiming each inch of skin with bruising intensity. One hand slid up your body to palm your breast through your blouse, calluses scraping your sensitive nipple and making you arch with a gasp.

"I'm going to take you apart," Hinata bit out against your skin, his voice tight with barely restrained need. "Gonna make you cum so hard you forget everything but my name."

Your head fell back against his shoulder, a moan spilling from your lips. You knew there would be no coming back from this, no way to pretend it never happened. But as Hinata turned you in his arms, his mouth slanting over yours in a searing kiss, you found you didn't care.

All you wanted was him.

Hinata hoisted you onto the vanity, his palms blazing a trail up the bare skin of your thighs as his tongue delved deeper. Your hands fisted in his hair, tugging hard enough to earn a groan of approval, and a wave of dizzying power flooded your senses.

He yanked your panties down your legs with such urgency, you swore you heard the lace tear. But before you could process, his hands were urging your thighs apart and his fingers were slipping through your soaked folds.

"So wet," he groaned, his fingers sinking into your heat and eliciting a sharp cry. "Is this all for me, baby?"

You whimpered a strangled affirmation, grinding desperately against his hand as he curled his fingers inside you. Your hands scrabbled at his shoulders, struggling to find purchase against the hard planes of muscle as he pumped his digits in a torturous rhythm.

"Shoyo," you whined, the plea falling from your lips without a second thought.

He growled, his eyes flashing dangerously at the use of his first name. His thumb flicked over your clit, drawing a strangled gasp from your throat, and you writhed beneath his touch.

"Say it again," he ordered, his free hand snaking up to fist in your hair and drag your gaze to his. The molten fire of his stare set your very soul alight.

"Please," you begged, no longer caring how wanton and desperate you sounded. "Shoyo, please!"

Hinata's teeth flashed in a wicked grin. Then his fingers were gone, and before you could mourn their absence, his head was dipping between your thighs.

The first swipe of his tongue had your spine bowing, a cry ripping from your throat. His grip on your hips was almost bruising as he feasted on your cunt, his tongue and lips and teeth working you into a frenzy. Your thighs clenched around his head, the heels of your stilettos digging into his broad shoulders. Pleasure crashed over you like waves, threatening to drown you, and still you couldn't get enough.

"Fuck, I could eat this sweet little pussy all day," Hinata groaned, the vibrations nearly sending you over the edge. "So fucking good."

His tongue speared into your core, and you shattered. The climax tore through you with the force of a freight train, your entire body convulsing with the intensity of it.

Your vision whited out, and for a moment, the only thing tethering you to earth was Hinata's hands. His tongue continued to work you through your orgasm, wringing every last drop of pleasure until you were shaking with overstimulation.

When the world finally came back into focus, you blinked blearily down at him. A fresh wave of heat washed through you as you took in the sight of him, lips glistening and pupils blown wide with desire.

"So pretty," he husked, dragging the back of his hand across his mouth in a gesture that should not have been so damn attractive.

But then he was hauling you closer to the edge of the vanity, and suddenly you were acutely aware of the hard length straining against the zipper of his dress pants. Your fingers itched to free him, to feel his bare cock heavy and thick in your hand.

Before you could act on the impulse, Hinata was shoving his pants down, his dick bobbing proudly against his stomach. You felt a fresh wave of wetness flood your core at the sight, anticipation and hunger thrumming in your veins.

"Tell me what you want," he rasped, the head of his cock teasing through your folds. You keened, your hips jerking up as you struggled to find the words.

"You," you managed, the desperation in your voice clear even to your own ears. "Shoyo, please..."

A groan ripped from his chest, the sound so feral, so animalistic, it should have frightened you. But instead, it sparked a fire low in your belly, a primal need to feel him buried deep inside you.

You kicked your heels off right as his hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide and pinning them back against your chest. He notched the thick head of his cock against your dripping cunt, and then he was plunging into you.

Your mouth fell open in a silent scream, your hands scrambling for purchase against the vanity. God, the stretch was nearly overwhelming, but you were too far gone to care. Your walls clenched around him, your hips rising to meet his frantic thrusts.

"So tight," he bit out, his pace punishing as he pounded into you. "Shit, I'm not gonna last, baby. You feel too fucking good."

A sob fell from your lips, the pleasure bordering on painful as he drilled into you. The vanity slammed into the wall with each rough thrust, but you couldn't bring yourself to care about the racket. Not when you were so close to falling apart, his cock filling you so completely.

One hand left your thigh to rub furiously at your clit, the additional stimulation sending stars bursting behind your eyelids. Your cries grew louder, more urgent, and you distantly registered the possibility of someone overhearing. But the thought was gone as quickly as it appeared, lost in the haze of pleasure.

"Look at me," Hinata demanded, his voice rough with command. Your eyes snapped to his, and you nearly came on the spot at the unbridled hunger blazing in his dark gaze.

"You're mine," he rasped, the hand on your hip moving to squeeze your jaw. "Say it. Say you're mine."

"Yours," you gasped, the words a choked sob. "All yours, Shoyo!"

Hinata released your chin, his fingers returning to toy with your clit as he pounded into you. You could feel yourself hurtling towards the edge, the pressure building in your core until you were sure it would snap.

"Cum for me," he growled, his gaze locked with yours. "Wanna feel you fall apart around my cock."

Then his thumb and forefinger pinched your clit, and you shattered. White-hot pleasure ripped through your body, the shockwave sending aftershocks cascading through your limbs. Your walls clenched around him, the spasms almost violent as you squirted around his length.

"Holy fuck," Hinata groaned, his rhythm faltering as his own climax crested. He managed a handful of wild thrusts, burying himself to the hilt as he spilled inside you, coating your walls with his release.

He collapsed forward, bracing his forearms against the vanity. His forehead dropped against your shoulder, both of you gasping for air as you slowly drifted back down from the high.

Despite the fact that the vanity was now sticky with your combined releases, Hinata made no move to extricate himself from you. Instead, he nuzzled into your neck, pressing soft, lazy kisses to your flushed skin. His cock was surprisinglystill hard, the weight of him a grounding presence within you.

"Baby," he said after a moment, his lips quirking up in a smile against your collarbone, "think maybe I can convince you to leave work early today?"

A laugh bubbled up your throat, the joyful sound bright in the quiet room. "Why? So we can go home and continue this?"

"Mm, something like that," Hinata hummed, his grin widening. "And then you can help me celebrate my new Sports Illustrated cover by posing for me, naked, while I fuck you against every surface in my apartment."

[tinydefector]

I was just interested if you were a suckered for the clothing and fabric and perfume trope as I am. In the sense where fabrics and a abundance of organic flora was considered more common for higher class cybertronains but that even then it was pretty scarce. Imagine a bot or con after getting over their fears or mild disgust of the squishness of humans so to speak the next few things they notice is how many types of hair there are. How many styles and how many different ways to dye said hair. It drives them nuts the feel such softer fibers all together to make a more denser form. Curled,staight,wavy it all catches their optics. Painted nails almost similar to paint for their frames. Tattoos so intriguing. A human willingly damaging their surface that is more fragile than their metallic frames. It's a living scar. And they can't help but slowly come to love it to when they see how much their human complain does. But fabric? God they almost get drunk off of it. When they get a hug they shiver at the smooth article that brushes on their frame. The variety. So many styles and colors. So many meaning behind patterns and techniques. They can't help but almost grow jealous hearing how far back a simple stich can come from in human history. Humanity dressing itself in plush silks and flimsy polyester but it's all gold compared to what the cybertronains have come to crave. Imagine them having made themselves smaller so they could be inside your living space and they can't help but notice all the fabrics. All the plush surfaces. Their in heaven fully convinced they're going to meet the great primes. And if you had a scented burning candle? Sweet or citrus they can't help but want to inhale deeply to capture the scent. Perfumes? God their drunk whenever a human walks into a enclosed space because all mechs and femmes are fighting themselves to not snatch you up and keep you. If you use scented body wash or scented lotion then can practically taste it on your skin if you are near or hug them. They crave it when it's late at night and they've got you sobbing and thighs shaking as they kiss and lap at your scented thighs. And if theirs multiple humans in a space? That almost has a bot slurring their words as iff they just had the best energon. Just some thoughts haha I'm very sorry it's so long. I'm just a suckered for all these headcanons and just how while they may be disgusted and have hatred for humanity some fo them can't help but swoon for so many qualitys of their human companions that are nothing like their skin. So soft and complaint and so very warm at heart.

So I do have some fics on this stuff one is

Ratchet x reader. Involving perfumes effecting cybertronians like a sex potion or sex pollen.

Then I have

Starscream x reader. Involving the infamous dress and him testing out different outfits on his partner.

This small collection of bots reacting to nipple piercings (was like my first fic I ever wrote here)

_________________

I am quite a sucker for the clothing and fabric and perfume trope. I really enjoy writing cybertronians who adore seeing their partner drapped in shimmering fabrics. Becuase to the human its could just be a satin sheet, but to the cybertronian it is luxury, it showcases so much about you and every chance they get they love getting to just feel or touch the fabrics.

Imagine: your cybertronian is sat on theirs berth which is a mix of almost foam matting(yoga mat/ expanding foam) They don't lay on just metal but it's not particularly comfortable for their human. So one day, they introduced them to memory foam, and its like the bots world has opened up. It becomes a soft, comfortable recharge. But as you start bringing sheets, blankets, and your pillows, it makes the bots feel as if they are falling in love. They love it when you drape the soft fabric over them and make yourself almost a next on their chassis with the soft bedding. To they it feels like a luxury that you are pampering them even if it's just to make yourself more comfortable. It's the fact you leave them in their suite on their berth take makes their spark clench in delight knowing you'll be coming back.

I also tend to write cybertronains have alot more nasal sensors and detectors to the point they can break down the partials to annalise them. The smell of fresh lining is something that effects them almost like catnip with a cat. They will roll around in the fabric optics wide. Engines roaring in delight. As their joints squeak and clank against the walls.

I also love writing that Fabric was something that only the Highest of society had on cybertron, but mainly due to have small the fibers are it is extremely hard for cybertronains to replicate the material, so it fetched for high prices when Imported from organic planets. If you were of the lower classes, you would be lucky if you had a tarp or some sort of soft plastic as it was also still very sort after. So you can imagine how the cybertronains reacted once on earth, even while undercover. Fabric is such a huge part of human culture that cybertronians, when they find even just a pretty scrap of Fabric, keep it as a token. As if to say "frag you" to the universe.

But I can also see a human finding the stash of Fabric cut off's and offering to sew them all together in an almost patchwork like blanket for their bot and you can bet your ass you will have that cybertronian on thier knees worshipping you for it.

______

"Hey, we have hail forecasted," their voice calls out to the vehicle parked in the driveway. The cybertronian is rather quiet as they register what was said to them. "It isn't acid rain, so it won't be anything too bad." they try to argue only to have a large old blanket thrown over them. "Hey, what are you doing?" It sends shock throught their system having something so soft drapped over their frame.

"I'm covering you up so you don't get hail damage, I sadly can't get you into the garage at the moment so the next best thing I can do is cover you up with some blankets and a tarp so you don't get damaged by ice falling out of the sky" they explain as they throw another over the vehicle. Making sure to fully cover the bot before throwing a waterproof tarp over them, too. "Sorry, I don't have anything better than this, but it will keep you dry and our of harm's way." Those words hit their spark in a way they never would have thought it would. They are left almost speechless, cosy, and somewhat warm as the hailstorm rolls in.

________________

When it comes to hair colour, skin colour, and tattoos. It fascinates them so much to see such diversity and colour on a species they originally believed to be quite dull. It gets to the point when making their holoform avatars they love exploring and expressing themselves as if making a sims character. Even going as far as some get custom paint jobs of the tattoos, they get on their avatars because, for them, it's the closest thing they can have to tattoos. But think about you getting a tattoo in a shop right across from where your cybertronian partner is getting their paint job because it was a cute couples day out.

And don't get me started on how much cybertronians love human's hair. The fibers are so different to them and they love the feeling of it, they just have to be very careful when running a digit theought thier lovers hair as to not get it jammed in the joints causing you pain.

Another thing that cybertronians are fascinated by is humans' willingness to injure themselves in the name of beauty. From tattoos, piercings, injections, and surgery. In honesty, it's not that different from frame ulteration, but they don't know how a human can do it. The bots can turn their pain sensors off while humans are just soldier on through it.

I love the idea that the bots also horde car freshners that their humans get them. It becomes a full-on pokemon card situation of them trading double ups, begging their partner to get them others so they can rub it in their friends' faces. But air freshners weren't a thing until Earth, and the bots love how it makes their frame smell different from the oil, grease, and car smell.

But perfumes gods I love the idea that perfumes have a certain chemical reaction to Cybertronian systems to the point to turns them into a raging horny bot who can't get enough of how your skin taste and how desperately they try to literally lick the perfume off your skin as if it were the riches and most expensive high grade energex on the market. It also leads to a lot of personal working with the bots not being allowed to wear perfume/cologne. Deodorants don't affect them the same way, but they also enjoy how they smell quite a bit.

But yes I love the idea of perfumes pretty much working like a pheromone spray and don't get me started on actual pheromones spray, your not leaving that bots berth for atleast 3 days, they will bring you food, water and anything you want but it literally overrides their system protocol and makes them desperate to breed you.

In conclusion, DO NOT wear perfume or Pheromone spray near the bots unless you don't intend to be leaving the berth for at least 3 days if not more becyase they can and will keep you their.

________________

Let me know if you would like to be added to tag list (tagged for every fic)

Taglist

@angelxcvxc

@saturnhas82moons

@kgonbeiden

@murkyponds

@autobot79

@buddee

@bubblyjoonjoon

@chaihena

@pyreemo

@lovenotcomputed

@mskenway97

@delectableworm

@cheesecaketyrant

@ladyofnegativity

@desertrosesmetaldune

@stellasfallow

@coffee-or-hot-cocoa

@shinseiokami

@tea-loving-frog

[milksockets]

why scan?

scanning is something i've done for probably about 12 years now (i'm ancient, for this site), with varying degrees of regularity, intensity, etc. it has ratcheted up since the dawn of 2023, though, which begs the question: why? why put so much time into what could not-wrongly be considered a passive activity, hunched over a piece of clunky machinery with the express purpose of preserving others' creations? the answers are several, and fascinating (not really).

i am a [sober] drug addict. anything i pursue, consume, create--more often than not--ends up taking on addictive qualities. i'll eat the same specific food item for a month, then never want to see, let alone taste it, again. i'll listen to one song on repeat for days until i'd rather hear nails on a chalkboard than have it shuffle on and assault my ears. one of the reasons that my scanning has increased in volume recently is that i acquired library cards to the 3 nyc library systems: nypl, brooklyn, and queens. as soon as i was able to, i pillaged + plundered those fine centers of learning, leaving any given library with as many hefty scan-worthy books as i could [barely] carry. here, finally, was a *free* way of obtaining more + more + more visual media to consume.

2023 saw me get my first legal, full-time job. as such, my adjusting to that hellish reality resulted in a steep decline in my own personal creative output. collaging, writing, and rapping all fell to the wayside as i slowly acclimated to a life of work that almost everyone else my age has known for over a decade is generally unbearable + detrimental to the maintenance of outside pursuits. in times of famine within my own artistic harvest, scanning, archiving, and sharing others' work is a means of feeling as though i am still contributing to the global oeuvre.

there’s an element of losing my mental self in a series of physical motions that becomes almost automatic after some time. “zoning out” is not something endemic to my daily life; if anything, i’m almost always too zoned in. relief is necessary.  especially considering the shitshow this past year has been in terms of my personal life.

i am a product of capitalism’s cultivating a craving for constant consumption. 

it seems that visual content is only going to continue to get more + more uninspired. has everything been done? did social media ruin it all? in any case, i feel a need to document the past. to a degree, it’s my version of doomsday prepping. (god forbid books go extinct altogether.) 

i have always gravitated towards solitary activities. this topic could be a thesis in its own right.

i thrive on external validation. this reliance is something i’ve improved upon over the past several years, but it hasn’t been altogether extinguished. even though the materials i scan are not of my own creation, i nevertheless feel a vague pride in showcasing them. occasional appreciation thereof satisfies this fixation on others’ attention, albeit in a diluted form. 

i am fortunate to live in a city bursting to the gills with cultural institutions. i am also lucky enough to have some disposable income that can be directed toward fulfilling my ravenous desire for visual media. 

((i keep getting messages about the specifics of my scanner + "process":

i have a cheap ass hp envy 6055e and i just use the software it comes with.

there's nothing special or fancy happening here, and i could definitely invest in a better and/or a large format scanner, etc. but i really just don't care enough and it's not like i'm getting paid for this lmao))

[houseofanticipation]

The collar is a little too loose. It moves around too much, chafing. The restraints on your wrists are better, but the weight of your arms presses them into your skin uncomfortably. Your legs are unsecured, but your options there are limited. The last person to stop by left you at an awkward height: too high to sit, too low to stand. You're forced to hold an uncomfortable squat, or else choke yourself on the collar. Of course, it isn't supposed to be comfortable. If it was, it wouldn't be much of a punishment.

"Hey, nice!" a man in mesh gym shorts and a sweat-soaked tank top has just come around the partition that divides your repurposed shower stall from the rest of the locker room. His voice echoes as he calls out to someone. "Dude, come check it out!" He pulls a long, hard cock out of his shorts.

Your collar is locked to a ratchet mechanism, which in turn is mounted securely to the wall. Your wrists are strapped to a crossbar, keeping them at head height, wherever that is at any given time. The crossbar is a recent addition; you simply couldn't resist touching yourself when your arms were free. So last month He installed the crossbar, to help you avoid spoiling your own punishment.

The man shuffles up, feet on either side of you, finding his position. He taps his cock on your forehead, then turns the crank a few times. The ratchet begins to click, and the collar tightens around your throat as it's lifted several inches. You adjust your position, and open your mouth.

Another man rounds the corner as the first one begins to fuck your mouth. This one looks to be straight out of the shower; his hair is still wet, and the only thing he's wearing is a white towel around his waist. He raises an eyebrow when he sees you. "What am I looking at here?"

The man in the gym shorts isn't shy about using you. Some of them were, at first, but they've gotten comfortable with the situation now. They've learned to stop seeing you as a person who might care what they do to you. With each thrust his balls bounce off your chin. He presses deep down your throat, his hard abdominal muscles squashing your nose, and holds you there as he talks to his friend. "This is the...what does he call it..." his cock shifts in your throat as he cranes his neck to get a look at paper sign on the wall behind him. "Complimentary relief station." He laughs. "It's the manager's girlfriend. She's not always here, so you gotta make use of her when she is."

They guy in the towel seems unconvinced. "And she's...fine with this?"

"I wouldn't say she loves it," says Gym Shorts, starting to thrust again. "But she knows it's what she deserves."

He's right, in a way. Punishment days are grueling. You come away sore, exhausted, and filthy. You're also terrified of gagging, and it hasn't gone away with exposure like He said it would. You've just gotten better at turning off your gag reflex.

But he's also wrong. You do love it. You love it. The feeling of getting what's coming to you, of being made to suffer when you know suffering is what you've earned—it's electric, exhilarating, arousing. No doubt by this point in the day there's a small puddle underneath you, from where your wet cunt has been leaking since 9:00 AM this morning.

Gym Shorts groans and pulls out, throwing his head back as he shoots thick ropes of cum across your face. You shudder, and goosebumps rise on your arms. Your pussy drips.

"You're really gonna make a mess like that?" says Towel indignantly. "I'm not gonna use her if she's covered in your jizz, dude!"

Gym Shorts shrugs. "Sorry man, that's how he said to do it. Apparently she can't stand the feeling of cum on her skin." That is completely true. It's like nails on a chalkboard, or styrofoam scraping against itself. It sends s shiver down your spine, and it just gets worse as it sits there, getting cold, crusting over. "Spray her down if it bothers you that much. Or just use her pussy."

"What, that's an option?" says Towel.

"Sure man," says Gym Shorts, pointing to the hose showerhead on the wall. "It's still a shower."

"No, I mean her pussy. You were using her mouth when her pussy is open for business?"

Gym Shorts shrugs. "I like what I like."

"Alright, move over," says Towel, unwrapping his namesake and throwing it over his shoulder. "You've had your turn."

It takes a minute or so to get you upright; the ratchet is made for finer control, so he's cranking for a while before you're where he wants you. He reaches around and lifts your leg up, holding you under the thigh. The collar constricts around your throat as you lose balance on your one free leg; the pressure isn't enough to cut off your airways, but it's enough to make you moan involuntarily.

"Jesus Christ, dude, she's really wet," says Towel, running a finger between your pussy lips.

"Yeah, man," says Gym Shorts. "I've been telling you. She's a freak."

Towel fucks you like a hole in the wall. He fucks you like something cheap and disposable. When you moan with humiliation and pleasure, he turns to Gym Shorts and says, "Is there a way to shut her up?"

"You can just slap her a few times," says Gym Shorts. "She'll get the picture." Each strike is a stinging, burning reminder of your place.

You don't cum exactly. You never cum on punishment days; it would be inappropriate to feel that kind of pleasure. But for a few minutes before and after Towel finishes inside you, you enter a warm, floaty place where the pain and discomfort and shame all just melt away. You're exactly where you belong. You're becoming the purest form of yourself, your soul clean and clear and free of stains. This is what it's all about. This is bliss.

Towel is using your leg to wipe the last drops of cum off his cock when He enters. Your hang from the wall, your knees too weak to support you, your eyelids fluttering as you come down from that perfect place. When you see Him your chest swells, your eyes focus; cartoon hearts might as well be flying around your face.

"Hey guys, thanks for coming," He says as the two men go off to get changed. He cups your face in his hand, strokes your cheek with his thumb. "How are you feeling?"

"Good, sir." You always get bashful around him after a punishment day. It's embarrassing and exciting, letting him see you like this.

"Have you learned your lesson?" He asks.

You nod, staring into his dark eyes.

"Do you think you got what you deserved?"

You think about it. You can't be flippant with these things; it's important to give a truthful answer. "I think I deserve a few more hours, sir."

That makes Him smile. His smile could light up a room. "Good girl. You make me so proud." He leans forward and gives you a little kiss on the forehead. "I'll be back for you when I close up."

As his echoing footsteps recede, a glob of cum spills out of your cunt and joins the puddle on the floor.

[bots-and-cons]

Could you do a reader who has low iron? Platonic pls(characters are up to you) thank you for reading this your blog gives me life

A/N: Thank you, I’m so happy to hear you like my blog. I picked our two medics since this is a medical thing

~Ratchet~

•He’s noticed you’ve been growing more and more pale as the weeks go by, he isn’t even really sure how that’s possible, because you already looked very pale to begin with

•Ratchet is of course worried by this development, and he asks you about it

•You’re like “Nah, I’ve just got low iron”

•Ratchet is a bit confused at first, because to his knowledge, humans are not made of any sort of metal

•You have to explain the whole “iron deficiency” thing to him, and he at least mostly gets what you’re talking about

•He of course starts reading up on the subject, since he wants to make sure he knows if anything alarming starts to occur

•You can get quite lightheaded sometimes, which can be a bit dangerous if you’re sitting on Ratchet’s shoulder, because you might fall from getting too dizzy

•Which is why Ratchet doesn’t really like letting you sit there, because he knows his reflexes aren’t what they used to be

•You try to assure him that it’s okay and that you’ll tell him if you’re feeling too lightheaded and feel like you might fall

•He agrees to let you sit on his shoulder, but only if you let him scan your vitals and whatnot first so he can be sure you’re feeling well

~Knockout~

•Knockout pays a lot of attention to how others look, so when you start looking more pale than usual, he notices pretty quickly

•He asks why that is and you tell him about your iron deficiency problem

•Knockout is pretty ignorant to how humans work, so he doesn’t really get it and asks why you don’t just eat some iron then? “Something like nails should do, right?”

•This makes you basically roar with laughter, because all you can think about is him trying to offer you some iron nails

•When you calm down, you explain to him that no, you can’t just eat something made of iron, and that eating nails would probably kill you

•You tell him you need iron supplements and that you recently ran out and haven’t been able to buy more yet, hence the paleness

•Knockout is, yet again, a bit weirded out by how human bodies work and asks you if there’s anything he can do

•You tell him not to worry about it, but if he could let you sit on his shoulder for a while, that would be nice, because compared to a human he’s much warmer

•Your hands and feet are constantly cold, so if you kick your shoes of and sit on his shoulder with your hands and feet touching him, it feels nice since he’s so warm

•He doesn’t mind, so he lets you warm yourself up as much as you want to

•Knockout asks if this iron deficiency problem has any other effects than cold extremities and paleness 

•You give him quite a lengthy list of what it can cause and he wonders how you humans even function sometimes

•Isn’t it a pain to have to make sure you get all the vitamins and minerals and all that? He only needs energon and that’s that, so easy, but you need like a hundred different things just to survive

[whatthebodygraspsnot]

Mickey’s on house arrest for an eensy teensy crime (a total misunderstanding obviously - Mickey would never.)

At first he thinks he’s gonna go level ten batshit cooped up in their apartment. It’s not that he doesn’t like the home they’ve made for themselves, it’s just he’s a man who needs enrichment in his enclosure and everyone knows it.

Ian finds himself “breaking” things on the downlow so he can subtly float a “hey could you look at the ___ today? I think it’s busted” over their morning coffee. He's not coddling him, he just likes knowing Mickey will have something to do while he’s at work besides pace the halls and make trouble for himself out of sheer boredom.

The first week is rough. But by the next week, things have evened out considerably for Mickey. He’s clearly found a passion in something, because Ian will come home and Mickey’ll be outside on the balcony, more or less where he left him that morning. And he’s pretty sure it’s not the tomatoes he’s got potted out there.

Ian doesn’t wanna pry, especially since Mickey’s found something that works for him. But he’s a curious being. So when he comes home the next day, he decides to follow after the sound of his beautiful house-arrest husband on the balcony.

“Ha… Dumbass…”

“Who is?”

Mickey quickly turns to him as Ian steps out, joining him at the rail for a welcome home kiss.

Or…rather, Ian is kissing and Mickey is grumbling against it. “No one…”

“Mm?”

“Home early.”

“Yeah,” Ian smiles, glancing curiously at the green-space that the balcony overlooks, “got done pretty quick today.” There’s no one there. Just a couple squirrels darting around by the bushes.

Mickey nods, taking a long drag from his cigarette. 

He’s clamming up. 

Ian definitely struck something.

Silence floats between them, Ian taking the cig for himself. And he almost lets it go until it happens - movement, Mickey’s eyes darting to it down below.

Ian follows it. Hears himself huff a laugh as he watches a squirrel tear at lightning speed to the bush across the way. “Fast little fucker.”

“Gonzales…”

“Huh?” Ian turns to him. 

But Mickey refuses to meet his gaze. “Speedy Gonzales,” he says. Very cryptically.

And Ian…doesn’t know what to do with that. He chuckles, teasing, “What, you out here namin’ the squirrels, Mick?”

Another handful of seconds float by them in complete silence. Avoided eye contact.

…oh.

Wait.

Holy fuck, he’s out here naming the squirrels.

“You got somethin’ to say, wise guy-”

“No!” Wow - no - Ian doesn’t-… It’s just how the hell is he supposed to process something this endearing in such a short time span? “No, baby - nothin’ wrong with it.” Oh no, his house-arrest husband is cute?? “I mean, Speedy Gonzales - you really nailed it, ya know?”

Beside him, Mickey’s shoulders are starting to deflate from where they’ve ratcheted up in defense mode. Not all the way, but starting at least. Ian thinks they should probably leave it at that for now, but then miraculously, he’s talking again. “Got no fuckin attention span… Been lookin’ for the same shit he buried since Monday.”

Ian takes it in with a carefully constructed expression, “Oh yeah?” no smile to misconstrue or anything. “Where’s it at?”

Because Mickey knows, doesn’t he?

“Big tree,” he nods to it, “right side.”

Holy fuck, Ian is so in love with this man.

“Almost got it before you came out.”

“You think I scared him off?”

“Nah, he’s a real dumbass. Probably woulda dug two times and then ran off somewhere else.” And then, like he didn’t just make Ian’s heart absolutely rock hard, he turns to the door. “Fuckin’ starvin’ - you bring anything home?”

They have sandwiches and potato chips and Ian practically has to eat his hands to stop himself from asking more questions about his husband’s squirrels.

On Saturday morning, Ian joins him outside to water his tomatoes and then lingers, eager for any tidbits Mickey might drop on his own. 

In the grass below, a squirrel clambers over a pile of dirt and then begins a session of quick digging, bringing a smile of recognition to Ian’s face. “Hi Speedy.”

“That’s Rat Tail,” Mickey corrects from his chair.

Oh. Right. “How can you tell?” Ian asks stupidly. Because all it takes is one look with his own eyeballs to note the thinning end of this particular squirrel’s tail. “Ah.” Rat Tail. Got it.

And so begins the introductions, the two of them sipping coffee as Mickey leisurely explains the lore to him. Ian didn’t realize squirrels lead such a rich, fulfilling life, honestly. Who could’ve known? 

Mickey, of course, his feet propped up on the railing and his ankle monitor blinking away while he points out new characters seemingly every morning.

“That’s Scratch.” and “That’s Little Bitch.” and “Damn, I thoughtchya kicked the bucket, Rabies.”

Each name takes its place on Ian’s mental list.

“That one’s Allen,” Mickey says once.

To which Ian simply has to ask, the fact that he shares a name with their neighbor surely no coincidence. “What? Why?”

“He’s short ‘n ugly.”

“Got it.”

By the start of the next week, Ian feels caught up on the ins and outs of the squirrel lore. But just like with his husband, there’s always something to learn.

“Hey Mick, is that one new?”

Mickey flicks his eyes up from his phone, identifying the squirrel on the fly. “Nah, just hasn’t shown up for you yet.” Ah. “That’s Little Fucker.”

Ian nods. Interesting. “Are Little Fucker and Little Bitch related?”

“I dunno. Think they’re bangin’ each other, though.”

“Of course.”

Ian sees himself and Mickey in Little Bitch and Little Fucker.

Week Four hits, and Mickey is starting to wonder why he ever dreaded house arrest so much. It’s really not all that bad, especially when he’s got a caring husband who gives a shit about his-

“MICKEY!” comes Ian’s voice, fucking tearing through the apartment and launching Mickey into a startled fumble and ‘the fuck’ with his wet towel. “MICK GET THE HELL OUT HERE - QUICK!”

He’s dripping wet and ten seconds away from making a b-line to the gun drawer, but when he sees his husband’s face practically pressed up against the screen door, his look of sheer excitement is contagious.

“The fuck?” Mickey snaps, keeping the towel around his waist, “The hell are you out here-”

“It’s Speedy, Mick!” Ian beams, opening the door for him and pointing dramatically toward the green-space. “He’s getting it! He’s gonna get it, finally!”

Mickey shuffles over to the rail, the history that’s being made making his blood run hot when he sees it with his own two eyes, Speedy Gonzales digging frantically at the exact spot that he’s been too much of a dumbass to check for a whole month.

He and Ian grow deathly still. Wait with bated breath. 

And then…finally…after weeks of anticipation…

“Oh my god,” Ian grins, both of them watching Speedy Gonzales stuff the acorn into his mouth and then dart for cover under the bushes.

“Well whaddaya know - stupid fucker actually did it.” About damn time.

Beside him, Ian wrangles Mickey wetly into his side, processing the moment proudly. Silence may float between them, but it’s positively electric. Fiery. And when Ian glances down with him, Mickey knows the exact look in his eyes.

“You bricked up right now?”

Ian nods, swallowing thickly.

Speedy Gonzales is left to eat in peace as the two of them push their way inside, eager to celebrate the rush Little Bitch and Little Fucker-style.

[someonehugratchet]

Things I would say to TFP characters that would probably confuse them:

Optimus:

• big dumb blue bitch

• how were you a librarian yet you can’t get people to be quiet

• pulling all the hoes with that autism rizz, hey big guy?

• single dad

• Have you ever been fragged from both ends at once?

• pookie smookie bear

• magnificent blue bitch

• you’re shaped like a friend

• Is your spark secretly a cat?

Ratchet:

• Nurse Ratched

• Cuckoo

• Can you step on me but like not kill me?

• actually you can kill me

• I’m going to bite you on the face

• handsome

• Transformers can get pregnant right? Would you like me to try get you-

• Big Boy

• Pretty Boy

• I want to show you Hacksaw Ridge but I think you’ll cry and I Optimus would get mad at me

• toots

• heya sugar tits

• what would you do if I swallowed a coin

• what would you do if I throw up blood a week ago and didn’t tell anyone

Arcee:

• Sis

• Shadowheart wannabe

• “Hello Darkness My Old Friend~”

• Sonic The Hedgehog

• baddy with an addy

• I wanna chew on your legs is that weird

• girly pops

• girl you should get your nails did

Bulkhead:

• You have a squishy kind of vibe about you

• bubba

• bulky boy

• you are a sweet potato and I will not elaborate

• mean green mother from out of space!

• just a little guy

• a sweet baby

• I’m adopting you as my brother sorry about it

Wheeljack:

• slut

• sorry

• pleasure bot

• ARE YOU ITALIAN OR SPANISH I DONT KNOW?

• is being in a jet like being inside another bot to you or…?

• did you bite as a sparkling?

• have you heard of One Direction?

• they totally did break up

• …

• like the wreckers-

• pookie

• Lone Ranger behaviour

Bee:

• MY SON

• a wittle baby

• with knives

• Scout’s Honour!

• your puppy dog eyes could save the war I’m so serious right now

• bumble baby

• honey bee

• honey pie

• cutie pie

• I would commit so many war crimes for you

• starch that I will like right now don’t even test me

Smoke Screen:

• swiper no swiping

• twin~ where have you been~?

• have you considered war crimes?

• sparkly boy

• stoner screen

• vape screen

• Vapor screen

• shiny baby

• I have… another child?

• problem child

[transingthoseformers]

Lately, I've been trying to nail down the dynamics I like best for MegOp, and I've settled on at least one-

Megatron had plenty of on the fly, basically zero communication hookups during his gladiator days, where horny mechs would stand around looking sexy in the washracks and someone just groped you to initiate something (broken servo if you're rejected), but he's never started anything that needs a real conversation. His plan for seducing Optimus Prime post-war is:

- Be in sexy situations

- Optimus will simply stick his spike in me no conversation needed bc my panels are hip height and I'm attractive

- ????

- Profit

Meanwhile, Optimus Prime is a Normal person, who believes in wacky, outlandish, utopian things like bodily autonomy, and communicating his desires honestly. So when Megatron keeps comm.ing him about how he's been "stuck in a wall" or "needs help stretching" or "could really use a massage" Optimus mostly interprets these things as Megatron either choosing to spend time with him (romantically?), or, more importantly, being more vulnerable with him and "learning to ask for help", which he is wildly touched by. So, like a person interacting with a maybe dateable coworker, and not a porno actor.

Needless to say, Megatron is furious.

"I went through the trouble of positioning my aft so that it was sticking out of the wall PERFECTLY and he just- pulled me out of it! He didn't even feel me up while doing it!! The NERVE, Soundwave!!! It's like he's not even interested."

Optimus, earlier, 3 seconds after making sure Megatron was fine after the wall: "Do you want to refuel together later? I'd like to talk to you more often, but we're always so busy. We really should make more time for it."

Ratchet and Soundwave are getting wildly different answers when they ask their respective friend about how the progress of this relationship is going.

ghhGHJH YES

PROFIT or so he thinks

Megatron I swear to God, you're in for a situation

hdhdhh sorry I'm choking on my ramen at "stuck in a wall"

Optimus is here acting like a genuinely good person, and Megatron's so frustrated with it

And Optimus is exactly giving him a time of day to chat too

I need Ratchet and Soundwave to talk about the different sides of this and Realize

[lets-try-some-writing]

Hope your day is amazing! Hope you arent too stressed

How would the autobots react if Raf did in fact die from being blasted by dark energon? How do you think the series would change?

It would end horribly. Let me say that much.

I think Ratchet would take it hardest if I am being honest. After losing Cliffjumper and so many others, Rafael would be the final nail the coffin. I imagine the whole series would turn darker, if only on the side of the Autobots. Ratchet I think would begin to devote himself even more to his hatred of Megatron, possibly to the point of throwing himself into combat as well. He would want vengeance and a chance to redeem himself for his failure to help Rafael when he needed it most. He would embody the saying, "Demons run when a good man goes to war."

Optimus would remain in the grim state he found himself in during that episode. I don't see him going bayverse, but he would be darker and far less willing to offer mercy. I imagine he would still do his best to keep the Vehicons out of it, but seeing such a young life extinguished right in front of him, from another innocent species no less... I don't see it ending well. It would finally firm his resolve to kill Megatron and I can see both him and Ratchet working together in that regard and grieving together.

Arcee and Bulkhead I can see becoming far more protective of their wards, maybe even to the point of sending them away. They would refuse to risk anything after Rafael. If Jack and Miko weren't removed from their care, I don't doubt that they would be far more cautious and clinical. It was attachment that led to Rafael being injured in the first place. Best to keep things clinical until the kids inevitably do something that forces the team to acknowledge them again.

Poor Bumblebee though. He would take it just as hard as Ratchet I think. Rafael was his first ward and a friend. The death of Rafael as a byproduct of war I believe would influence him for better and for worse at the same time. He would step up, becoming more of a leader and a warrior as times demanded it. At the same time, he would follow in Optimus's footsteps and likely become more stoic after an initial phase of pure wrath that mimics Ratchet's mental state.

The Autobots as a whole would be far more wiling to fight and kill for victory. They've lost too many, and by the time Magnus and Smokescreen arrive, they will be in for one harsh wakeup call as the entire team march off to war with vigor and wrath not seen since the start of it all.

[witchofthesouls]

In the soul mate au between Miko and Tarn, the incoming Cybertronians would think that Jack Darby is the biggest ho to ever ho.

Ratchet is dying because Jack's mannerisms and ways of affection do remind the medic of the halcyon days with Orion Pax, pre-Megatronus. (Mind you, Ratchet has rose-tinted glasses about those days and feels really nostalgic over Orion's quirks. Even if he had to bail the mech from jail several times and stop him from eating tampered fuel substances.) And he just wants his other colleagues and fellow Autobots to know the real Jack.

Unfortunately, Jack has a tendency to meet all the newcomers in various states of undress, aka without his armor, which is a very shameless state.

Ratchet first walked into a freshly cyberformed!Jack, coming out of the shower with only a towel around his waist because of the nasty amount of sludge in every inch of his frame. Even his armor needed a deep scrubbing. In parts.

Soundwave remet the guy in his swim trunks because he came from relaxing in a geyser.

The first time he met the Justice Division, he was stripped down to sweatpants while Miko was categorizing his opened chassis, including his spark chamber. Miko was practicing the new educational module from Soundwave and Ratchet, and Jack was the willing dummy since they were trying to nail down the differences between baseline Cybertronians and their hybrid status. So not just shameless, but in a highly provocative position as well. Miko and Jack were treated to the sight of stumped D.J.D. members with slaw jaws and choking noises.

So now, mecha are thinking that Jack and Miko have an "understanding." And Tarn's jealous over it.

______

Jack breathed as evenly as possible. Body still as Miko carefully traced his new organs, muttering Neocybex under her breath on what each part was called, both in Pit Kaonite and Iaconi medical. Her fingers were blunted, not her usual talons, as she skimmed the connections, musculature, protoform, and circuitry. Jack closed his optics, sinking into a light mediation, and only shivered as those fingers brushed over his new heart.

"How does this feel," Miko questioned as she coaxed the chamber to open. And he allowed it. All three of them had been together for lifetimes, and very little boundaries existed between them at this point.

"Weird," Jack replied as his spark quivered, white light blinding, shadows playing across Miko's curious face and the walls.

"Good weird? Bad weird? Spiritual possession weird? You have to give me something more descriptive." She said with exasperation, teeth glinting in the byplay between light and shadow.

"Dangerous weird." His words hitched, body twitching, vision clouding at the edges, and he forced down the sudden instinct to flee-FLEE into dark corners, to sink into the safety of the furniture shade.

Due to the uplinks between them, Miko immediately applied the medical overrides, and the painted diagnostic sigils flared to life across his limbs, and Jack went limp, tension cut from his body.

Miko frowned. The geared rings in her amber optics turned as she ran calculations, and whatever she was about to say was cut as the closet door opened.

Jack couldn't see them as he was sitting on the couch with his back towards them, but he picked up quite a crowd. All of the individuals choking on air. Wings twitching from the unknown signatures suddenly appearing in his space, and Miko lined her own over his, exuding calm-still-potential allies.

She huffed, amusement and annoyance warred in her field as she quickly pulled off the sigils with a fanciful twirl of her fingers, and they worked together to disconnect their systems from each other. Jack shut closed his chassis, and his innards dispersed once more, spark chamber hiding wherever it was. It was honestly far more difficult for him to drag that specific organ to the open air than his first attempts to blend his new metal frame into living trees. "This isn't what it looks like, old man."

Jack pulled over his shirt to cover his protoform, and turned around, dark and pink wings avoiding each other in familiarity, to see Ratchet running a servo down his face and an assortment of bewildered strangers staring at them through the portal. Even if the Decepticon badges weren't gleaming on a chassis, the tank with the mask shaped as the very Decepticon logo was a dead given away of their allegiance.

:: Soundwave does it better. He got the extra creep factor without the eye holes. :: Miko snorted through the private channel, crossing her arms as she leaned on the back of the couch, deceptively loose and uncaring.

:: Hey, don't knock down a perfectly good presentation. Eyes are windows to the soul, and eyes make others feel at ease. Soundwave gives no fucks about normalcy or social manners. ::

:: Soundwave does what better? :: Raf commented. :: And hard agree on that assessment. ::

:: We'll fill you in later. :: Jack replied as Miko simultaneously responded. :: We got fresh meat. ::

"So," Jack drawled, propping an elbow on the sofa back, supporting his head on that hand. "What brings this lot to our corner of the universe?"