#this is my third attempt at uploading this. tumblr just keeps eating the post. why

[sunsetsands]

The people have spoken. Non-face-inclusive femboy photo content will gradually commence on this blog, in addition to all of the other spec bio and xenobiology stuff. I sincerely apologize to the three people who voted “no”.

Photos under cut

Below is a set of images of me wearing a skirt I had recently purchased at a nearby clothing store. It was kind of strange seeing everyone around me not be bothered or offput by me buying a skirt, but I’m not complaining. It ended up fitting perfectly and being really comfortable.

One of my cats was also there. Her company was greatly appreciated.

In addition to the skirt photos, I also took a few pictures with shorts on, just for the sake of variety. These shorts are actually knee length, but I rolled them up to better fit with the rest of the outfit. I’m surprised they stayed in place for so long.

That’s all the photos I have of this particular outfit. More fem clothes pictures will will come in the future whenever I get around to creating them. Stay tuned and remember: If you thirst after me under any of my posts I will come to your house at night and kill you.

[entropic-introspection]

Part the third! I feel like its a sort of. Odd part, because its when suddenly there’s plot and me attempting to start explaining the whole nonsense with Cybertronian submissive/dominant coding, but hey! It’s done!

And for those of you who don’t like reading this on tumblr- eventually, a cleaned up version will be uploaded to AO3. I’ll post a link when it happens! For now though, this is titled I Love You for Psychological Reasons, abbreviated ily4pr because that is. An astonishingly accurate acronym actually.

So, what is the Autobot high command like? SNAFU, honestly.

“Ow! Ratchet, are you sure this is necessary?” Optimus asked, trying to squirm away. He received an especially fierce jab with the welder for his troubles.

“Maybe if someone didn’t run off like a partially plated sparkling, no,” Ratchet said. “Quit squirming or I’ll weld your arm to your chassis by accident.”

“Accident,” Optimus muttered. “Right.”

Ratchet cracked the barest hint of a smile that he let seep into his field, but kept his eyes on his work. “Don’t you two have anything better to do?” he called over his shoulder at the annoying buzz of conjoined fields behind him.

Jetfire and Jetstorm looked at each other. “No?” they said in unison.

“We be taking Prime to see Ultra Magnus and maybe sort of Magnus Sentinel after this!” Jetstorm said. “So until then, we be waiting.”

“Prime’s a big bot, I’m sure he can make his own way there,” Ratchet said sardonically.

“Sentinel maybe Magnus gave us specific orders!” Jetfire said. “He be wanting us to be ready to drag you in by your unecessary wingtips to be explaining this mess to the Ultra Magnus. Though those be missing right now.”

Ratchet could feel the tiny twitches in Optimus’ plating, cables suddenly tensing and trying to recalibrate for a missing weight. His processor was probably stuck on a loop, looking for his jetpack and its associated protocols plus its weight. Not uncommon for an injury like that, but it could be a sign of further damage. He’d keep an eye on it.

“I thought he wasn’t supposed to get too much unexpected news,” Optimus said.

Jetfire and Jetstorm gave Optimus pitying looks. “You thinking he miss whole planet shaking from huge warp? Or missing hammer? Sir tell us he be telling Ultra Magnus just so he not worry so much!” Jetstorm explained.

“And conveniently means he can’t explain what all he’s mucked up or else it might be too much for that poor old spark,” Ratchet muttered cynically, too low for the twins to hear. Optimus glared at him, but made no other movements. Smart bot. Most of the Academy bots learned pretty quick that the one person you never argue with was your medic, but Ratchet’s heard a few stories to suggest that Sentinel definitely-not-Magnus took a few tries to get it through his thick helm. That threat to weld arms to chassis wasn’t uncommon, nor was it entirely un-acted on. With a few adjustments, of course. Such as possibly welding a big mouth shut.

“All right,” Optimus said. “Can you tell Sentinel I’ll be there shortly? I’ll bring the hammer as well.”

Ratchet frowned. Optimus would be tired from both the battle and the repairs, not to mention a full submissive shouldering their way through a full dominance challenge could bring its own problems. If he had his way, Optimus would be resting for the day, alone or with friends as he preferred.

(Some part of him rolls its optics at his use of the word day, but, well, Earth had affected all of them. He feels awful to even think it, but he’s glad that Optimus ended up stuck with their horrible little rag-tag team of misfits on Earth, because the thought of him going through the rest of the Autobot Guard training alone-)

“I’ll come with you,” Ratchet said instead.

Optimus cycled his optics. “What? Why? I thought you said-”

Ratchet waved him off sharply. “I just fixed you up, and that hammer is slagging heavy. I don’t want your whole arm falling off because you were careless.”

Jetfire and Jetstorm frowned. “Is not being a good idea,” Jetfire said. “Too many bots! Without security clearance, even!”

Ratchet snorted. “If I wanted our Magnus dead, I could’ve just let Shockwave finish him off, and if I wanted the hammer, I had plenty of time to make off with it.”

The twins drew themselves up and approached together. “Still not allowed,” Jetstorm said. “No good!” Jetfire said. They both glared at Ratchet, their fields shoving their assorted bits of dominance at the both of them. Young bots, honestly. Medics didn’t give a slag about dominance and submission because that’s stupid when you’re saving lives, and Optimus hadn’t even stuttered at dominance challenges much stronger than whatever these two could dredge up. Still not good for them to get ideas.

Ratchet raised an eye ridge as he put his welder down and turned around, and neatly swatted them down with a burst of sharp edged medical grade dominant EMF. “Don’t get into a code off with a medic,” he drawled as the twins flinched backwards. “It doesn’t tend to impress us much.”

“Just… go ahead,” Optimus said to them. “I’ll convince Ratchet, or take responsibility.”

“I’m my own responsibilty,” Ratchet growled, but the twins had already fled. He looked over at Optimus. “You ok, kid? Can’t be fun dealing with any of this on top of a full challenge from that slag eating idiot Megatron.” Primus knew he’d have a raging helmache after that, even with a lower sensing capacity.

“I’m fine, Ratchet,” Optimus said. “I’m just… out of practice.”

“Heh. Earth was a lot quieter, wasn’t it,” Ratchet said.

“I recall there being a few Decepticons,” Optimus said with a smile.

“Details,” Ratchet said dismissively. “At least we weren’t socializing with them.”

Optimus stifled a laugh as Ratchet stretched, working out the kinks in his back cables. He relaxed his field as well, dropping the medical coding that let him project whatever was needed to calm patients. A vague neutral was the most popular, but he could vary it towards either dominance or submission as needed. It was supposedly indistinguishable from a natural EMF, but there was always something off about it. Made bots jumpy, and feeling others constantly probing his EMF without thinking to find that wrongness made Ratchet irritable.

Still, it had it’s advantages sometimes. He eyed Optimus, wondering if he should have tried to soothe him with unassuming dominance. He could scrounge up a bit of that from his own code, although it wouldn’t be very strong.

Optimus caught his look and rolled his optics. “I’m fine,” he stressed. “Besides, I think after getting hit by Megatron’s field, any dominance is going to feel like acid.”

“Fair enough,” Ratchet shrugged, but quietly decided to keep a close eye on the kid. You never knew when complications would pop up, and Optimus was annoyingly stubborn about actually telling him what was wrong. Dominance and submissive coding was a nightmare to deal with, being stuck somewhere between a physical ailment and a mental one, but he’d do his best.

Optimus was still side-eying him, so he made a small show of examining Optimus’ scratched faceplates. “Well, your face will look like you lost a fight with the ground for a while, but it’s nothing your self repair can’t handle. I suppose we should get moving.”

Optimus opened his mouth to argue, only to be stopped by Ratchet’s look. He sighed. “We should,” he agreed resignedly, grabbing the hammer from where it rested on the wall.

The journey to Ultra Magnus’ room was uneventful, although security seemed to be a little non-plussed at how to handle Optimus carrying the Magnus Hammer since it was, technically, a weapon of possibly mass destruction.

Sentinel eventually stuck his head out the door, scowling. “Would you get in here already!” he said impatiently. “And give me that!” he said, snatching the hammer from Optimus’ hands, hissing in displeasure when its handle sparked.

“I’m sorry, Sentinel,” Optimus said as they walked inside, trying to cover Ratchet’s snort, “I just assumed-”

“Haven’t you learned your assumptions get bots killed,” Sentinel snapped, placing the hammer gently against the wall by the medical berth.

“Enough,” Ultra Magnus said, vocalizer rasping and popping from lack of use. “What is done is done.” He was propped up on the medical berth, attached to various silent monitors. A few tubes ran through his emergency intakes on his chest, carrying fluid in and out. Optimus saw Ratchet squint and frown, but stay silent.

“Ultra Magnus, sir,” Optimus said respectfully. “It’s good to see you up.”

“For a given value of up,” Ultra Magnus said. His optics roamed over Optimus. “You look quite good for someone who took on Megatron.”

“I was lucky,” Optimus said, trying to shove the embarrassed flush out of his field. “I didn’t think I would be able to do much besides stall him until help could arrive.”

“Well,  you couldn’t even do that,” Sentinel drawled. “And if you hadn’t hung up on me, I could have told you that all of our forces were occupied with evacuating civilians and holding the line to keep the Decepticons contained within the districts around Trypticon.”

“All of them?” Ratchet said blandly. “Goodness me, I thought that the increased militarization in Iacon was to prevent this sort of thing.”

Sentinel scowled, and Optimus hurried to speak before he could open his mouth. “I am sorry for, ah, taking the Magnus Hammer,” he said, layering submissiveness into his field. Sentinel tended to like that. “I wasn’t sure if I could take on Megatron without it, seeing as how it’s too easy for him to shrug off my axe. Besides which, I thought that if I were to walk into an ambush, the Hammer’s electrical abilities would be able to take out a larger number of enemies at once.”

“Well reasoned,” Ultra Magnus croaked with a nod. “But you cannot do that again, Optimus Prime.” There was a brush of dominance in his field, so weak and far gone from its usual vibrant rush that Optimus felt almost off-balance.

“Of course, sir,” he said automatically. “I understand.” I don’t mean that, he realized. He felt as though that should bother him more than it did.

“Do you now,” Ultra Magnus said. “Perhaps…” Sentinel and Optimus exchanged confused looks over Ultra Magnus’ head as he stared off into the distance, humming slightly to himself. This certainly wasn’t normal behavior. Optimus heard Ratchet quietly sigh behind him.

“In any case,” Ultra Magnus said suddenly, focusing back on the two Primes before him, “There is always much to be done, now more than ever. I did not expect to wake to the news that we had captured Megatron only to have a mass escape, but this means we are in more danger than ever. Be on the lookout for unusual behavior that may hint at new Decepticon movements. We know they are out there, and they will return. They have proven they may already be here.” He paused to take a few ragged inhalations. “I fear that I must rest now. Protect the Commonwealth, soldiers. Dismissed.”

“Sir!” Optimus and Sentinel said, saluting. They turned to leave as a medic entered the room. Ratchet said something to them in a low tone, but the other just shook their head and pushed him towards the door.

“Is it very bad?” Optimus asked quietly as the door slid shut behind them.

“Of course everything’s bad,” Sentinel snapped before Ratchet could say anything. He glared at the guards, who were staring straight ahead uncomfortably, as if optic contact was what would make this supposedly private conversation awkward.

Sentinel moved forward, grabbing Optimus’ elbow to guide him. Ratchet trailed after them, hovering like a particularly irritated Earth storm cloud.

“Optimus needs to rest-” he started.

“Optimus needs to stop causing new problems!” Sentinel hissed. “I’m trying to take care of things and you two are ruining it!”

“What have I ruined?” Optimus asked in confusion. “From the sound of it, no one would have been able to stop the Decepticons-”

Sentinel groaned in exasperation. “See! You don’t even know what our real problems are. Fine. You know what?”

“Since you’re incapable of keeping out of trouble, I’m sending you to where you at least can’t make it worse. Your pet techno-organic said that something was wrong on that disgusting mudball of a planet and said that your underling Bumblebee couldn’t talk to me at the moment.”

“What?” Optimus said, alarmed. “Sari and- What sort of trouble?!”

“I don’t know, and I really don’t care,” Sentinel said in annoyance. “There’s no reason for any Decepticons to still be there, and you rounded up the All Spark fragments to repair it. As far as I’m concerned, anything else is those squishies problems. But for now? You can go check it out. It’s not like you can make anything worse there.”

“And as for you,” he said, rounding on Ratchet with an accusatory finger already pointing. “You are to remain here, in Iacon, on Cybertron, since you refuse to find a secondary pilot for Omega Supreme.”

Ratchet looked more like a storm cloud than ever. “I have told the Council-”

“Too bad,” Sentinel snapped. “I don’t care what you think, I still hold authority until Ultra Magnus is back on his peds. And I want you here on Cybertron, and Optimus can go back to those stupid squishies.”

“Alone?” Ratchet said archly. “Didn’t we just prove that’s not a good plan?”

Sentinel rolled his optics. “It’s not like there’s anything on Earth that could seriously threaten him anymore.” - “Get outta here!” Mixmaster sneered, chivying off the tiny organics attempting to investigate their build site. “Shoo!”

“Ey, they’re kinda cute when you look at ‘em right,” Scavenger said. He winced as a bullet pinged off his plating. “Kinda noisy though.”

“They’re messin’ up our timeline,” Mixmaster grumbled. “You know how boss gets about that.”

“Yeah, well, boss is busy right now,” Scavenger said. He looked off into the distance, where Dirt Boss was busy yelling at some humans from atop the tank he had cerebro-shelled. The little bug dude was yelling back at him, but wasn’t getting much of anywhere. “We ain’t on the clock ‘til he gets back. ‘Sides, what’s so important here anyways that we gotta build here? Thought with Megatron gone we’d be doing stuff more discreet like or somethin’. Ain’t worth the trouble.”

Mixmaster shrugged eloquently. “This pink stuff’s worth a ton to the right folks,” he said. “Guess it’s good for us too? Got no flavor to it, not like that good oil though. Still, we set up this here mining rig and we can get set for life.”

“But do we really gotta set up here?” Scavenger said, leaning back against the scaffolding they already had up, ignoring how the humans seemed to panic as it groaned under the stress. “Organics like these are a workplace hazard. We can just go’n find some more-”

“There ain’t more!” Mixmaster argued. “Not yet, I think, if Dirt Boss’ is right. I’m lookin’ at this here energon stuff and it ain’t natural to this here planet, but it’s wellin’ up for some reason. Nearest I can tell, somethin’ pushed a reaction that’s causin’ this here organic scrap to start cyberizing. Gave it a bit ‘a sentio metallico to kick-start some slag, and the rest is some chemistry mumbo jumbo that you ain’t gonna understand anyhow.”

“Yes, but I might,” a new voice broke in.

The two Constructicons looked up to see one of the Starscream clones floating down, touching down with barely a sound.

“Who’s you?’ Mixmaster asked, instantly suspicious.

“Slipstream,” she said with a smile. “I think I can help you boys with your problems. Pro-bono, even. For free,” she clarified at their blank looks.

“Yeah?” Scavenger said, trying to make his leaning pose look as nonchalant as it had been a few clicks ago. “’Cause since you showed up, I got this real big problem-”

“I have null rays and a willingness to use them to take care of that ‘problem’,” Slipstream said. “Wanna keep that sentence going?”

“No ma’am,” Scavenger said, hands moving to cover his more delicate cyber-anatomy.

She gave a flinty smile. “Good. Now then. Do I talk to you, or is there someone else I need to terrorize first?”