#turbo verse

[dexstoner]

Guys what if we had a Turbo Verse?

I am bringing up this thought because there have been plenty of aus made based around Turbo and the whole concept of a whole verse of him is actually really interesting, all fun n all for them all to meet one another plus.. As Felix said:

But all silly jokes a side, the whole idea of a verse is neat, It would be fun to expand relationships between Turbo's and see which ones get along and their "teams" if you will.

Just a silly idea concept,,

[stealingcodeau]

Synopsis: Turbo and the Turbo Twins try their best to keep their cabinet relevant and popular by sneaking into different games and stealing bits of their code at a time not knowing the risk of doing so...

HELLO GUYS IT'S BEEN TOO LONG SINCE I USED TUMBLR AND I GOTTA THANK @randomalistic @king-crawler FOR THEIR 2HR VIDEO ON TURBO AND NOW I CAN'T STOP BRAINROTTING ABOUT THIS FUCK AND BEHOLD MY BRAND NEW AU FOR THE FANDOM IDK IF I CAN GET THE STORY UP AND RUNNING IF I DON'T I AM MASSIVELY SORRY OK BYE LOL~

UPDATE 1: HOLD ON THE STORY IS MORPHING INTO HORROR TERRITORY I THINK I GOT SOMETHING JUICY IN THE MIX :0

[jasperlion]

Alm is going to feel someone is watching him from afar. Yes, it is kid Chrom. You can't possibly tell a kid that one of heroes are literally there and not get excited. "That's... the Saint Hero .... w-wow.... he looks so cool ..."

It was a day like any other— at least, it was at first. Wake up before the sun, train, eat, train again... when there was little to do in ways of assignments, it's how he kept his hands busy and mind focused on something or other.

Askr was slowly becoming more familiar, though the new faces here and there were at times a little overwhelming to keep up with. He made it his business to be nice and welcoming whenever he met someone new, of course, but sometimes... sometimes he really wondered about the people who arrived. Especially the kids. If anything, Alm thought they ought to stay home, or at least a nicer and safer place— not encounter more stresses like war at the doorstep of an unfamiliar kingdom at almost every turn.

So what a surprise it was, then, to feel watched... by who he was absolutely sure was a very young version of Chrom. From what he could garner at a sideways glance, anyways. Enough of a surprise to almost trip over his own two dang feet at the vocal, adoring praise. Gods, he felt flustered. Recovering with what he hoped was some remnant of grace, he takes a few more swings in what he hopes is a more dignified manner to practice his form... then drops his stance to turn to the boy, blade sheathed and secured. Wouldn't want to cause some kind of accident!

"Hey there, friend." The young man greets about as casually as he could muster, giving it his all to sound inviting and welcoming. He's not sure if Chrom is the kind of kid who didn't like being spoken to as 'kiddo' or 'little guy', so 'friend' was a safe bet. A nice one. He remembered how much he hated when people 'talked down' to him as a kid— so time to avoid that. Oh, yes, that was almost definitely a tiny version of Chrom in front of him; though at least full of wonder.

"Here to get some practice in? You can join me, if you want..."

Uh, but was it normal for kids to want to train? It's all he could think of doing as a boy, but mostly after... an event... so he's not sure if that's even common. Probably not. But not making the offer might be perceived as a slight? "Or, you know, just hang around. I don't mind! What's your name?" Of course he knew the kid's name! Or, well, he was fairly sure he did, but he might as well ask. Oh! Wait! "I'm Alm. Although I guess you already knew that! Haha..."

He's a historical figure, a-after all. 'Don't think too hard about it, Alm, or your brain will go to places again.' A cool and absolutely not normal event. He'd probably be vibrating in his shoes if he was in little Chrom's place— time to keep the energy on the calmer side. Oh! Offer your hand. Yes.

And so he does once he strides closer. "Nice to meet you! Finding everything okay here? I figure you're pretty far from home, like me." Yes, nice and casual and friendly. Perfect. Probably. His smile is genuine, but Alm does feel a little nervous. His friend or not, this version hasn't met him, and... is also a little kid. (WHY is the summoner bringing kids here...)

He might as well be a friendly and welcoming face, and... well, the more kids he can keep off the battlefield, the better. Gods know it did him and his friends no favors to have been in battle when they were around ten.

[byeolyeou]

‘ hey, uh, tommy, right? ’ elias rubs the back of his neck, the future pink ranger was nervous, new to the school and all. ‘ so sorry to be a bother, but, i heard you were a sensei and i've always wanted to learn. do... do you think you could teach me? ’ [ dunno, wanna set this during uh, turbo? ]

a curious blink is given by the red ranger , but he smiles brightly -- fingers pulling curly hair into a ponytail . ❝ sure -- i have a couple open slots for new students , man . ❞

@stcllata

[tres-fidelis]

...ok they're like never gonna meet unless timey wimey shenanigans happen but. h. hey jayden. Turbo's 8'4

Send your character's height and I'll compare it to mine.

"....."

THAT'S A NOPE FOR HER!

[futurefind]

//thinking abt hunter x vampire/spn aus but also . actually. mystery variant where sa is somewhat successfully masquerading spn who hides it via her turbo wandering merc lifestyle and is half speedrunning away from The HunterTM half doing so much lying through omission to avoid getting gutted in her sleep w.o drawing too much attention etc.

[sylviareviar]

She's looking at her Weather Painters deck. It took her a long time to build it, since it's hard to get specific cards aside from ordering them online, but she managed to gather the cards necessary for the build she made. It wasn't a perfect build, but it was pure Weather Painters, and she loved the cards' designs.

"...I wish I could duel someone..."

[strywoven]

@inhumann has requested a story : he hoists their legs over broad shoulders, uncaring for the way they squirmed and whined beneath him. "lil doe... why ya actin' up like this? ain't this whatchu wanted?" a teasing smirk formed as he spoke and only grew in size as he dragged his lips across their inner thigh. "bet yer just soaked right now. been wantin' this to happen for the longest time. can't hide from me, I'm a demon little doe." 

tilting his head to the side ever so slightly he parts his mouth and digs his sharp fangs into their supple flesh. sweet iron tang fills him with a rush of power and he moans against their skin. "'m gonna make ya scream my name." / :''') hi kaen marko came for your entire life

𝑼𝒏𝒑𝒓𝒐𝒎𝒑𝒕𝒆𝒅.

This , a consequence of chasing after his affections for so long.  Long have they been playing with one another , teasing at something MORE THAN THEY ARE , wherein the godling had come to believe Marko would n e v e r consider them as anything beyond a rare-blooded contract.  Well , never say never , Kaen realizes with a fleeting , dazed wonder , splayed there on their back , watching him smirk up at them from between their legs— Such a turn of events , indeed , the tension between them at LONG LAST comes to its heated apex ; what a mess he’s making of them , and he has done barely anything at all … At least , not y e t .  Though they know a certain promise in the eyes when they see it , they know the tone of w a n t when they hear it ( ah , as if looking in a mirror , for is this not the very same way his little doe has treated him since their contract began ? how rewarding it is to see the roles reversed ) .

Oh , gods alive , oh — !  They did not think this far ahead , the poor thing , so unfamiliar with intimacy , now being thrown so far out of their depth and overwhelmed by all that’s happening.  His taunting them does little to help , and they can only think to try and g l a r e down at him , pinning their ears while smoke curls in dark , cindering wisps from their nose.  Already their body is responding to him , ATTUNED TO HIM ; every touch , every whisper of breath to their fawny-flesh … Did we forget the unspoken part of his doe’s heritage ?  A godling of SEX & FERTILITY .  Their instinct knows what to do even before they do , their blood likely s w e e t e r , calling out to the demon , addictive for the pheromones spilling into their scent and draping across their flesh.  Kaen always despised ( always feared ) this part of their nature – how hungry it was , how greedy – their father often described it as a BLOOMING , but for Kaen … It was an OVERGROWTH ; a raging inferno set in their gut that expanded and began to devour them , urging them to heed to temptation and desire.

… And what if they did ( if only the once ) ?  Isn’t that what they wanted ?  What they BOTH wanted ?

Kaen whimpers again when he bites into the thick swell of their inner thigh , the crystal of their antlers and stones flickering b r i g h t l y as their body jerks at the pain , at the pleasure that smooths the sensation.  It won’t take much to make them weak , but – they think – they can make Marko WORK FOR IT just the same.  Trembling though they are , Kaen props themself up , their heart racing , their mind hazed.  Hand reaches out , gentle – at first – with scarred fingers sifting through black locks before seizing tresses TIGHT & YANKING .  ❝ Y’re– y’re right.  An’ ye’ve kept me waitin’ , ❞ They chide lightly , eyes burning in the dim of the room , smoke and cinder spilling out of their lips and twirling ‘round the rough r u m b l e of their words , ❝ Mo deamhan … ❞ My demon , Kaen calls him with no sore lack of affection , their legs hooking a little tighter about his shoulders , drawing him c l o s e r , ❝ Ah really ‘ope y’re not makin’ me empty promises t’night … ❞  They know he isn’t , but they want terribly to rile him up further , to see exactly HOW FAR he shall go.

[the-smallest-star]

could you make a crystal coconut Hannah?

"I could make a coconut looking crystal if thats what you mean."

[decanard]

Dewey very rarely gets physical around his brothers the older they get because he's afraid he'll hurt them (Huey in particular). Webby (May and June verse dependant) though is still free game

[drugsforaddicts]

They played Sex = Money on Yle X radio this morning. I also tried to write down the lyrics, but man, at some parts I have no idea what he's saying so I marked them with [??] where I'm unsure about the words...

[Intro] Oooh let’s make sex money

[Verse 1] Siksi [??] mä unohin koko köörin [??] (Seksi-Maunoi koko kööri??) Keikkamyyjä mun sutenööri Lelulaatikost tilpehöörit Kieli tarttuu [??] skööri kööri [??] Poolopaita, housut, lippalakki tai nahkatakki Kaikki ne tippuu keikan aikana Sekö jos mikä on varma nakki

[Pre-Chorus] Naku-nak-nak-naku-naku-nak-nak-nakuna Koko perheen Käärijästä koko perheen krapula Pappa itkee, lapset kiljuu, mummo huutaa apua Ja terapautin tilinauha kiittää

[Chorus] Mä aloin myymään seksii ku seksi myy Ku en mitää muutakaan keksiny Hypin rahasta pelti paljaana Kato parasta ei saa halvalla

Mä aloin myymään seksii ku seksi myy Ku en mitää muutakaan keksiny Hypin rahasta pelti paljaana Kato parasta ei saa halvalla

[Post-Chorus] (Yeah, huh) [Verse 2] Täl alal ei sua kukaa huomaa Jos et osaa myydä ittees Kukaa ei sua kuolaa (Ei sua kuolaa) (Ah) Jos pöytään pitää saada ruokaa Ei pelkkä vilahdus pyllynposkista oo kovin luovaa

[Pre-Chorus] Siks tulin tänne nak-nak-naku-naku-nak-nak-nakuna Tää on tosi tarina Ei mitään iltasatua Pappa itkee, lapset kiljuu, mummo huutaa apua Ja terapeutin turbo Volvo kiiltää

[Chorus] Mä aloin myymään seksii ku seksi myy Ku en mitää muutakaan keksiny Hypin rahasta pelti paljaana Kato parasta ei saa halvalla

Mä aloin myymään seksii ku seksi myy Ku en mitää muutakaan keksiny Hypin rahasta pelti paljaana Kato parasta ei saa halvalla

Sex = Money Seksi on rahaa Sex = Money Seksi on rahaa Sex = Money Seksi on rahaa

[Post-Chorus] (Mitä vittua?)

[Bridge] Teen Only Fans bagii [??] Koko suomen daddy Isompi ku He-mani Isompi ku Danny

Kadulla on kuuma Ne huutaa mua hätiin Kadulla on puumaa Mut mulla on jo täti

Teen Only Fans bagii [??] Koko suomen daddy Isompi ku He-mani Isompi ku Danny

Kadulla on kuuma Ne huutaa mua hätiin Kadulla on puumaa Mut mulla on jo täti

[Chorus] Mä aloin myymään seksii ku seksi myy Ku en mitää muutakaan keksiny Hypin rahasta pelti paljaana Kato parasta ei saa halvalla

Mä aloin myymään seksii ku seksi myy Ku en mitää muutakaan keksiny Hypin rahasta pelti paljaana Kato parasta ei saa halvalla

Sex = Money Seksi on rahaa Sex = Money Seksi on rahaa Sex = Money Seksi on rahaa

[Post-Chorus] (Mitä vittua?)

[tj-dragonblade]

[Fic] With Every Nerve Alive

Fandom: The Sandman Pairing: Dreamling Rated: E Word Count: 4623 Tags: Human AU, Mechanic Hob, Rich Guy Dream, brief appearance by Matthew, Dream of the Endless is a Horny Little Weasel, class dynamics, as a kink perhaps, sweat is sexy, so is automotive grease apparently, scent kink, detailed sexual fantasies, Dream of the Endless is intense and unhinged, questionable lube choices, within a fantasy don't worry, no one's really getting fingered with engine grease, sugar daddy-sugar baby fantasies, glass sex toys

Notes: Prequel/bookend to Customer Service. I realized that Hot Mechanic Hob needed Dream's pov to get the full effect, so this happened. Also fills my @dreamlingbingo square C1, 'Sugar Baby', a couple thousand words in. Title taken from Turbo Lover by Judas Priest

Summary: Dream Atelíotes is merely seeking car repairs from a reputable shop; he was not expecting to get punched in the libido by the most beautiful mechanic he could have imagined.

On AO3

~ "Alright, and what're we lookin' at her for?"

"The clutch. Is not operating as expected; I fear I may have damaged it. Somehow."

Dream is grateful that the stout American behind the counter at Matthew's Motor Repairs does not pass any obvious judgement on this damning statement.

"Well, that definitely needs checking, then," he says instead, punching in notes on his computer terminal. "Hob'll be runnin' things for the next couple of weeks, lemme see when he can fit your girl in." He turns toward the half-open door that leads to the garage and yells.

"Hey Hob!"

"Yeah! Just a tic—"

"He'll definitely be able to find the problem and fix you up," the American is saying, but Dream pays him little mind, thinking ahead to schedules and obligations; the Porsche is not his primary means of transportation regardless. It had been a gift from Alex that he'd kept after the breakup, primarily out of spite. He will say, when asked, that he drives it for fun, but truthfully the manual transmission does not come easily to him and the car suffers for it. He is considering selling it, perhaps once the satisfaction of knowing how Alex seethes to see him with it has worn down—

"What's up?"

Dream spares a glance for the man who's just entered through the doorway to the garage, and promptly loses his breath.

—Exquisite—

The man is beautiful, average height and slim sturdy build, dressed in grimy coveralls that are split just enough at the zip to glimpse the collar of a plain white tee beneath. There is a sheen of sweat on his forehead and when he wipes at it, still with a wrench in hand, he leaves a faint smudge of black grease behind. His hair is dark, longish, tied up in a messy bun on the back of his head with wisps straying loose about his face attractively. His eyes and his smile are warm, strong nose and chin, a few days' worth of beard growth giving him a wonderfully soft-rugged cast that sets Dream's mouth to watering.

The coverall sleeves are rolled and twisted up to his elbows; the forearms exposed are liberally covered with dark hair, skin a warm sunkissed golden brown beneath, shapely and corded with the strength that comes of manual labor, of hefting tires and torquing wrenches. Dream considers, quite despite himself, how those hands might fit around his waist, his hips; how easily this man might lift or manhandle him about in bed, and the heat that has risen in his loins stirs approvingly.

"Mr. Atelíotes here's got clutch troubles with his Porsche," the American is saying. "Think you'll have time to check it out?"

"Not right away, I'm afraid. How soon would you be needing her back?" the mechanic asks, directly to Dream, and oh, the full focus of that gaze is divine.

"I am in no hurry," he manages to reply, voice only marginally dipping down toward sultry. He is here to see about car repairs, not to flirt with the hot mechanic in front of an audience. He is an adult. He is well-versed in exercising all manner of self control.

The mechanic smiles, like a ray of sunshine, and Dream's self-control is tested.

"Okay then, I can probably get you looked at and fixed up toward the end of next week, if that works for you? Thursday or Friday, let's say." He slips the wrench that he's still holding into a pocket on his coveralls, drawing Dream's attention to the lower half of his body, how the zipper on the coveralls goes all the way down underneath, and he firmly corrals and muzzles the thoughts that arise. Later. Let him finish his business here before he embarrasses himself.

"Next week is just fine," he agrees.

"Excellent," the mechanic says, beaming brightly, and Dream's mouth goes dry.

He is so unfairly beautiful.

The mechanic is talking now to the American who is entering Dream's work order and Dream drinks in the sight of him greedily, committing every detail to memory—the brush of silver at his temples, the crows' feet blooming at the corners of his eyes with every smile, the dimple in his chin just visible as a darkening of the scruff that adorns his jaw so beautifully. His arm flexes prettily as he points to the screen with a black-stained fingertip and his voice is strong yet soft and warm like honey; Dream sneaks a glance at his backside when he turns to the printer and finds the suggestion of shapeliness beneath the loose fit of the coveralls. Dream imagines, helplessly, buttocks and strong thighs covered in hair to match those exposed forearms, and barely stifles a whimper.

This man is absolutely exquisite, and Dream wants him.

Badly.

"Alright, Mr. Atelíotes, let me get your signature here," the mechanic says cheerfully, oblivious to the tempest he has stirred within Dream as he hands him the printed work order and a pen.

Dream makes certain that their fingers brush as he takes it, noting the smudge of fingerprints left on the paper by the other.

He glances at the mechanic's name on the form as he signs. Hob Gadling. He tucks the name safely into the vault of his mind, hoarding it for later use.

"Give me a call on Thursday next week, we'll see where we're at," Hob Gadling is saying, handing him a business card and leaving another grey-black thumbprint on the corner of the white cardstock. Dream immediately thinks of such fingerprints against the pristine paleness of his own skin and swallows thickly.

"Thursday," he repeats. "I will call then, thank you." It is Monday, currently; a week and a half is quite reasonable for routine car repairs in a reputable shop, he is given to understand, and Matthew's Motor Repairs is consistently rated with four and five stars online. He is confident that he has chosen well, especially when Hob Gadling smiles brightly while bidding him good day.

It is a good day indeed, for having met such a stunningly beautiful man.

~

He takes a cab home to Kensington, trying very hard to put his thoughts in order and focus on the week ahead, on his business meetings and the client proposal he's expecting on Friday. But his mind is full of brown eyes and warm smiles, hairy forearms and grease-stained hands, and his entire body finds these thoughts far more appealing than those of his day-to-day mundanities.

Hob Gadling lingers in his mind persistently, a siren call warming his blood and distracting him at the slightest provocation. Late afternoon finds him abandoning his office and retreating to his rooms, surrendering to the thoughts that have plagued him since his visit to Matthew's Motor Repairs this morning.

Hob Gadling—

He imagines how the smell of the shop might cling to the man, oils and gasoline and the sweat of his labor, intoxicating and inviting should Dream nuzzle in close. He imagines those hands with their black-stained fingertips, their work-roughened texture, sliding over his body. How might they feel against his skin, his chest, his thighs? On his tongue? He imagines the hungry light that might fill Hob Gadling's eyes, if Dream were to take those skilled fingers into his mouth and hold his gaze while sucking on them, tonguing lovingly at every crack and callous. He imagines those fingers dark all over with a thick layer of fresh grease, the mechanic holding them up with a smirk like a promise, turning Dream to lay on the bonnet of his car—or perhaps bending him over a stack of tires there in the garage, yes—and pushing those fingers inside him, deep and insistent and perfect while his other hand holds Dream down at the small of his back. Automotive lubricant is perhaps not sanitary or otherwise suitable for sexual use, but the heat-of-the-moment urgency of the idea appeals all the same.

He groans aloud at the thought of being fingered with the thick warm grease, the slide and drag and the way Hob Gadling's fingers would curve and press exactly right until Dream was shaking apart with pleasure, scrabbling at the rubber tread of the tires he's bent over. He imagines Hob Gadling murmuring complimentary filth above him—"You look so pretty with my fingers up your arse; bet you'd look even prettier speared on my prick"—as he comes and comes and comes.

Of course he wishes to have the mechanic's cock as well. He is certain it is full and glorious, a beautiful specimen that would fill him perfectly, touch every sweet spot within him and set him alight. He wants it in his hands, in his mouth, in his arse; he wants it any way he can have it.

He desperately wants to get fucked by Hob Gadling in his garage amongst his work, by Hob Gadling strong and sweaty and dirty in his element, vigorous and virile.

The car would perhaps be most comfortable for lying on his back, the better to see Hob Gadling's gorgeous face while taking his cock. He himself would be stark naked and the mechanic still in his coveralls, unzipped all the way to let his prick out. Dream imagines him naked beneath the grimy clothing; Dream envisions chest hair to match what was seen on his gorgeous arms. Dream imagines those arms sliding up along the bonnet beside him, bringing his legs with them until Dream is nearly folded double and breathless with the sweet pressure of the mechanic's dick inside him, pistoning deep and perfect.

Would Hob Gadling pick him up, like so much inventory to be moved about the shop? Would Hob Gadling fuck him standing upright, holding him as if he weighed nothing? He fantasizes about the strength in those forearms and biceps, of the way they would flex and hold, Dream's knees hooked in his elbows and those broad hands gripping his hips as the mechanic would bounce Dream up and down on his prick, Dream clinging around his neck and jack-knifed beautifully in his powerful arms.

He comes at the thought, face down on his knees in his bed with a toy vibrating steadily against his prostate as he strokes himself over the edge, and the orgasm is so intense that he loses all sense of space and time for a moment. The toy is still buzzing merrily when he comes back to himself and he fumbles for the remote beside him, turning it off without yet removing it. He rolls over, brings his messy hand to his face and licks. He wonders what difference he might taste between Hob Gadling and himself, imagines that he is licking Hob Gadling's spend from his hand instead of his own, imagines how those dark eyes and that lovely mouth would smile to see him do so, slow and lascivious.

He turns the toy back on.

His fantasies continue as the days progress. He imagines taking Hob Gadling into his mouth, tasting the sweat and the musk of him after working all day in the garage; he imagines lavishing his tongue all over the length of him, sucking and swallowing and milking him dry. He imagines Hob Gadling's work-roughened hands in his hair, combing through it, clenching tight as he spends into Dream's eager mouth.

He imagines Hob Gadling on his back on the low wheeled board that mechanics use for sliding beneath cars—he does not know its proper name, but he imagines opening Hob Gadling's coveralls while he is laid out on this board and riding him like a prize stallion there on the shop floor with the scent of his work and his sweat all around. He imagines the blackened smears Hob Gadling's hands might leave on him, on his hips, his waist, his arse.

He imagines Hob Gadling bending him over the bonnet of his Porsche, fucking him hard and fast and absolutely without mercy until he is screaming his pleasure, until he is so loud that the mechanic will cover his mouth to muffle the noise and simply fuck him harder still. He wants it, aches for it, imagines Hob Gadling's hands planted firm on his arse, squeezing, spreading him open for his pounding cock, leaving dirty smudges on both cheeks as they careen into orgasm together—

Dream comes under the warm cascade of his own rainfall shower, one hand braced against the sleek tiles while the other grips his pulsing cock tightly. He draws great gasping breaths of the humid air, mind barreling on even as his climax peaks and begins to subside. His mechanic in the shower with him after all of that, sudsy and slippery-wet beneath the spray, shedding the grease and grime of his workplace; his mechanic, pulling him in for a kiss, smelling now of soap more than sweat. The idea appeals, on more than one level, and will not be dislodged even as he dries and dresses for bed. He falls asleep at last to the thought of a scrubbed-clean Hob Gadling on his knees beneath the gently-pouring water, freshly-shampooed hair swept sleek and dripping back from his face and his smiling mouth wrapped around Dream's cock.

He wakes to the sun streaming in his window and lies alone in his spacious bed with drowsy thoughts of being kissed awake, of Hob Gadling's stubbled face and warm lips nuzzling against his cheek, of calloused hands with black-stained nailbeds petting down his sides and grasping his hips. Of Hob Gadling's strong shapely arms pulling him close, Hob Gadling's chest hair tickling his nose, Hob Gadling's heartbeat strong and steady beneath his ear.

He thinks of Hob Gadling following him about the kitchen as he fixes breakfast, imagines his mechanic in a borrowed robe that hits him mid-thigh and doesn't quite close over his chest. He does not currently own such a robe, but that does not matter to the fantasy. He imagines Hob Gadling draped warmly over his back in this too-small robe while he cooks, nuzzling kisses into the nape of his neck, purring about how he wants Dream for breakfast while dragging his calloused fingertips up the insides of Dream's bare thighs. Because of course Dream has merely thrown on a long shirt to cook for his lover, and of course his mechanic cannot keep his hands to himself, and of course Dream would like to be fucked over the kitchen worktop before breakfast.

It is a daring fantasy, this stranger in his home, infusing sex and affection into his daily routines, and Dream wants it with an intensity that is frightening.

He spins himself broader fantasies as the days become a week, of showing up to his mother's summer gala with Hob Gadling on his arm, a mere mechanic brought to an Atelíotes event. He dreams of engaging in increasingly indecent public displays with him where all the high society patrons would see, embarassing Mummy Dearest and igniting gossip that would haunt her for years. He would reward Hob Gadling handsomely for his part in the scandal, sexually, financially, both if he should like. Or perhaps he might offer Hob Gadling gifts and incentives without petty family business mixed in, lavish rewards simply for his affections and sexual attentions. The term 'sugar baby' is very much in line with his thoughts, if not entirely accurate; he is only forty himself and his mechanic had appeared to be in his mid-thirties at least. But that feeds into his story; Hob Gadling is well into adulthood and working in trade labor. Perhaps he never had the chance to go to university; perhaps he had grown up poor. Perhaps he might like to undertake a course of study now, if Dream were to offer to pay for such a thing, in thanks for how well-fucked his mechanic would keep him?

Perhaps he might gift Hob Gadling a luxury car like his Porsche, in return for the sexual services he should like to be provided. Perhaps he might buy him tailored suits, expensive clothes in the latest fashions. He is undeniably drawn to the grimy working-class vision that had been branded on his memory when dropping off his car, sweaty and grease-smeared and glowing with life, but he also imagines how stunning his mechanic might look cleaned up and dressed to the nines. Dream would like to wine and dine him at the finest restaurants in London, put him into a limousine after, open his perfectly-tailored trousers and sample his cock on the drive home. To Dream's home, of course, where he would take Hob Gadling to bed and offer up his body for his mechanic's use—which would be delightfully merciless, given how Dream had primed and teased and denied him with his mouth in the car.

Perhaps he might take Hob Gadling away with him on holiday, show him all manner of foreign destinations he would never have seen on his own; at each of them Hob Gadling would fuck him, in sumptuous hotel beds or private beach cabanas or the gleaming toilet stalls of michelin-starred restaurants, with every bit of skill and enthusiasm at his disposal—delighted to be Dream's kept man and eager to show his gratitude for all that Dream could provide.

Dream groans, dragging one hand down across his mouth and arched throat while the other works swiftly over his cock, writhing on his bed with his shirt undone and his trousers open. He is achingly hard, leaking steadily into every rapid stroke; he hasn't even bothered undressing, so caught up in the feverish fantasies of the money and favors he might lavish on this man who consumes his thoughts, of how thoroughly he could expect to be railed and ravished and seen to in return—

Orgasm overtakes him quite suddenly, leaves him gasping and breathless and wrecked, and still he craves more. His fantasies are delectable, but his appetite is insatiable.

He desperately wants the real thing.

~

It is Thursday of the next week at last and Dream, fueled by his fading ability to recall the precise brown of Hob Gadling's eyes or the way his cheeks crease up when he smiles, does not call Matthew's Motor Repairs to check on the status of his Porsche as instructed. Instead, he drives out, excusing the trip to himself by visiting a local bookseller first and picking up several selections to add to his personal library. He does not linger overlong among the shelves, however; today he is consumed with much more pressing distractions.

He must see Hob Gadling again, if only for a moment.

When he enters the shop, there is no one at the counter up front and the door to the garage is ajar, raucous music drifting faintly through. "Hello?" he calls, but receives no reply.

It is a warm day outside and quite warm inside as well; Dream imagines how sweaty Hob Gadling must be, to be performing physical labor under these conditions. Such thoughts do nothing to calm or cool him.

After only a moment's hesitation, he rounds the counter and passes through the doorway, at which point he can hear Hob Gadling's voice singing along—"You don't have a clue/If you did you'd find yourself/Doin' the same thing too!"—beneath the music, passably on-key no less.

Yet another appealing feature to this man; it is simply unfair. Dream draws himself up, heart beating harder, and ventures around the large sink and cleanup station until he can see his Porsche, up on ramps, and—

And legs sticking out from beneath the side of it on one of those rolling boards, Hob Gadling's legs no doubt, spread wide like an invitation.

Dream stops abruptly, heat pouring into his belly; he takes a deep breath of the warm stuffy air, the machine-and-metal smell of the garage doing nothing to calm his libido. He stares, helplessly, at the work boots and coveralls, at where they stretch across Hob Gadling's crotch, affording frustratingly little suggestion of what lies beneath. And just above that, he can see that the coveralls are unzipped, not quite far enough to expose underwear but enough that Dream is treated to a glimpse of warm golden-brown belly and the dip of his navel, the dark sweep of hair above and below it.

—Mouthwatering—

It is with tremendous effort that Dream corrals his thoughts, steps forward again, closes the space between them and clears his throat to announce his presence. He nudges one booted foot with his own, not entirely meaning to do so but somehow unable to resist.

"Bloody—" The mechanic scoots out from beneath the car and Dream's knees go weak; he is grateful they do not give out altogether.

Hob Gadling is indeed shirtless beneath his open coveralls, displaying a chest far more gloriously hairy than Dream had imagined, a pelt thick and dark and alluring. He wants to touch, to comb his fingers through and rub his face against it, to lick the trail of hair that leads down to where the parted zipper comes back together. There is a visible sheen of sweat on his skin and Dream would lick that off as well; Hob is smudged with grease in various smears across his torso and forearms and Dream can hardly think for the rushing of blood in his ears, the swelling of want in the pit of his stomach. He drags his eyes back up to Hob's face, trying to school the ravenous hunger from his own gaze; he does not think he is overly successful in that regard but there is discernible heat in the warm brown eyes that meet him, and it is difficult to care about dignity, propriety, with reality unfolding so near to the fantasies that have carried him through the last ten days.

He stutters through some explanation for his presence, barely aware of his own words, barely registering the rundown he is given in return, watching hungrily as Hob climbs to his feet. His car will be finished tomorrow. He will have reason to see Hob again tomorrow. But right now he is unraveling, his self control a tenuous and threadbare thing barely within his grasp. He is watching Hob's mouth as he speaks, captivated, obsessed with the warm color of it flashing among the dark scruff of Hob's beard, and Dream wants to taste. His mouth, his skin, his cock, which is surely as magnificent as the rest of him—Dream cannot bear the thought of leaving without confirming his certainties, but it is one thing to revel in fantasy alone in his bed and quite another to actually act on it when faced with the man before him—

"Is there something else I can do for you today, Mr. Atelíotes?"

Hob Gadling is looking at him, hip cocked and coveralls alluringly open, smile just this side of invitational; there is the strong suggestion of interest and an implied offer in that warm tone and Dream's resolve, such as it is, crumbles.

He reaches. He touches. He speaks his want and follows with a flirtatious tease to mitigate his intensity, is met by teasing agreement in return, but when his mechanic mentions cleaning up first he absolutely cannot agree.

"No. As you are now, please." He steps closer, directly into Hob's space, a week and a half of fantasies clamoring in his mind as the scent of the man wafts into his nose—oil and grease, warm metal, sweat and a faint trace of citrus and a hint of some pleasantly masculine deodorant; Dream's mouth waters, and his prick throbs.

His mechanic hesitates. "I'm kind of filthy though?"

There is a tinge of shame beneath the words, and Dream. Will not have it.

"I am aware, yes," he purrs, seizing the open lapels of the grimy coveralls, and kisses Hob Gadling with ten days' worth of anticipation and want.

~

Dream is coasting on an adrenaline and endorphin high as he drives home, afterwards. He acted. He spoke directly of what he wanted. And he got it. He had spent ten days nursing fantasy and now he has experienced a delightful sliver of the reality of Hob Gadling.

And tomorrow, he will experience more.

Sleep does not come easily that night, keyed up and aroused as he is, but he manages at last. He wakes later than usual the next morning; he eats a light brunch, the excitement in his stomach counterproductive to the task, and makes sure to drink more water than usual. Thoughts of Hob fill his mind, arousing, distracting, enticing; he recalls with a sharp thrill the taste of Hob's pleasure on his tongue, and he is eager to be on his way to their appointment.

But there are things he must do to prepare, first.

He takes an enema, then shaves and showers, lathering everywhere with his sweetest-smelling soap, determined to be the polar opposite of what he lusts for in Hob. He strives for the cleanest prettiest and freshest he can get, the better to be taken and sullied and dirtied by his mechanic; Hob had seemed quite pleased with that dynamic yesterday and Dream is eager to repeat it with Hob's cock in his arse this time.

To that end, he employs a favorite dildo once he is clean and dry, lubing himself carefully and working himself open on the toy, mind blazing with thoughts of Hob all the while. He knows, now, the size and the shape (and the taste!) of Hob's prick, and he is giddy with the anticipation of having it inside him. He is salivating over how Hob compares to the dildo, how Hob will fill him just that much better, what filthy things Hob might say while taking his time over long slow thrusts, how good it will feel when Hob finally rails him without mercy—

He must force himself to stop, hard and panting as he withdraws the toy from his body. He sorts through his glass plugs quickly, finding the one he wants and fitting it carefully inside himself. It's broad enough to stretch him just a little more, perfectly flared to fit just right inside and out, short enough that he can bend and sit without discomfort. It's a beautiful tease, as a matter of fact, keeping him keyed up and aroused as he dresses himself, making him squirm just a little with every step as he gathers his condoms and his pocket-sized bottle of lube and his phone wallet and water, and leaves the house.

He composes himself over the two blocks he walks to the busier streets where he can hail a cab, steeling himself to normalcy in both movement and appearance while pleasure sings in his veins with every subtle shift of the toy within him. He is half-hard, hidden well enough by the loose cut of his slacks, and works to keep his thoughts from heating any further until he has reached his destination.

The cab drops him outside of Matthew's Motor Repairs and he pays, distracted and breathless with anticipation. Hob is there, inside, and Dream is certain that Hob is just as eager as he is for their rendezvous.

He hopes that Hob is just as eager.

Closed for walk-ins due to special circumstances, reads the hand-written sign taped to the glass of the shop door. Ring if you have an appointment.

Dream's heart plummets for half a second, until he remembers their parting conversation yesterday about appointments and showing up and fitting in. This sign is for him, surely, a blatant invitation.

He takes a breath to calm the excited pounding of his heart, squirms surreptitiously on the toy inside him, and rings the bell.

= Started: 5/15/24 Drafted: 7/27/24 Posted: 7/29/24

[yes-i-write-fanfiction]

Transformers IDW imagine with Batman crossover Idea:

What if Damian Wayne found himself spirited away in the Transformers IDW verse? What if he end up on the Lost Light and the crew then bring him to Cybertron and Damian had to stay with Starscream, the human embassy and co until they find a way to send him back home? How would it go?

Feral child Damian Wayne would terrorize Cybertron. Doesn't matter he's the size of their pinky, he's going to be a fucking menace. He demands respect and when he's not given it he retaliates with violence. Sometimes it's immediate, a quick stab with his sword. It hurts but it's no real biggie for a cybertronian. The real danger happens when he waits. When he plans. Because he is the son of Batman and his plans are fucking vicious.

He will stalk the bot for days, find out their every weakness, their every insecurity. He will make them feel paranoid, have them jumping at shadows. Damian will make use of his connections with Starscream to learn everything about this bot. And then, when they are at their wits end... he strikes.

Starscream is very amused by this whole thing and when bots ultimately come to him to complain/beg him to stop his organic ward, he just laughs and waves them off. Oh, come on, you must surely be joking! Damian? Terrorizing you? Why, he's an angel! So nice and kind! Now now, be on your way, he's got important things to do.

Damian also will not leave Cybertron without the confirmation that he will be allowed to bring a turbo fox with him home. If he's going to get something out of this whole mess then it's going to be a robot dog big enough that he can ride it like a horse.

[oneslimybastard]

The Voloverse

Posting this mainly so I can link back to it as a footnote whenever I post mr. Man anywhere. Basically in my headcanons and aus Cynthia is an eggy egg who posts a lot of dysphoric cringe in the form of hurting people: she's so disconnected from herself and her body and her life that she can't quite comprehend why people care about anything at all, which leaves her just bulldozing over a lot of feelings because it doesn't seem like a big deal to her.

She lovebombs people then freaks out about it and goes completely ghost, youtube pranks Steven Stone by leaning into the gossip and telling the presses she's pregnant with his spawn despite him telling her It's Not Funny Fucking Stop, etc. etc. That sorta thing.

Eventually she cracks the code, he/hims into a MAN, and remains a bit weird and mentally ill but goes from being very shielded behind masks and facades into being turbo-earnest and sincere.

When PLA dropped with a canon Manthia in the form of Volo I went "Dang this kinda awkward" and made it even more awkward by leaning into it. Cynthia figures out she needs to detit become man due to a portrait of Volo she comes across while doing some ancestry research, lowkey steals his entire identity, and picks the name Cievolo for himself :) (Cielo + Volo)

So whenever I mention Cievolo it's a transsexualized genderbendered Cynthia because I have plots schemes and agendas.

Then in what I like to call the EXPANDED VOLOVERSE within fantasy aus (DND, MH, Miitopia, u get it) things get even MORE awkward because then Volo and Cievolo grew up together. Volo is his uncle, younger brother of Cogita, who is Cievolo's maman. They were pretty tight-knit and Volo was practically the only person who supported Eggthia's dreams of bailing out from the small town they were stuck in and pursue grander ventures. Then he died :( so sad :( that he totally definitely absolutely died due to highway robbery and didn't just orchestrate an attack on his jolly merchant band so he could fake his own death and go underground to start hunting for forbidden arcane secrets to destroy the world with so it'd be as empty as he is inside :(

So in those timelines Cievolo picked his name as an active tribute to his DEFINITELY DEAD uncle, the one who always believed in him... and regrets everything whenever Volo inevitably turns out to be alive because oh god. That's so cringe and embarrassing and confusing. What the fcuck. At least in DND-verse he can lie through his teeth and just say he reaaaally enjoys Volothamp's memoirs about monsters. Yup yup. Volo's Guide To Monsters just his favorite book, really.

Cievolo and Steven are also besties. Strained besties with a vast history of C causing Steve a lot of stress. Like a lot. But besties none the less.

Also wow u scrolled all the way down here. commendable. have some post-op boobies.

[screamce]

I'm finally free from artfight AHHH that was so fun I think I doubled my attacks from last year. I got so many I have to break it up into a couple parts gggg but anyway, here's some of the cool stuff i made for some cool people!

as per usual, links n stuff under the cut

Cabbage for @cabbagefaerie

Skye for @aj-is-typing-18

Juno for @jymic

Donnie & Mikey for @the-seraph-thilio

VERSE N CREW RAAHH for @energons

BellaBella for @wolf-tail

ROADRAGE RGAGRA for @kevinexe06

Anokato for @/mpartist1894 on artfight

Delirium + my oc for @gacha-pon

Aria + my oc for @/Ravenz_Featherz on artfight

SHOCKLINE RAAAAHH for @maxicaiman

Popfly, Stageflow, Softserve, & Breakneck for @cheesarbles, @merus-mystery, @/SOUNDBBABE on artfight, + @/redbeanp13 on artfight

Gossamer for @/ACatNamedKK on artfight

Spartan Striker >:] for @kevinexe06

SilverStreak for @/lazy_pan_artist on artfight [it said they had a tumblr but the link is dead </3]

BOUNCEWILD MY BELOVED <3 for @blurrynswindle

Slugs & Snails for @/Minced_Meat on artfight

Iphi for @/Seabluewolf on artfight

Turbo Drive :'( for @kittycookiesuwu

Mourningstar for @penebui

Paradox :'] for @linek0

Pawse for @/BassetBites on artfight

Sunny for @kupahdraws

Nova! for @/Lapitide on artfight

Sophie for @/Rosarolli on artfight

Azalion for @justabeewithapen

Soda for @/polarisbluecaribou on artfight

SkyBlade for @kittycookiesuwu

Shambles for @cherryslu-t

[cozzzynook]

Soo in TFP verse you said that Bee was sneaking out to see Predaking? Now you got my attention 0v0

Bumblebee is waiting in their meeting spot all the while more nervous than normal making his door wings flutter from all the shaken nerves. Predaking lands next to Bee while gently giving him a gentle nuzzle in his Alt-Mode before transforming to give his yellow partner a hug. Predaking then notices the worry in his partners optics and asks what is wrong while gently holding his chin with a talon. Bee in his beeps and boops (Idk if he had his voice box fixed yet) explains that he wants to show him something and promise not to freak out. The predacon nods and follows his shorter partner.

Bee leads them into a cave that's well hidden from both Con and Bot prying Optics and in the middle of the cave in a soft nest is a fairly large Bitty who is gently gnawing on one of their makeshift toys like a hungry Turbo fox. Predaking's optics go wide and he gently walks up to nest to greet his Bitty for the first time while turning to his partner with a smile.

The new family get some bonding time while Optimus and the rest of Team Prime are confused why Bee hasn't come out of his room for 'Family game night'

Idk what I was doing here but I wanted to give you something Wholesome. Hope you Enjoy :D

Snkcksosgjkfr 😭😭😭😭 I LOVE this!!!!

Omg this makes me love this pair even more!!!

Bee gets a notification that his sparkling his developed at .1% and freaks out for a while until he comes up with a plan.

He waits until he shows a little and then he’s “kidnapped,” and hides where neither con nor bot would look.

He delivers his sparkling a year later and comes back hiding his sparkling there and comes back to base saying he has a run in with M.E.C.H and since Ratchet can’t detect emergence since he never looked, he doesn’t know.

Bee stays for a bit but uses the excuse he wants to be alone.

Thats when he reunites with Predaking who gets to see their sparkling for the first time.

Bee eventually tells Ratchet but only Ratchet and the medic swears to secrecy and understands because he has a sparkling with Deadlock.