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wheneverfeasible · 4 months ago

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No Obligation (part 1.1)

wc: 1.3k || rating: T || tags: omegaverse steddie, post-s4 au, eddie lives, max lives, o!steve, a!eddie, rockstar!eddie, mpreg, oc!kid, friends-with-benefits, second chance love, secret pregnancy, pining || summary: after corroded coffin makes it big, eddie leaves hawkins and never looks back, while steve is unknowingly pregnant with their pup. which might have been fine, had they actually been together.

It had broken Steve’s heart when Eddie left.

Which was stupid because it wasn’t like they had even actually been together. They had fooled around a lot, kind of exclusively though they’d never said as such in words, but they weren’t together. They went on what were very obviously dates, though they didn’t acknowledge them as such, and there’d been no courtship. It was just for fun.

When Eddie broke things off, when he left Hawkins because he finally got that chance he had been waiting for and Corroded Coffin had actually landed a record deal, it was amicable. They hadn’t been a thing, they had just been…a placeholder. Just something to pass the time until something better came along.

Except, watching Eddie leave and never look back when his something better came along, Steve realized that he had kind of been hoping for a forever type of deal, been hoping that he could be the something better after all.

It was three and a half weeks after Eddie left that Steve discovered he was pregnant.

Steve knew he should find a doctor, take care of things quietly. He was an unbonded omega; a pregnancy would ruin any and all prospects he had. He’d even had Robin make the appointment for him.

He never went.

He didn’t go to the makeup appointment either.

No one had known about him and Eddie, not officially. Robin obviously knew, he could keep nothing from his soulmate, and he figured Eddie’s bandmates knew, but what had been between them had been a secret. Just two bros helping each other through their cycles, finding release when the stress or nightmares got too much, and that was that.

Eddie made that more than clear. And Steve had started the whole thing in complete agreement.

If only he hadn’t fallen in love with his best friend.

Eddie never visited, like he promised he would. He was too caught up in what was practically overnight success. Being the prime suspect of Satanic ritual serial killings made the metal community perk up in interest, nevermind that he was found to be completely innocent of the charges. It was good publicity. Even his scars enticed fans.

He called, once or twice, but he stopped calling Steve ‘sweetheart’ by then, and it became obvious that Eddie had no intention in ever returning to Hawkins. Not without an obligation.

Steve never wanted to be an obligation again. Didn’t want that for his pup either.

Didn’t want Eddie to feel trapped, didn’t want his pup to feel resented, because Steve knew that Eddie would drop everything to try to be a good father, even if it wasn’t what he wanted. Even if returning to Hawkins would slowly kill him on the inside.

So Steve said nothing.

The pup growing inside his belly wouldn’t be Eddie’s. It was his; just his. Steve wouldn’t ever be able to be the pup’s alpha parent, but he could be enough. He would be enough, because there was no other choice. He would sever all familial connection between the pup and Eddie. Sure, part of him wanted just a little bit of the man he wanted to be his alpha still, but the pup would never be a placeholder like Steve had been.

His pup was his. Not a replacement for the man he couldn’t have. It was his pup and no one else’s. Thus there would never be any obligation.

Especially after Eddie stopped calling. Stopped writing. Stopped…everything.

He still contacted Dustin and the others, he knew. Sent them out tickets for his shows when he played nearby. As his fame and fortune grew, he even flew them out for visits and shows farther away.

Steve had been invited, of course, but Steve was done with being an obligation too. The love was still there, it always would be for Steve, but the friendship mellowed out as they moved on with their lives. After all, what basis did their friendship even have without the trauma that tied them together? Trauma that Eddie obviously wanted to forget.

Seven months after Eddie left, Steve’s son was born.

Steve never resented Eddie for leaving, for never loving him, or for anything else. Though there was no denying the dark curls atop his son’s head, Steve never really thought of the pup as his and Eddie’s. It was his pup. There was no alpha listed on the birth certificate, no talk of the pup’s other parent being gone, no nothing. Steve would never let his pup believe for a second that he was missing anything.

He definitely would not let the pup believe that he had a father out there who didn’t want him. No, as far as everyone else was concerned, Steve wanted a pup so he set out to get one using a donor. Even as the pup grew older, Steve’s eye color in a shape that was not his own, Steve’s cheeks but not his chin, Steve’s moles but not his smile…

Steve never entertained whispers of the kid being anyone else’s but his and his alone.

And what did it matter since Eddie would never know the pup even existed to begin with? Would never know because he was never coming back?

Robin helped, and those closest to him did as well, even when Steve could see that they knew. Even if they didn’t know before, they had to know now. But the pup was his, never an obligation or reluctant duty for anyone else. Never feel even for a second like he was unwanted or unloved.

The first time Wayne saw the pup, a few months after he was born when Steve ran into him at the grocery store, the older alpha had dropped the eggs he was carrying.

Steve made it clear that the sleeping boy was his and his alone, something that Wayne seemed to understand. The alpha still asked to see the pup more, something Steve didn’t have the heart to deny. Not when he saw the way Wayne’s eyes glistened with tears.

Not when the man looked like he had found something he’d lost a long time ago.

And so the pup grew up. It was getting harder and harder to deny the other half of the kid’s genes, of course, not with his curls, or the piercing look in his eyes, or his intelligence he certainly didn’t get from Steve. And then there was the music.

The pup was drawn to music, taking to it like a fish to water.

Thankfully, for Steve’s sanity, the boy didn’t seem interested with the toy guitar Dustin (much to Steve’s consternation) got him, though he did enjoy the drum set Wayne got him for his birthday. Which…was fine, though Steve’s headaches didn’t thank Wayne any.

All in all, Steve was content with his life. As his honorary pups grew up and started their own lives, many going away for college, Steve settled into his life as a single parent, though it wasn’t always easy as an unbonded omega with a young pup.

His parents had, of course, disowned him as soon as he couldn’t hide it any longer. He’d been expecting it, of course, and withdrew as much of his savings as he could without causing them to demand it back.

He’d traded in his car as well for something cheaper and sturdier, moved into Forest Hills in a two bedroom double-wide, and found a job that would employ him in his circumstances. It wasn’t the life he had envisioned for himself as a cocky young man, but it was one he was happy with because it was his. His and his pup’s.

He worked hard to provide for his pup. Steve didn’t need an alpha. Nor did he want one. He had his pup, his friends, and that was all that mattered. He made it on his own and he’d be damned if anyone took that away from him.

Everything was going well. His little one just had his seventh birthday, he had gotten a small raise at work, and Lucas and Max were going to be visiting soon. Things were good.

And then he heard the news: Corroded Coffin was returning to Hawkins, Indiana.

Eddie was coming back.

oop, lil bit of a cliffhanger there, sorry. This was just an idea that would not leave me alone until I wrote it out. Which is hilarious because I’m actually not a fan of pregnancy/kid fics in normal circumstances lmao mpreg or otherwise

I may or may not continue this in the future, once I work on my other, currently languishing, WIPs. I do have some more ideas for this though, which bodes well for actually writing more of it lol

Hostage Hotties (open):

@derythcorvinus @katyawriteswhump @honeii-puff @scoops-aboy86 @dotdot-wierdlife @everywherenothere @bumblebeecuttlefishes @hiei-harringtonmunson

#fic: no obligation #cw reference to abortion #omegaverse steddie #omega steve harrington #alpha eddie munson #rockstar eddie munson #corroded coffin #mpreg #oc!kid #friends with benefits steddie #secret pregnancy steddie

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smallestapplin · 2 months ago

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Can we please get some more con harem fluff when you have the chance???

I struggled thinking of a scenario, so this is kinda set in the Prime continuity. Mostly with Dreadwing, Arachnid, Soundwave, and implied Megatron (and the rest of the ship-)

Dreadwing looks at you with mild confusion on his features as you climb up his shoulder, settling down swiftly and cuddling close to his helm. True at first he found the decepticons having a shared human on the ship was…odd, but who was he to argue with Megatron? Though he learned why quickly with how you seemed to have charmed him.

“Little one, while I enjoy your company, what is the meaning of this?”

“What, am I not allowed to spend time with you?”

Though your voice was light and teasing, he can’t help but sigh and shake his helm.

“Stay as long as you wish, but I must get these reports done.”

You kiss his cheek trying to scoot even closer and lean into him, such warmth of your smaller body was always welcomed. Off the corner of his optic he can see you pull out your phone and scroll along it, simply just wanting to bask in his presence. His spark swells at the idea, you merely just wanting to spend time with him is making his wings twitch, trying to flutter behind him but he fights it.

The room falls into a comfortable silence, though only filled with the occasional sound of you chucking and his engine softly purring as you kiss him again and again. Such a sweet beloved he has, you know how to make the boring parts of his job entertaining.

He blinks his optics once, twice, then a few more times as he realized he feels like he’s being watched, there is another in his office and it’s not just you. You hum in confusion as Dreadwing brings a servo up and grabs you, holding you protectively to his chassis.

If he opened it his spark would be easy to attack, but if he didn’t and held you here he’d be down a servo to fight.

“You know, I know you guys don’t usually get along, but Aracnid please don’t drop.”

Dreadwing looks up, following your gaze and sure enough the purple optics of the spider femme bot stare back at him. She sighs, mockingly so.

“Oh sweetspark, must you ruin the fun? I was just coming to see how our little human was doing.”

Dreadwing glares at her, holding you even closer and covering you with his other servo.

“Our human is fine, they are content sitting with me.”

Arachnid hums not at all caring of his words, “yes yes, that’s all well and good, but Lord Megatron wishes to have his pet.”

Dreadwing makes no move as he refuses to trust her word, he does not feel safe lending you to her even if was technically also one of you ‘consorts’ as Megatron called them. Arachnid isn’t to be trusted with a human, must less one of your importance.

“Dreadwing, I would hate to traumatize the cutie in your servos, but I will if you don’t hand them over to me.” Her voice growing agitated as more of her legs move from the ceiling above, and grow pointed ready to attack him.

You sigh, this isn’t really something you can stop, but you know who can. You unlock your phone once more and make a call, and sweetly asking for a little help. And just in time too, as dozens of cables move com the walls, wrapping both Dreadwing and Arachnid up and away from each other.

And one taking you from Dreadwing’s grasp, much to his displeasure, and taking you to the black and purple con standing just at the doorway. You smile up at his screen.

“Thank you, Soundwave, but you didn’t need to do all that. Your help is appreciated though.”

The black screen of his faceplate statics for a moment before emoting a little heart. Walking away, he drops Dreadwing and tosses Arachnid out of the room, uncaring what they do now, as he has his little human. You fit so perfectly in his servos, he can’t help but hold you up and nuzzle his screen against you, another heart emoting as you place a few kisses to his face.

He cares not for the arguing around him, or the two cons yelling at him from down the hallway demanding you back.

He has his human, that’s all that matters.

Until he hears Megatron return to the ship and a sad face appears on his screen. He just got you, he doesn’t want to hand you over just yet, how cruel.

#transformers x reader #tfp x reader #transformers dreadwing #transformers Dreadwing x reader #transformers prime x reader #tfp dreadwing #tfp Dreadwing x reader #tfp Soundwave x reader #transformers x human #transformers harem au

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dat-lil-shark · 9 months ago

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I found more TFP Characters Stats and they are VERY Interesting

So over a week ago I found out that in the Japanese airing of Transformer Prime, they put up these commercials in between episodes that displays the characters stats. Back then I only found Soundwave’s, but now I’ve found almost everyone.

Again, I have no guarantee that these are canon enough, cause it's made by Japanese, who made Airachnid a yandere.

But it’s fun to assume they are.

(SPOILERS ALERT)

First of all. MEGATRON ACTUALLY HAVE HIGHER INTELLIGENCE STATS THAN OPTIMUS!!!??? (Op got 8 and MT got 9)

Not only that but also higher speed and firepower TOO (OP got 7 speed and 9 firepower, and MT got 9 speed and 10 firepower).

Sure Optimus got bigger courage and skills but in battlefields if MT is not so dr**ed up he might just win a lot more.

And speaking of unexpected intelligence.

Compared to Arcee, Airachnid also got WAY higher intelligence (AH 9 and RC 7) and slightly higher strength (AH 5 and RC 4) AND FIREPOWER (AH 5 and RC 4).

I was at first surprised how Airachnid could be so smart but then it did made sense since she was able to always lure Arcee into her fun cave to beat her up and was able to easily kill Breakdown.

(And I know technically this was supposed to be the Japanese yandere Airachnid but— let’s just ignore that— maybe let’s pretend it’s the normal Airachnid okay? Please?)

But Arcee got 9 on courage.

Airachnid might got the cunning but at least Arcee got the feral.

And the way Arcee only got 7 on the intelligence out here is breaking stereotypes that the only girl in the group has to be smart.

Luckily not all Autobot and Decepticon rivalry ends in a Decepticon topping the Autobot.

For example.

Bulkhead is a lot— AND I MEAN A LOT better than Breakdown is.

He’s got higher strength (BH 10 and BD 9), intelligence(BH 5 and BD 4), courage (BH 8 and BD7), rank (BH 6 and BD 4) AND firepower (BH 7 and BD 6)

Bruh Breakdown is competing with Bulkhead just because he is insecure 😂😂😂😅😅

Bulkhead can actually sweep the floor with Breakdown if he wanna!

also I think Breakdown got the lowest stat in intelligence and rank than any other characters here.

This actually does explain how Breakdown could be killed so easily by Airachnid, honestly, since Airachnid got more than twice as much intelligence as him.

Well at least we know Knockout married him for true love.

And speaking of Knockout.

He’s SO WEAK!! 😂😂😂😂

Dude Knockout is an absolute LOOSER!! (At least according to the Japanese)

He LITTERALLY GOT 5 SKILLS, ENDOURANCE, AND 4 COURAGE!!

THAT IS ALMOST THE SAME ENDOURANCE AND ALMOST HALF THE COURAGE AS ARCEE (who is about only 1/2 of his body size btw) (his buff armours are just for shows) AND HALF THE SKILL OF RATCHET!!

HOW DID KNOCKOUT EVEN MANAGED TO BE A MEDIC!!

He is only a bit good on speeds. Now no wonder he loves racing ITS THE ONLY THING HE IS GOOD AT!! Bro litterally covers himself in makeups cause he’s too self aware 😂😂😂!

I wondered how he managed to lie so perfectly on his job resume.

And speaking of medics.

Ratchet is WAY better in everything than I expected.

He’s more than twice the medic Knockout would ever be.

He actually got EIGHT endurance which is surprising, cause that is only one star lower than Bulkhead!

The doctor might be old but he’s still got armors and bones as strong as boulders.

No wonder he kept getting beaten up in this serie but just got up fine and never snap his back once like my own grandpa after standing up from his chair.

Wheeljack on the other hand is also not bad at all.

He got 9 skills. I guess that’s what got him to be able to make all his terrorist toys.

Also it’s funny cause he’s only got 8 endurance, that’s 2 stars lower than Ratchet.

Could you just IMAGINE Wheeljack and Ratchet fist bumping as hard as they could but it was Wheeljack who ended up having to grab his fists in pain??

Also he only got 6 intelligence?? That’s honestly far lower than I excepted tbh. That is only one star higher than Bulkhead.

No wonder Ultra Magnus has such a bad time.

(it’s also funny how Arcee criticized Wheeljack for impulsively going to avenge Bulkhead when she herself is only like, one stat smarter, and does that with Airachnid on a daily basis (sure she didn’t drag any humans in but she is still barely better).

(Also by the way, speaking of Ultra Magnus, he doesn’t have a stat page unfortunately cause the Japanese TFP never got a season 3, it just ends at Optimus breaking the Alpha lock and that’s it, which means Ultra Magnus never appeared, and neither did Shockwave (beside that one Arcee flashback) and Predaking unfortunately).

Oh and the Dreadwing Skyquake twins are over powered.

Just look at them!

They are almost the exact same in stats except Skyquake got more endourance and Dreadwing got more fire power.! If Megatron had both of them at the same time they could just deep fry the Autobots in episode 10!

RIP Skyquake you had SO much POTENCIALS man. And to think that even the PRIME HIMSELF ALONE can’t take you out without major help from Bumblebee.

And speaking of Bumblebee.

HE MAXED OUT ON COURAGE.

Listen no one else in this whole list got courage 10 except Bumblebee.

Not Arcee, not Optimus, not Ratchet, not Smokescreen, and not even Wheeljack.

HE IS FERAL!!

Damn it man now thinking back I don’t think I recall a SINGLE MOMENT in the entire show, although it wasn’t obvious first time through, that Bumblebee actually considered for his own safety before doing anything. And it’s not even in an “I am willing to sacrifice my own safety for the greater good” way but a “Oh I’m gonna lose a leg for this but it’ll be nice? Sign me up!” Way! “Psyc link into Megatron? Count me in!” “Jump on top of Skyquake? You bet!” “Run straight toward Silas when you can litterally wait for 5 more minutes but then you can get your t cog back for five more minute earlier? I’m coming!!”

If it’s not for the fact that Bumblebee got a good dad that he’s happy to listen to he will be a bigger disaster than Wheeljack is.

The other kid, Smokescreen, is just a tad bit weaker. But he’s way better than I expected since he only just joined this war. (*cough cough* way better than Knockout).

However,

on the other servo.

Starscream is OVERPOWERED.

Bro has got EIGHT STRENGTH despite his skinny arms (same as Skyquake & Dreadwing), NINE SPEED (faster than Megatron), NINE FIREPOWER (same as Optimus) and TEN FRAGGING SKILLS (same as RATCHET)

Honestly. If it weren’t for the 3 courage, DUDE COULD ACTUALLY HAVE A CHANCE TAKING OVER MEGATRON!!! He

strong.

He honestly doesn’t even need the apex armour tbh! And there are countless times he got defeated probably only because he froze in fear or else he could have absolutely fought back and won!!

That 3 courage ruined him.

Also they don’t have Cliffjumper too and that is very unfair tbh cause Skyquake also appeared for only one episode but got his, and pretty unfortunate cause I really wanna see how strong exactly Cliff was before his death.

#transformers #Tfp #tfp characters #Japanese tfp #transformer prime #Tfp analysis #tfp breakdown #tfp knockout #tfp arcee #tfp optimus prime #tfp starscream #tfp megatron #tfp ratchet #optimus prime

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artstennisracket · 1 month ago

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I Don’t Matter? wanted to give my take on what happened when Patrick found out that Art was going to Stanford. thank you @diyasgarden for your help with this :)

MRTA!Art x MRTA!Patrick

cw: sfw, angst

Junior Year

They had talked about it once. In passing. A very short conversation. It wasn’t meant to be short but that’s just how it ended.

Art was sitting at his desk scrolling through his college applications. He had finished all of them except one, Stanford. He always knew he wanted to go to college. Getting an education was never something he second guessed and to be honest tennis was never something he wanted to do forever. The more games he played the more he realized it didn’t feel the same, he didn’t feel the same.

His passion for it was dying.

It was fun as kid. No pressure. Just about having fun, doesn’t matter if you win or lose. But that’s not how it was at the academy.

Everyone was competing against each other. Him and Patrick included. But it was different with Patrick, it was fun.

Whether they were playing doubles or singles against each other Art always had fun, being good at it was just a side effect.

But they can’t play together forever, it’s not feasible. The US tennis circuit boasts over 300 players, Art would have to play them too if they kept it up. Strangers on the other side of the court who just don’t get him, not like Patrick did anyway.

He didn’t want to be stuck dwelling on his childhood forever. He wanted to see what tennis was like when he’s not always in constant competition with his best friend. But he also wanted to develop an actual career in college, maybe study economics in case this tennis thing didn’t work out. Art was never all-in for tennis.

Patrick got home late. It’s been like that for the past week since he was always seeing Lisa? Liza? Whatever her name was.

He caught a glimpse of Art’s laptop screen with big letters at the top “Collegeboard”.

“You’re not seriously going to play college tennis are you? I thought we were going pro,” Patrick says definitively. No joking manner behind his tone. He’s kidding right?

“And when exactly did you come up with that plan? Don’t think I was there for that conversation,” Art huffs out, keeping his eyes glued to the computer screen.

Art isn’t surprised. Never is when it comes to Patrick. Patrick’s assumption that Art would continue to follow him around like some lost puppy even at the detriment of his own self. Maybe in Patrick’s eyes Art really is that pathetic. Needing his guidance even as they grow into their adult selves.

Patrick scrunches his eyebrows together in confusion, “That was always the plan. Fire and Ice duh. Why wouldn’t we go pro? To spend our prime stuck up in some stuffy college. Stuck playing in NCAA?”

Art lets a half laugh, “You know they offer classes in college right? Don’t want my only skill in life to be hitting a ball with a racket. You can always come with me. College tennis teams tend to consist of more than one person.”

Patrick wouldn’t hear that though. He can’t really hear anything over the sound of his massive ego. As far as he was concerned the MRTA boys team only consisted of one person for singles and that was him. Sure Art was great, but Patrick was better. Art really only coming into play when it was for doubles. And even then Patrick’s erratic style and domination on the court made it feel like sometimes Art wasn’t even there.

He laughs. Patrick laughs and just hopes he wakes up from this fucked up nightmare where the two of you go separate ways in the future. “Sure man, whatever you say.”

Art could tell there was more. So much left unsaid between the two. But he decided to push. Not right now.

Senior Year

Okay so maybe they actually talked about this twice. Once junior year and once senior year. Not a shocker it would come up in conversation again.

Art had officially accepted his offer to Stanford. He was so ecstatic that hitting a ball with a racket got him into one of the best schools in the country. He was being scouted by a few different schools, received multiple offers, but Stanford beat them out by a long shot.

His coach was there when the scout extended the unofficial offer on Friday. He wanted to tell Patrick about it, but he never came home that night. He had been spending a lot more time with Sara? Sadie? lately, almost as if he was trying to push Art away.

So Art didn’t expect Patrick to show up at 8am practice at all. Let alone on time.

“Okay before we start just wanna give a shoutout to Donaldson for accepting his offer from Stanford, let’s clap it up for him,” Their coach says before clapping.

The rest of the team is whooping and hollering. Clapping like crazy, some even clapping Art on the back. Really hyping him up. Everyone except Patrick.

Art can see Patrick. He’s unmoving. Stuck in his place like a statue. His face is neutral but Art can see the hurt behind his eyes. Patrick brings his hands up to start clapping, not wanting to be singled out. And no one else notices, because they never do. Patrick is a master at masking his feelings to the world, except to Art .

Art tries to find Patrick after practice once he’s finished showering in the locker room, but he’s already gone.

He heads back to their dorm hoping to find Patrick there so they can talk about this. He was hoping to be the one that broke the news first but it’s too late for that.

He finds Patrick on his bed. Their beds no longer pushed together which he’s assuming is because Patrick is upset. He’s smoking a cigarette even though he’s not next to a window.

“C’mon man we’re gonna get in trouble if you smoke in here like that,” Art sighs, dropping his stuff on the floor.

Patrick shrugs haphazardly gesturing to the smoke alarm which is covered with a shower cap.

Art walks to stand in front of Patrick’s bed, “Can we at least talk about it?”

“You can fuck right off for all I care. I’ve smoked in here like this before with no issues,” Patrick spits back.

“That’s not what I meant and you know it,” Art says gripping the bed post. He knew this conversation wouldn’t be easy but he’s just hoping they’d both make it out alive.

Patrick sighs, “Oh you mean the part where you decided it’s fuck me and my feelings right?”

“Patrick that’s not—“

“There are a million things I anticipated when coming to this school but finding my best friend wasn’t one of them you know?”

“I know Patrick I—“

“Like for the first time in my life there was someone who actually gave a fuck and didn’t just think I was just this piece of shit person who fucks around playing tennis. Someone who never thought I was too much.”

Art has always been an emotional person but especially when it came to people he cared about. Patrick being second on that list at the moment (second only to Art’s grandma). He could feel his eyes starting to water just thinking about the things Patrick is saying. Art never knew he perceived himself that way.

Patrick has always been confident and outgoing, the loudest in the room. It balanced Art’s wallflower persona perfectly. He never once stopped to think that maybe Patrick’s ego was just for show.

His voice cracks when he tries to say, “Patrick I’m—“

“No I don’t want to hear that you’re sorry. Because you’re not. If you were sorry you never would’ve accepted that offer. Would’ve went pro.” The “with me” part goes unsaid but Art knows. Of course he knows.

“I can’t keep hitting a ball with a racket forever, we have to grow up Patrick,” Art says wiping the unspilled tears from his eyes. Hoping he also wouldn’t be such a crybaby when he grew up.

“Says who?” He retorts taking another drag of his cigarette, “Stop treating me like I’m some fucking child. At least have the balls to tell me the truth. It was never about that. You never loved tennis.” Patrick has seen Art play tennis against other people and sure he’d win, but it wasn’t the same as when they played together.

Art doesn’t dispute that because Patrick is right. He never loved tennis and he never would.

You never loved tennis, you loved me so why are you leaving me is what Patrick should’ve said.

And why am I not enough to make you stay is what Patrick was really thinking to himself.

tagging: @tacobacoyeet @newrochellechallenger2019 @antxnxlla mel actually make a tagging list and use it challenge extreme difficulty

#mel writes✍🏾#mel writes angst???? who knew #challengers #patrick zweig #art donaldson #artrick #art donaldson x patrick zweig #challengers 2024

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rationalnerd62 · 2 months ago

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Every time I see a post about how someone doesn't understand Bell's Hells distrust/dislike of Gods, I just don't understand what show they were watching.

First of all, most of Bell's Hells don't even dislike the Gods. They just don't particularly care for them, which is a completely different thing.

Orym is from the Air Ashari, and as a result expressed very similar feelings towards the Gods than Keyleth in C1. Aka, of course the Gods exist, of course they've got a purpose for some people, but Ashari folks don't particularly care for them and are fine with mutually staying out of each other's businesses.

Fearne is a chaotic fey who honestly doesn't really care about religion. Sure, some fey are into the Moonweaver or the Archheart, but Fearne grew up with an Archfey that was having fun on the Matron's playground, so that's not really an environment with a big respect or admiration for Gods.

Chetney is an old dude who was minding his own business for a while. There wasn't really anything in his background to push him into religion, his deal was woodworking and then figuring out the werewolf stuff.

I don't remember Dorian mentioning anything religious based, so I'm putting him in the "do not care much / neutral" category. At least until shit happened with Opal. It doesn't matter that it's a betrayer God here, especially when you know the primes could have gotten rid of them.

For the rest, yes, there are religion related background components to mention. Both Braius and FCG were definitely pro Gods, but FCG started very neutral on that topic. Then they kinda started praying to the Changebringer as a thought experiment. I'll note though that their first (or one of their first? I don't remember) interaction with the Changebringer was her threatening them if they weren't helping her regarding the Ruidus stuff. And like, I get it, the Gods were scared as fuck, but having a shit day doesn't allow you to be a piece of shit to others 💀.

Laudna is an undead woman who got kicked out of places multiple times by religious folks for what she was, without a single care for who she was or her humanity. Gosh, she crossed paths twice with the same exemplar of the Lawbearer, decades apart, and both interactions were shit (Meghan, I'm in your walls!). Despite that, she doesn't particularly hate the Gods, but she's learned to stay away from religious folks & deities as a result. See her surprise at being accepted by clerics of the Matron! She wasn't expecting religious people to not hate her on sight.

Imogen was a depressed isolated pariah in her small town, praying for help with no answers (see one of Nana's team building exercises), and when she was finally out, it was with the help of her undead friend who she's very protective of and who doesn't have a great rep with religious folks. Yeah, she'd probably stay away from that too.

Meanwhile Ashton was raised in a cult that ended up very poorly (they've got long term health issues from that time!), and would rather avoid any sort of organised religion (no matter the topic) as a result, which honestly, that's fair.

And that's mostly just background stuff! During the campaign, they also met someone who got brought back to life and is still kinda resentful about it, they found a whole village that was very much not happy about religious folks coming up to their town and trying to order them around (and had to fight a temple as a result, which left a bunch of contradictory feelings there), and saw Gods destroy a whole city to keep their siblings safe, in the middle of the Calamity which saw many deaths because Deities were fighting against one another. Ah, and Vasselheim is apparently deciding who gets to know what wrt history and would hunt people who know too much. Like, the Grim Verity was hiding from both Vasselheim & Ludinus.

And I know a lot of stuff here is more about religious folks rather than Gods themselves, but you gotta understand that if the Gods are away and only talking to a select few, then their followers *are* their marketing team. Followers being shitty to some people *will* lead those people to be suspicious about religion and Gods (or at least to want to stay away from it).

Trust isn't owed to Gods, even Prime Deities. It's something that is gained through background, time, opportunities... Even in Exandria where the Gods are real, there are probably a lot of common folks who don't particularly care about religion (or maybe some of them just follow along with the dominant religion of their hometown, without diving much into it).

So no, Bell's Hells aren't particularly big Gods lovers. They're also not Gods haters (nuances, what a blast). Hey, in a different scenario, they probably would have loved staying away from Gods and religion entirely.

But guess who in the group actually had the biggest connection to a cosmic entity that significantly impacted their life? Imogen with Predathos.

And no, this doesn't mean this group wasn't appropriate for the plot of C3, or whatever funny thing people like to say about C3 and BH! I think C3 was made a lot more interesting by folks disagreeing on their relationship to Gods - it'd be boring if they all agreed lol.

But if you're looking at BH and are tearing up about "why don't they love my blorbos deities", seriously, have you paid attention to who those people are.

#critical role #cr meta #bells hells #cr c3 #imogen temult #laudna #orym of the air ashari #chetney pock o'pea #ashton greymoore #fearne calloway #fcg #honestly I think a lot of folks don't understand that even in Exandria you dont have to like or dislike the Gods #no hate no love but the third option: disinterest #imo laudna is way too nice to religious folks #considering what she went through #and yes deities should be looked at sideways for some of their followers #they're your folks please handle them

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echolynn13 · 2 months ago

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Top 10 SFTH Characters

I told y'all it was coming, and here it is; my Top 10 favorite characters in the SFTH universe

10. Peter (The Milkman)

This kid knows how to twist a fucking knife, huh? He doesn’t even know what’s going on and somehow he manages to metaphorically stab David 37 times in the chest /ref. Peter is also my favorite example of Tom playing a traumatized child, he just does it so well here. I genuinely love the scene where David tells him his mom's not happy and he immediately apologizes and wants to go Go-Karting with her. Idk how Tom can portray that kind of character that well, but I'm glad we get to see it so frequently- Plus it was iconic of him to sing 'Tomorrow' twice, once while he was running for his life.

9. Mario the Sheep (The Lighthouse)

Everyone’s favorite inbred, part-human, cocaine using sheep that loses his mind (alongside Sam) throughout the storyline. There's not much to say about it other than the fact I love comic relief characters and who's more comic relief than this guy? It was also fun to watch Sam slowly die inside once the sheep was made a main character, that was great-

8. Marty (The Evil Make-A-Wish Kid)

Another instance of Sam’s portrayal and delivery making his character memorable as hell. The smirk and the voice he chose to use for all of his lines make Marty one of my favorite villains in their plays (OLM doesn’t count, I see her as more morally grey than anything). He's a great combination of being played for laughs and genuinely doing evil things. This kid lights his mom on fire and all he has to say about it is "I'm gonna miss games when I'm dead." It might be my favorite line in that play tbh, along with "Congratulations. You killed the kid"

7. Andrew (All Eyes On Nigel)

Along with the Janae type nerds (spoiler for later 🤫), I also have a soft spot for the naive/inexperienced characters, especially when they get a little fucked up by the end of their storyline. Andrew is a prime example of this in the SFTH universe, being all excited about his job as an officer, before being taken hostage and being given drugs starting to sound like a favorite character of mine from a different fandom...

6. Donnie (The Detective v The Christmas Tree Bandits)

THE ADHD icon. He’s far from the only SFTH character with diagnosed ADHD and idk about you but he’s the representation I wanted fr- and now he’s dead :( Even if his death wasn't as emotional of a scene as y'all made it out to be, it still makes me sad and I will be living in denial about it with the rest of you for while.

5. Janae (The Neighbor's Under The Bed)

Janae is the textbook definition of the ‘character way too smart for their age to an unrealistic level’, therefore she has to make an appearance on my favorites list. She also has the line "My Seismogram IS TRUE" which is such a good quotable line, I'm never getting over that-

4. Jimmy (Toby’s Secret Pocket)

Ah, the Fan Favorite Tom character who can’t get through a door if his life depended on it. Who can blame the audience for latching onto him? "I was just gonna say it's the racism" "I get lonely sometimes" "STOP IN THE NAME OF THE LAW" I mean, how can we be expected to not love him?

3. Old Lady Marjorie (The Unrelenting Aubergine)

I think everyone knows why she’s here. 1) She's another villain/morally grey character from Sam, 2) At least half of her witchery is just drugs, and 3) She slaps AJ- I mean James- 3 times, causing Sam- I mean Marjorie- to turn bright red from laughter. Absolute Cinema.

2. Amanda (Clarissa's DIY Wedding)

Tom’s other hopeless romantic gay character, I’m sensing a pattern in my favs- I've mentioned how much I love that Tom went straight for 'yearning lesbian' with this one in my other post, but I'm gonna talk about it in more detail because I can. She loves Clarissa so so much, but because she doesn't think the feelings are reciprocated (true or not-) she will make sure Clarissa and Mark have their wedding and that, above all, Clarissa is happy. This fact makes me love her more, but also makes me so very sad..

There were a few characters that didn't quite make it to the Top 10, so before we go to Number 1, here's a few:

Honorable Mentions

Scottish Robin (The Midnight Mystery) He would've been #10 but I had to add Janae so he got demoted

Aside from the general chaos he is, I love Robin from a meta standpoint, because it’s one of those moments that shows that Luke and Sam have the same exact sense of humor. Luke 100% did the “WE’RE GOING DOWN TO CHIPPY” bit purely to make Sam laugh, and boy did it work. Also the joy in Robin/Luke screaming “BATMAN” at the top of his lungs is great, he is in his element lmao

Caravan Brothers (No, I Always Loved That Caravan!)

Before I realized they’re called the Caravan Brothers in the fandom, I fully just called them the incest brothers because I think that gets the vibe across. Technically, I think the O’Hands Brothers would also be accurate. Weirdest fucking brothers I’ve ever seen, but in an iconic way. Besides, I always love another chance for Luke to go gremlin mode for a character.

Big Hans (Oh My God, Is This A Joke?)

So he might've made it to the main list, but something about putting a nazi character in the top 10 wasn't sitting right with me, so he’s in the honorable mentions instead (At least it's not Xavier-) To be clear I just like how he was immediately introduced as a 'pocket-sized aryan' that was absolutely fucking Ze Blackberry, then in his next scene his vibe had shifted and he was oddly fond of the French accent/language for some reason?? “Don’t make friends with them!” “Why not? :(” Bro was literally just happy to be there.

1. Derek (The Unrelenting Aubergine)

Surprising no one, Derek Gangles is everything to me. I have no idea what makes me like him more than any of their other romantic characters, there’s just something about how Tom plays him that makes him so endearing. I think part of it is how he seems to be constantly in awe and admiration of Titch, loving him in such a (relatively) innocent way. “Are we gonna have kids?” I can hear the puppy eyes in his voice, are you kidding me??

#sfth #shoot from the hip #sfth luke #sfth tom #sfth sam #sfth aj #oh my god is this a joke #the unrelenting aubergine #clarissa's diy wedding #toby's secret pocket #the evil make a wish kid

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filtheopathic · 2 months ago

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ode to a situationship — otoya eita

PART 1 - the first & second times

WC - 1.6k

SYN - No love story ever began with, “Once upon a one-night-stand.”

CW - [18+!] afab!reader but no gendered terms are used, reader and Otoya are both implied to be a little promiscuous, dubcon (only because of alcohol, both parties enthusiastically consent), alcohol use, fingering, oral (f receiving), light anal play, spit fetish

SERIES MASTERLIST — NEXT

the first time

You both still smell like the club: sweat, the faint bite of cigarettes, and a mix of your go-to fragrance and his. It mingles in the air like your tongues in each other’s mouths. Becomes acquainted like his palms with the soft skin beneath your skirt.

The two of you were quick about it, spurred on by a splash of alcohol and an overflow of attraction. He was the ideal ratio of chill to shameless flirt, and you had fuck-me eyes and a pretty mouth. It was a perfect alignment of intentions.

There’s not much talking, just heavy breaths and the sticky sweet sound of lips and tongues in the darkness of your apartment. You’re wrapped up in the feel of each other, all eager and greedy and hot. He blindly backs you into a wall corner and you gasp. “Shit, sorry,” he breathes, cradling the back of your head in apology, “Bedroom?”

You know he’s going to fuck you good by the way he looks when he’s climbing onto the edge of your bed and pulling his shirt over his head. By the way he emerges from the cotton and has a dark, hungry playfulness in his eyes. He’s a good kisser (even if it is messy in the way drunken one-night-stands often are) and he has the confidence to hike one of your legs up high and roll his hips into you. Once, twice, again, again as he licks into your mouth and along the side of your neck. Chasing the heat and friction, reveling in your unabashed moaning.

He knows what he’s doing. You can tell by his demeanor that he’s done it plenty of times. He asks you how you want it then gives it to you like someone who knew how to give it to you from the start.

In return, you voice all your needs without a hint of shyness. With the confidence of someone who’s as experienced as he is. You’re nasty about it, too. A little demanding. (Fuck me. Harder. Touch me, right here. Like that— oh my god. Hear how wet you made me? Don’t stop. Fuck, don’t stop.) It makes him lose his mind, just a little bit.

After you’re both left panting and satisfied, the fantasy wringed from your bodies and the condom tied off and thrown out, you begin the careful dance of getting him the fuck out of your apartment and he falls into step with you. Another unspoken understanding between you, that you’re on the same page.

As you’re walking him to the door he holds his hand out for your phone and inserts his contact information (you’re grateful that he enters his name because you don’t entirely remember it) then immediately calls himself. “That was fun,” he says with a hint of a smile, “I’ll text you.”

You don’t expect to hear from him ever again.

the second time

You hear from him a week later, to your surprise.

It’s surprising not only because he bothered to text you at all, but because he does it so soon. It’s also not the typical middle-of-the-night text. It’s like 5pm, the sun barely dipping into the center of the sky.

You’re sober now, and more than a little grateful that he’s still good-looking. Very good-looking. Even better looking in the warm light of dusk, shirtless and hovered over you as he rubs your pussy through your shorts.

He’s taking his time exploring you — far different from the first time you fucked, which was all raw tension and release. Every bit of you is hot and primed by the time he pulls your shorts to the side and dips his finger in.

“Already so wet,” he notes, playful in that flat way of his. You make a comment about how he’s been teasing you, which he ignores in favor of teasing you some more. His fingers explore where you’re wettest, getting all coated while avoiding your clit long enough to make your hips cant up, then he brings them to his mouth to taste.

He knows exactly what he’s doing; this move always works. But, to his surprise, you don’t become bashful at all. You don’t avert your eyes or call it embarrassing. Instead, your entire expression darkens. The sight of him savoring the taste of you acts like a flame to kindling, only emboldening you further.

Wrapping your hand around his wrist, you guide his fingers to your lips next. You hold his gaze, take them deep and suck. He can feel the back of your throat, the tip of your tongue, the dull skim of teeth. So warm and slippery around his fingers. Otoya breaks eye contact to watch your lips drag around them, and his jaw goes a little slack at the sight.

There’s a sort of inherent game being played in the early days of fucking someone new — one you enjoy above all else. It’s a playful exchange of power, a push and pull, a gentle testing of boundaries in search of the things that drive the other crazy.

A love for fucking is what you’d say you and Otoya have in common, but really it’s this. Playing this game, this exploratory back-and-forth as you’re trying to get the one-up on each other. That one, decisive move has given you the advantage in this game. And that makes both of you very excited.

Still, Otoya keeps his cool. Remains patient. He rubs your clit and kisses your neck and chest until you’re tangling your hand up in his hair. Sucks on the sensitive skin of your stomach and thighs until you’re opening your legs wide for him to settle between.

“Can I eat you out?” He asks, punctuating with another messy kiss to your inner thigh. “I’ll make it good for you.”

Implying that, first and foremost, it’s going to be good for him. You realize this with a warm rush of arousal.

You respond by shimmying out of your shorts, giving him a nice view of your pussy between your closed thighs as you fold your knees up and pull them off, then opening wide for him again. Glistening wet, and on full display.

His patience leaves him in one deep, heavy breath.

He uses his whole mouth, all warm and wet and rhythmic, a shameless make out session with your cunt that surprises you as much as it melts you down to the bone. It’s a slippery mess in no time, him drooling generously all over you and you leaking more arousal in return. He’s really enjoying this, you think, like he could do nothing but this and still leave satisfied.

And he’s good at it. Really fucking good.

Otoya massages your clit with his tongue, closes his lips around it to swirl and suck lightly, then starts the process over again. Methodical, practiced. All while he watches you, gauging your reactions with lidded eyes. What he’s learned is that you like grinding yourself on his flattened tongue, and you love watching him spit on it. He wants to know what else you like, find out what else makes your body respond like that. Experimentally, he dips down low and licks all the way back up, pushes your legs back into the mattress then dips down even lower— your eyes roll back.

Bingo.

“You like a tongue in your ass?”

You smile lazily down at him. “Is that a crime?”

“No,” his teeth graze lightly over the space between your thigh and the fat of your ass, a testament to how hungry he is for it, “‘s hot as fuck.”

You breathe out a curse as you watch him collect saliva in his mouth and spit it down onto you. It’s warm and slippery when it hits your pussy, followed by the sensation of liquid dripping low. He catches it with his tongue. You shudder.

He’s forward about eating your ass in a way that makes your resolve crumble. It’s the kind of thing that a lot of men pretend to be into, but aren’t actually nasty enough to go through with. Their desire doesn’t run deep enough to get a little dirty. But this guy — this nonchalant pretty boy you happened to take home from the club once — has his face buried between your legs like it’s the most honest thing he can do.

Running your hands through his hair, you gently grind yourself against his tongue – feel it dip past the tightness of your hole. It’s too much, hearing him groan and watching his pretty green eyes roll up. Every part of you is pulled so taut it’s aching.

“Please,” you whine in spite of yourself, dragging the word out pathetically.

“Please what?” There’s just enough smugness in his voice to make your stomach twist with need.

“Need your mouth back on my clit. And your fingers inside me. Please, Otoya.”

His face comes back into view. The lower half is glistening, messy. He runs a finger down your slit, turns his palm up and pushes in, then promptly adds another. You’re so wet there’s no resistance. You’re so wound-up you could cry.

He lowers his face back down, wrapping his free arm around your thigh to pull you close. So close you can feel his hot breath caress right where you need him. His fingers aren’t particularly thick, but they’re long and skilled enough to induce that pleasurable full feeling. Watching intently, he pumps them steadily deeper until your whole body is arching and flexing with tension.

He makes you wait just long enough to hear you breathe in, readying another whine. Then just before he gives you his tongue again, he tells you, inflated ego making his eyes sharp and his voice teasing:

“When you cum, call me Eita.”

#bllk x reader #otoya eita x reader #otoya x reader #filthopedia #about:otoya

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frenchkisstheabyss · 1 year ago

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♥︎ ₵₳₦ĐɎ ♥︎

♥︎ Pairing: lead singer!boyfriend!yuta x chubby!fem!bassist reader (you get mark & johnny as bandmates too so that's fun)

♥︎ Genre: rockstar au/fluff/angst/smut

♥︎ Summary: Joining your favorite band was a dream come true. That is until you fell for the lead singer who has no shortage of groupies throwing themselves at him. He says he loves you but can you really trust him? I mean, you used to be a groupie too after all.

♥︎ Word Count: 4.1k-ish

♥︎ Warnings: Strong language. If you don't like curse words I'm sorry babes. I'm a potty mouth. Unprotected sex, creampie, shower sex, rough sex, a lil choking, nibbling, scratching, fingering, marking, oral sex (f receiving), tattoos/piercings, pet names (daddy, baby, etc), a lil drop of mutual possessiveness.

♥︎ A/N: I've really been trying to have more fun with my fics and just let my brain do it's thing so I hope y'all have fun with it too, darlings.

“Yuta, I fucking love you!” an obnoxiously tipsy female voice screams from the crowd.

A bra comes soaring from the sea of bodies packed into the pit at the edge of the stage. The pink lace fabric lands at Yuta’s feet, draping itself across his scuffed black combat boots. Any band knows that when you stop the show to do something — tune your guitar, take a sip of water — it’s prime opportunity for anything to happen. And it almost always will.

It’s not like you can blame her. Once upon a time you’d been one of those girls in the crowd, lost in the chaos of the night. There’s nothing like it, the rush that you get when your heart seems to sync with the violent bashing of the drums. The distorted guitars like electric coursing through your veins. Every lyric floats through the air, becoming more and more a part of you with each breath you take in.

Then there was him…

Nakamoto Yuta. When your friends were all drooling over him you’d pretend you weren't interested. You’d never be so basic as to fall for the lead singer of the band. Maybe he did have the sort of voice that makes a girl melt even when he’s growling the filthiest lyrics. Especially when there’s growling. And maybe he did have bone structure to die for.

Then there were the tattoos, piercings, and the way sweat glistened on his chest halfway through a show. You weren’t won over by any of that. It was all about the music, one artist appreciating another. So when Yuta’s bassist quit the band and your manager broke the news that she’d gotten you an audition your intentions were purely artistic.

In this industry, a girl’s gotta work twice as hard as the guys to prove she can do half of what they can. You worked your ass off session after session, easily demolishing any other bassist their label could’ve suggested. You earned your spot in the band ten times over. Made sure no one could question why you were there. Then and only then did you let Yuta fuck your brains out.

Before shows, after shows. Tour buses. Hotels. Airport bathrooms. Green rooms. Whenever. Wherever. However. In the studio and onstage it was still about the music but everything else? All of it was driven by how much you lusted for and, much to your dismay, loved one another.

Recalling the heavenly experience it is to be bent over a bathroom sink with Yuta so deep inside of you that you feel it in the back of your throat, you can’t really blame Ms. Pink Lace for tossing her bra at him.

Kneeling down to pick up the bra, Yuta takes a look back at you. The most innocent face in the world, his baby angel, geared up and ready to commit murder.

You can’t really blame her but—

Fuck it. You do.

“I think she wants to come backstage after the show!” a guy shouts from the other side of the stage, garnering laughter from the crowd. Yuta smiles as he approaches the mic stand, the bra dangling from his fingers by the strap. “I think she wants my girl to kick my ass,” Yuta laughs, pushing his messy hair back out of his face.

“Kick his ass” Johnny whispers into his mic from the safety of his drum kit. Nearly spitting out the sip of water you’ve just taken, you toss the rest back at Johnny. The years of experience he has over you come in handy as he expertly dodges it.

“Boo, she doesn’t like to share!” Ms. Pink Lace shouts, not quite ready to back down.

Yuta steps aside and turns to you once more, “You wanna come answer this?” You unplug your bass and stroll to Yuta’s side with the sweetest smile on your face. “Do I share him?” you ask as if it’s the dumbest question you’ve ever heard in your life. It is. You lay your hand flat on his chest, running it all the way down to the waist of his pants. Looping a finger around his belt, you pull him closer and into a kiss deep enough to make you both forget you’re on stage.

When you finally break away, you borrow his mic for a quick announcement. “Our next song is called ‘In Your Fucking Dreams’!” Taking the bra from Yuta, you put it on over your dress. Ever the supportive boyfriend, he clasps it in the back for you and plants another kiss on your lips before you skip back to your spot.

“Well, then…” Yuta sings, “This is ‘In Your Fucking Dreams’” Mark laughs, strumming his guitar to warm up, “In your fucking dreams, parenthesis, thanks for the new bra.” The crowd cheers, basking in the chaos of it all. You plug your bass back up, ready to shred hard enough that your fingers bleed. You’re pissed, all of the boys know it, but the show must go on.

There’s no crying in punk rock.

“Are you crying?” Mark asks, spotting you amongst the legions staff shuffling around the halls backstage. “No” you sniffle, wiping the tears from your cheeks, “The lights were just hot and—” He grabs you by the arm, turning you to face him. “You’re a shitty liar. You’re crying. What’s wrong?”

Overhearing the conversation as he passes, Johnny doubles back. “Are you—” Johnny starts but figures it out before he has to speak another word, “Wait, don’t tell me you’re upset about that bra thing.” Feeling cornered, you try to push them aside but they don’t budge an inch. “Look, no. I don’t know. I’m just—fuck just leave me alone okay!” you snap, another wave of tears stinging the corners of your eyes.

Yuta finally catches up, his exhaustion turning to concern when he sees you. If you’re upset, even over the tiniest thing, everything stops for him including the urge to pass out after a show. He takes you by the hand, bringing you into his arms. He’s sticky and wet but his embrace is comforting all the same. “Baby,” he says softly, petting your hair, “What’s going on? Talk to me.” With so many eyes on you, you aren’t quite sure how to admit that Johnny’s right.

You are upset about the bra thing. Upset, embarrassed, angry, hurt — every mixture of things — and you can’t make sense of any of it. “Can we just go back to the hotel?” you ask, gathering whatever composure you have left. Yuta hesitates but gives in when he sees your eyes begging “Please”. “Uh, yeah. You guys—” he sighs, looking to the others. Johnny and Mark nod, getting the hint.

Mark pats him on the shoulder before walking ahead, “Got it, bro. We’ll catch you tomorrow.” Johnny hangs back for a second, leaning in to whisper into your ear, “Don’t worry, he’s so whipped for you. It’s, like, super sad.” Johnny’s comment gets a giggle out of you which is all he needed to feel okay walking away.

Yuta leads you back to the green room where he stays glued to you as you wait for the okay from your manager to leave. You’re relieved when you can finally go, the fresh night air soothing the suffocating feeling that’s been terrorizing you for the past hour. The ride back to the hotel is quiet with most of your time spent zoning out in the kaleidoscope of lights cast on you as you pass the local shops.

You can feel Yuta watching you, his hand firmly and lovingly holding yours, but can’t bring yourself to meet his gaze. Not only are you the only girl in the band, you replaced someone fans already loved. Each night you have to fight for their respect, you knew this already. Now falling for him meant you had to fight for it in more ways than one. The girls will always be there in numbers your brain can’t even fathom, willing to do things that your brain, unfortunately, can fathom in nauseating detail.

“A girlfriend to a rockstar is like a bicycle to a fish. Fucking useless.”

That’s what one of the producers had advised him when you were supposed to be in the booth cluelessly recording your portion of a song. Those words crawled into the pit of your stomach, spreading doubt like a disease ever since.

By the time you’re done spiraling, you’re upstairs seated at the foot of the bed in your hotel room. Contrary to popular belief, your band’s not the type to trash hotel rooms. That’s why you get to book places as beautiful as this with little to no resistance. Everything’s sleek and modern with large three-panel windows that overlook the city. Abstract paintings adorn the walls making it feel more like an art gallery than a place you sleep but the warm overhead lighting saves it from feeling too stuffy.

“Hey, uh, could you shower with me?” Yuta asks, drawing your attention to the bathroom door. It’s only now that you notice the shower running and Yuta standing there in a towel. “I’d shower alone but I have a fear of showers” he adds, “Shower phobia. I’ve had it really bad since I was a kid.” “And Mark says I’m a shitty liar” you tease, flopping back onto the bed.

You can’t see Yuta but you hear him shuffling across the smooth carpeted floor. He stops at your feet, dropping to his knees and laying his head in your lap. Almost on their own, your fingers find a way into his hair and silky strands swirl around them. Yuta breathes in deep, hoping what he says next will soothe you. “You’re enough for me. You know that, right?”

Time seems to freeze and you along with it. Something you love about him, his ability to seemingly always know how you’re feeling, has finally come back to bite you in the ass. Why can’t he just be content pretending nothing happened?

“Yuta, I—” you say, sitting up enough to catch him staring at you the same way he had in the car. Only this time you don’t dodge his gaze, you let it pull you in. The man looking up at you isn’t the one in the magazines or on stage. There’s no act, only him and a heart pledged to you before you'd even known it. “What happened tonight, I’m sorry” he apologizes, “I can do better. I will.”

“What? No!” you gasp, bringing you both up so that you’re eye to eye, “Please don’t apologize. That’s not what I wanted.” Still on his knees, Yuta slips his hands beneath your dress, fingers massaging your plush thighs. Touching you isn’t always sexual. Sometimes he just wants to be connected to you. This is one of those times. Feeling your body warm against his palms eases the anxiety knocking around in his head. Even though you’re upset your body still responds with pleasure to him, giving into his touch. That’s how he knows he hasn’t lost you. The day it doesn’t—well, he tries not to imagine that.

“Do you think I’d cheat on you?” he asks, catching you off guard with his directness. You place a hand on each of his cheeks, squishing them together so his lips purse like the cutest fish you’ve ever seen. Yuta makes little smooching noises and you give him a peck on the lips. “I know you wouldn’t do that” you sigh, relaxing your hold on his cheeks, “But there’s a million girls out there who want you. I’m only one. What if someday you meet a girl and she’s everything you never knew you wanted?”

Yuta says nothing in response, simply staring at you for so long that you want to shake him to see if he’s alive. “There are a million other girls…” he admits, “Which is good for all of the guys I know want you because there’s only one of you and you’re mine.”

“Oh, Yuta, come off it—”

“I’m serious. I don’t give a shit how many girls are out there. You never have to worry about me finding what I never knew I wanted” he promises, gripping your hips to bring you in so tight that your legs are already wrapped around him. His lips brush yours, hitting you with a wicked mixture of chills and hot flashes. “I know who I want,” he whispers, nibbling at your bottom lip, “Who I love. I choose you. No one else. Can you trust that? For me?”

The sincerity in his voice, how it trembles with emotion when he says that he loves you, resonates more than anything he’s ever sung. His hands ease towards your inner thighs and they part for him instantly. The pad of his thumb brushes your clit through your panties and you shudder. “Yes,” you moan between his lips as his mouth captures yours. His kiss is like quicksand, the more you move the faster it drags you in. But there’s nothing to be done about it.

You’re ravenous for each other, your tongues performing an intricate dance that tangles you together. The movement of his thumb against your clit quickens, your hips arching to beg for more. “You love me baby?” he asks, trailing kisses down your chin. Tugging your panties to the side, his fingertips tease the slippery warmth of your entrance. “Yes, I…” you squeak, shivering when his fingers plunge into you, “Love you so much.”

Yuta’s tongue tickles your neck, love bites marking his way to your cleavage. “Tell me I’m yours,” he says, making no attempt to hide how desperate he is to hear you say it. Your walls clench around his fingers. He flexes them in response, the stretch so satisfying that your eyes nearly roll back. “I want you to own it so say it” he urges, pushing in deeper, “Tell me I’m yours.” Your arms come around his neck, your best attempt at staying upright.

“You’re mine. All mine” you moan, the faintest hint of possessiveness peeking through. It’s music to his ears, turning him on to the point that the towel’s virtually useless now in hiding how hard he is. Reaching between your bodies, you take him into your hand to delight in what you’ve done to him. Stroking up and down you feel the blood rushing up his shaft — veins throbbing, his arousal decorating your chipped nail polish.

“Is this mine too?” you joke, teasing the head of his cock with light circular movements. “Fuck, yes. You want it?” he mumbles, his face buried between your tits. He can barely breathe, he’s probably lightheaded, and it’s worth it. Gripping him by the back of the head, you bring him eye to eye with you again. “I want it” you grin, the fullness in your lower belly intensifying.

Yuta sticks his tongue out, curling it to wet his lips. Catching you off guard, he grabs you by the neck and pushes you back on the bed. Keeping you pinned by your neck, his free hand tears your panties to the side. His mouth latches onto your clit, licking and sucking at the sensitive bundle of nerves. You’re completely at his mercy, only able to shake and moan as he devours you. His tongue runs between the petal soft lips of your pussy, your juices the best drink he’s had all night.

“Find someone else?” he scoffs, taking a handful of your belly, “Who else’s pussy tastes this good, hmm?” His tongue slams into you, the hand around your throat bringing you flush against his face.

“Yuta, oh god — fuck — you can’t say things like that” you whimper, clawing at the sheets.

“Or what?”

Yuta pulls back, his face soaked with your juices, “Is my baby gonna cum if I tell her how good she tastes?” Refusing to wait for your answer, his tongue dips back inside of you. The ridges of your walls glide across his tastebuds, pulsing each time he swirls around and around. He’s relentless, letting up only for quick breaths of air. “So wet and so — mmm — fucking good” he groans, kissing your inner thigh.

When his tongue meets your core again you feel tingling in the tips of your toes and fingers. The tension in your stomach rises, your breaths growing shallow. Yuta releases your neck, locking his arms around your thighs to keep them spread. “That’s it, baby. That’s my girl. Cum for me.”

Pulling his tongue out, he drags it across your clit and sends you crashing over the edge. You throw your hand over your mouth, suppressing the incoherent moans that spill from your lips. Yuta snatches your hand away, holding you by the wrist just in time to hear those last few moans escape. Not missing a beat, he hops up and brings your limp body with him.

Disoriented, the rubbing of your thighs against your core causing some aftershock, you struggle to gain your footing. “You’re trying to kill me” you pout, leaning on him for support. “Why would I do that?” he asks, putting on his best innocent face, “We still have 10 more stops on the tour. The label would kill me.”

“I can’t stand you!” you say, slapping him on the cheek as softly as you can. Yuta winks, pinching you on the ass, “You’ll live. Now about that shower—” Shaking off the post-orgasm brain fog, you manage to hold yourself up enough to lock lips with him. It’s the clumsiest thing. Kissing, caressing, peeling away your clothes. All while blindly making your way to the shower.

You step into the shower first, expecting Yuta to follow immediately after but he stops short just outside of it.

“Were you, like, serious about that shower phobia thing?”

“No,” he laughs, “I just want to look at you for a second if that’s okay.”

Standing alone in the shower, steamy droplets of water running down the curves of your body, you’re pure perfection. A vine of cherry blossoms travels across your left shoulder, riding your love handles, your hips, down your thigh. He knows how long it took to finish that tattoo. All of the tiny gorgeous details missed by the naked eye. It’s been a secret mission of his to explore every aspect of it. And of you.

The admiration radiates off of him and you find yourself overcome with shyness. “Dude, come on. You’re making me nervous!” you say, hiding behind the shower curtain. Yuta jumps into the shower, hugging you from the side, “Oh my bad, dude. I call you ‘baby’ and I get ‘dude’?” Paying him no mind, you grab the body wash and begin to cover him in rose-scented bubbles.

“Don’t be a brat. I call you other things too. I call you baby—” Your fingers trace his collarbone. “I call you honey—” They travel across his shoulder, drifting down his back. You pause halfway down, “I call you…daddy.” You don’t even try to hide your amusement when your nails press into his lower back and he whimpers. “You—why would you do that?” Yuta asks, knowing very well why.

It does something for him when you call him that. Something that makes him want to tear you apart in the best way. Leaning against the shower wall, you play with his belly button piercing. “Did I do something wrong, d—ah!” Yuta lifts you up, bringing your legs around his waist. Catching your breath, you hold on tight, terrified to fall.

“I didn’t know you could do that.” Yuta giddily shifts your weight like it’s nothing, thrusting into you, “I know.” Still dripping from your last orgasm, he slips in easily. Almost too easily. There’s no teasing, no taking it slow. Every inch of him is buried deep inside of you. You can’t cover your mouth and the shower does nothing to conceal your overstimulated moans.

Yuta bounces you up and down on his cock. The water raining down on you causes a sharp slapping noise when your bodies come together. “Fuck me harder” you beg, knowing it’ll only make the sound louder. Always here to give you what you want, he fucks into you harder and harder. With every thrust you seem to get tighter, your body so needy for him that it can’t let go.

They say there’s nothing like it. The rush that you get from a concert. Your heart syncing with the violent bashing of the drums. Well, whoever said that, has no fucking idea what they’re talking about.

Yuta presses your legs back, the head of his cock thick and throbbing as he stimulates your sweet spot. “Baby, it feels too good” he pants, knowing he’s on the brink of coming undone. Purposely clenching as tight as you can, you rock your hips down onto him and he can’t hold out any longer. Now this rush? There’s nothing like this.

The fullness as he cums inside of you makes your second orgasm all the more intense when it consumes you. The two of you float in a state of euphoria somewhere between being out of your body and being hyper-aware of it all at once. Kissing you on the neck, Yuta carefully sets you down on your feet. Unable to hold himself up, he sits down in the bathtub. He holds his arms out to you and you make your way down, cuddling up to him.

“I love you, dude” he mocks, tracing the petals on your tattoo. You groan, rolling your eyes, “Yeah, yeah. I love you too.” You share a laugh at your mutual silliness and then…nothing. Only silence. Your breathing. The running of the water. Your heart and his. You may be in the business of noise but together you’ve found meaning in just being.

“Our band doesn’t really have a concept, you know? We kinda just do what we want. It’s a vibe” Mark explains to the journalist holding a mic way too close to his face.

When your label booked you for a weekend at one of the biggest festivals in the country they failed to tell you that you had interviews lined up. Let alone ones this painfully boring. So here you are, half dressed outside of your tour bus baking in the summer sun with a camera pointed at your faces.

“And vibes are important!” Johnny throws in, “People…they need vibes because without vibes, who are we? Am I right?” Mark stares into the camera, his mind truly blown, “Bro, that’s…deep.” The interviewer nods, pretending that he understood any of that, “Vibes. Right. So you guys are on another level and—”

Just that moment a group of girls pass by behind the camera. Dressed in their skimpiest festival gear, it takes zero effort on their part to reel Mark and Johnny in. “We are so sorry” Mark apologizes, quietly flirting with the girls, “We gotta go get ready for soundcheck.” “Soundcheck, yes! Gotta keep that sound checked” Johnny says, throwing up a peace sign.

As Mark and Johnny ditch the interview to recruit groupies, the interviewer turns to you and Yuta who’ve been praying that he’d forgotten you were there. “Well, uh, I guess it’s just me and the happy couple, huh?” the man asks, plastering on a smile. The two of you are collectively unmoved, though you’re a bit nicer about it than Yuta.

Like a shark, the interviewer smells blood in the water and the mic is in your face next. “Some would say you’re pretty brave dating a rock star. Aren’t you worried someone might try to steal him away?” You and Yuta share a knowing glance before you snatch the mic from the interviewer.

“No. I mean, have you seen me?” you ask, almost glowing as Yuta showers you with kisses, “Next question.” But there is no next question. You hand the mic to Yuta and walk off to avoid saying something you’ll regret.

“And then there was one. So I’m here with lead singer—”

“Yikes, sorry. I have…interview phobia? Yeah” Yuta lies, beginning to back out of frame before you get too far away. Nearly defeated and totally at a loss, the interviewer tries one more time to bait Yuta back in. “I was hoping we could finish this. Maybe I could ask a few more questions.” Yuta pretends to consider it for dramatic effect. “Better idea, you should pull out your phone and stream our new single ‘Don't Ask My Girlfriend Stupid Shit’.”

Noticing that Yuta’s still holding onto the microphone, you run back to steal it. “Parenthesis, thanks for the brand new mic, asshole!” you cackle, holding the metallic purple equipment up like a Grammy. You disappear again, this time with some new equipment. Yuta just shrugs, waving goodbye to the camera, “Love of my life.”

#nct 127 x reader #nct 127 x you #nct x reader #nct x you #yuta x reader #yuta x you #nct angst #nct smut #nct au #chubby reader #plus size reader

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octuscle · 2 years ago

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Hey, I need some urgent help! My boyfriend and I are enjoying the summer on a cruise. Its been great but he wanted to play in one of these stupid game shows. They call it a couples make over or something. We thought it would be funny, like just clothes or something. But they use the chronivac to give a real make over experience with audience input. Well apparently they thought it would be funny to turn my boyfriend into a hairy southern redneck with the thickest accent I've ever heard. I asked him if he's alright and I swear they must've dropped his IQ too. He sounds so stupid. And he's totally into it- he asked to stay this way for the rest of the trip! And now he keeps riling up the crowd telling them to give him a good southern boy to match him. They're taking me back stage now! Please, I need some help!

Okay. I'm afraid I'm late again. You're already on stage. Your transformation seems to have been successfully completed as well.

"Guys, thanks uh lot fahwar thuh transformation. Nuthin' beats thuh lads frum Alabama! Few wonna say sum reeyul dick, come visit us in cabin 1862!" you shout into the microphone. Your friend adds, "Don't knock, gist come in. But beware, we're always naked in thuh cabin. Git reddy fahwar twice 12 inches uh prime beef between our legs."

Dang, you two make a much prettier couple than before that way, though. Okay, you're both as thick as two short planks. But hell, you've got abs!

As a bonus, I made almost all of your tops disappear by the end of the cruise. All you have left are a couple of tank tops. And your necklaces. They go great with the huge belt buckles and the cowboy boots.

Now make your way to the karaoke bar. Sweet Home Alabama. At least twice. And afterwards something nice by Dolly Parton. Have fun!

Best place for finding pics like this is @redneckbromance

#male tf #muscle tf #reality change #chronivac #male transformation #muscle transformation #redneck tf

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lets-try-some-writing · 1 year ago

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okay but what about robots in disguise?? its not a favorite of mine but it’s still pretty good. russel and his dad are decent lol

Frag that show.

It disrespected TFP on every level and for that it has my eternal hatred and contempt. The humans were annoying, and I HATED how many interesting plot threads there were that were either done poorly or with so little tact that the writing team should have just scrapped it. The designs are tolerable, but I hate how canon TFP characters lost so much of their individuality in their designs (coughtheopticscough). Smokescreen is fricking GONE, which bothers me more than I care to admit. We see the rest of the team enough to be reasonable, but they all appear in ways that don't really make me happy.

Ratchet was done well enough in my opinion. I like his RID design. It suites him. Optimus's design can go die in a hole, they brutalized that mech. Same with Jazz. Frag those stupid shoulder pads.

Grimlock is fun, I appreciate Sideswipe, although his helm hair thingies I think need a redesign to make sense in relation to his alt mode. Strongarm was HORRIBLY underutilized and I hardly saw any character growth in her. Drift and his crew were interesting, but similarly not given much room to grow. I really liked Windblade for the most part, especially the episode where she tries to baby Optimus and comes out having relearned that Op is still a PRIME with MILLIONS OF YEARS OF WAR EXPERIENCE.

The Primes who've done nothing but sit on their rears had NO RIGHT to belittle Optimus at every turn. Nor did the show have the right to make him an idiot for the sake of making Bee look smarter. As @nova--spark has pointed out, the personality Bee got in the show matches Smokescreen better. Bumblebee wouldn't have SUCKED so much at the whole leadership shtick. What happened to all that skill shown in the movie huh? HUH WRITING TEAM????!??!?!

While I am on this train. OPTIMUS DIED SO GOSH DARN LEAVE HIM ALONE!!! He should have stayed deceased, or if they REALLY needed him back, he should have either returned as an Civi or came back with actual issues. Like dang hear me out mate.

Optimus is forcefully returned to life, beats the Fallen with his borrowed power, but then has to actually deal with the consequences of essentially being a walking bomb for a while. Make him start losing plating, make his frame HURT, make him slim down again into the TFP base design. Just, give him a reason to have to sit back and RECOVER. Not this whole half hearted limping around garbage. To add to that, don't baby the mech. Let him stay at base and fulfill the role Ratchet did in TFP. Let him use his knowledge to teach and offer wisdom, plan battles and locate enemies. For Primus's sake he could have gone undercover on Cybertron or something if they really needed him to go be useless elsewhere.

THEY COULD HAVE EVEN HAD AN ARC WITH HIM GIVING THE TEAM A WAKEUP CALL!!! SIdeswipe has no respect for the mission, Grimlock is a fool, Strongarm is too snarky, and Bee in this seems to have largely forgotten about the seriousness except for during key moments. They could have made Optimus a minor antagonist, forcing the team to follow wartime standards since they laid down this plot thread regarding issues between leadership styles and Optimus trying to take control of the operation more than once.

I would have paid money to see Optimus's wartime mentality show itself in the best and worst ways through how he worked with this group of non war vets on a Decepticon capture mission. Maybe even have him use lethal force once or twice, or at least hint at it so that people can be reminded that he is a mech who went to war, killed countless bots, and both drove their people to and saved their people from extinction.

Bee could have had to teach Optimus to calm down. He could have helped eased his leader out of his wartime mindset. Or following that whole council running Cybertron route, Optimus could have had his moment of being very much right when he points out WHY he fought at all and gestures towards the new council. There was SO MUCH potential in this show, so many good threads and interesting Decepticon character that could have given so much depth to the war and the aligned continuity as a whole, but they were almost ALL ignored.

*deep breath*

Alright, sorry about that. I have big feelings in regards to how dirty Optimus was done. Moving on, the Predacons were killed off supposedly and that pisses me off ESPECIALLY because it was done in a fricking offscreen setting. What the hell happened to Predaking??? WHERE DID HE GO????

Starscream's design was rad though, not going to lie.

Where is Shockwave? No seriously where is that fragger? After several years of the map he MUST have an army growing in a tank somewhere.

Soundwave. Why. ARe. YOU. HERE??!?!?!? I love you man but dang you are so out of place. He made sense in the context of trying to get to Megatron, but idk he felt like he deserved better. He should have been the big brain behind the Cons on Earth if you asked me. It would have made everything far more intense, especially if the Cons dont follow Decepticon creed as seen by Soundwave.

The humans were annoying. Sorry they just were.

Fixit is Primus's gift to RID and he's one of the few individuals who makes it less annoying. Idk, I just like him in reasonable doses.

WHERE ARE THE TFP KIDS?! WHY HAS BEE NOT CALLED THEM?? GOOD HEAVENS THERE IS A WHOLE SUBPLOT RIGHT THERE!!!

*yet another deep breath*

Apologies.

To put things simply, I would rather a group of fanfic writers put RID together than whoever the writing team was. They could have made a coherent story with deep characters that actually address the ramifications of millions of years of war and lingering functionalist mindsets. They would have done the lore and the world justice even if there were no main characters popping up.

I think RID has so much potential, but that almost all of it went right down the toilet due to either the higher ups sticking their noses where they don't belong or because the writing team couldn't go two minutes without retconning or otherwise destroying established everything.

Thank you for coming to my ted talk.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #transformers rid2015 #lets try some writing mumbles #rant #bumblebee #team prime #optimus prime #bee team #post war cybertron #fic ideas #sorry but this frickin show made me so mad #I appreciated the ideas #execution deserved to be beheaded

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tamelee · 11 months ago

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i just saw a posts about novels that went like

sarada told sasuke he has lipstick stain, sasuke tries to wipes it off and she says he doesn't have one and sakura doesn't wear lipstick.

how do they defend this novels with their lives? it confirms sasuke never kisses sakura and doesn't know if she wears lipstick or not and kisses someone else who wears lipstick. it also confirms naruto likes to wear lipstick XD.

Please. These novels are ridiculous. Kishimoto already confirmed they’ve never kissed in Gaiden. Twice.

(* something nicer = meant the forehead poke)

Though I wouldn't believe anyone if they said they actually like these novels, because the story (or lack thereof) is complete shit, but it’s fine if they do. A good story isn't the intention unfortunately. I genuinely wish that people understood what exactly it is they are defending. I’m writing a post for someone who asked something regarding canon, but I need to take brakes from it because it pisses me off that this happens constantly to franchises— not just Naruto.

And in this case it’s even worse, or perhaps it’s just a prime example, because Jun Esaka (writer for some of these novels) made such a fool of herself on twt by making it all too obvious what her intentions were by writing them. (If it wasn’t already obvious.) First, when people pointed out the many flaws, she admitted that it’s “just her story” and “just her interpretation” (she had only read 'Naruto' for the first time a few months before that), but when other ss-shippers started to defend her and said she was a better writer than Kishimoto (as there’s 0 love between SS when he writes), she basked in that glory and went along with it. Even to the point that she completely disrespected Kishimoto, the story, the craft, openly made fun of other characters (mostly Hinata) and ships like NH and demanded her other novels to be animated as well. It’s unprofessional af. And then when fans asked her for a nsfw novel for SS she agreed and told them to harass the company about it. (She didn’t say ‘harass’ exactly, but come on you can’t be that dense given their reputation with staff.)

What are they defending?

How can you defend anything when the motive is so obviously just personal bias/gain and/or financial profit to a company where both in this case don’t give a shit about the original story. It's not about shipping though, it happens all the damn time to all my favorite franchises and I'm genuinely sick of it. And it's not even about a writer writing about what they want either because I already expected that, but Esaka did her absolute best to try and disprove the bond between Naruto and Sasuke and change narratives completely even for individual cases for the sake of telling her "story". SNS-moments weren’t romantic to her and she quite literally made fun of it by copying them in her story to point out its "irrelevance", but give them to her het-ship and now all of a sudden it is romantic???? She basically calls Kishimoto a liar because ‘Sasuke Retsuden’ in particular is a direct response to ‘Gaiden’ (made by Kishimoto). She blatantly tried to disprove anything he said and indicated about her ship. She wrote about characters that, yes, have the same name as those in ‘Naruto’, but are so out of character it hurts. It took me months to recover my lost braincells.

I don't think my post about it is still up, but to name a few things in that novel if you're interested: Sasuke resents Naruto and his test-tube daughter because he’d rather travel with Sakura, his wife whom he loves so much. But he has to do stuff just because Hokage Naruto said so and his daughter wants to stay in Konoha so he has no choice but to comply. Being apart from his wife-(did we mention he loves her so much? because he does. so much.)- makes him feel so very lonely and he misses her body so much because he knows it so well. He fails to do anything other than being jealous about the women-deprived prisoners going after the new hot doctor, Sakura, who is his wife btw. that he loves a lot in case you missed it. and he rather stares at trees that remind him of her than helping his friend Naruto who’s apparently dying from his own chakra or whatever kind of bs. Sasuke lets himself be bullied by prison-guards that aren’t even Shinobi, for having long hair and looking like a girl, though Esaka makes sure to mention how so very handsome he is and he looks like a cat. Sasuke loses a battle against an overgrown lizard and tries the same damn jutsu 4 times(!!!!) before realizing it may actually not work, I think because he forgot how to fight, but he can however create anything from ice like Elsa (Frozen), or from dirt like some Gaara-hybrid to make Sakura a ring because he loves her so much ofc… oh and he’s now a healer too. Sasuke sacrifices people’s lives even when it’s not necessary at all bc ig Esaka thinks he's a killer, and also he wouldn’t mind being brought back with Edo Tensei if it means he can stay with Sakura, because fuck everything they’ve been through in the original story, yeah? They also immediately forgive the bad guy cuz he's so relatable even though he just murdered I dunno how many people. SS kiss while an injured Naruto is squished in between them because SS-shippers have some sort of “Naruto has to watch our ship being in love to really make it legit because that’ll learn him for getting in between!”-kink (that's real actually) and according to Esaka, Sasuke is so worried about his daughter and in fact did meet up with them during those 10+ years because he loves them oh-so-much and fuck you Kishimoto that’s why.

Be so fr right now. It’s such a joke. And these are just the few things on the top of my head that I remembered ;-; ...

Again, what are they defending exactly? It would be nice to just have a genuine fan of the story write an actual story. No other motive other than "I really like the story and would love to explore some options while respecting Kishimoto's work because it'd be fun!" Except, that's unfortunately not very marketable and ffs it's just sad. (I know there's a Kakashi version and I personally really want to know more about his role as Hokage and what he's done etc, but alas.)

#asktamelee #naruto fandom talk #naruto marketing #naruto rant #hetsuden

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mouseycometz · 6 months ago

Text

Hi, guys! Here’s my half of the art trade with @lockheed-martin-unofficial. It’s a drabble featuring TFP Ratchet and Concorde (OC)! It was so much fun to write!

Flight Repairs

Warnings: None

Word Count: 899

Within the main room of the Autobot base, Concorde shifted his weight, feeling hugely out of place due to his size. True, it wasn’t his fault that he was twice the height of Optimus Prime, but he still didn’t feel quite comfortable inside the missile silo, especially around the other Autobots who often stumbled around him.

Who could blame him? Concorde meant well. He considered himself to be graceful with his movements, but accidents could still happen. He wanted to keep that in mind, at least.

The mech stood tall near the Autobot logo on the floor, observing Team Prime as they assembled as one, intending to engage in a widespread patrol for any Decepticon activity.

Once he spotted the leader walk by, he reached out a servo.

“Optimus Prime, may I join you?”

The Prime halted and turned, gazing upwards at Concorde with the same neutral expression as before. Although his blue optics were firm and steady, there was also a faint softness and understanding to them.

“Concorde,” he glanced over to the side, “I suggest that you instead stay with Ratchet for the time being and provide him with additional aid.”

Concorde followed his optics to the medic near the monitors and ground bridge controls. Ratchet met his gaze, but the two didn’t exchange a word. Feeling suddenly uneasy in his tail, he focused his attention back on Optimus Prime.

“Understood.”

The Autobot leader nodded and made his leave. Concorde stepped out of the way of the rest of the team, allowing them to depart through a ground bridge. Once the portal fizzled and faded, he found the courage inside him to lock optics with Ratchet once again.

He admired Ratchet, truly. As a skilled medic, he was a valuable and hardworking member of the team. But occasionally, Concorde felt the most out of place with him. He didn’t want to be a bother, after all.

“I…will be delighted to help you, Ratchet.” He gestured towards his equipment before slowly shying away. “But if desired, I can stay out of your way.”

Ratchet nodded, understanding.

“Yes, thank you, Concorde, but I have no need for any help at the moment.”

Concorde blinked, starting to drive himself in the opposite direction. However, before he could even step forward, Ratchet reached out a servo, almost touching him.

“Wait just a nanosec.”

Concorde tilted his helm at him, his canards flicking.

“You…mentioned chronic pain earlier?”

…

Inside the repair section of the Autobot base, Concorde relaxed on the tilted medical table. Because of his own size, it was a rather tight squeeze, but he made it functional for himself.

As Ratchet performed maintenance work on his shiny frame, the larger mech couldn’t help but think of someone he knew well, someone who he held close to his spark.

He vented, sighing and rumbling, causing Ratchet to hum.

“Something the matter?”

Concorde frowned, his canards drooping.

“I…I miss my pilot.”

Ratchet nodded, choosing to reassure him rather than dismiss him.

“You will see her again, no need to worry.”

Concorde gazed at him for a nanosec, cocking his helm to the side as the medic tinkered with his frame using various tools. As he worked, Ratchet began to mumble to himself, gradually increasing the volume of his voice.

“Had any recent dreams that could give us clues to your past?”

Concorde shook his helm, pouting.

“No. No, I have not.”

Not even the Autobots could help him recover the bits and pieces of his memory. Still, Concorde appreciated their kindness and hospitality, especially coming from Ratchet. Smiling, he turned to him.

“Thank you for clearing up the scratches in my paint.”

Due to damages and imperfections in his paint from battles and such, he received scratches, making it uncomfortable to fly. It was a relief for Ratchet to aid him as best as he could. And he did try his very best. Ratchet was a good doctor, and Concorde’s appreciation for him knew no bounds.

Ratchet’s blue optics flickered as he focused his attention on Concorde’s faceplate. His expression fell, and he cleared his vocalizer.

“I, er…”

He paused, tripping over his words as he stood straight.

“I must apologize to you, Concorde.”

The plane frowned.

“Why?”

He didn’t recall the medic doing anything wrong. As Ratchet regained himself, he caught the shimmer in his optics that seemed to be something akin to guilt.

“Once, I thought of you as a smug glitch who prioritized his looks above all else.” He lowered his helm, setting his tools to the side. “But I was wrong. This apology…I owe it to you.”

At first, Concorde didn’t know what to say, totally surprised. He didn’t think ill of him. He understood Ratchet’s struggles. And yet, he was apologizing to him? Because he previously thought of him as someone he wasn’t?

There was a sudden fire of warmth in his spark, signifying that he was touched to the core. Maybe Ratchet did enjoy his presence. Perhaps he really could fit in with the Autobot team. It would just take more time. Yes, that was it.

Slowly, he stood.

“Thank you, Ratchet.” He smiled. “I accept your apology, even though it was never required.”

He stepped forward, beginning to exit. However, before he did so, Ratchet called his name once again.

Concorde turned, his canards flicking.

“I could use your help sorting through my tools.”

Concorde smiled.

Divider Credit: @/enchanthings

#mouseyindulgence #transformers #maccadam #tfp #transformers prime #ratchet #oc #my fics

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thanksjro · 1 year ago

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More Than Meets the Eye #50 — The Midlife Crisis Cruise Comes to an End

Our issue begins on Earth— not Swearth, but honest-to-god Earth— where Optimus Prime and Jetfire are watching a broadcast. It’s not syndicated television like I Love Lucy or The Transformers (1984), however. No, this broadcast is coming from some of our favorite Lost Lighters, detailing their last will and testament.

Nautica wants to be buried on her home planet, and doesn’t give a hot gay fuck what they engrave on her sparkcase. Also she’s missing a good chunk of her face, but don’t worry about that too much.

Chromedome’s just happy that he’s dying WITH his husband this go around. I’m sure Brainstorm’s also thrilled to not have the “please please please stop stabbing yourself in the brain to avoid the pain of being a widower Jesus Christ we can’t keep doing this” conversation for the fifth time in a row.

Rewind takes the opportunity to poke Chromedome in the inferiority complex one last time, making his message out to Dominus Ambus. Our resident lovebirds want to “enter the afterspark simultaneously”, though that seems more like something to address with whoever’s killing them.

Over on Cybertron, in Metroplex’s titties, it would seem this broadcast is VERY wideband, as Starscream and Scoop (we’ll go over whatever the fuck’s going on there in another post) witness Nightbeat’s will and testament, though considering Nightbeat’s technically undead, I’m not sure how much legal weight it holds. Having done the whole “dying” thing before, I’m sure he’s spent many a long, sleepless night thinking about how it would happen next time. Ikea Johnson wants a “Neoprimalist” funeral, where they preserve only the head. Interesting that Nightbeat's religious sect is the same as Flywheels, the Scavenger who only existed to be a stand-in for the word "fuck".

Over on Luna 1, Red Alert is convinced that Megatron is using his gun mode to threaten Nightbeat. Fort Max isn’t so sure.

Minimus shows off the most recent trick he’s learned, saying the word “fun” with only stuttering twice. He wants to be buried on the moon, next to all of Rodimus’s failed pregnancies, and wearing the skin of a man who’s been dead for thousands of years.

Whirl doesn’t want a funeral, though you’d think he’d at least want his corpse thrown in the general direction of the Wreckers’ base, where every member gets a slot in the Zone of Remembrance as part of the onboarding. I know he got kicked out, but being shot out of a rail gun at Debris sounds roughly his speed.

Rung only requests that, should he die in his vape pen form, that he be dismantled. He’s very committed to preventing underage smoking, and for that I commend him.

Rung’s request greatly disturbs the Scavengers, who seem to have forgone fixing the Krok-shaped hole in the wall and buying a couch more than two of them can sit on at a time, in order to afford a replacement TV, after Krok fastball-specialed a golden disc through the last one.

On another part of Cybertron, Windblade and Wheeljack watch Velocity state that she doesn’t regret a single thing that’s happened while she’s been a part of the Lost Light. To recap, in the few months Velocity’s been aboard: Thunderclash almost died of being too perfect, Velocity’s first boss ran off to go bang a billionaire with a sword collection, Swerve almost died from too much television, her second boss ran off to get roped into the Polycule Wars, Tailgate exploded, Rung was revealed to be practicing without a license by way of a weird gibbon with a ball gag and his serial killer boyfriend, and she became the only practicing medical professional aboard a ship of over 200, after failing to pass her medical exams ten times. Oh, and she wants to be recycled.

Optimus wants to go save them, thinking that there’s still time. However, the Lost Light isn’t responding, and it doesn’t actually matter anyhow— these recording were sent out weeks ago.

Looks like that’s a series wrap on Nautica, Chromedome, Rewind, Nightbeat, Minimus, Whirl, Rung, and Velocity! Let’s give ‘em a hand, folks!

Three weeks prior, on the planet of Miliarium, action is happening:

Being on your headset in the middle of a battle seems rather rude, but I suppose sacrifices to politeness have to be made, when one of your co-captains is effectively forbidden from stepping foot on any planet that’s aware of Cybertron’s existence, given that he, y’know, is the face of a cause that slaughtered billions over the course of millions of years.

(No, don’t ask Optimus how relations with Earth are going.)

Megatron, continuing to command from orbit, tells Whirl to go help Cyclonus and Crossblades with the Rust Giants’ longship, asking for no casualties. Which is sort of like asking a horse on cocaine to not freak out and kick someone in the head, if that horse also had guns tied to 30% of its body.

Rodimus asks Megatron if he’s enjoying himself, playing a pacifist run of a wartime strategy game with their lives, and Megatron says that he’s “rumbled”; which I’m not sure if I’m search-engining wrong, but I don’t know that even the British are saying that to mean they’re right chuffed or tallywackered about a situation, or whatever. Rodimus is suddenly faced with a Rust Giant that he doesn’t even come up to the knee of, but luckily we have a new superhero to save the day, by way of incredible violence.

Looks like we’re still workshopping the battle-cries.

Tailgate punched this guy so hard it caused a jump-cut to the post-battle celebration, where Rodimus shows off his multi-typefacial abilities, Megatron perpetrates his bigotry towards organics, the Cybertronians make galactic news for a not-awful reason for once, and Swerve is also here! For some reason! It looks like it’s gonna be all peaches and cream from here on, so long as we ignore the first three pages of this issue!

Hey, Cyclonus, you have to wait for him to call you, you're not an Autobot. Just because the little white guy you're Sufjan Stevens-level attached to is going, doesn't mean— Cyclonus, hey. Hey, Cyclonus. Cyclonus. Cycl—

Later, back on the Lost Light, class is in session. We finally get a look at those course Megatron’s been teaching, only briefly mentioned by Riptide in issue #29. The current course track is on the Knights of Cybertron, Megatron having assigned those in attendance to write essays tackling “pre-Functionist folklore and contested heritage”.

Today’s class consists of:

Minimus (old as balls, former high society)

Skids (the best at everything)

Brainstorm (literal genius)

Perceptor (slightly-less-literal genius)

Nautica (jack-of-all-trades brainiac and bibliophile)

Crosscut (former senator, current playwright, therefore probably has at least some sort of degree)

Nightbeat (nosy as fuck, loves to figure shit out)

Hound (former Primal Vanguard)

Thunderclash (perfect student, researcher, friend, confidante, and maybe even lover)

Grapple (not much to say here, other than he’s fucking jacked in IDW)

Xaaron (chief legal advisor for the Autobots)

And Riptide (created during the war and therefore has the least connection to Cybertron's folklore, canonically not a good test-taker)

Poor Riptide's grades don’t stand a snowball's chance in hell against his peers', but good on him for sticking with the classes regardless.

This essay was assigned to help students establish context for the Knights within a world where they have not existed for millions of years, having disappeared since they embarked on their quest to Cyberutopia; a world where information creep, the slow degradation of memory as time passes, has made them into mythological figures. Megatron posits that the only thing we really know about the Knights is that they failed to do what they set out to do, as the universe is not a peaceful place, himself arguably being exhibit A of that failure. Still, he intends to use this course to help the Lost Light’s crew understand the Knights to the best of their current, modernity-biased ability, prior to potentially meeting them. Considering that the Knights will be deciding Megatron’s fate, perhaps this is also for him to grapple with understanding his own end.

Anyway, let’s look at a plot device.

The last time we saw this symbol was during issue #46, both drawn by Grimlock on his walls, paired with the words “prepare confront repel”, and then on some mysterious fellows who were working with Krok’s nasty little friend Demus and someone called "The Grand Architect". However, the first time we saw it was with Skids in #21, after he went through Tyrest’s space bridge and talked to a giant technicolor ball of light.

Seeing this image kickstarts Skids’s memory, enough so that he interrupts class over it. Nautica has also seen this symbol, at an exhibit on Troja Major (a planet that Roberts will use as a dumping ground for many plot points in the sequel series to MTMTE) where it was claimed to be some sort of coat of arms. Thunderclash also knows this symbol, having seen it with his beautiful mind and kind heart in his visions, the same visions that were leading him to the Knights and allowing him to create a map to Cyberutopia. Nautica asks Skids to write out the symbol that he “heard” phonetically into her space phone, in a move that will prove HIGHLY useful later on. Perceptor adds in his two cents, showing off that he’s wearing the “feminine” nose-type today, stating that he had talked to one of the Circle of Light members back in Season 1, who had theorized that the Knights of Cybertron was either originally made up of OR broke down into clans, and that the symbol/map Rodimus and Thunderclash were drawing is merely connected to part of the Knights, and that there could be others floating around.

Nightbeat thinks that all this brainstorming (which hasn’t involved Brainstorm, oddly enough) is super cool and great, showing off his anime thumb in approval. When Minimus tries to give Megatron props for bringing everyone together to figure this out, he finds that Megatron is having some troubles, hunched over his podium as far as his fucked up old man toy articulation will allow. When Minimus approaches to see what’s wrong, he gets punched clear across the room for his troubles. Then this happens:

Look, I don’t care if 99.9% of the Cybertronian population can reclaim, you shouldn’t just limp your wrist at your first officer in the middle of class.

No, what Megatron is actually doing is pointing the fusion cannon he doesn’t have anymore, but had attached to his arm for roughly 4 million years, directly at Minimus’s tiny little skull. Quickly coming back to himself, Megatron is both horrified and mortified by what he’s done, offering nothing more but a quick apology before he dismisses the class and bolts, not even helping Minimus off of the floor.

The following day, Velocity’s paying a visit to Megatron’s room, which is STILL as barren as the most dire of single male living spaces. Velocity’s here because Megatron missed his appointment yesterday, after whatever happened in the classroom. Megatron reminds her that the weekly appointment is for him receiving his ration of “fool’s energon” which is meant to keep him in a weakened state, which arguably shouldn’t make it medicine in the traditional sense. Velocity reminds him that he nearly knocked Minimus Ambus’s (yeah, she uses his full name, guess she’s not been around long enough to get “just Minimus” privileges) block off, and that if Megatron had been at full strength, we might be dealing with a murder situation instead.

Though Minimus IS a load bearer, who regularly slings around a body three times his size, on top of weapons, so maybe not. Also, there’s an even smaller guy inside the first mustached guy, so honestly it’d probably be fine.

Does Velocity even know about the irreducible Minimus? Is that in his medical history? Does she even know that Ultra Magnus and Minimus Ambus are the same person? Because Megatron didn’t even know until they found that corpse on the quantum duplicate Lost Light, and Magnus was his lawyer for the trial as well as being his SIC. Really, what are the legal ramifications of Minimus having assumed the identity of a dead man, now that Tyrest isn’t there to keep up the charade and the secret is a bit more open? Does Minimus have legal claim to Magnus’s identity, or at least ownership of the armor? Can Minimus lay claim to any property he purchased as Magnus, or that the previous Magnuses had purchased prior to their deaths? Was Minimus legally declared dead prior to undertaking the role of Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord, if only to make things easier in terms of paperwork? Can Minimus sign off on things, and if so, does he use his own signature, or Magnus’s? If he signed something as Magnus, would any contract bearing it be rendered temporarily void whenever he’s not wearing his work pants? How much of Minimus’s existence makes him cry late into the night with how legally dubious it is? Does Delta Magnus know about Ultra Magnus being a skin suit? I feel like we don’t focus on how fucked up this whole situation is nearly enough.

Anyway, Velocity asks after Megatron’s medicine, probably because First Aid’s medical note-taking skills often get usurped by his need to write SpringerxReader fanfiction. She mentions that what they’ve been feeding Megatron over the last year have some side effects, which Megatron seems surprised by. Considering he’s felt sickly and crampy this whole time, the side effects are likely meant to be the intent of the medication.

Velocity then takes a gander at the dents Megatron put into his head when he had his little freakout, stating that “chemo-sedatives” can change one’s whole personality in extreme cases, as well as increased stress levels, as Megatron admits that the reason he crushed his head with his hands is that he heard voices screaming. However, Megatron doesn’t think stress caused such a thing.

To recap how the last year has gone for Megatron: he was forced to renounce the cause he had led for the last 4 million years, became co-captain of a fucking Carnival cruise ship, had 95% of his crew disappear from reality, found a bunch of corpses, got slapped in the face by Soundwave’s dad, had to lie to Rewind’s face to make him okay with killing himself so that everyone else might live, got shot as an infant, gaining anywhere from three-to-five fathers as a result, visited the most passive-aggressive garden in the galaxy, got stabbed in the chest and brained with a flat-screen television and then had to apologize for it, and was non-consensually hugged by a swarm of flesh-eating insects parading around in his SIC’s skin suit.

Velocity gets a call on her smart watch, Swerve on the other end demanding her presence at the medibay, seeing as she’s the only doctor on the ship now, and there are multiple people having a crisis.

Smash cut to Swerve, Cyclonus, Tailgate, Chromedome, Rewind, Rung, and Megatron standing on the bridge, their colors looking super fucked up and light bloomed out, because this is a 40-page issue with a shit-ton of detail and characters, so we’ve got three colorists, two artists, and an extra inker on for this one. They’re meeting with Rodimus, whose fingers have shrunk down to the size of shoestring potato fries, because Swerve, Tailgate, Rewind, Rung, and Megatron heard some sort of awful noise in their brains at the exact same time. Chromedome is here to support his husband, because he loves him so, so much, kissy-noise kissy-noise. Cyclonus is here mainly to clarify that he’s a badass who no one has ever heard cry, because emotional vulnerability and expressing pain are for pussies, unless you’re doing it by way of self-harming directly onto your face meat.

Only Tailgate and Rewind actually admit to what they heard, Tailgate hearing Cyclonus berate him for falling for Getaway’s tricks and Rewind hearing Dominus berate him for not doing enough to find him. I’d imagine both Rung and Swerve were hearing things relating to their professionalism, given that Rung fucking sucks at his job, and Swerve’s gonna fry the moment Ten gets a union sorted out. Megatron, is well, Megatron, so there’s a litany of awful things that he could have heard.

Rodimus has Blaster reveal that the ship received a signal at the exact same time that these people had their little brain event. Brainstorm hypothesizes that what happened was some sort of psychological assault, perhaps of Galactic Council origin, as a means of testing a new brain weapon. Magnus, who has been up on an upper level with a clipboard up to this point, notes that they could trace the signal. Mainframe informs him that they have, but the origin doesn’t seem to correspond to any known location in the navigation, and they’d have to physically go there to see what’s up. Which isn’t sketchy in the slightest.

Rodimus wants to load up on his big, beautiful Rodpod with everyone, so they can find who did this and make them stop. When Magnus questions if this is a wise course of action, Rodimus uses American grammar to trip up Magnus’s British-based spellcheck, so he gets to do whatever he wants. This is a trick he’s picked up since Drift left, as the old game of “pitting my people-pleaser hippy dippy boytoy and my no-nonsense stick-up-the-ass sentient rulebook against one another, so whatever I wanted to do from the start can seem like a pleasantly centralized option” doesn’t work very well when you replace the boytoy with a grumpy old man who tried to murder everything with a heartbeat.

Velocity wants to join the trip alongside Team Rodimus, but Mainframe has his reservations. I don’t blame him, considering she is, again, the only medical doctor currently on board this ship. He suggests she take along some personal protection, just in case.

…I mean, he’ll definitely make sure any bad guys who come her way will die horribly, if nothing else. Also, apparently the Rodpod's artificial gravity goes all the way around.

Nautica’s spent the last few weeks tricking out the Rodpod with a fancy schmancy new teleport drive, because Rodimus was annoying her to the point where if she didn’t give him what he was moaning about she might have had to kill him. Megatron is hesitant to use the drive, but after being informed that there are safety perimeters in place that’ll keep the ol’ Rodimus Podimus from teleporting inside a asteroid or whatever, he pulls the level and they end up in the dark.

No, not space dark, don’t be funny. That’s my job, and they don’t pay me for it, which should tell you how dire the situation is. This is a special sort of dark. The sort of dark that leads to panic and lethal levels of quipping. Rodimus cuts the lights on, but it does very little to offset the absolutely suffocating darkness outside. Rewind notes that there aren’t any stars, and Tailgate admits that he doesn’t know how space works. That’s alright Tailgate, neither do any of the people who draw or color this comic. You’re amongst (created by?) friends here.

The scanners reveal that there’s something 3000 miles in front of them. And behind them. And to the left, to the right, 12 o'clock, three o'clock, six o'clock, nine o'clock, rock around the clock tonight— that is to say, they’re surrounded by something the size of a planet. After disabling the safety protocols on the Rodimus Podimus, the gang find themselves on the surface of Necroworld, where the Necrobot Censere lives and operates his many plinths to the living and dead. Megatron isn’t exactly thrilled to be back here. Nightbeat on the other hand, is overdosing on mystery, and he couldn’t be happier. Nobody’s sure what the fuck is going on. There’s no time to theorize, however, as half the gang just got blown sky high.

Everyone books it back to the Rodpod to escape the dozen attack craft coming after them, but there’s more trouble here— the teleport drive is dead. Which is weird, because they should have had enough juice to get to and from their little trip. When Rodimus tries to contact the Lost Light, there’s no response. They’re not responding. Megatron tells him that those are two different things, mirroring the same thing Optimus said about trying to contact the Lost Light after he and Jetfire viewed the will tapes. Everyone else is busy trying to figure out who the hell could be firing on them, all of them roughly coming to the same conclusion that Cybertronians as a whole aren’t terribly well liked, and the Lost Lighters have made a bit of a name (derogatory) for themselves, since they insulted the Galactic Council, caused the end of the 16-million year Stentarian war, and have ruined at least one bar with physical violence over home movies.

Rodimus tells Megatron to park the Rodpod at the Necrobot’s citadel, just in time for a missile to hit the ass-end of the shuttle, blowing off Magnus’s arm, shredding off roughly half of Nautica’s face, and giving Cyclonus an excuse to hold Tailgate in his arms. Everyone bolts to get inside, Nautica being carried by Skids so we can further solidify the straightest pairing in the series. Once they’re all inside, their attackers retreat, and we see where Censere’s gotten to in all this.

Let’s give him a hand, folks!

While Velocity looks over the body, Nightbeat deals with his personal Santa Claus being dead by way of trying to figure out what happened. Megatron, meanwhile, noticed that the craft that attacked them were of Decepticon design, and he tells Ravage to go check it out. Honestly, I doubt he was the only one to notice, given that all but three of the people on this trip were dealing with the Decepticons in some form or fashion all throughout the war, and could therefore identify the make of the crafts, if not the model, so I’m not sure what the deal is with this secrecy.

Brainstorm is brought over to Nightbeat to help solve this mystery, and he promptly identifies that some of Censere’s equipment is very similar to the stuff Tyrest used for the Aequitas trials, likely used to figure out what sparkflowers to plant where. Rewind, having popped his sparkliest nipple pasties on, because he hates Censere and wants to get glitter all over his house, asks the boys to scootch on over so he can try to call the Lost Light. Nightbeat thinks that Censere tried to sabotage a signal someone else had sent in an attempt to lure Team Rodimus (and friends) to the planet, and that resulted in the brain attack that had happened earlier in the day. Unfortunately, Censere didn’t spend any time with Rodimus the last time the Lost Light visited, so he didn’t get a taste of the ridiculous way Rodimus likes to live his life, and why the psychic attack wouldn’t work.

Rewind gets the phone working, calling Rodimus over to get on the horn. Magnus stands in the background, showing off his grievous amputation. After a bit of fiddling with the settings on their end, the Lost Light makes official contact with Team Rodimus.

Getaway, last we saw him, was very much in prison, but Rodimus isn’t going to focus on that niggling little detail right now, as he asks for the Lost Light to swing by to pick up the team so they don’t all die. Getaway sort of DOES want to focus on that detail, however, as he very much didn’t appreciate being fetish fuel throughout the holiday season, and, despite his name, didn’t actually escape that setup. No, Getaway had help.

Man, guess Megatron should’ve reconsidered failing Riptide on his essay.

Speaking of Megatron, he walks up about now to see what all the hubbub’s about. Rodimus, looking like he’s about to cry, realizes that Mainframe lied to them about not being able to track the signal. Getaway gives him points for getting that right, but really, he wants to drive home the point that the entirety of the crew wanted Megatron’s little pals off the ship. And that’s what it’s really about, at the end of the day. Getaway hates that high command gave Megatron a party cruise to live out his last days on, last days that might not even happen, with the track record of this goddamned quest. He’s sick of Rodimus and pals acting like this whole arrangement isn’t an affront to every single life that’s been snuffed out because of Megatron’s actions.

Everyone other than Whirl seems pretty bummed out by these accusations. Swerve pipes up, enraged that he’s been doomed to die alongside everyone else— he doesn’t even LIKE Megatron. Getaway reveals that at some point or another, he and Atomizer (the interior designer turned bowman, you’ll recall) approached every single crew member and asked if they thought Megatron deserved to have a second chance and also, completely unrelated, but what would you do in the event of a coup? Anyone who didn’t provide a desirable answer got visited by the nudge gun fairy— that gun that can fire thought into your brain, or just erase memories if fired dry. The collection of headaches main cast have been experiencing over the last several issues? The side effect of being shot. Skids especially does not like this reveal.

Of course, Getaway isn’t just upset with Megatron’s leadership— he’s also mad as hell what’s supposed to be a trip to find their ancestors, who will guide them back onto the straight and narrow, has, in actuality, been Rodimus’s midlife crisis road trip. Getaway wasn’t even here for Rodimus and Drift’s ass-slapping contests and insulting galactic officials who want the Cybertronians dead, but he didn’t need to be. He took one look at the Rodpod and decided he needed to kill Rodimus right then and there.

Rodimus, at this point, remembers the list Atomizer had offered him back during the trial. Magnus, biting his lip at the idea of a list existing, asks what that’s all about, and Rodimus explains. Getaway really was hoping that Rodimus would take the bait, so he could’ve blackmailed Rodimus into stepping down and letting literally anyone else take over. Probably Magnus, at that point in the timeline, given that he hadn’t gotten buddy-buddy with Megatron yet. Unless Getaway considers acting as someone’s lawyer under order of the space pope as being too close to an individual.

Getaway decides that this conversation has reached its natural conclusion, as he’s got questing to get done, and it should be moving at a pretty even clip now, since he’s excised all the distractions. Rodimus swears to come after him, but Getaway doubts it’ll happen, given what’s happening next.

While this debacle has been happening, Ravage has been busy searching a crash site, trying to uncover the identity of who the hell’s decided to attack them. Tarn commits a microagression at him, before firing his twin fusion cannons.

The call ends, Getaway cutting off the comm to all contact.

Ravage shows back up at this point, to give everyone the bad news.

Nightbeat, honey, the tragedy is in the opposite direction.

Now, that’s technically the finale of the main story, but there’s a little bonus comic attached to the end, acting as a sort of sideways epilogue to hint at what Getaway and his merry band of mutineers will be getting up to, since we aren’t seeing them again for a bit.

Our little backup strip begins right before the original launch of the Lost Light, where we see some guys we haven’t seen since the 2012 Annual issue. Shock and Ore wander around what will one day become Swerve’s, Shock convinced that this ship is actually the ship they lost 5 million years prior, the Unitrex-1. Ore isn’t so sure, but as the readers, we saw the exact moment that Unitrex-1 disappeared in issue #38, after Rodimus forgot to wash his hands while putting the quantum engine together. Shock, wanting to prove that he’s right, fumbles around in the dark, looking for the graffiti he carved into the underside of a table. Ore gets a call on his space Blackberry while he’s doing this, and we finally get the other half of that call Prowl made in issue #1, after he failed to get Chromedome to stay on Cybertron. The Duobots have 20 minutes to get Overlord’s massive, lippy ass on the ship. Knowing that that isn’t a ton of time, the two quickly book it out of the bar, leaving the spectral form of Skids to look really bummed out.

Later, at Swerve’s grand (secret) opening, we see some more old faces.

Whoa now, Drift, you’re not supposed to be back until next issue!

Pipes thinks he’s been cursed to not have friends, since Hubcap is still at his dead-end job with the Wreckers, and Riptide was too busy being in a coma to come say goodbye. How rude!

Drift doesn’t seem to particularly want Pipes around more than necessary, pushing him to be friends with Rewind, who he describes as having kind eyes. Whether Drift is doing this to keep Pipes safe from overhearing any Overlord-related secrets, keeping his ass-slapping and sexually-tense sword training time with Rodimus safe, or just because he finds Pipes to be mildly annoying isn’t clear. Pipes, however, is looking for more than friendship— he’s looking to bone down.

Pipes’s ideal partner is wide as they are tall, with tits to match and at least one alt-mode that he can use as a yacht. Drift tells him he can introduce him to Tailgate, though something tells me Pipes isn’t really Tailgate’s type, given that he can actually say what he means and doesn’t have some fucked-up facial situation.

It’s really too bad that Pipes died, because I bet he would have loved Nautica, and he would have REALLY loved Nickel.

Later still, we see all of our doctors together— even Ambulon is there! In one piece, even! Ambulon wants to tell First Aid something, and First Aid automatically tries to make it a cosmetic thing, because of COURSE Ambulon would be insecure about his bad skin, and what he really needs is a better cleanser. What Ambulon actually wants to talk about, though, is his alt mode, and the fact that the puns involved with being part of a Combiner make him want to die. First Aid understands, but Swerve, known menace to society, might not be so compassionate, as he throws a grenade into the back of Ambulon’s head, triggering his transformation. Ambulon is mortified, and Swerve does the thing that Ambulon literally just said he hates. First Aid continues to rip flakes of paint off of Ambulon, as the specter of Velocity watches, looking pretty bummed about the fact that she never got to be part of banter like this.

Later on than that, Rewind and a wheelchair-bound Rung are in the currently-empty Swerve’s, as Rewind calls Chromedome to gather up one of the groups for those storytelling circles Rewind organized to try to fix Rung’s brain. He hangs up, then tells Rung that once his brain works again, they’re going to have a goddamned chat about Dominus Ambus, which is only mildly hampered in its threat by the fact that Rewind standing is barely the same height as Rung sitting down.

Rewind then gets to work writing out the story map for when the “Shadowplay” group gets there, as the specter of Chromedome reaches out longingly for the dead version of his husband. He laments that this Rewind died without closure, but the ghostly specter of Rung reminds him that there are rules to this, and they have to leave now. Not sure why Rung’s here to watch himself be threatened by Pipsqueak McGee. Is he actually doing his job for once, helping guide someone through their grief? I doubt it, since Chromedome isn’t a hottie bo-body like Skids, and his problems haven’t (directly, at least) caused the sort of trouble that make entire star systems hate you like Megatron.

Later, during the Overlord disaster, Perceptor sprints into Swerve’s, shouting for a medic, as the rest of the battered and beaten watch. Hoist, himself hooked up to the wall by some sort of cable, while wearing his extra-special Rodimus Star, offers to help, though he’s technically an engineer, and whatever he’s gonna do probably won’t have any consideration for the soul or ability to feel pain. Perceptor was using Tripodeca— sweet, beloved, friend to all, who was the star of the post-Overlord mass funeral Tripodeca— as a, uh, tripod for his rifle, when Overlord probably noticed that the ol’ science sniper looked sort of familiar and did a lil’ grabbing with his big nasty hands. Hoist asks if Perceptor is going to stop Overlord, and considering how things went the last time Overlord was the star of the show, I doubt Perceptor thought he was gonna get lucky twice in terms of survival, especially when Overlord is riGHT BEHIND HIM OH GOD LORDY JESUS MARY AND JOSEPH

How Perceptor survived this isn't clear, but we know he did, as he continued to show up in the story past issue #15 in a decidedly alive, non-paste form. His specter watches this scene unfold, expression unreadable.

Post-Luna 1, Swerve stands in his ruined bar dejectedly, when he realizes that quite a few people have shown up to help him clean up the mess, as long as he promises to reward their hard work with reopening once it’s done. As everyone works to get things back in order, Swerve tells them to keep an eye out for a non-trashed Legislator that he could use as a bouncer, once he fucks around with its head enough to make it do what he wants. Ten’s specter watches as his shitty boss and arguable father is gifted the body that would become him, making a note to get his union going with a bit more urgency.

Later, on the day of the “Fuck Off Megatron 2-for-1 Drink Deal”, Crosscut leads Riptide, Mirage, and Nautica on a tour of the ship. Mirage notes that Swerve’s is a bit of a dive, not suited to his refined tastes in the slightest. In a booth, Getaway and Atomizer have boxed Mainframe in on either side to have a little chat. Swerve and Bluestreak talk television, Bluestreak making a little jab at MTMTE’s second season not being quite as well-received by fans as the first. Over at the bar, Highbrow and Perceptor talk about Quark, while Brainstorm watches while having his briefcase, which he is NOT supposed to have in here.

Crosscut goes on about this bar being where all things happen and where bittersweet is the most often-felt emotion, then calls Trailcutter/blazer an alcoholic as he dances on the ceiling. The specters of just about everyone on the ship watch their fallen friend, enjoying the moment and missing him terribly, as Perceptor brings them back to the here and now of the story, which turns out to be just after the holiday special, judging by the Christmas lights.

Minimus asks if this is safe, and Perceptor says that it is, as nobody can actually interact with the past, because Brainstorm is the only one who’s ever actually perfected that tech, not that this isn’t his fault either. It turns out that when you try to fly against the stream of time as it naturally occurs, you tear a few thousand itty bitty holes on the way to perfecting the process. Perceptor’s found a way to let others view the past, at least for a little while. Minimus is fine with it, as long as everyone continues to behave, and it seems like they are, as everyone mingles in Swerve’s.

The two of them sit down, Megatron handing Minimus what I’m sure is a mocktail, and Perceptor explains that while the window into the past is closing for now, it may open back up in the future. When Rodimus asks when that might be, he then immediately decides that he doesn’t want to know, instead wanting to have a fun little surprise for later. They don’t get very many of those, fun surprises.

As everyone toasts to the dead and to future adventures, the specter of Getaway watches on, smug as hell.

That’s the end of “No Guns, No Swords, No Briefcases” but that is STILL not the end of the issue! It never ends, this thing! Because the number 50 is very big and impressive, obviously this is a double-sized spectacular, and has to cap off with a note from the man himself— James Roberts.

And then after that we get a new notes from fans, but this is already obscenely long and I think I can show you the crux of what they’re all saying right here: MTMTE (2012) is fucking good. It’s a good series. Make your goddamn family, friends, coworkers, librarians, and goldfish read it. Share it with people you’ve never met. Get a long-term personal project out of it. Get long-term friends out of it. Get a long-term romantic partner out of it. If I can do it, so can you!

#transformers #MTMTE #issue 50 #maccadam #hannzreads #text post #long post #comic script writing #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis

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esther-lu-writes · 2 months ago

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A Mile Past Glade Hollow

Journal Entry~ 4k words

TW: Discussion of struggles with anxiety, dissociation and depression

Mid Mar, 2025

I wish I could say spring has sprung. It’s been nothing but cold, blustery weather. The valley creates shady pockets, resulting in patches of undernourished trees. Thankfully, most of the property around the mill is elevated but there’s been a spate of downed trees, making my trail walking that much more hazardous.

I’m too restless to let the poor weather keep me inside. Walking consistently is probably the best (only) thing I do for my mental health. I have a preference for hiking the back trails, which are a series of foot and wagon paths created back when the mill was in its prime (about a hundred some years ago). It’s beautiful back there. Beyond the crumbling powerhouse, there’s an old dam and a series of lazy cascades, surrounded by the mossy forest and all variety of critters.

It’s a bit of a trick to walk the back trails. I have to scale down a steep hill as the wooden ramps used in the past have long since deteriorated. There’s enough tree branches and vines to get me up and down the slope, but it’s not ideal. Especially, as everyone keeps reminding me, I live on my own.

Shay and Ravi finally got back a couple days ago. They travelled all over the south of France and apparently had the best time. Ravi kept calling it their ‘second honeymoon’ and extended the trip twice. I could tell Shay was glad to be back home. He can’t stand being away from his own kitchen for more than a few days… but I know he had fun.

They came over to the mill a few days after they had settled back in. Both were sun-kissed, buzzing from recent delights and indescribable moments. In contrast, I looked like the unabomber who remembered to put on a clean shirt. Prior to their visit, I had let a number of things slide at the mill. I was self-conscious enough to finally run out to the store and restock the kitchen. Thankfully, I’m actually pretty tidy by nature so the last-minute cleaning sprint was largely just hiding evidence of my wallowing. I jumped out of my week-old sweats and put on some decent clothes. It felt like I was cosplaying as their normal friend.

And it almost worked!!

The laundry was put away and the dishes were clean. I was chatty and genuinely happy to see them. Sweet, trusting Shay bought it hook, line and sinker. He casually inspected my kitchen, pretending to look for some crackers to serve with his homemade dip. It all passed his inspection. So, he was pleased and snuggled with me on the couch while he showed me no less than 300 vacation photos. The other one knew better.

Shay is my closest friend and an old flame, but we never lived together for an extended period of time. Ravi rescued me from the hell that was dormitory life and we shared his apartment for almost 4 years when we were both undergrads. My moods weren’t quite as unstable back then but there were telltale signs of depression. Apart from withdrawing from social activities and oversleeping, I would start neglecting my health. After a few days of me rewatching the same season of Frasier nonstop and consuming nothing but smoked almonds and coffee, he would intervene, get me moving, coax me out of my shell with gentle but insistent prodding.

So, of course he noticed empty tins of nuts in the recycling. His eyebrows raised slightly when he saw the pile of DVDs shoved loosely under the coffee table. Ravi is a talented physician, so it was completely natural for him to inquire about my sleep schedule during dinner. Shay didn’t bat an eye when I fibbed about sleeping 7 hours a night. Ravi peered at me over the rim of wireframe glasses, taking note of the dark circles under my eyes. He knew it was all circumstantial and I could easily explain away everything. It didn’t take him long to find hard evidence.

It was getting late and I showed them the door. Shay gave me a bear hug and told me how happy he was to be back. We made plans to go hiking later that week.

Ravi hung back, “You go start the car. I forgot my hat… I’ll be right there!”

I closed the door behind Shay and started scanning the large open room for his wool hat. “Do you think you left it in the bathroom?”

Ravi’s neatly trimmed beard turned downwards into a tight frown. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out my cell phone, “Care to explain this?”

I faltered. I had totally forgotten about that damn phone! “Umm, it looks like you found my phone! I knew it was around here somewhere.”

“Yes, it’s in the same place where I put it before we left on our trip, which was several weeks ago!”

The way he stressed his last words, I could tell he was upset. The best course of action was to come clean. Maybe I would get some sympathy points if I simply asked for forgiveness. “I’m sorry… I hope you’re not too mad. I’m just not really a phone person. I’ve been texting you guys on my laptop.”

“Instead of taking your phone on your hikes, like you promised.”

I couldn’t stand the disappointment in his voice. “I’m sorry, really! I just have an aversion to phones and I guess I haven’t been in the best place, y’know… um, mentally.”

Ravi’s face never softened. He reached into his other pocket, pulling out the hat he had stashed inside. “You and I need to have a discussion. I’m assuming you’re free tomorrow?”

“Yeah, sure… come over anytime.”

He gave me a stiff hug, “I’ll call before I head over. Charge this damn thing.” Then he stuck the phone in my hand and left without another word.

That was that. Obviously, the man was pissed at me and I couldn’t blame him. He was the sole reason I was released from the hospital instead of spending weeks in an institution. He was the one who got the call when the search party found me, dehydrated and out of my mind, lost deep in the woods. One of the few things he asked of me was to be safe and carry a phone around when I went hiking. That and to not be a total dick to my therapist. To this date, I have thoroughly failed him on both points.

But there wasn’t much I could do besides apologize and promise to do better. I found the phone charger and dutifully hung around all morning, waiting for him to storm in and deliver yet another lecture on how I’m responsible for my health and well-being and all that rot. It wasn’t until mid-afternoon that he texted, telling me he was on the way.

I plopped onto my bed up in the loft, deciding to busy myself with some light reading until I heard the front doors open. Except for the loft, the living space in the mill is just one large open space apart from the bathroom. I snuck a look over the railing and was slightly startled to see Ravi staring back up at me.

“Hiding from me already? You must have a guilty conscience.”

His tone was less severe than last night. I was hopeful that I was in the clear, “I’m not hiding. You’re welcome to come up.”

The loft is fairly roomy, with a good amount of space for my bed and dresser. I could add a chair or even a small couch, but I haven’t really bothered to furnish the mill outside of what my uncle left behind. Without any other choices, Ravi sat next to me on the bed. “You realize you’re not holding up your end of the deal.”

I had been laying on my stomach. I rolled over onto my back and stared at the ceiling, finding it easier to reply without meeting his eyes. “Yeah… I know. I found the phone charger.”

“It’s not about the phone, it’s about your safety! I called Dr. Henriksen.. he says you’re becoming increasingly difficult and that you missed your last two sessions.”

I folded my arms, keeping my eyes locked on the ceiling fan. “Okay, but in my defense the guy is impossible to talk to. He answers every question with another question. It’s exhausting!”

Ravi nudged me so I would face him. “You also haven’t made an appointment for your check-up. You promised me you would see the nurse-practitioner while we were away.”

I glanced over. His face was knitted with concern. It made me feel worse. “How do you know? I’m not your patient… isn’t that supposed to be confidential?”

Ravi stared patiently at me over his glasses, “I own the clinic. I’m allowed to look at who makes appointments. When do you plan to make yours?”

All this focus on my missteps was starting to feel uncomfortable. I rolled away from him, “I don’t know.”

“That’s about what I expected to hear.”

It wasn’t a huge surprise when he rolled me back on my stomach and sat on my legs. Ravi is a physical person. It’s hard to remember exactly when he figured out I was ticklish but it was probably through some form of friendly massage. It wasn’t such a terrible thing to have a college roommate who liked to give rubs. Even if we were chatting on the couch, half the time he would put my feet in his lap, often alternating between a relaxing massage and mischievous strokes.

Although he’s a much bigger tease than Shay, he is way less effective at driving me insane. Ravi and I have always strictly been friends, so he lacks the intimate knowledge Shay gained during our young romance. And he’s just not as intuitive. Ravi will settle for a few minutes of laughter and be satisfied that we had a playful interaction. Hence, I wasn’t too nervous when I felt him pulling my socks off. I’m self-aware enough to realize when I’m being difficult and in fairness, I had let the guy down. I protested mildly but decided it wasn’t a big deal to let him blow off some steam.

“Let’s try this again,” I could hear the taunting in his voice. “When do you plan to make an appointment at the clinic?”

There was the familiar feeling of his large hands descending onto my soles. I didn’t hold back and gave myself the relief of laughter. I was a bit more sensitive than usual, given that no one had touched my feet for months and they were a bit tender from the frequency of my hikes. That being said, my feet really aren’t a terrible spot for me. Sure, I’ll giggle and squirm (which can be somewhat embarrassing) but I don’t lose my mind. Through my snickering, I promised yet again to make an appointment with his nurse.

Ravi sighed as he paused, “You say you’re going to make the appointment, but then you don’t. I’m not sure this is the best way to get through to you.”

I shifted underneath his weight, assuming the worst was over. “You’re certainly welcome to get off me.”

He rustled around in his pocket, “Oh no, you’re not getting off that easily.”

I twisted around, trying to get a better look. “What are you doing?”

Ravi glanced over his shoulder, his handsome face beaming with terrible intent. “I’m calling in the big guns.”

He must have put it on speaker because I heard the call go through. I couldn’t be certain what he was planning until I heard the dangerous lilt of an Irish accent pipe up. “Hello, luv! How’re you getting on?”

The bastard had called Shay! I’m not sure what expression of dismay crossed my face but it seemed to delight the traitor perched on top of me. He grinned as he set his phone down beside us, “I’m visiting our dear friend, Lu. Actually, I’m currently sitting on them. We’re at a bit of an impasse and I was hoping you could help us out.”

“Hi Lu! What seems to be the problem?”

Ravi raised an eyebrow at me, peering expectedly over his glasses. “Go ahead, explain.”

This was a clear trap. It was certainly no secret that if Shay knew how remiss I’d been with my general well-being, he’d end up moving in, fretting over everything, smothering me with attention. There were several items where I dropped the ball… not eating well, hiking without my phone, ignoring my therapist, refusing to get a check-up. I needed to pick one that wouldn’t send Shay packing!

“Umm, well, Ravi is currently sitting on top of me because… he doesn’t think I’ve been eating healthy enough.”

I could hear Shay chuckle through the phone, “Oh dear. I suppose you’ll need to convince him you’re going to do better.”

Ravi turned back towards my feet, “That’s exactly the issue! They need to make me believe they’ll keep their word this time.”

He started scratching at my feet, catching me off guard. I knew I had messed up but I wasn’t convinced I deserved this… getting tickled over the phone! I buried my face in the comforter, attempting to silence my laughter.

Ravi continued as he complained to his husband, “See? I can’t get them to laugh like you can. I need you to help me get my point across.”

“Uh oh, Lu. You’ve definitely got him upset if he’s asking me for help! Where are you tickling them?”

“Their feet.”

“Oh yeah, they have to be in a mood for that to work. You can try picking one foot up by the ankle… that can get them going.”

“No…! Shay doesn’t know what he’s talking about!” I argued uselessly as Ravi pulled one of my feet up into an armlock. As predicted, it tickled a lot more. His fingers scribbled over my lifted sole, making me laugh that much harder as I pressed my face hard into the bed.

“Is it working?”

“Yes, but they’re trying to stay quiet. They have their head buried in a blanket.”

“Shuuhuuut uuup!!” I could feel my face start to burn as they joined my laughter.

Ravi paused, “That’s not really what I’m after though. How do you get the crazy laugh? The one where they sound like they’re dying?”

“Oh, come on!!” I struggled to roll back over but it was no use. My friend had the size advantage. He barely squared himself off to keep me in place.

Shay snickered over the line, “Oh, poor Lu. You really should listen to Ravi about your health. We’re lucky to have a doctor in our midst. Now, let’s see… you’re sitting on them, facing their feet?”

“That’s right.” Ravi continued to play lightly with my feet. Not enough to make me laugh but just enough to make me feel helpless.

Shay’s voice grew thoughtful, “Hmm. So, can you reach backwards and give their sides a tweak?”

“Yes, I believe I can….!”

“NO!!” My arms snapped down instinctively. It helped some but Ravi’s large hands were still able to find purchase. I heard my voice crack; there was a frantic edge to my giggling as his deft fingers maneuvered around my arms, tweaking the soft flesh.

Ravi continued to fumble with my sides, “That sort of works, but they’re blocking my hands.”

The amusement in Shay's voice was clear, “Come on now, Lu. Be a sport and let Ravi tickle you properly.”

I tried to respond with some well-earned insults but I couldn’t spit them out. For every poke that was blocked, another found its mark, sending me into spasms of laughter. At best, the words “fucking” and “idiots” were audible but I was becoming unraveled. Being tickled by my former roommate was one thing, but I couldn’t stand this impromptu coaching session!

Despite my growing hysterics, Shay picked up on my rudeness. “Doesn’t sound like they’re cooperating.”

Ravi released my sides and went back to casually stroking my feet. “No, they’re not. But I think it’s starting to get to them. I’m guessing this little conversation is making them feel a bit self-conscious.”

“Shuuhuut uuuhupp!!” I buried my face in the blanket again, feeling my cheeks growing warm.

“See? They’re not taking this seriously. Any other ideas?”

There was a scary silence on the other line as Shay considered the possibilities. “Okay, try this. Turn yourself around so you’re facing the other way.”

I whined as Ravi repositioned himself on my back to face forwards. He gave my shoulders a loving squeeze. “Right, now what?”

“Oh dear, this is a bit mean. It will work though. Grab one of their arms and pin it behind their back.”

I struggled to keep my arm down by my side but it was no use. Ravi is a former athlete, not to mention a foot taller than me. His grip was strong but gentle as he easily pinned my arm down. “Got it!”

Shay giggled wickedly. “There you go. Their sides and ribs are about as ticklish as you can get. Go nuts!”

“Shay… what the hell??!” I struggled to roll out of the hold, but it was useless.

Of course, my evil friend remained annoyingly cheerful. “It’ll do you some good, love… sorry! I have to run anyway, I’m late getting to the shop. You two have fun! Ravi, don’t kill them… oh, and don’t forget their neck! Bye!”

I couldn’t see Ravi’s face but I could sense his Cheshire cat grin. I squirmed slightly, evaluating my position. My large friend, a known tease, who was feeling quite irate, was sitting on top of me, holding my arm behind my back leaving my left side completely defenseless. What were my options?? I had to start saying the things he wanted to hear.

“Listen, Ravi… I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to worry you. I promise I’ll try better!”

Ravi ran his hand down my side, causing me to shiver. “Another promise? Let me give you some motivation to keep it.”

He had full access and began kneading my side with his strong fingers. This was a departure from his typically playful style. He was methodical, varying in pressure and range, trying to gauge my response. My sides are horribly ticklish and being pinned made the sensations that much more intense. It wasn’t long before I was going to pieces.

“Now, what are we going to do about your checkup? Exactly when can I expect you to make the appointment?”

His hand moved up to my ribs, wiggling, pressing, discovering which ones made me giggle and which ones made me wail. I could hardly move and the urge to beg was rising in my throat. The only way to get out of this with a shred of dignity was total compliance. There was a short enough pause, just enough for me to wheeze out my surrender, “T-t-today! Ahahaa, let me g-go… I’ll do it t-today!”

Ravi’s voice was still stony, “Very good. Now, what about your diet? I believe you promised me you were going to prioritize your health. When do you think you’ll stop eating exclusively from cans?”

Fingers went back onto my ribs, traipsing down to my sides, poking, squeezing, lingering on the worst spots, up and down, over and over, again and again. Forming an answer was out of the question. Until he let up, until he decided he wanted to hear my reply, he was going to make me laugh. My mind started to spin as pleas for mercy dotted the stream of my insane cackling. Ravi had never tickled me this intensely; it was clear he intended to teach me a lesson.

There was a momentary ceasefire as he let me catch my breath. “Well, let’s hear your plan.”

I didn’t have a plan to start eating better! My brain was still short-circuiting from the massive sensory input. I grasped at straws as I hiccupped a response. “Ummm… I’ll s-start shopping again? Y-you can come check my c-cabinets every s-s-so often?”

I could start to hear his voice finally lighten up. “Well, there’s an interesting thought. I’m so glad to hear you sounding reasonable again. And I’m sure you’ll resume therapy and start treating your doctor with respect?”

I was thankful that he made the correct answer obvious, “Yes! I p-promise!”

“Very good. Now, what about this phone situation?”

I gulped, fearing this wasn’t over. “I’ll charge it! I’ll be sure to t-take it on my hikes!”

“I wish I could be certain you meant that. If only there was a way to underscore how important this is.” He was starting to sound alarmingly amused. Ravi had always been a tease and loved to find excuses to knock me down a peg whenever my ego got the best of me.

My only hope was compassion for my pitiful situation. “You made your p-point! C’mon… I c-can’t even move.”

“Hmm, no, you certainly can’t. What was it Shay said before he got off the phone?”

“Uh, d-don’t kill me?”

“I believe he said ‘don’t forget about their neck’.”

A loud, embarrassing scream was forced from my lips as his punishing fingers found their way to my death spot. Begging resumed, now increased by volume and intensity. It’s my no-touch spot. It’s my instant freak-out spot. All I could do was scrunch one shoulder or flip my head side to side… but it was no use. One side was always open for the kill, fingers lightly dancing, softly scratching, along the collarbone, under the chin, wiggling in my ears! What I hoped were salient calls for mercy was unintelligible babbling. Finally, finally, finally he stopped.

I gasped and giggled, fearing additional discipline. “Haaahaahaha, p-please… no m-more! I g-give up!”

Ravi let go of my arm and started rubbing my shoulders, “You’re giving up?? That is something rare. Nothing sarcastic to add to the statement? I could always do your other side.”

I buried my head into the pillow, still tittering and sounding completely pathetic. “Nooohoohoo! Please… I’ll k-keep my promises..!”

“I will expect daily pictures from your hikes, to prove you have your phone. And no going down that slope when it’s raining… and you're going to finally hire someone to carve you a proper path down to the trails!”

“Okahahaay!” His massage felt so good after the onslaught, I probably would have agreed to anything at that point.

Ravi kept up his administration for a few more minutes before rolling me over. Seriousness crept back onto his face. He ran his hand over his beard as he gazed at me. His eyes were burning with worry. “You’re not off the hook, you know.”

The love in his voice filled me with shame. I had never meant to upset my friend. “I really am sorry, Ravi. I just… spiraled.”

He tucked an extra pillow behind my head, “I know. We can keep the worst of it between you and me.”

“You’re not going to tell Shay everything?” I tried not to make my voice sound too hopeful.

“Don’t get too excited… you’re still in trouble! You’re also not the only one who suffers when he decides to play nurse and move in with you. The last thing I want to hear is him fussing and moaning about you for weeks on end.”

“Trouble? What does that mean?”

“It means I’ll be making regular house calls. And if you’re keeping your word and being truthful, we can probably limit ourselves to a few minor adjustments.” He gave my side a quick squeeze, causing me to coil up defensively.

I snorted and batted his hand away, “What happens otherwise?”

Ravi brought his face close to mine and peered intensely over his glasses, “Then next time, I’ll be getting both sides.”

I could read my fate in his eyes and decided to choose self-preservation. “You know what? I think I’ll go charge that phone!”

#lu writes #tickle fic #tickle oc #tickle writing #amilepastgladehollow #fictional diary #this was supposed to be about half this length #my face is a lil red from editing 😳#lets all pretend not to see this 🤫

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