#twinge

[spectralunicorn]

scrungo

[momodriller]

Felt like making a reference sheet for Twinge from my comic!

[suntails]

guess how much i love you?

[willosword]

ok this is actually swag i love seeing alastor just BARELY holding himself back from sounding completely desperate for this deal. he's been waiting for this moment for so long he is screaming inside

[sam-out-of-energy]

The angst, THE ANGST its consuming me

I had to write something based off this ask because oH MY GODD

This already became too long so its a cliffhanger sorry teehee

______

They'd been ambushed.

Upon trying to retrieve materials for Ratchet the entire base had suddenly sounded the alarm for intruders.

Prowl had quickly scooped Jazz from a pile of metal scrap into his servo and then inside his cockpit. They'd ran, making it to the very end of the hangar before mechas had walled them off.

It was a stand-off- well- emphasis on was, as it had taken about two nano-seconds of Prowl and the others standing there against mechas before Vortex had already began tearing robots apart.

Now chaos reigned as the crew, including Prowl, Jazz, Vortex and First aid, were in the ringer, fighting off an overwhelming amount of mechas.

"It's like they knew we were coming!" First aid comm'd Jazz while the two sat inside cockpits that were trembling from the punches, the mech's visors coated in an unhealthy layer of energon and oil.

"These ain't normal mechas either." Jazz replied.

"Explain?" Prowl's voice was eerily casual considering the situation at hand, wrenching an arm off an opposing mecha before kicking them back.

"They're faster! Stronger too-" First aid noted, watching intensely from Vortex's visor, admittedly a little curious.

"No doubt they used Prowl's parts to rebuild them."

"To hell with 'em! Let's be done with this and go-"

Jazz was caught mid-sentence when Prowl shook.

The inside of the cockpit pulsed, like something had struck him, which confused Jazz because for a short while they'd kept a good distance from the mechas.

Then Prowl just....stood. Very still. Very still.

"Prowl? Prowler?" Jazz scooted forwards and grabbed the controls, pushing them but they didn't budge. Nothing did.

"Prowl?! You're not obeyin' my controls-" Jazz questioned.

"I'm- not- obeying- my own controls either-" Prowl choked out, straining his joints with a loud creak.

["Hello Jazz."]

Both the pilot and mecha stiffened.

Jazz's eyes widened. He recognized the voice that suddenly rang out inside Prowl.

"Shockwave?! Where are you! What've you done t' Prowl?!" Jazz jumped up from the pilot seat (not having been strapped in to begin with)

["I am nowhere you need to concern yourself with. I am simply testing out my new technology."]

Jazz looked around. He could hear a muffled First Aid calling out for Vortex in the distance.

["So, Prowl, was it?. Good to know. Now, let's get well acquainted."]

Prowl shook again, sending Jazz tumbling around as the mech bent over, clutching his helm.

Something flashed. Prowl felt electricity buzzing inside of him, phantom pains in his joints. Like his wing was once again broken, like his optics were busted in and losing vision of reality arround him. His body wasn't his and it wouldn't listen to him.

He tried to keep his expression cool at the face of this new threat but his coolness came crashing down when he looked up.

Quintessons. So. Many. Quintessons. Fire, blazing high like a giant barrier.

The realization struck him like his processor's loud ERROR alarm.

He was on Praxus.

No, he was- no-

Prowl felt like hurling.

He felt something inside him twist and turn, something wicked. Something unnatural, something that was definetly not meant to be inside him.

-

Jazz could do nothing but watch his mech tremble and shake, straining and squirming like something was crawling under his plating.

"J- azz-" Prowl gasped.

"Prowl! I'm here!" Jazz called out, grabbing the controls tigthly despite the fact that they were moving.

"H- elp-"

The plea came out in a stuttered, glitching mess but it was all Prowl needed to say before Jazz began pushing. Pushing, pulling. Whenever the stick moved one way he'd move it back.

"Shockwave, stop! Let him go!" He yelled. He didn't know what sick game the mad scientist was playing but he was not about to let him take Prowl from him.

["It is futile, pilot. Give up."]

Jazz grit his teeth and kept pushing.

Prowl's fight was made easier, so he managed to break free of the illusion for long enough to push with Jazz, taking a step back on his own from the (imaginary) fire surrounding him. (It was all his in his head, surely). Coolant rushed down Prowl's backplates, his motors overexerting themselves to keep control to himself.

["...I see how it must be. Very well, Jazz."]

Prowl was jerked away from his mindscape, straggling, back into the frey, loud echoes of crashing and crumbling of metal plating and concrete. The mechas weren't focusing on him, focusing all their efforts into trying to stop Vortex from tearing down the entire hangar.

Prowl had managed to take two steps forward to go assist before he'd felt more electricity surge through him. Oddly enough, it didn't stop him this time.

What did stop him was the pained scream that carried into Prowl's audials.

Jazz.

"Jazz? Jazz!" Prowl called, stopping and looking down at his chest.

Jazz clutched his head, crying out. Something coursed through him like a painful needle and thread, connecting him to Prowl even more than before, but not in a good way. In a way that hurt, every muscle in his body clenching. It was like he was connecting to a mecha for the first time again, but the feeling of it amplified twicefold.

Then, it was like he saw his own body slump. No, he was slumped. Jazz couldn't move, couldn't speak or scream anymore (In reality he was still screaming).

No, no no no no-

He saw white. A bright light in his eyes. A smell of burning flesh, of ethanol, medical grade liquids in multitudes.

Eyes. He saw faceless masks and he saw so many eyes, shining like the headlights of a car, blinding him into submission, into staying silent despite the aching.

Make it stop, make it stop-

-

"Stop!! Don't hurt him!"

Prowl demanded, the cockpit echoing with his voice, layered over Jazz's screams.

["I will do what is necessary."]

Prowl called for Jazz's name again, opening the cockpit hatch, desperate to reach in and grab the other, until he realized he was still in the middle of a Vortex vs. Vortex's victims skirmish and pulling Jazz out could only risk him accidentally dropping the other or Jazz being hit by something.

Prowl stepped back from the fight, wracking his processor. He had to do something, something to help!

It was easier with him, Jazz could just use the controls to help him fight against this weird virus, but Jazz? Shockwave was most likely inside Jazz's head due to his connection with Prowl, what could Prowl even do to help?! He couldn't forcefully remove or disconnect Jazz. The other was wriggling and twisting in pain, Prowl's servos were way too big to do anything with him without causing further injury.

An anti-virus, a firewall. Something to block Shockwave out. Prowl had to reboot and rewire his systems for that and all of that had to begin with getting Shockwave to release Jazz.

"Please, stop-" Prowl half-blurted out amidst his panicking. He couldn't tell what was happening to Jazz, but he could feel the other. He felt Jazz clutching the arm rest of the pilot's seat, thrashing and kicking on the cold metal of the cockpit floor. He heard Jazz scream and wail, inaudibly begging for release.

["I will stop when you relinquish control to me."]

"So you can use me?" Prowl snapped, his engine revving from the anger, his optic ridge bent down so hard it almost covered his optics.

["As you wish."]

Jazz went silent.

Prowl heard the thump of a body hitting the floor.

[hello-eeveev]

I have to wonder if Essek’s heartbreaker comment wasn’t also based on picking up on Dorian and Orym’s pretty-intense-but-not-explicitly-defined vibes that were happening and going, “oh you are handsome and awkward and in love with a Liam O’Brien PC in Aeor? been there. make good choices!”

[thorough-witness-enjoyer]

I‘m sorry, but Crow‘s compassion towards the Eliksni and his belief of „They are our people too and they need our help; we will feed them“ in response to the scorn crisis is so endearing. Just his push to ignore xenophobia and take care of refugees with his position of power makes me like him even more now.

(And the way this is an uncommon belief in today‘s time is kinda despairing)

[luthanraels-bignaturals]

I don’t think I’ve seen anyone else talking about how karmic Fitzjames’ fate was.

From the perspective of the artic, it’s a revenge story. His wounds- the wounds he always bragged about, which he got from helping imperialize and plunder, wounds he got from people trying to protect their homes- literally reopening themselves???? This place wants us dead??? “Our ghosts have strong hands and long memories” type beat????

[werewolfaday]

pls. mlm werewolves when. we r dying over here

I am a lesbian 🫶 this is why I draw so many lesbian werewolves. I’m not a corporation you can’t demand representation from me like that!

BUT ofc I’m going to draw mlm werewolves at some point. Just remember, I’m doing this for free and bc I love werewolves not bc I’m catering to a specific audience lol. There are also soooo many mlm anthro/furry artists out there already holy shit I promise. I may not fill that niche and that’s okay!!

[swan2swan]

Fadoula Fans, fear not!

Yasmina's love for running continues!

"Athleisure" clearly means she's out of the sport, but she's still staying fit. Still running, still lifting, still making her gains. Plenty of solid abs underneath that shirt. She knows what's good for her body, and it's push-ups, sit-ups, and plenty of juice.

[buildoblivion]

he’s not feeling so good ☹️

[elviraaxen]

checking up on an artist you used to follow and their skills have improved but ever since they’ve graduated from art school their drawings look exhausted and lost

[clumsiestgiantess]

Imagine you’ve felt tiny your whole life.

You’ve known people, but never felt like you actually know them. They definitely don’t know you. You’ve been in relationships, but no one has ever really wanted a relationship in return, only a good time. Jobs slip through your fingers like draining water. At best, everyone you want to stay always leaves, at worst they want to stay, but at the cost of wanting to use you or hurt you.

Tiny. You can’t hold on to anything. You can’t stop them from hurting you. You’re too small for anything or anyone to care about, or wait for you, or think of you as anyone other than: “oh, them.” You’re too small to catch up with whatever invisible level the rest of the world seems to be running at.

You try to be bigger. You try money, expensive items, alcohol, drugs — the usual things that make a person feel tall. Sometimes you feel taller, but you know it’s a facade. It comes crashing down at the worst times. You’re just tiny. Face it. Grow up — no — keep shrinking.

Then, as if from a waking nightmare, you come face to face with a real giant. Barely taller than their pinky, you don’t stand a chance. If others your own size could make you feel small.. imagine now. They can do all of the above and more. Oh god, their hand is reaching closer. This is really it for you. You’re tiny. Really tiny. You can’t stop them.

The giant’s fingers are soft against your skin — gently lifting you off the ground where others your size had thrown you. They’re.. not hurting you? You don’t trust it, but every day the giant comes to you, ensures that you’re alright, and leaves you be. They don’t handle you when you don’t want it, and comfort you when you do. The first person to care — to treat you as something other than small and unimportant — and they’re a literal giant. They use their impossible strength and imposing stature to keep you safe.

You relish in the sudden ease in which you get up for the day. You melt into their hands — a place made for the sole purpose of keeping you safe and comfortable. You love being tiny. You love being tiny with them, because it makes you feel giant.

And that’s essentially Erica’s view of Alexis.

[naamahdarling]

I'm unusually immune to pets begging for food or treats, but this Dickensian orphan came into the bathroom this afternoon begging for his soups with the biggest saddest eyes I have ever seen on a cat and I actually did almost feel something.

[clockwayswrites]

What if I just buckled down tomorrow and wrote the last 2.5-3.5 chapters of City Pigeons...

[xmrnothingx]

Vivian from Paper Mario The Thousand Year Door

Vivian, but some time after the events of The Thousand Year Door. Yes, I gave her my Super Crown outfit, I wanted to show how much she's grown since the game. And, tbh, after drawing her with clothes a few times she kinda feels naked to me without them