#writing for publication

[bluberimufim]

I love that opera sits in this limbo where it's extremely well-known but not really beyond a surface level recognition, so you get commercials for makeup or whatever to the tune of the I Hate Women So Much It's Unreal aria

[bamsara]

I love blocking people I've never interacted with based off their replies on some random popular post. Wow random user on a post with 50k notes with the worst take ever, I hope I never meet you and will make sure we never do

[codecicle-archive]

Whar does rpf mean 💔💔💔

historians aren't quite sure. Albert Einstein's last words were "rpf is fine" and we've been searching ever since

[fireflysugarpie]

I'm literally so obsessed with the fact that Shang Qinghua and Shen Qingqiu married the most extreme versions of each other

like, I'm pretty sure that people have already brought this up, but Shang Qinghua and Luo Binghe have the same, "I'm just a little guy, you wouldn't hurt a little guy, would you?" pathetic, pitiful, crybaby aura (even though Binghe is a lot more selective with it lol)

and Shen Qingqiu and Mobei-Jun are icy beauty, rich, dense, spoiled brats that both go insane over (1) pitiful hamster man (for different reasons, but still)

I feel like if they didn't fucking die and get transmigrated, they could've had a cute assholes to assholes but lovers arc :<

[cozylittleartblog]

Columbo and the Knight (1984)

put me in the universe where Columbo ran through the 1980s and had a crossover episode with Knight Rider. I think they deserved it, and I am not just saying that because they're my two favorite Old Shows. @telebeast wrote a little fanfic blurb about it and I HAD to visualize it into a comic (which is also the longest comic I have finished thus far at five pages...), so writing credit goes to them.

Autism W!

[stump-not-found]

soos' guide to checking out a totally sick boat, dudes

aka; what if soos fell thru the portal too

[superbat-lmao]

Jason travels to an alternate universe where Bruce only cares about being Batman. He took in each of his kids to serve the mission, not be his children.

Now, faced with alternate versions of his family, Jason has to grapple with the fact that his Bruce does care, that he is his father. Because the man in front of him now, trying to send him home, isn’t even close.

[dumplingsjinson]

List of “sweet and intimate actions which make me go feral and have me folding like a folding chair” prompts 

Character B carding their fingers through Character A’s hair and playing with the strands.

Character B peeling back the neck of Character A’s turtle neck sweater to trail gentle kisses down their neck. (This!! It is so hot, and it's everything I didn't know I needed until now, and I cannot stop thinking about it wlkfnlkwe)

Character B placing their arm around Character A’s waist while in public, resting their chin on Character A’s shoulder. “Hello,” they say in a teasing tone as Character A tries to grab ahold of their hand to keep it there but fails a few times before successfully doing so. 

Leaning against each other while in public.

Spooning and back hugs.

Character B letting Character A rest their head on their chest; lets them listen to their heart beat. 

Character B whispering sweet nothings into Character A’s ear.

Character B checking in on Character A to make sure they’re comfortable and okay with the way things are going; to make sure they’re not being too much. “You’re not,” Character A would reassure, repositioning themselves to get closer to Character B.

Just cuddles and snuggles in general.

Neck kisses.

Kisses littered all over the face. (!!! It's one thing to read about it and one thing to experience it wlejbfewljn)

Character B tucking Character A’s head under their chin while they’re cuddling.

Character B nuzzling their neck and breathing in Character A’s scent/fragrance, and commenting on how nice they smell.

Character B making sure Character A gets home safe by driving them home.

Character A telling Character B to message them when they get back home safe, and once Character B gets home, they follow through by sending a message to let Character A know they’ve gotten back home safe.

Taking naps together, from day till night, waking up every now and then to get more snuggles in. 

That soft exhalation of adoring laughter leaving Character B’s mouth after kissing Character A (this shit had me folding so fucking hard it’s not even funny. I Am Weak). 

That soft exhalation of laughter once again just because Character B is so content with having Character A in their presence, and Character A just basking in how cute that sound is and how happy it makes them. 

Character B entangling their legs with Character A’s, pressing their bodies flush against each other’s, leaving little to no space between them. (It’s almost like they can’t get enough of Character A.) 

Kissing so many times, to the point where they lose track of how many times they’ve kissed already. 

Holding hands and lacing their fingers together while they’re cuddling.

Comparing hand sizes and giggling about it together.

Character B stroking Character A’s hair while they’re asleep. (Or uh, pretends to be asleep DJSKKSKDSK but it’s so FUCKING CUTE WHEN HE DID THAT IM GONNA SCREAM, me thinking moments like these only happen in Korean dramas or some shit anfkakfksk-)

The sweet little banters in between; Character B being all cheesy and Character A playfully deflecting their comments only for Character B to playfully push back with an “Is something wrong with that?” or “But I’m not lying.”

Falling asleep in each other’s arms, both not wanting to leave the bed for the entire day and wanting to stay comfortably snuggled up against each other instead.

Character B placing their hands on Character A’s shoulders, and Character A, with a grin on their face, gently grabs Character B’s hands and wraps their arms around their neck while leaning back into them. Character B reciprocates by hugging them closer to them.

The soft noises of content Character A makes when they snuggle closer to Character B, or when they want Character B to hold them closer to them, with Character B happily obliging. 

Character B rubbing their cheek against Character A’s.

Character B trying to not wake Character A up because they look so comfortable when sleeping. (His words, not mine.) 

Soft, repeated pecks on the lips, causing Character A to laugh/smile against Character B’s lips. 

[strawberryyyenthusiast]

Eddie still wears his battle vest, even though it’s super old and kind of dingy, and Steve just keeps adding homemade pins to it whenever Eddie takes it off.

“If lost please return to: my wife”

“I’m autistic please don’t make eye contact with me”

“I would rather be with my wife”

Stuff like that. Eddie absolutely loves them so much and does not regret getting Steve a button maker for Christmas last year.

[jstor]

Want to write for JSTOR and get paid to do it?

Have you used JSTOR for a project in a unique or interesting way? Are you a faculty member or librarian who uses JSTOR in instruction? Got any pointers or cool techniques for incorporating JSTOR into research or even archival workflows?

If so, we want to hear from you! We're accepting submissions of drafts for blog posts, teaching resources, librarian tips, and more. Your work could be featured on the JSTOR Blog or JSTOR Daily and contribute to a wider conversation about how JSTOR supports critical thinking and deeper learning. This is a great opportunity to add a new publication to your CV/resumé and inspire peers across institutions.

We're especially interested in examples that show how JSTOR supports engagement with primary sources, the development of research skills, or interdisciplinary discovery—whether that’s through direct student use or the behind-the-scenes work that makes those moments possible.

Some more details:

Open to U.S. residents

Compensation available

Wide audience: higher ed, secondary ed, scholars, libraries, and lifelong learners

Learn more and submit your drafts here!

Image: A Scholar/Apothecary Mixing a Concoction with a Pestle and Mortar and Writing down the Remedy; an Emblem from a Drug Jar. Watercolour. Wellcome Collection.

[heart-of-the-morningstar]

✨Sensitivity✨

I am an absolute SLUT for Luci’s wings so I wanted to write something with them :), huge thank you to @myhornybrainonlyknowsthis for the help 💖

Also I’m legit on a cruise ship rn, but @amberlouise473 knows I gotta feed y’all like I’m tossing corn to my chickens 🤣

Lucifer x f!sinner reader

Summary: You’re super curious about Lucifer’s wings, but neither of you knew how sensitive they were. You didn’t know how sensitive you could be either…

Warnings: 18+, smut, dry humping, ruined clothes, pet names, oral (f receiving), face riding, over stimulation, multiple orgasms

It was time for bed and Lucifer was still working. You knew he worked late sometimes but this seemed a little later than usual. You decided to take a look to see if he was still in his office. Sure enough, you saw him sitting down at his desk when you entered the room. But when you looked closer, you saw that he’d fallen asleep at his desk, his head resting in his arms. He looked so peaceful lying there, you almost didn’t want to disturb him. But you knew he’d feel a lot better if he actually slept in your bed instead of hunched over his desk. Quietly, you walked towards him trying not to make any loud noises that might startle him. You placed a hand on his shoulder, shaking it lightly.

“Luci?,” you whispered, “Luci, it’s time for bed, wake up sleepy head.” He moaned quietly, but your shaking didn’t seem to have done the trick. You shook his shoulder a little hard. “Luci, c’mon hon.” Nothing. You took your other hand and placed it on his other shoulder, shaking him even more. “Lucifer!,” you nearly screamed!

With that, Lucifer’s eyes shot open, pushing himself off the desk. “AAHHH!!! WHAT?!?! What’s going on?!,” he yelled. You never saw him so frazzled before, it was kind of cute. But what you really didn’t expect was to see Lucifer’s wings spring out from his back. It must have been an involuntary reaction from the shock of being woken up so suddenly. His eyes found yours and he breathed a sigh of relief.

“Oh, it’s you, darling,” he breathed. “You really scared me there! I guess I must have fallen asleep, forgive me.” You were only half listening to him at this moment, your gaze was still fixed on his angelic wings. You’d only seen them once or twice before, but never for long. It was then that Lucifer turned his head and noticed what had caught your attention. “Oh! Sorry about that, it’s a defense mechanism, as silly as that sounds. I’ll put them away-”

“No, wait!”, you shouted louder than you meant to. Lucifer cocked an eyebrow at you, not understanding why you had stopped him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to yell. It’s just…I never get to see your wings. They’re really beautiful.”

A light blush dashed across his face, he gave you a shy smile. “O-oh, thank you! I don’t think anyone’s ever said that to me.”

“That’s a shame,” you pouted, “I think they’re incredible.” You walked closer to him to get a better look at them. Their white and red coloring were breathtaking. Their length took up almost the entirety of the room you were in, and his office was not small in the least. A tiny part of you wondered if he always had red feathers, or if they had changed after he…

Perhaps that was a question for another time.

“Are they heavy?,” you inquired.

“Oh! Umm, I don’t think so,” Lucifer pondered. “I don’t really notice if they are. I might have gotten used to them over the last 10,000 or so years.”

“Can I…touch them?,” you asked shyly, averting Lucifer’s gaze.

He smiled. “Of course, love. Let’s go back to our room, shall we?”

Lucifer’s wings disappeared for now as he gently grabbed your hand and led you out of his office. Once you reached your bedroom, he unfastened his shirt and threw it off to the side. It made you blush, even though his bare chest was not a new sight to you. Lucifer noticed your reddened face and smirked.

“It’s a little easier this way, don’t you think?,” he chuckled. He walked over to the bed and sat down, crossing his legs in the process. He tapped his thigh, offering you a seat in his lap. You smiled and wrapped your legs around his torso, straddling him. “You ready?,” he asked with a little smile. You nodded your head eagerly. In an instant, his three sets wings appeared again. You noticed something was a little different though.

“I could have sworn they were bigger,” you puzzled.

“No, you’re right, they were,” Lucifer laughed. “I can control how large or small they need to be. They might have broken something in here if they were any bigger!”

You chuckled lightly. They were even more breathtaking up close, his scarlet feathers glistened even in the dim lighting of the room. You stuck out your hands and touched the top of his first set of wings. Unexpectedly, Lucifer inhaled sharply from your touch, screwing his eyes shut. You pulled away instantly.

“Oh no!,” you gasped. “Did I hurt you? I swear I barely touched them! I’m sorry!”

Lucifer exhaled slowly and opened his eyes again. “No, no, it’s alright, love,” he cooed, “it wasn’t painful. I just didn’t expect the sensation. Let’s just say they’re…more sensitive than I originally thought.” It was only then you felt a bump forming between your legs.

Oh…OH!

You quickly caught on to what he was referring to. And having you straddle his lap probably wasn’t helping. A small smirk crept across your face. You couldn’t resist the urge to make him squirm from your touch; the thought excited you.

“Well, in that case…” you smiled slyly, reaching out for his wings once more. This time, you gave them a slightly firmer grip than before. Lucifer nearly yelped from your touch and buried his face into the crook of your neck. You ran your hands up and down the tops of his wings, almost massaging them in a way. Lucifer was unable to hold back his moans.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart,” he panted.

You loved the sight of him bending so easily to your simple touches. You wondered if you could break him. You began to shift your hips in his lap, grinding on the now very apparent bulge in his pants. Lucifer nearly sobbed as you ground your hips against him. You moved your hands down to his second set of wings to give them some attention. You could tell he was unraveling quickly.

“D-Dear,” he choked out, “i-if you don’t stop, I’m g-gonna…f-fuck…”

His plea only made you grind against him at a faster pace while continuing to stroke his sensitive wings. At this point he couldn’t even form a coherent sentence, only broken moans and gutural sounds left his lips. You moved your hands down to his smallest set of his wings, pinching them between your fingers.

“FuckfuckfuckFUCK,” Lucifer cried out as your movements finally pushed him over the edge. He bit down on your shoulder as he came, completely ruining in pants. Once he came down from his high, he looked into your eyes, almost distraught.

“I’m…I’m so sorry,” he whimpered. “I-I didn’t think that…I didn’t mean to…” He couldn’t finish his sentence. His wings disappeared from sight as he buried his head into you chest

“Hey, hey, it’s alright,” you told him as you lifted his head up to plant a tender kiss to his lips. The small tears that had formed in his eyes fell down the side of his face, but you wiped them away with your thumbs. “Luci, please don’t apologize,” you soothed. “You never have to feel sorry for that! Did you feel good?”

Lucifer steadied his breathing, trying his best to calm down. “Yes, love, it was amazing. You’re amazing.” He lifted you off his lap and placed you on the mattress while he stood up, discarding the rest of his now filthy clothes. “But I absolutely refuse to be the only one being pleasured tonight.”

Without warning, Lucifer leaned down and crashed his lips into yours, filing your mouth with his tongue. You moaned against his lips, feeling as though you might be devoured by him. Lucifer tugged at the hem of your pajama pants, asking permission to remove them. “Mhmm,” was all you could mumble. In one swift motion, your pants had vanished and all you felt was the cool air on your legs. Lucifer brought down his fingers to your folds, loving the feeling of how wet you were for him. He captured your moan on his lips, but suddenly pulled his fingers away, leaving you to whine in protest.

Lucifer broke your kiss and brought his soaked finger to his lips, tasting your sweet nectar. “Mmm, you always taste so delectable, darling,” he marveled. You couldn’t help but blush at his words, he knew just what buttons to press when it came to you. He crawled back up on the bed and laid flat on his back, his head propped up by the pillows. “Come have a seat, sweetheart,” he teased as he pointed to his coy smiling face.

Your face became extreme hot as you crawled towards the demon king. You made your way on top of him and came to a halt when your dripping cunt hovered right above Lucifer’s eager smile.

“A meal fit for a king, truly,” he laughed as he dug his face into your aching pussy. You nearly screamed as his forked tongue worked his magic along your slit. He devoured you, making sure every inch of you was consumed. His lips found your clit and started to kiss and suck at it. He’d only just started and you were ready to snap.

“O-Oh my God, Lucifer, shhhiiittt, I’m so close…s-s-so close…,” you whined.

“God can’t hear you down here, angel,” he teased you before continuing to lap at your folds. He made quick work of you, the knot in your stomach threatening to snap at any moment.

“Fuuuuccckkkk, imcummingIMCUMMIMG,” you screamed as you finally felt your walls clench and spasm around nothing. Lucifer happily swallowed your juices as your orgasm started to recede. You tried to lift yourself up off Lucifer’s face, but he kept a firm grip on your legs.

“I’m not done with you, love,” he chuckled. With a snap of his fingers, golden shackles formed around your ankles, the chain hooked underneath Lucifer’s back. A twisted look of fear and passion flashed across your face. You were trapped.

“L-Luci…what are you-” you tried to asked but were cut off by another long lick up your sensitive cunt. A gutural moan escaped your mouth, you still hadn’t fully recovered from your orgasm.

“I thought it would only be fair to ruin you, since you ruined my clothes,” he chastised playfully. “But if at any time it becomes too much for you, tell me and I’ll let you go immediately, okay?”

“Al-Alright,” you stuttered, trembling from the anticipation.

Lucifer hummed against your lower lips. “I’ll make this a little easier for you, sweetheart.” You saw Lucifer’s form start to change beneath you. His horns had erupted from his head while his eyes shifted to a deep red and gold color with onyx irises. “Something for you to hold onto,” he murmured sensually.

Tentatively, you took hold of his horns and braced yourself for his next move. You didn’t have to wait long before you felt his tongue attacking your cunt once more. The grip you had on his horns could have torn your skin clean off with how tight you were holding them while he nipped and sucked your overstimulated clit. Before you knew it, your second orgasm hit you even harder than the first. Then your third, your fourth, your cunt was getting absolutely abused by Lucifer who hadn’t shown any signs of slowing down since he started. After your fifth orgasm washed over you, your legs had given out from under you, completely collapsing on top of Lucifer.

“No more…,” you begged. “No more, please…”

Lucifer snapped his fingers and the shackles around your ankles disappeared in an instant. You conjured up the remainder of your strength to push yourself off him and roll over onto your side, an absolutely breathless mess. You could hardly keep your eyes open. You could feel yourself losing consciousness until Lucifer pulled you flush to his chest.

“You did so well, my dear,” he murmured against your ear. “Are you alright? Do you need anything?”

“Sleep…” was all you could muster. Lucifer chuckled lightly, kissing your cheek ever so softly.

“Goodnight, love,” you heard him whisper as he wrapped his arms around you and pulled you close. It was the best sleep you ever had.

~~~~

“I just think they’re neat!” - Me w/ Lucifer’s wings also Lucifer inventend pussy eating, this is fact, ALSO also something something handlebar horns

[sightseertrespasser]

Sunny Side Screw-Up part 3

Bluestreak comes up with an entirely new way to be murdered, Sunstreaker gets drooled on and Sideswipe is not a medical professional.

Credit to @keferon for coming up with the OG AU!

———————————————————————

Tacnet Dilation: {^#%

Bluestreaks plating prickled with dings and dents from the spray of rocks torn up by his wheels.

He was redlining on nothing but fumes and fear. No matter how hard he pushed himself they were still right there.

Sprinting.

Impossibly fast for something on legs and not wheels.

Sunstreaker was on his right side, regardless of how frantically Bluestreak swerved, his distance to the yellow mecha remained the same. Like they were fragging magnetized together.

Close behind was Sideswipe, soaking up all of Bluestreaks peripheral awareness like a goddamn black hole.

The desert was scorching. He’d run out of coolant and Bluestreak had the horrifying revelation that he could feel something wet dripping out of his frame.

Bits of his internals were melting.

Comms weren’t working.

Tacnet wasn’t working.

His own voice wasn’t working.

The Earth was a fragmented blur that repeated in pattern every few miles.

Bluestreak tried something different and was rewarded by running over a large sharp rock he hadn’t seen coming. The ripping away of momentum was enough for Sideswipe to make the final lunge.

The red earth and blue sky streaked by at a diagonal across his vision.

Kicking futilely at the dirt, Bluestreak was wrestled sunwards, arms clamped in place behind his back.

He expected to feel his doorwings to be crushed and pinned, yet despite having his back pressed against Sideswipes front, Bluestreak felt nothing but empty air.

His scans weren’t making any sense. Mind numbing random waves crashed over his sensor net from the mecha beside him. Was it on purpose? It made everything go fuzzy around the edges in bright starbursts of feedback. He couldn’t understand it.

Giving up on reading his surroundings, Bluestreak started frantically pinging his doorwings for help.

He didn’t have time to think further. Swiftly, Sideswipe forced them both into a kneel as Sunstreaker swept towards them. Heavy claw attachments almost brushing the ground for how low the mecha crouched, stalking ever closer.

Bluestreak tried again to talk. To scream. But nothing was responding. He frame wouldn’t listen to him.

No one was coming.

No one could.

He was completely isolated. But not alone.

The blue tinge of Sideswipes visor hovered at the edge of Bluestreaks vision. The subtle weight of his head resting on his shoulder like a lover.

Bluestreak couldn’t turn his helm.

A servos breath away from his face, Sunstreaker’s visor hung in space.

Impassive.

Emotionless.

Alien.

Bluestreak tried to jerk. To kick. To make anything come out of his vocalizer. He wasn’t even venting anymore. He couldn’t remember when he’d stopped.

Despite the lack of facial features. The lack of fields. Bluestreak felt the moment they both shifted their focus down, where his spark was screaming on his behalf.

Pops of static was all that came out of his mouth. Numbly, Bluestreak was jostled, limbs still unresponsive.

Sunstreaker reached out a hand to his chassis.

And knocked.

Freezing, Bluestreaks doorwings locked in place as his optics rapidly jittered between the hunter and his goal. He croaked, body suddenly feeling ice cold.

I can’t.

The pressure on his shoulder kept up and the knocking came again. Slightly more insistent.

I can’t.

Desperately trying to shake his helm No, the praxian could barely twitch. Pleading with his mostly frozen face to stop stop stop.

The knock came harder.

A haze of errors colored his peripheral vision.

Tacnet Dilation: #==%

He kept calling for his brothers.

Tacnet Dilation: ^#=%

He didn’t feel well.

Tacnet Dilation: [===%

They wouldn’t hear him here.

The knocking stopped.

Before he could react, Bluestreak felt the press of a hand against his face.

The shift was quick enough his processor failed to manufacture a matching visual, disjointing the sensation from reality. The touch was soft enough and such a deviation from the thread of what was happening that Bluestreaks thoughts stuttered to a squealing stop.

Smashing out of defrag, he came online with a half cut off, “GUH.”

Leaning into his space, Sunstreaker was tightly holding him upright by the shoulder. His hand retreated from Bluestreaks face as the Praxian subconsciously crossed his arms over his spark. Shuddering.

Just in front of them, Sideswipe was exactly as they’d left him, about where Sunstreaker had ended up in Blues defrag.

A hand waved in front of his blank face, unconsciously drawing the Praxians focus back to the other twin.

The yellow mecha tilted his head at him and held up the “OK” symbol.

Optics wide and over bright, Bluestreak turned his fans back on full blast and shot out a couple small rocks and a cloud of dust. He checked his processor. His internal temperature had risen well above comfortable levels from sitting in the desert Sun without running his vents

Coughing, Bluestreak mimicked Sunstreakers gesture. Croaking out a rough, “I’m okay.”

Hesitantly the hunter mecha released his shoulder, nodding slowly.

Still recovering, Bluestreak took his time resetting his systems, stretching and cringing at the sound of a few transformation seams popping back into place.

“Okay so, forcing myself into defrag seemed like a great idea at the time. It’s technically the same as human sleeping. I think?” Bluestreak leaned back on his elbows while Sunstreaker watched him closely. “And there was no way I was going to pull off holding completely silent while conscious so I shut down everything but my proximity sensors and my comms-”

His face and doorwings dropped.

“Oh fucking slag my comms.”

Flinching, Bluestreak cringed and squinted internally as he checked his backlog.

Over thirty incoherent messages sent to Prowl and Smokescreen. Each.

The former was currently pinging him every 30 seconds in a tightly measured way that appeared professional (if not a bit mircomanage-y) to any outside observer, but that Bluestreak knew was Prowls way of pacing a hole through the floor.

Groaning into his servos, Bluestreak prepared to apologize for what was ultimately the fault of an overheated defrag with no recharge.

————

“Sideswipe.”

His idiot counterpart groaned in response over the radio.

“Sideswipe wake up.”

Something that vaguely started out as “Che ore” before devolving into mumbled nonsense was Sunstreakers only indication of intelligent life within the red mecha. How he slept through the cacophony the radio had been assaulted with earlier was beyond him.

“The mecha had a nightmare.”

Finally, Sunstreaker heard the telltale scratch of a microphone being readjusted. “Say again?”

“The mecha had a nightmare.”

There was a pregnant pause as his self appointed “Twin” tried to decipher what he’d just stated. The sound of a shitty cot creaking echoed across the connection as Sideswipe sat up.

“…so do you want me to sing him a lullaby or something?”

Sunstreaker was going to kick his ass for real next time.

For now, he settled for throwing a rock at Sideswipes mechas head, enjoying the slightly delayed sound of its impact through the radio.

“Ahem, you will behave in front of guests young man. No throwing stones in the garden!” Sides chided as he put on a ridiculous British nanny accent.

“Shut it you dumb bastard. Did you not hear what I said?”

The microphone shifted again as Sideswipe moved from his bunk to the pilots seat. “What, that the new guy had a nightmare? Yeah man, that’s kinda standard out here. Shit Sunny, it took you two weeks to get through the night without yelling in your sleep after our first drop.”

And it took you over two weeks to stop sleepwalking, fuckin hypocrite.

Sucking in air between his teeth, Sunstreaker measured out the last of his patience. “The mecha had a nightmare.”

It started out sensibly. Sunstreaker was on watch and invited Angel mech to sit with him. He had some plans to draw in the dirt to figure out a bit more of where the hell he came from, but then Angel curled up on himself and looked ready to puke.

Which, fine. The mecha was freakishly emotive but if this was some kind of super expensive prototype then sure why not. The pilot definitely shouldn’t have been out here and Sunstreaker had half a mind to politely tear whoever put them in there a new one.

Afterwards the mecha looked like it powered down and for the first time since they’d met, Angel went quiet.

Only slightly disappointed he couldn’t keep listening to him ramble, Sunstreaker resigned to keeping watch alone.

Then there was the thunk against his left shoulder.

Still appearing to be powered down, the mystery mech was leaning against his own.

Okay, he’d thought. This was clearly a fancy show model what with the face and weird design. It probably didn’t have the same locking mechanisms as a Hunter class so the pilot had to improvise to stay upright. Carefully, Sunstreaker maneuvered to get his arm around the smaller mecha, ensuring they remained stable.

Being untethered inside a falling mecha was a lot like crashing down in an overloaded elevator. A messy way to die.

Aside from looking like an awkward first date, nothing about this registered as too weird. It was just machines. Basically a couple of parked cars in the middle of the desert.

Normal.

And then a couple hours later, the “powered down” mecha squirmed, wriggled and shuffled around until it was using Sunstreakers lap as a pillow.

Significantly less normal.

“So then they started screaming and flailing?” Sunstreaker waited to answer that until Sideswipe finished reconnecting to their mecha, visor flickering back to life and limbs unlocking with a satisfying series of ka-clunks.

“Not exactly. Remember that weird popping interference we kept getting over the radio?” He got a simple hum in response, which was Sideswipe for “I’m taking something seriously for once.” The yellow pilot would never admit it, but he hated when chatty people got quiet. Set him on edge like nothing else.

Beside him, Angel was still uncharacteristically reserved, watching Sunstreaker and his partner with an exhausted wariness.

“Well the radio started freaking out at the same time his back panel wing things started flailing. Sounded like if a fax machine was being dragged to hell.”

A low whistle came over the speaker. Whoever said what they were both thinking first would have to deal with the other making sane counter arguments. And as much as Sunstreaker wanted to be the reasonable one, Sideswipe wasn’t giving him that option.

“The mecha is alive Sides.”

The nickname made the red pilot pause, faintly cursing over the connection.

The mecha in question brightened up a bit watching Sideswipe go through his warm up routine. A slow trickle of foreign words resurfacing to brush away the silence. Some of the tension Sunstreaker had been holding onto bleed off as the chatty mecha seemed to come back to himself.

“Alright, maybe this is an especially over integrated mecha and the brass are testing the effects of leaving someone plugged in overnight?” The red mecha slowly tested his range of movement, gradually speeding up until he was shadow boxing.

Mentally, Sunstreaker took note of the way the sand and dust lifted to swirl around the red mecha’s legs, noting the shapes for later reference while sketching.

Sunstreaker shook his head, “Wouldn’t test that without active observation.”

“Okay maybe it’s haunted?”

“Haunted.” He threw another rock at him.

Sideswipe pivoted to point a finger at him in their silent conversation. “You’ve heard the stories about Mecha 11, freaky shit happens.”

Aside from the radio, Angel didn’t behave much like a trapped soul. Too lively for one. Too friendly for another. If Sunstreaker had to pick a genre this most reminded him of it’d be…

“I think he’s an alien.”

Sideswipe wrapped up his routine and plopped down next to Angel. “An alien? Shaped like a mecha?”

Leaning into their space, he blatantly looked the smaller mecha over for signs of green ooze, tentacles and a general air of homicidal intent. Angel smiled nervously, wings turning forward and back at the same time a the radio fuzzed with interference again.

Neither commented on the static. Didn’t need to. Sideswipe sighed leaning back on his elbows. “I kinda get it. It’s not normal, but it’s nothing like what we saw in Yukon.”

“It’s not like Yukon. Just watch him okay?”

He could practically feel Sideswipe grinning, “Suuure, I’ll ask him which is the prettier earthling, me or you.”

Wordlessly, Sunstreaker set his mecha into a stationary position. Pulling out of the Drift almost put him out right in his seat, Still, Sunstreaker had enough willpower to crawl his way back into the travel cabin.

Sipping on a bottle of electrolyte water, Sunstreaker pulled out his sketch book, flipping past stark black scrawlings to a fresh page. The pilot began to lightly pencil in the contours of his current object of fascination. Giving his brain a chance to cool down and think.

He’s seen some shit during his time as a pilot.

It was no secret that Hunter class pilots would usually come back a little different. You spend days, maybe weeks alone in the most isolated places on earth. Tracking down the monsters that bleed across the planet from gashes between the stars.

What most folks didn’t know, and would hopefully never learn, is that when one of those creatures get to place down roots?

It starts changing things.

Hunter class weren’t just sent to put down aliens. They got sent to put down their mutilated victims too.

Squirrels melted into tree bark like screeching aphids. Seals with spines exposed, alien surveillance equipment hotwired into their nervous systems. Rivers ran with toxic sludge and anything alive got repurposed into either fuel or tools.

They found a town once. Way up north. So small and out of the way it wasn’t on any maps.

Their third hunter wanted to donate the “survivors” to R&D. Sides and him vetoed the bastard but he’d already contacted dispatch without telling them. Mr. Opportunity got the all clear to go in and collect what was left of town.

Something held them back. Sunstreaker couldn’t tell if it was coming from him or Sideswipe but neither moved closer.

They returned to dispatch alone. Every question of what became of the third hunter or the little town in the middle Yukon was met with ice and silence.

Rumors scattered, staff came up with their own answers, no one wanted to work with the “Terror Twins” anymore.

That was fine. Sunny and Sides always worked better as a pair anyways.

They’d seen some shit. The kind of shit you can’t just explain to a therapist because they could never understand.

Art helped. Got all of the horrible things inside his head on the outside. Sideswipe too, though he’d never say it out loud. The bastard never left him alone, and it was his best-worst trait.

Narrowing his eyes, Sunstreaker paused in his sketching at the faint sound of thunking against the top of his mecha.

Yanking down the wall mounted mic Sunstreaker yelled over the radio. “Are you fucking stacking rocks on my mecha again you bastard?”

The sound of snickering and another thunk was Sideswipes response. “C’mooon. It’s not like it’ll hurt you! Plus I got Roberto to crack a smile.”

“Wha- wait Roberto?”

The thunking continued. “Well yeah, he’s a robot. Robot sounds like Roberto. Knowing you, you probably named him something uber deep and meaningful like Hubert.”

Sunstreaker sputtered, shaking his head like a slapped dog, “Why the fuck would I call him Hubert?”

“Cause he’s the patron saint of Hunter’s you dumb bastard.” And before Sunstreaker could grumble about fuckin’ Catholic school kid, Sideswipe cut off his internal thoughts. “Wait.”

Sideswipes voice carried the timber of sudden epiphany. “Wait, did you name him-“

“No.” He swatted down the probe.

“You mentally named him some shit like Angel didn’t you?”

“No.” He said far too defensively to be anything other than a damning confession.

“Oh my god you did!” The yellow pilot could only groan as he listened to his partners cackling. Followed closely by the thundering cascade of all the rocks he’d been stacking tumbling down his mecha.

“Haha ha ha! I can’t even- I- Wait hold on.” Gasping for air, Sidswipe started to trail off.

“I swear to fucking god if my paint job-“

“No, no shut the fuck up he’s doing something.” The sudden drop of his makeshift twins normal tone had Sunstreaker scrambling back into the pilots seat.

“Doing what?” Fast as he could, Sunstreaker started the Drift boot up process, face set in a mask of intensely focused calm.

“He’s.. pointing his gun at a cloud?”

The Drift swallowed all sensation. It felt not unlike having a densely woven bag pulled over your head, only to have it ripped away to reveal the ground a hundred feet lower than it was before. Bursts of color exploded across his brain until Sunstreaker came online just in time to hear a booming ~KUFF~.

For once, Sideswipe was speechless. An aborted voice crack marked he was still breathing.

“…what the fuck did he just shoot?”

————

“Uh oh.”

Optics trained straight up, the sniper started walking backwards.

The quint corpse broke through the cloud cover and Bluestreak switched to running.

“Move move move move move move!” It didn’t take Tacnet much to calculate where that thing was impacting.

Going straight for the only just onlining yellow mecha, Bluestreak got a hold of one arm and yanked the stumbling hunter to his feet.

Meanwhile, Sideswipe finally caught on to the rapidly approaching problem.

Bluestreak had about one click to appreciate his spectacular fuck up of creating a poor-mechs orbital strike before two heavy bodies slammed him into the dirt.

Several tons of biomechanical monstrosity exploded in a shower of shrapnel and slag. The three of them bunked through the shockwave.

Blue-ish gray flaming viscera continued to rain down for a few extra clicks, the dull sound of it bouncing off of the hunters armor.

Bluestreak creaked.

Trapped under the combined weight of the two larger mecha, the Praxian had one arm free and used it to start slapping the twins heads.

With the drunken grace of a slumber party when one person needs to get up to use the bathroom, the hunters rolled off of the smaller mech.

Sharp and twisted pain radiated out from his back. He kept his ventilations even.

[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]

It was jammed out of place, still on the highest setting from scanning out as far as he could earlier. His sensor net was shrieking and everything on the left side of his perception was hyper detailed to the point he could practically taste the texture of the dirt.

It was dialed high enough to penetrate through the surface of the soil slightly, giving Bluestreak the nauseating sensation of all his surroundings on that side registering as a liquid.

[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]

“Okay okay okay okay okay okay okayokayokayokayokay.” He ran his mouth to keep it too busy to scream.

He stayed on the ground, face hidden from the aliens. He had to not shake. To not make any expression of pain.

He felt something wet leaking from where his right doorwing connected, trailing crosswise down his chassis.

“It’s just a dislocation and a tiny tear in a fuel line. Not even that noticeable!” He wasn’t even hurt in a way that’d require significant medical attention. It’s easy! It’s easy.

“Just- just don’t feel anything. You aren’t a person right now you’re a machine that can’t be injured, it’s just.. you know, damaged. You wouldn’t cringe because your shuttle got damaged would you? So don’t you dare make that face or they will kill you.”

He kept his face in the dirt. Memories of defrag glitched to the surface. The chase. The capture. Stuck on the knife’s edge of something terrible about to happen.

They wouldn’t find out if he can just hide his face a couple clicks longer. Throat too tight, optics over bright. A faint tremble held at bay by locking every joint in place.

Hands came down on his arms and shoulders and Bluestreak couldn’t scream.

Tacnet Dilation: 100%

[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]

The world wobbled 90 degrees and he was unsteadily pulled to his feet.

Locking his jaw, Bluestreak set himself into a parade rest. Optics lasered into the middle distance.

One set of hands stayed on him as the other mecha moved into his field of vision. With the limited gestures they had in common, Sideswipe pointed to Bluestreak and then an OK gesture with his other hand.

The question was implicit, “Yep. Yeppers. Neeever better. Almost bored in fact! I’ve had closer calls than that and really that shot doesn’t even break my top ten! I didn’t even use any ricochets or double KIH-“ He gasped, optics fritzing.

He’d felt a tug on his doorwing and Bluestreak clacked his jaw shut as he instinctively shoved Sunstreaker off of him.

[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]

Vorns of training kicked in just to kick the bucket as Bluestreaks servos snapped up then came up empty, as his rifle was still on the ground between the two mecha.

Tacnet Dilation: 200%

Even with the odds of certain death, the sniper was sorely tempted to dive for it anyways. Just to die with it in his servos.

The sun bore down like a vindictive parole officer, salivating over the prospect of eminent violence.

The hunters… raised their hands.

Placating.

Gaze rapidly darting from one twin to the other, Bluestreak held perfectly still, waiting for their next move.

Slowly, and not just because of Tacnet, Sunstreaker knelt, picking up his rifle with a pink stained hand. Raising just as slowly like Bluestreak would bolt if he didn’t, the yellow hunter held out the weapon handle first.

He took it quickly. Almost cradling it to his chest.

Tacnet Dilation: 125%

While Sunstreaker returned his rifle, Sideswipe was drawing in the dirt.

Eight crude, simple glyphs, made rougher for the material they were carved into.

Flipping through the miniature dictionary Prowl had been sending him in piecemeal over comms, Bluestreak quickly translated the message.

HOW HELP?

He stared at the words in the dirt.

[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]

Swallowing, and smiling thinly, he said “You guys don’t know how to relocate a doorwing do you?”

The twins looked on blankly and the praxian sighed, wiping a hand down his face. “Okay! Okay. It really can’t be that bad! I mean, it’s just incredibly painful and not actually life threatening so let’s give a shot! Who needs trained medical care anyways? Me? Psh- naaaw. Come here Sideswipe! I need someone to demo with.”

At the sound of his name, Sideswipe visibly jolted. “RIGHT. Right. I shouldn’t know your name! Ha haha haaaa. Oh I’m so going to die.”

Either it wasn’t that weird for Bluestreak to know his name, or the three of them were far enough beyond the bounds of normal for it to not matter anymore, because Sideswipe walked up to where Bluestreak wanted him.

Turning Sideswipe into position so his back was to them, Bluestreak waved for Sunstreaker to join him.

“Okay! So this joint,” the praxian pointed it out over his shoulder, “Can get forced out too far and then get stuck on the edge of my armor.”

He mimed the correct motions onto Sideswipes back, “What I need you to do is push up on my doorwing and twist it back in place like this.”

[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]

“Yes! Thank you processor, I am very aware of what’s gone wrong and I am working on it.” He hissed under his ventilations.

Turning back to Sunstreaker who was watching closely, the mecha faced him. “You got all that? Yes? Good? Great! I’m going to keep talking through this so just do what you need to while I try my best to disassociate here.”

Shaking out his servos and turning his back to Sunstreaker, the praxian manually locked Tacnet down to the lowest setting.

A hand settled in the middle of his back and Bluestreak resolutely stared forward. Processor blank.

A second hand closed around the dislocation and Bluestreak started involuntarily stepping in place.

Both hands vanished. Like a new build discovering the concept of rear view mirrors, Bluestreak haltingly looked behind him.

“What, what are you doing?” He faltered. Waving for his attention, Sideswipe opened a panel on his thigh, producing some kind of tool. It had the look of a tiny fire extinguisher, a rounded cylinder with hose and nozzle attached.

While still fiddling with it, Sideswipe waved Sunstreaker over.

Instantly, the yellow hunter stepped back, shaking his head side to side.

When it became clear his twin wasn’t coming any closer, the red hunter turned to him more fully. Palms up, shoulders raised, gesturing like he was trying to sell some questionable homebrewed high grade.

Sunstreaker responded by angrily pointing at Sideswipe, then Sideswipes unoccupied hand. Nonplussed, the antagonising mecha simply gestured to the tool in his other hand.

After a few tense clicks of staring each other down, Sideswipe straightened and pointed directly to Bluestreak, dropping his hands dramatically.

One more click passed with Sideswipe staring at Sunstreaker, Sunstreaker looking at Bluestreak, and Bluestreak watching them both.

Throwing back his head, Sunstreaker glared at the sky before rejoining his twin and breaking one of his own fingers.

“Why does every human I meet have such a casual relationship with body horror? I know that’s only three data points but that’s enough to form a pattern. Why. I am so confused and in so much pain right now I can’t- Just why??”

Completely indifferent to the sparking digit and Bluestreaks slack jawed commentary, Sunstreaker presented his broken pinky to his brother.

Pressing down on a lever of the tube, Sideswipe sprayed a misting foam onto the broken joint. Handing off the device to Sunstreakers working hand, Sideswipe proceeded to pop the no longer sparking finger back into place.

The red twin stepped back and threw his arms forward like a game show presenter.

He kicked Sunstreaker.

The yellow twin dispassionately jazz handed.

The praxians remaining doorwing twitched. “Is this what my brother went through? Oh Primus it is. But doubled. I mean, neither of you have dropped me off a building yet or forgot me in an elevator shaft but hoooly shit fucks I am never giving Prowl Slag about his human again. This is about what it was like meeting Jazz for the first time except I’m in your home.”

He vented harshly, turning his injury to the hunters.

“Everything you people do is confusing, disturbing and yet somehow weirdly charming.”

Clapping his servos with false enthusiasm, Bluestreak smiled brightly, “Okay fellas, let’s spray the mysterious alien substance into my open wound! Maybe I’ll get some cool powers out of this? Or an infection! Probably an infection.”

[Pain - Repair - Reset - Doorwing (2)]

“…Please just get this over with as quickly as possible.” He mumbled as the yellow mecha moved into his line of sight.

Inexplicably, Sunstreaker took one of his servos between his hands. Firmly pressing in a way that didn’t hurt but captured Bluestreaks fluttering focus.

Bluestreak remembered something.

“Hey wait so you guys don’t need or use actual anesthetic right? So what is that stuff supposed to feeEEAL OH-KAY THATS COLD. That is COLD. Huuugh. Haha ha ha heeeuu-HYEK.” He articulated his feelings on the experience with expediency.

The electrical signals running through his second doorwing dimmed and weakened. The sudden drop in sensory input left Bluestreak off balance.

“Woah.” Resetting his functional doorwing, the praxian lowered its range to minimum, then offlined it completely.

The twins registered as indistinct fuzzy blobs to what was still functioning from his remaining doorwing. They switched places. Tensing again as he felt Sunstreakers hands return to position against his back, Bluestreak didn’t have time to over analyze what came next as Sideswipe was literally jumping for his attention.

Before he could rhetorically ask what the hunter was doing, Sideswipe picked up a couple rocks and started throwing them in the air in a series of high arches.

Failing to catch every last one.

Sideswipe looked down at the sad little stones with an expression that somehow looked forlorn.

Some string of sanity finally gave out under the tension that’d been building since his defrag, and Bluestreak started to break down laughing.

“What?! What was that? Was that juggling? Why the fuck are you juggling?! How did we get here? How did- I can’t- I can’t process this right now.” Bluestreak heaved and only when he was crouched with his head in his servos did he notice the repair pings were gone.

“I-“ He felt his relocated doorwing by servo, not believing his processor. “I didn’t even feel it.”

Slowly, Bluestreak pulled his dooorwings back online, cycling from the very bottom of his range to the top.

{{See? Just like pulling a tooth.}}

He got some garbled interference for a click, but couldn’t afford to investigate that right now. The smoldering corpse of the quint was a stark reminder of what he’d picked up earlier.

Gingerly, he raised them back to the highest range, memory compensating for the slowly melting numbness on his second sensor net.

Sunstreaker was checking in with him again, doing the tried and true OK? And a head tilt. Brow furrowed, Bluestreak returned the gesture and concentrated on his scan, “I need to check back on something real quick. Don’t worry. Yet.”

There.

A heavy mass was buried into the earth slightly beyond the horizon. A spattering of smaller dots swam through the air.

Rising, the sniper pointed to their most recent near death experience.

“Bad news first, that was a scout. A scout from a fragging massive nest judging by the sheer scale of what I’m scanning.” Compulsively, he counted his ammunition already knowing the number.

The twins returned to a flanking position on either side of the praxian. He’d failed completely in not showing pain, by all rights they should know he’s not one of them, and yet he was still here. Protected.

Maybe they were waiting for more information. Maybe they knew what he was but didn’t know what to do with him.

The humans were cut off from their command structure. All Bluestreak knew for certain was that whatever choices the twins made out here, it was their decision alone.

His wings felt staticky.

Dialing up his sensor net as high as it could go was giving Bluestreak an intimately detailed 3D mapping of the twins, the landscape and several cloud formations.

More importantly, Bluestreak was getting distant fuzzy pings off of larger objects that registered as at least partially metallic to his processor.

Two in fact!

One was the Quintesson nest he picked up earlier, the other was probably..

Shuttle 88%

“Oh.”

As Sunny and Sides investigated the downed quint, stomping through any intact organs to ensure its expiration, Bluestreak drummed his digits on his rifle.

“I could run.” The sniper spoke to himself.

“I could leave you two to fight on your own. But you might follow me. The shuttle probably has some damage I’d need to patch before take off. It’d take time.”

He looked over the horizon hiding his ship. “And you would catch up to me.”

Tacnet Dilation: 75%

“Unless I made sure you couldn’t.” Bluestreak forced his processor to focus on limbs instead of chests or heads.

“Shattered knees wouldn’t kill you. Wouldn’t even hurt you actually.” He shrugged, optics taking on a flinty look. Sharp and blank.

Far far in the distance, the loss of their scout registered with the hive. They buzzed faster around their progenitor

“But the Quints would.”

Unawares, the twins seemed satisfied with their pulverization. Turning their attention back to the Praxian, Sunstreaker raised a stoic thumbs up. Sideswipe raised two.

He should comm Prowl.

Optics tight, Bluestreak raised his own in solidarity. “My brother would tell me to kill you.”

“I would give him all the information I have on you two and the nest, and then he’d run the simulation.” Bluestreak monologued quietly to the hunters. “He would pause, he always pauses with this sort of thing, and then Prowl would order me to shoot you both.”

Returning to his side, the red mecha clapped Bluestreak on the shoulder. Excitedly waving to the quint, his gun and the sky above. He smiled back, “He’d make it an order to make it his responsibility. The others would forgive me. If it wasn’t my choice then it wasn’t my fault.”

Prowl always made a point of signing his orders, making it clear to anyone who searched that he decided the deaths of countless mechs.

Bluestreak was recorded by position, rather than name.

The tactician knew who their best sniper was, and utilized them accordingly.

It was always discreet.

Familiar.

“I am my brothers favorite executioner.” He quietly spoke.

Doorwings held high, Bluestreak was hyper aware of the hunter’s movements, yet it still startled him when Sunstreaker tapped his shoulder.

The yellow hunter pointed to the dusty ground where human glyphs were crudely etched into the surface. Bluestreak flipped through the dictionary again.

“How many? Where?”

He chewed the inside of his cheek.

[BLUESTREAK]: Prowl can you run a simulation on something for me?]

[BLUESTREAK]: What’s the match up for two Hunter class mecha against an established Quintesson factory hive?]

[PROWL]: One moment]

Stalling for time, Bluestreak walked in a circle pretending to be searching for clues, the mechas loosely trailing him.

He rambled to fill the silence.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re terrifying? Because you guys are terrifying. I mean, you’re actually really nice in person but on a sub processor level I’ve been fighting for my goddamn sanity here.”

Pretending to search through his scope, the sniper mentally catalogued his supplies. He had 31 rounds left on his person, 160 more in his subspace, along with 4 cubes of energon, a basic knife and the largest med case he could cram everything else around.

He pointed his rifle back down, “You’re kind. Scary as pit but legitimately kind. I can tell, you know, when people are faking it. I’m used to people being polite and all when I go on a streak but you guys actually notice when my tone changes or… or check in when I get quiet or you do something stupid just to make me laugh and I-“

[PROWL]: 13% chances of success, assuming both pilots are fully operational and are aware of the threat. The swarm of scouts are the most likely cause of defeat as Hunter class are not well equipped to deal with large numbers of small fast moving hostiles]

[PROWL]: Do you have any means of escape?]

Glancing over his shoulder, Bluestreak took stock of the pilots following his lead. For them, there was no such thing as escape. The quintessons had reached Earth and the humans had no other planet to retreat to. This was their Cybertron. This was their final frontier and the humans would fight to protect it to their very last.

The sniper mentally pinned the location of his shuttle.

[BLUESTREAK]: No]

He stopped, and the hunters stopped with him. Bluestreak raised a servo towards the horizon of death and spoke in patchwork English, “There. Many small. One large.”

[PROWL]: Understood. I’ll pull up what files I can and send it along. Exercise extreme caution]

[PROWL]: Please]

The hunters had already begun trekking in the direction of what was to date Bluestreaks worst plan ever.

[BLUESTREAK]: Will do. I’ll keep you updated as information comes in]

Swinging his peds as he walked, Bluestreak couldn’t help but feel a little giddy. “Someone told me once that your spark will know when you’re an about to die, and it will fill you with this serene sense of peace. Something about preparing to return to the Well or the Allspark or the loving and probably a little disappointed embrace of Primus. Hard to say. I wasn’t raised religious.”

He hopped forward to pull up in between the two hunters.

“And you know what? I’ve had a lot of near death experiences but not once would I ever have described it as serene.”

If he did have to pick a word, it’d probably be Loud.

“I think I can finally feel it. That sense of spark deep calm. Like it knows how I’ll die now.”

He smiled at the yellow star shining down, venting deeply.

“Prowl is going to Fucking kill me.”

———————————————————————

What the twins were saying during the freeze gel “demonstration”:

“Aight, let me break your finger."

"What? No!"

"C'mon! I need to do a demonstration."

"Then break your own finger asshole!"

"I can't. Because I'm using the freeze gel! Look do you want to reassure him or not?"

“..fine but I’m breaking my own finger.”

The twins are very aware that Bluestreak is not normal, but are going to find out shorty just how “not normal” Bluestreak really is.

Next time is Sniper time baby.

-SSTP

[dickgraysonsptsd]

i am writing someone an explanation of how fandom acts about devin grayson and why they act that way, and within less than 20 minutes of skimming the devin grayson tag i am so overwhelmed by disgust at people's malice and derision towards her that i have to take a break. the level of vitriolic hatred on the leftist fandom website for a woman who wrote a sexual assault arc rooted in her own experiences of being sexually assaulted is unreal.

for reference and so it's clear how abhorrent the last two screencaps are, she changed her name to distance herself from her family after she was sexually assaulted and changed it years before she even thought about working in comics. she was open about this from the time of her first interview with wizard magazine (in, i believe, the 1990s) and they chose not to publish it because it was "a downer" to bring up sa. the following quote was published on cbr, a major comics website, in 2005:

fascinating that people continue to choose to claim that devin grayson's entire life revolves around her supposed desire to personally rape dick grayson literally two decades later. i can understand why she seems to want nothing to do with dc or its fans these days when people are so giddy and delighted to make her entire existence about their own bizarre obsessions with framing her as a pseudo-rapist.

[lazylittledragon]

ok someone please correct me if i'm wrong but am i weird for thinking those 'audiobooks don't count as reading' posts are ableist as fuck????

[shhhsecretsideblog]

Awards Show 

This isn’t a prompt or request (they’re still closed for now). This is just a self indulgent little scene that turned into a 3k fic. Bit more intimacy/sensual themes than my usual, but still has all my fav tropes :) Hope people enjoy this one x

I couldn’t resist the opportunity to show you off to my friends and colleagues at the company awards dinner. This may have been the biggest you’d ever gotten during any of your pregnancies; your tight firm belly was a beach ball beneath your maroon silk dress, hanging low and heavy on your hips. My hand wrapped around your waist and squeezed your hip affectionately as we mingled through the crowd. With a champagne glass in hand you smiled and laughed at the joke my boss made. 

“You look ready to pop my dear. You better not steal the show tonight by going into labour” The CEO had said with a grin, looking in awe at your incredible size. 

We both laughed, my hand moving up and down your lower back. If only he knew.

Your contractions had started this afternoon, the slow gentle tightening of your womb signalling our baby’s readiness to come into the world. But even with your contractions, we still put our black tie outfits on and went out this evening to the company awards show. You knew it was important to me and my career. Plus, neither of us could deny the thrill of having to ride out your contractions in such a public setting. 

“How are you doing darling?” I whispered in your ear after my boss and CEO walked away. 

“Mmmm… okay…. They’re getting a little stronger now though.” You said with a breathy moan, your hand naturally moving across the underside of your belly, rubbing the taut skin through the silk fabric of your dress. 

“Let’s quickly pop into the bathroom before we take our seats. I can check to see how you’re progressing.”  

With my hand around your waist I felt how much more you were waddling, a sign of how low the baby was sitting in the bowl of your pelvis. I squeezed your hip and took a long breath to try and control myself. 

In the single occupancy bathroom I quickly locked the door behind us. You found your way to the sink and braced against the bathroom counter, swaying your hips through another contraction. I growled at the sight, seeing you so gravid and fertile, your body doing something so powerful and natural. 

“You look incredible, my love.” I stood behind you, pressing my body against your backside and wrapping my arms around you to feel the firm and hard skin of your belly as it contracted. A low moan came from your lips as the wave reached its peak and I bent forward, my chest to your back, whispering in your ear to breathe. 

When the contraction had passed, I pulled up the fabric of your maroon silk dress, slowly up your thighs until I reached my destination. You moaned as I slipped my fingers inside, deep but gentle, knowing how sensitive you were during labour. 

“Wow darling…. You’re already at 7cm.” My words were thick with desire in your ear. “Do you think you can hold on for the rest of the evening?” 

You smiled at me through the reflection of the mirror, grinning with excitement. 

We made our way out the bathroom and found our seats for the dinner and awards ceremony. I could feel your breathing was heavier, your movements were slower, and I beamed with pride at how well you were doing. Everyone was in awe of your attendance this evening, being so advanced in your pregnancy, and yet nobody knew just how close you were to not being pregnant anymore. 

Our seats were in the middle of the hall, on a large round table with nearly a dozen other people. Some colleagues I knew, others I didn’t, all with their partners or spouses. Music was playing, waiters were bringing food to tables, drinks were flowing, the room was soon filled with conversation and laughter as people got progressively more drunk. All the while you sat beautifully beside me, joining in discussions and smiling brightly. My gorgeous wife, heavily pregnant, and secretly in active labour. 

Two courses into our meal you started to hum quietly beside me, shifting in your seat. My hand found your thigh, my thumb rubbing soothing motions across your leg over the thin fabric of your dress. “You’re doing great darling, just breathe through them. Not long now.” I purred in your ear, knowing that wasn’t true. The awards had just commenced, my boss and CEO taking the stage to begin proceedings, and like all previous company dinners I knew it would be a long evening. 

Contraction after contraction wracked your body, but you showed no obvious signs of discomfort. You’d gone a little quieter perhaps but your smile remained bright to everyone around us. Every now and then throughout the evening the room would erupt in obligatory applause as someone was granted an award or achievement from the company. During one of these moments my ears pricked, attuned to your sounds, and I heard a low moan slip from your parted lips. 

My arm wrapped around your shoulders, leaning in close, my breath caressing your neck. “Darling…. You okay?” I asked, concerned but unbelievably aroused. 

“Nngh… baby feels so low…” you whispered, spreading your legs a little under the table. 

I shivered, stuttering slightly with a husky voice “D-Do you need to push?” 

“N-no…. I’m okay just…. A lot of pressure—oooof” 

I kissed the side of your cheek affectionately, my hand still wrapped around your shoulders while the other squeezed your thigh. “You’re doing brilliantly, my love. Just keep breathing through them.” I shifted in my seat to hide my obvious arousal. The idea that you might start pushing right here in this venue was almost too much to bear. I took a long sip of my drink and focused back on the stage to distract myself. 

Half way through the awards, after all the food had been consumed leaving dessert plates and empty wine bottles littering the table, you suddenly reached out and gripped my thigh squeezing tight. I looked over to you with a mix of concern and excitement. You had slumped slightly in your seat, spreading your legs wider under the table and tilting your hips up, your breasts and belly rising and falling with your rapid breathing. 

“Breathe…. Breathe through it darling, we’re almost there.” I encouraged softly, my hand moving to rest upon your heavy belly sitting between your spread thighs, feeling the rock hard muscles beneath my fingers. You grunted a little, a sound I recognised, and my eyes nearly came out their sockets. 

“Don’t push darling… you need to hold it a little longer okay.” I tried to soothe you, but my heart was thumping in my chest and my insides were coiling with unbridled excitement. 

“M-my— waters—” you croaked, relaxing after the intense contraction. 

I looked down; from above your dress looked completely dry but when I felt underneath the top layer I felt the liquid that was now dripping down your inner thighs and onto the floor. Quickly grabbing my fabric napkin and yours, I dropped them under the table, putting one between your legs and the other on the floor to soak up the worst of it. 

“Shhhh… you’re okay my love. Looks like it’s nearly time, baby wants to meet us.” My hand moved possessively over your belly, my smile wide and beaming with pride. You smiled, your cheeks flushed a little, leaning closer to kiss me softly. 

“Can we go now?” You asked quietly, and I noticed the light sheen of sweat on your forehead. 

“Yes darling, you’ve done wonderfully. Let’s go and meet our new baby—”

Then my name very loudly echoed across the hall and all eyes were focused in our direction. The award. Shit. My boss was standing on stage, crystal award in hand, and everyone began to clap. 

“Damn— I erm— do I go—” my words fumbled from my mouth as I looked between you and the stage. You were absolutely full to the brim with our baby, so close to delivering…. But staying would mean you would have to hold on a little bit longer, and that thought sent a shiver up my spine. 

“Go sweetheart, go get your award.” You said affectionately, putting a hand on my cheek. 

“Are you sure? You’re incredible.” I kissed your lips, both of us basqued under a spotlight from the venue, and then I walked quickly up to the stage to receive my award. 

Looking out across the crowd my eyes were focused only on you. Sitting proudly at our table, your eyes beamed with joy as you clapped along with the rest of the room. Clearing my throat, trying to regain professional composure, I began my speech. Your eyes glistened with affection and pride, hanging onto my every word even though you had heard me practice this over and over again. 

Then I noticed a change in you, barely perceptible to anyone else but I knew your body better than my own. You tensed, your smiling expression now forced, and you had one hand gripping the edge of the table while the other moved to the underside of your belly. Fumbling my words I was utterly distracted watching you in the middle of the crowd, secretly riding out what looked like an intense contraction. I was in awe of you, still smiling and beaming with pride, while your body squeezed and contracted and opened for our baby. You’d never looked more beautiful. 

I regurgitated my well rehearsed speech, looking only at you, as if the rest of the room no longer existed. Your full and swollen bosom was rising and falling rapidly atop your large, firm belly, and you seemed to be panting silently through the wave. Minutes passed and contraction wasn’t letting you go, I was still talking and you were still squirming in your chair. I watched as you grit your teeth, gripping the sides of your chair and spreading your legs wider under the table. Your demeanor shifted, something had changed. I could see your jaw clamped, teeth almost bared, and your face was contorted with effort— 

Holy shit you were pushing!!! 

I gripped the podium in front of me, my hips twitching, the sight of you pushing nearly throwing me over the edge of ecstasy. Clearing my throat, I managed to continue my speech, all the while I watched you instinctively push right there in the middle of this formal event. I smirked as I got towards the end, where I very publicly thanked my beautiful pregnant wife. All eyes across the venue suddenly turned in your direction. I didn’t know what you’d do, whether you’d admit defeat and acknowledge your labour, or if you’d continued to hide the fact you were uncontrollably pushing…. 

To my surprise, your face broke into a wide gleeful grin as you waved at me on stage and blew a kiss across the room, amazingly keeping up appearances. But your legs were wide under the table, I could see from this position up on the stage just how far apart they’d spread. Was our baby crowning underneath that silk dress of yours? How close were they to coming out? How long could you keep up pretences before nature took full control?… 

I practically skipped off the stage back towards our table, the room clapping with obligatory applause. 

“You’re pushing.” I whispered in your ear as I bent down to kiss your cheek. 

“Mmmmh— couldn’t help it—” you growled a reply, equally as quiet but heavy with effort. 

“We can’t leave right now, everyone will be watching us.” I sat down in my chair beside you, slipping my arm around you and pulling you closer into an embrace. 

“I— I know—” you were panting, legs spread under the table, your hand gripping my thigh and digging your nails in. 

“How much longer can you hold on darling? How close is the baby?” My words were thick with excitement. 

“Baby… is low… but I don’t think… they’re crowning yet…. But-unhhhhhhhhhh-I can’t stop pushing—”

“Shhhhh… you’re doing brilliantly my love. If you can, try little pushes for now. We don’t know if you’re fully dilated and we don’t want you to tear.” I cooed, stroking your thigh that was spread open right against mine. 

As the next award was announced, I heard you grunting during the applause. You said the baby wasn’t crowning but those sounds you were making, your subtle movements, were all too familiar to me. We certainly weren’t going to make it home for this birth, and I doubted if we’d even make it to the car. And yet you gave me no signs of wanting to move, staring blankly up at the stage as your chest heaved and your belly contracted, silently pushing our baby closer to this world. 

“You’re doing wonderful darling, so incredible. Keep doing what your body tells you—”

“— I can feel the head—” you suddenly blurted out, twitching on your seat and pulling your legs together with an obvious grimace. 

“Let’s go, now while everyone’s distracted.” I put my arms around you, helping you out of your chair. You were trembling. 

“Mmmmmgh— it feels like the baby is gonna fall out—” you moaned under your breath, cradling your belly as you rose to your feet. 

I laughed a little, supporting your hips. “It’s not going to fall out sweetheart, you’ve got a lot more pushing to go yet.” I purred in your ear as I led you out the dinner hall, your legs were unsteady and your gait was obscenely wide. I had no idea what was going on under your clothing, how close the baby was to being born, which only made this whole situation all the more thrilling. 

Beyond the doors of the formal company dinner, the moan that came from your mouth was deep and guttural as you stopped to brace against a nearby wall. Palms to the flat surface your hips jerked backwards against me as you bore down uncontrollably. 

“Nnnnnghhh— ohhhhhh I can feel the head— starting to come out—”

I rubbed your back and hips, squeezing and providing counter pressure that I knew you’d need. “Try not to push too hard babe… we need to get you back to the car…” 

Realising the corridor was empty, all guests inside the dinner hall, I slipped a hand under the silk fabric of your dress climbing up your inner thigh to feel your progress. I didn’t even make it to your entrance as I felt the distinct bulge of your underwear, the head nestled so low it was pushing against your lower lips. 

“Oh fuck babe…. The head is right there…” I groaned, fingers running across the damp fabric of your cotton underwear. 

“Nnnnnghh— I know— I can feel it— trying to come out—” you huffed, your fingers curling against the wall as your body continued to bear down without your permission. 

“Hold on a bit longer— we need to get you to the car.” I tried to plead with you but I knew you were not the one in control here. We were at the mercy of Mother Nature. We played a dangerous game and I just hoped I could get you somewhere private. 

“I don’t know if I can make it—”

“What do you need darling? What do you want to do?” I groaned into your ear, my body flushed behind you, my hands still under your dress between your legs. 

“Nnnnghh— hold it in— while I push—” you spluttered as you widened your stance, preparing for another push.

My hand moved, cupping your womanhood with my palm. “I’ve got you baby— do what you need to do—” I could barely contain my excitement at what was happening. My body tensed in time with yours and I felt the bulge against my palm grow as you pushed, the first sliver of our baby starting to part you from within. 

“Keep going, my love, I won’t let them come out too fast.” 

Your sounds were deep and gravelled and primal, but not loud enough to draw the attention of anyone inside the venue. One… two… three grunting pushes against my palm and the baby hadn’t made much progress. Thankfully. 

“Ohhhh— okay— it’s passed—” you croaked, pushing yourself away from the wall and catching your breath. 

“Are you ready to try walking to the car again?” My hand moved up and down your lower back affectionately, keeping you supported. 

You nodded, running a hand over the full swell of your belly. “Yes, let’s keep moving. But we need to go slow… the head is right there, just inside of me.” 

Growling at your statement, I wrapped my arm around your waist to support you as we both walked slowly down the corridor. “I know darling, it’s really close. Our little one is very eager to meet us.” I couldn’t wipe the grin off my face, looking down at you with that full belly, your bow-legged walk, on the cusp of giving birth at any moment. 

We made it out of the venue but on the steps out the front of the building you abruptly stopped and grabbed the railing, bending your knees and grunting with an uncontrollable push. 

“Oh darling…” I quickly moved my hands to your hips to support you as your body bore down instinctively. “This one really is in a hurry. Just go with it, but we need to get you to the car soon.” 

You shuddered and almost mooed with the effort of your push, your body taking full control in this moment in a desperate bid to expel our baby from your womb. Over and over again you pushed. I couldn’t move my hands to check your progress, they were supporting all your weight at this moment. We were halfway down the steps outside the venue and nowhere near our car, a far cry from the privacy I wanted for our child’s birth. 

You grunted with each push, the sound sending all the blood in my body to my crotch. I knew from our previous births just how hard you were pushing, knowing the baby was probably slipping forward and back under your dress with each push. “Sweetheart…. Are we going to make it back to the car?” I asked nervously, feeling your knees bend a little more, your hips lowering slightly. 

“Nnnnnghhh—don’t know— it’s definitely— starting to c-c-c-crown—!” You groaned between pushes. 

When the contraction finished you were gasping for air as you twisted from the railing and sagged into my arms. “My…. My knickers… seem to be keeping the baby… from coming out….” Your voice was a caressed whisper against my chest. 

“You’re doing amazing, my love. You’re an incredible goddess.” I said, kissing the top of your head and holding you and your swollen belly against me. “Do you want to keep going? Or are we having this baby right here?” 

The look you gave me was filled with both pleasure and pain, your eyes glistening with dark enjoyment. “Let’s— keep going— I can hold them in….” 

I took this moment between contractions to feel your progress, my hands running from you hip down your leg and up under your dress. Your body shivered when I reached the apex of your thighs. 

“Are you sure about that, my love?” I asked with a teasing arch of my eyebrows as my fingers brushed over your underwear. “That’s not just you I can feel…. The baby’s head is really starting to crown.” 

“I- I know—” your words were breathy and husky, and I could tell you were feeling extremely full right now. 

“And you think you can walk all the way across the car park with a baby between your legs?” My fingers gently stroked circles on the soft flesh of your inner thigh. 

You nodded, but your face grimaced with another contraction and you started to pant against my chest, squeezing my shoulders. 

“You want to push again, don’t you sweetheart?” 

You nodded against me. 

“But you don’t want to give birth right here?” 

You shook your head. 

My hand then moved back over the partially crowned head in your underwear, cupping the sphere and holding it in place.

“Shhh… it’s okay I got you. Push baby…. You can push now….” I growled into your ear as I wrapped my arm around your waist while the other was cupped between your legs. “Push right against my hand— that’s it— I’ll keep you from crowning fully…” 

It felt like your entire body was quaking against me as you submitted to your body’s instincts and bore down right against my palm. The sounds you made were animalistic and feral, it was music to my ears. You pushed for another minute and a half, with each one I could feel the pressure from the baby’s head pressing more and more against my palm. Eventually you were released from the contraction, breathing heavily and barely able to stand. 

“Let’s…go….before…the…next one…comes…” you whispered, exhausted but clearly aroused. 

Together we walked slowly across the carpark, our car seemed like a mirage in the distance, but you were determined and I was more than happy to comply. I wondered how many times we would have to stop on the way, how many times I would need to cup your bulging lips, so you could have the birth you wanted in the comfort of our car.