#general grounder

[cedar-eats-poetry]

A collection of Sonic frames that I thought were important

#sonic the hedgehog #eggman #dr eggman #dr robotnik #sonic #scratch #grounder #sonic x #sonic memes #sonic generations

[cinnamon-st1ckz]

aosth stop setting grounder on fire please

#grounder #grounder aosth #aosth grounder #just stop torturing him in general

[krissiefox]

Adventures of Sonic The Hedgehog - The Robot’s Robot (Screenshots & Review)

Well! I was not expecting an episode where Scratch and Grounder make a baby together, but here we are! Will they be good parents or crappy parents? Let's find out....

The episode begins with two pretty adorable lion cub kids bike riding together. Their names are Jackson and Suzie, and they're heading back home to their family when they find their own home town imploded into a big ball! Thankfully nobody in the town seems to be seriously harmed by this, thanks to cartoon physics - but it's clearly still a problem! Sonic and Tails stumble across the two and set a tent for the kids to stay in so they'll be safer until our heroes can figure out how to undue the implosion.

Poor kids....thankfully, Sonic’s here to help! And he brought donuts!

Meanwhile, we see Robotnik showing off the device that he he used to implode this town - The "Super Planetary Implosion Machine", or SPIM, which is powered by the "Butal Lepton Atomic Material Modification Oscillator" (Or BLAMMO). What a mouthful! No wonder he gave these devices acronym nicknames...

Robotnik explains that the BLAMMO is very volatile and delicate, and that even shaking it to hard could implode the entire planet! So of course, Scratch and Grounder almost break it, which sends Robotnik into a fit, yelling " that even a complete idiot could make a better robot than them!". Acknowledging that they themselves are "complete idiots", Scratch and Grounder get the idea to make a robot themselves!

They find the robot making machine (the same one Robotnik sued to make Coachnik!), and throw a bunch of random parts in. They excitedly exclaim "We can boss it around, abuse  it and humiliate it. just like Dr. Robotnik does to us. we're gonna be parents!" Yeesh. Way to keep that generational trauma going, you two!

"We can boss it around, abuse  it and humiliate it. just like Dr. Robotnik does to us. we're gonna be parents!"

After their child emerges from the machine, they struggle to come with a name and just settle for calling the little one "Robot", using all the creativity of whomever names the background ponies the My Little Pony GameLoft game.

Robot is an adorable and sweet little fellow, but sadly Scratch and Grounder immediately put him to the task of hard labor by making him wash Robotnik's absurdly large amount of dirty china plates. He ends up filling the china cabinet so tight that all the plates break, which wakes up Robotnik and makes him furious. He threatens to turn Robot into a popcorn machine, which scares the poor little dear so badly that he grabs a bunch of items and runs way from home. Unfortunately, one the things he grabbed was the BLAMMO!

The next morning, Sonic sees an article in the newspaper where Scratch and Grounder have put out an alert for their missing child, and Sonic ends up seeing Robot zoom by him by at the same time. The article also mentions the BLAMMO that was taken and ho unstable the device is. He wakes up Tails and they go to trail the little bot.

Scratch and Grounder are also in pursuit of robot, and who gets so scared he accidentally falls into a canyon! Around this part of the episode, things actually get pretty uncomfortable for a while because it feels like Sonic is being the biggest bully in the scene. He tells Scratch and Grounder that he's not gonna save Robot for them, but only to stop Mobius from being imploded. At this time he doesn't know that Scratch and Grounder were planning to slave drive robot, and also has not seen Robot do anything to harm anyone, so he is effectively telling two new parents whose kid is running away scared that he would just let their child die to spite them. What the fuck, Sonic?

To make matters worse, after saving Robot, he also scares Scratch and Grounder into falling into the canyon themselves - whom, again, to Sonic’s knowledge, were just trying to save their own child from harm. This act is a little more understandable as Scratch and Grounder are established enemies to Sonic, but this still feels needlessly cruel of him - especially when this is when we see Scratch and Grounder start to show care for Robot. This is messed up. Let's move on...

At-least Tails isn’t  threatening to let anyone’s child die horribly! He’s just here making cute poses.

Back at Robotnik's base, Robotnik has just woken up himself and found the BLAMMO missing, much to his displeasure. Scratch and Grounder dejectedly return home and tell him what happened, so Robotnik heads out to retrieve the BLAMMO himself. Robot has run off after Sonic saved him (and if he could hear what Sonic was saying earlier, I don't blame him!) and ends up at the tent where the two lion kids are at. Robot starts crying and the kids go to check on him and comfort him. Shortly afterwards, Sonic arrives there, and Robot is very apprehensive of Sonic, since all he's Sonic do is be cruel to him and his parents so far.  Sonic asks for the BLAMMO, and Robot throws it, where it unfortunately ends up right in Robotnik's hands as he flies by!

One of the things Robot packed when he ran away was a photo of Scratch and Grounder! 🥺 If the two had been better parents, they might have been a happy little family....

Sonic and Tails chase Robotnik for a while - traveling through a lava cave and a frozen lake. Robot follows them as well, helping Sonic several times, which thankfully seems to get Sonic to realize how cruel he was being to the little bot and be much more kind to him from here on. At one point, Robotnik deploys what he calls "Burrobots", but they look almost nothing like the Burrobots from the games, and I can't hep but wonder if that's because they'd look too much like Grounder?

The strange Aosth version of “Burrobots”

They eventually trail Robotnik to his own fortress, and Robot lets them inside. Sonic sabotages Robotnik’s weapon so that it will un-implode the kids home town, and also implode Robotnik’s own fortress, but with a timed delay so he, Tails and Robot can make it out safely.

While they still flip flop between calling Robot their child and their slave, Scratch and Grounder start to become protective of him when Robotnik threatens to implode him.This doesn't make them good parents, of course, but I do like that they were given some self-doubt and complexity in these scenes where they they couldn’t decide whether to continue to abuse like Robotnik or change and be better parents.

Scratch and Grounder call out to Robot, which is kind of a sad scene, too. Robot decides he doesn't want to live with them anymore, which is for the best as they were being abusive, even if they seemed to be started to feel more care for him over time. First impressions are very important, so don't expect your kid to stick around if you call them your slave immediately after they're born!

Sonic decides to bring Robot to Scrap valley to live with the other misfit robots that Robotnik rejected, so he won't be alone. It's neat to see a callback to this location, and it is a location of this shows world that has some interesting social parallels to the our world. The citizens of Scrap Town seem very loving and accepting towards Robot, so it seems he has a happy ending! Which makes me happy too, because he's a little sweetie and I felt bad for him. Hopefully if Scratch and Grounder ever decide to have another kid, they'll know to be more caring parents from the get go!

In the Sonic Says segment, Sonic and Tails teach scratch and Grounder about fire safety. If you're in a burning building, crawl on the floor to avoid smoke, and don't try to open a  door if the handle is hot! Honestly, as an adult, I had forgotten about these safety tips myself, so this a good refresher for both kids and grown ups!

While Sonic's behavior during the canyon scene is disturbing, I really liked this episode overall! It's another shining example of this silly slapstick show actually touching on some interesting social issues - parenthood, generational trauma, a child escaping an abusive environment -  Scratch and Grounder having to learn the hard lesson that if you abuse your kid, there's a good chance they'll leave and never want to see you again, regardless of if you try to make it up to them or be more kind later. Robot doesn't owe them forgiveness for being shitty parents! Also, I enjoyed the fact that this is an early 90s cartoon in which we saw two male-coded characters having a child together, and at no point were there any sort of derogatory homophobic jokes made about this fact. That shouldn’t be anything special, but a lot of comedy in the 90s gladly punched down at queer people, and I’m glad this episode wasn’t one of those times.

Til next time,stay cool and be good people!

#Aosth #adventures of sonic the hedgehog #fire safety #Sonic #Sonic the hedgehog #Tails #Miles Prower #Robot #Scratch #Aosth Scratch #Grounder #Robotnik #Dr. Robotnik #The Robot's Robot #generational trauma #child abuse #parenting #parenthood #burrobot #Jackson #Suzie #Coachnik

[trainer-blue]

im so glad i kin a flightframe flightframes rule so hard

#i know i talk a lot abt how sexyhot t.fa b.lurr & r.ummaj r who r both grounders but IN GENERAL #jets n flightframes n stuff. are the coolest

[cozzzynook]

bumblebee was born with door wings.

It was known throughout Autobot territory that having anything relative to something deemed decepticon labeled you an automatic target. Sparkling or not, Autobots were not as kind as the history archives liked to preach and Bumblebee knew this first hand. Discrimination was a factor Bumblebee was far too familiar with seeing as he was born with door wings though he could not fly and had a ground alt mode. His alt mode was that of a car built for speed, he was no Blurr but he could rival him with how fast he could go. His driving was practically like flying once his wheels hit the pavement.

Not to mention his slender frame rivaled that of a seeker, he wasn’t bulky like a grounder something that put him at a disadvantage. He was not tall either, making him a prime target for bullying inside sparkling centers where all the other bitlets were not only bigger but stronger.

The overseers of the center always turned a blind optic to his bruises and dents. Not sparing him much energon since they didn’t like looking at his bright yellow painting even when his black paint came in albeit late since his frame was never given the proper nutrients to grow.

Bumblebee spent his early protoform days in a sparkling center since his creators were offlined when he was only days old after his emergence. His creators were not lucky. It was a high act of treason for an autobot or grounder to bond with a decepticon and seeker even if the war had ended, Autobots did not take lightly to such unions.

They were hurrying to get to neutral territory when they were caught and offlined. He was left to rust in his carriers gray arms before being found by a traveling bot who dumped him into a sparkling center out of pity for his fresh young spark.

Sometimes, on the nights his stomach rumbled and his door wings were once again scratched and painfully bent he wished the traveler had left him to gray. His young processor saw things weren’t going to get better at the sparkling center what with how all the others were adopted and he was sneered at.

So one night he snuck into the energon storage with a pouch and grabbed as much as he could before leaving. Life on the streets weren’t truly different for him save he was beaten less but he did have to hide more. Many bots gave him looks that made his tanks turn and he did his best to steer clear of them.

He knew to be weary of decepticons and autobots alike seeing first hand how cruel autobots could be all because he was born wrong and he knew from listening to the overseers how cruel decepticons could be. He wasn’t one to care for reading history or reading much in general but he did put it to use after teaching himself to read that decepticons had a point in their early cause. Even his young processor knew the counsel should’ve listened to their demands and reached an agreement. That could’ve spared so many pointless deaths including his creators.

He knew never to speak on his thoughts of course because Autobots spoke of being the side dedicated to peace while showing they had a pretty messed up definition of what peace actually was.

“Hey! Get lost!”

Scurrying without looking back Bumblebee was off.

His time running from bullies showed him he was fast and life on the streets taught him he could be even faster. Taking energon when absolutely necessary, speeding off with anti virus medicine that no bot would waste on him, dodging Elite guards who tried to take him into custody so he could be placed in a sparkling center. Yes, Bumblebee learned he was fast and he was good at utilizing it well into early adulthood when he would dodge servo happy mechs who wanted to touch him.

He wasn’t blind he knew his frame was desirable. He was small, lithe, and curvy in all the right places that left mechs and even a few femme’s glancing his way. At first it annoyed him. Being looked at meant trouble and as much as he wanted the attention, any attention when the days were crushingly lonely, he didn’t want to be damaged because someone thought they’d be doing him a favor ripping his door wings off again.

The first time it happened he was still a sparkling in the center. An overseer thought they’d be helping both of them by removing the ugly nuisance from his back. His memory file painfully kept the scene of him screaming energon murder as he laid in a puddle leaking his life away. The looks other overseers gave him after they were reattached made his circuits and mesh quiver even to this day.

“Look out!”

He turned his helm away from the mech sizing him up like a fresh cup of energon in the sunrise with his arms covering his chest plates when his optics met sight of large ship hovering in the sky before missile fire rained down on them.

He’d never run so fast in his life, transforming mid jump over a graying frame that laid on the ground before high tailing it. There was no stopping, no corner unfazed by the many mechs and femme’s running to safety and no where to go where the screams of innocent mechs and femmes alike were cut off only to be replaced as the process repeated over and over.

He was exhausted by the time the ship left. The autobot insignia was hidden but word later got out that it was an Autobot elite guard ship hunting down two notorious decepticons who were hiding in their area. They hadn’t managed to capture them so the group decided to take them by surprise and ambush them.

No apologies were given to the mechs and femmes permanently disabled by the elite guards reckless decision. Those that died were labeled a “tragic loss” and were used to encourage bots across Cybertron to join the Autobot forces to help snuff out any more decepticons so another incident like this would not be repeated.

Bumblebee remembers feeling an array of emotions when he heard the broadcast. He remembers seeing the poster with Ultra Magnus not long after covering the area and bots believing the nonsense. He seemed to be one of the only few bots who saw something wrong with all this besides those permanently disabled. Neither he nor they said anything though. It would be disastrous for them, the outcasts and undesirables, to speak out against it. They were already hated by their people for being different Bumblebee knew the mechs and femmes who were permanently damaged would no longer live the same life. They’d be just like him.

Tossed to the side.

Bumblebee suddenly felt like his body was covered in the life energon that splattered on him as he raced to survive the onslaught. He felt his optics sting and the late night break in to a “communal” cleaner did little to wash away the long gone life energon.

‘How can they live with themselves?’

Bumblebee asked himself this question countless times as he took what energon he could find before leaving the half destroyed town. It wouldn’t do him any good staying there not when bots were looking for another to take their anger out on. Many of those bots were joining the military and hoping to become Elite guards themselves. Bee figured it was misplaced hope and a need for safety.

He got it, he really did.

If he could blend in he would but sadly he can’t. He never could. Not with his yellow paint, door wings and femme like frame. He wasn’t proud of the way he learned to use these things to his advantage. It wasn’t always a guarantee he could scrounge up some energon without getting caught and since he was no longer a sparkling but a young grown mech, he needed to be careful not to get caught. He didn’t want to end up in a detention center.

It was hard at first. Truth be told it was still hard. Going to half decent but mostly seedy bars working for his keep to have a place to rest his head and keep energon in his tank. He wasn’t stupid. He knew this arrangement was not only dangerous but temporary. Eventually his luck would run out within twelve cycles and he’d be asked to accompany the bar owner to a more..private room. He always left immediately after saying he would meet them down there.

It led to him traveling a lot more than he originally planned but he eventually found some semblance of settling when he entered a camp full of seekers. There were a few grounders like himself, most likely mated to some of the seekers. He stayed clear of them seeing them just made him think of his creators and his processor just wandered to trying to remember what they looked like. So he tried to keep to himself no matter how lonely he was. He wanted to chat and get close with others, by nature he was a friendly mech and loved talking but he couldn’t risk doing so. Not here.

Not when he was always at risk of being hurt or…used.

“You know you don’t have to be so distant. It’s different here,” a grounder spoke, “a lot of seekers here just want to online peacefully and us grounders just want our sparklings and mates safe.”

The mech tried to put a servo on his shoulder but he flinched away, standing straight a moment later he looked anywhere but the mech and scurried off. His circuits were nervous for cycles after that encounter. Other grounders started coming to him trying to talk and soothe him as if he was a sparkling in distress and not a grown mech himself.

He didn’t need them trying to creator him, he was fine on his own and had been all his life cycle. They could frag off snd creator their own sparklings. It made him so irrationally angry every time they tried to take care of him he wasn’t some bitlet that needed consoling he was a grown mech that entered carrier heats alone when he was just a youngling living in a back alley. He was mech who survived the acid rains in the dumpsters or bots back garages in corners to not he seen. He’d kept himself from being interfaced by older bots all on his own.

He didn’t need them! He never needed a creator before when he was a lone sparkling and he doesn’t need one now as a grown mech.

“Aren’t jou a little young to be drinking jour sorrows away?”

“Aren’t you a little fragger for bothering someone in a corner who wants to be left alone?”

Okay so maybe he had a foul intake but he was justified, he wanted some peace to wallow in a bar he wouldn’t be asked to interface for shelter in for once he wanted to relax not this.

“Quite ze mouth on jou little one. Careful. Jou don’t seem ze type to be good in a mech on mech brawl,” the mech laughed in his foreign accent. He blamed the high grade in his systems for making him think it was attractive as well as warming his pleasure sensors.

“Yeah well you don’t know what kind of mech I am so frag off and leave me alone,” okay maybe he sounded bratty but he just wanted the mech to go away.

“Suite jourself,” the mech said with a slag eating grin in his vox. It made Bumblebee look up from his glass he was going to give this mech a piece of his processor until he looked at the mech. He was tall, really tall. Arms thicker than Bumblebee’s frame with a beautiful jawline that could offline. His face plate was a shade of blue he could never grow tired of seeing with the most beautiful red optics he’s ever seen. In the back of his processor he knew that meant this was a decepticon mech former or not he wasn’t sure. All he knew in that moment looking at the beige and purple painted mech was that he was beautiful, stunning, a sight he was truly gifted to behold.

His intake was left partially open as he swayed on unstable pedes before grabbing the counter to balance himself. His high grade filled helm was hard at work rushing energon south as his private plating grew hot. He could feel his valve growing wet with sticky energon slick and he knew he had to get out of there.

His seal was still in tact thankfully but with how attractive the mech before him was he wasn’t sure how much longer that would be the case.

“Oooh? Nothing to say hummel?”

Bumblebee made a face at the name worry tinting his blurred optics as he gazed at the mech but the small part of his processor that was logic won out and he stumbled away from the mech. Forcing himself to be silent as he left the bar. He didn’t have a place to call his yet but the archive building always had a room they let mechs and femmes stay in who had no hab suite. Here in the camps shanix wasn’t as big a need like in the capital and their surrounding cities and towns. He still had less than the average bot but he had enough for fuel and thats all he really cared about.

He was just at the archive back-way when he stumbled and lost his peding. The rush of cold air didn’t turn to concrete and vaguely he could feel two warm servo’s on his hips before being lifted into cool arms. The bot that helped him was a mech and a muscular yet lean one at that. They were quite large with how far from the he was but he didn’t feel in danger. He couldn’t identify what he felt if he was honest.

Warmth. Comfort. Soft. His body wasn’t on edge for the first time he knew of. He almost missed the word he’d been unfortunate to experience until now.

Safe.

The mech holding him managed to make him feel safe when he didn’t even know them.

“Jou shouldn’t get so full on high grade especially since jou aren’t a regular size for that kind of high grade.”

‘Oh great, this mech again,’ he would’ve rolled his optics if he didn’t have such a helm ache.

“Put me down,” his vox was half static as he tried to get feeling into his frame. His servo’s wouldn’t listen to his circuits telling them to move and his digits just hung limp against the mech’s chest plates. They were thick, made for flight and battle. Oh how his private plating pulsed with life at the mere thought.

‘Why did I have to like em big?’

“And vhere vould jou go hmm? Do jou live here? In this little hole?”

Bumblebee had enough energy to get upset at the incredulous tone but not much else. He wanted to helm butt the nosey mech but he didn’t have the energy to.

“Not your business, put me down,” his venting wasn’t even and his frame was getting hot from all the high grade and his valve’s pulsing. He hoped the bot couldn’t smell his arousal, he really wanted to frag the mech but at the same time he didn’t want to risk getting sparked or a virus.

“Are jou sure jou want me to put jou down? Jou could barely stand on those little stabilizers just a moment ago. Jou think jou can make it inside?”

“Why do you care? Just let me figure it out on my own and go away!”

He was starting to lose his temper and his valve was starting to leak with every passing word from that thick accent. He wanted the mech and he wanted to feel his spike breaching his valve and breaking his seal but there would be consequences to that and the mech was most likely a decepticon. He didn’t get a good look at his chassis to see the insignia but Bumblebee knew he had one.

“Feisty little mech hmm?”

“I’m not that little,” with a sudden burst of energy Bumblebee managed to catch the mech off guard as he twisted in his arms. Lifting a servo to try pushing the mech away he was restrained faster than he knew possible.

“Interesting, jou have quite ze speed I’ll give jou that hummel,” the mech smirked unfazed, “but i’m faster,” he said leaning in face plate to face plate.

“What do you want from me?”

“Jou are interesting.”

“I’m not a pleasurebot,” Bumblebee glared, servo transforming to a stinger canon. He has never offlined another bot in his life cycle but he was willing to blue screen one on their aft if he needed to.

“I never saw jou that way little one. I simply think jour interesting. I’ve never seen a bot with yellow paint or wings as beautiful as jours especially since jour a grounder.”

That made Bumblebee freeze.

No bot had ever called him interesting, let alone beautiful. And his door wings? Well, they were betraying his vulnerability full throttle as they flicked and postured nervously. A tint of eagerness in how they didn’t pull away from the mech’s direction. Vents stalling for a nanoclick as his optics focus on honesty and want in the red optics bewitching him.

“you..you think i’m…”

He couldn’t get the words out his vox couldn’t form a single sentence and his optics betrayed him by blurring with leaking fluid.

“i..don’t..,” that ache in his spark coiled something fierce vice grip holding him immobile in the mech’s arms. Those red optics didn’t pity him, didn’t judge him, understood him.

“I vant to, hummel,” the soft blow of air from his derma’s cooled the heat clouding Bumblebee’s fave plate, he wanted more, so much more. “I vant to touch jou, show jou just how beautiful jou are, hummel.”

His derma’s wisp the tip of his audial and brush against the mesh under his optic. Bumblebee could feel his horns flicking with excitement, with need, reacting to the mech’s touch. He wanted more. Needed more.

His own dermas inched forward, soft vent brushing blue mesh as his optic lids fluttered, chest plates pushing out slightly to touch the mech more. He could feel his breast mesh beneath his plating grow aroused perking to rub uncomfortably, begging to be set free. He wanted this mech to touch him, caress him, feel him.

He needed him.

Needed to be more than just a no bot fading to the background for safety. Hiding away from bots who wanted to lend him a helping servo, never staying in one place for long out of fear. His overseers still had him listed as a criminal for running away with a lot of energon and the seedy bar owners and patrons he served high grade to wanted his valve and seal for their own disgusting servos. He dodged plenty elite guards who identified him as a survivor to the raid on the small town he once inhabited.

Turns out they not only used it to make the towns people enlist and join the autobot ranks, they down played the damage truly dealt. Hid how many sparks were snuffed out and how many bots were permanently damaged because of their horrible decision. He had an idea of what they would do to convince him to keep it under wraps and he wanted no parts in that.

All the running, always watching his back, never able to trust another bot or simply talk the way he wished he could. He wanted nothing more than to be a normal bot.

His derma’s touch the beige helm before he realizes, thats all it takes for the mech holding him. He’s being carried somewhere, their entering the deepest parts of the seeker district where some of the more dangerous mechs cohabit. They come to a building he recognizes as a seekers home. Its built for a lone mech instead of a trine and Bumblebee feels his nerves jumble as they enter inside.

His optics wander the room as he notes paintings hanging from the walls beautiful and perfection in every sense of the word. Molding clay in a corner with stone and hammers opposite of them. Paint lies in a cupboard far too high for him to reach but perfect for the mech that shifts to cradle him.

A servo brushes so gently across the side of his helm holding his jaw to tilt making him look up. Red optics are warm to him now. A color he thinks he’ll forever find comfort in so long as its this bot before him.

He’s shy now, blue coating his cheeks as he feels the heavy thrum of the mechs spark pulsing through his thick armor. He’s a war build seeker that much he’s sure of, his gaze wanders to purple wings and his own flutter at the sight. He can’t help it. They’re so big, much bigger than his own and they could fly. He wished his could fly.

“Jour wings are beautiful,” the mech whispers, olfactory sensor rubbing his, asking for permission that Bumblebee grants him.

The kiss is slow, searching, fluid, curious.

They both want to get a feel on one another, servos tightening around his waist, his arms hooking behind the beige helm, stabilizers hooking beneath the large chassis. Digits digging into the armor when he feels dermas press harder onto his own. The mesh is soft, so soft he almost thinks the mech freshly glossed them just for him. He feels the cool shift in the mechs frame grow warmer, the shift in metallic wings fluttering. He’s vaguely aware of the bot taking him to the berth. High grade heightening his sensor nets while lowering his fire walls and the logic in his processor.

He feels his private plating heat unbearably, his vavle spasming as his back hits the soft sheets. His wings fan out in a desirable display and his hips rut against the mechs strong upper thigh that rests between his legs sinking into the berth. Their dermas part and Bumblebee flicks his optics open their hazy drunk on pleasure he knows will only grow. He’s faintly aware of the room growing in heat from their warming frames, the windows begin to fog and his olfactory senses pick up the scent of energon slick and transfluid, it makes him look down.

The mech on top of him has his private plating retracted he has no valve that much Bumblebee realizes as he feels his own private plating tremble in anticipation. But the sheer size of the mechs pink and blue energon transfluid dripping from his engorged black spike with bioluminescent purple and blue lines in an attractive pattern he wants has glossa to lick and trace, has Bumblebees private plating snap open.

He looks away in shame as his pathetic spike shows itself. It was small even for someone his size he wouldn’t dare compare it to the large spike about to penetrate him. He’s sniffling upset already thinking he’ll bd mocked, wings insecure as they shift awkwardly. But the beige and purple mech doesn’t allow him to wallow. Those purple wings flare to capture his attention and the icy digit lifts his head to look at him. Warmth enraptures those beautiful red optics and he’s left starstruck.

Subconsciously he’s aware of his servos lowering to hold both sides of the mechs face plate, feeling the seductive jawline move as the mech spoke. Words uncharacteristically gentle aimed his way has his chassis quivering and his optics warming in leaking fluid as he whimpers a pitiful whine at the mechs words.

“You’re a carrier,” the words are understanding, careful, sweet even, “I’m a sire mech, hummel,” Bumblebee didn’t really know much about sire mechs he only knew they couldn’t carry like he couldn’t sire. He had to know all that being a carrier entailed since he was one but he never bothered to learn much on sire mechs. He knew regular bots could spark bond and have a piece of their sparks enter-twine before going into a protoform. That was the norm of how their species reproduced.

And then there was mechs like him and the mech above him, the rarities who carry in tanks and sired through transfluid and spark energy. A carrier mech could end up sparked through either just like a sire mech could spark a mech using their chamber or transfluid. Usually the two types only stuck to each other simply because they were not only made for each other but because it was easier that way since a regular bot would have complications with either types and regular bots didn’t like their types.

“I’m sorry,” it felt right to say for some reason. He didn’t live a life he wished for others to experience and so he assumed the other mech may not have as well.

“No need to apologize hummel, jou did nothing vrong. Especially since i get to have jou here,” the mech said lowering himself. That thick spike dragging up his thigh plate made his hips rut and a smirk pulled at blue dermas that leaned back down to kiss him. His servo’s moved on their own, holding the mech’s chassis and shoulder optics fluttering as his neck moved back, wings spread out in invitation across the sheets. Hips lifting to rub his vavle along the thick pulsing spike that dripped transfluid onto his seal. He felt his valve squeeze on nothing and his grip tightened as he whimpered. He wanted the mech, this mech right here who showed him kindness he often ran from and rejected.

With him it felt different.

Maybe it was the high grade working in his systems, maybe it was the unparalleled beauty he saw in the mech that left him wanting more or maybe it was the growing heat that curled and coiled in his tanks with each touch the mech provided him. He didn’t know and he didn’t bother to care.

He just knew one thing.

“Spike..please,” he moaned as their dermas disconnected with a trail of liquid connecting them. His shinning optics took in the purple tint of the mechs cheeks and he felt his cheeks warm. This large mech was blushing at the sight of him, spike pulsing and hard because of him. Dripping the most delicious smelling transfluid onto his valve, all because of him.

“Hummel, are jou sure?”

“Yes, please,” Bumblebee pleaded, “break my seal, claim me as yours, mecha.”

There was a softness, a vulnerability that was partially guarded as the mechs red optics glossed slightly. A cool vent that left Bumblebee reaching up to pull the other closer as his wings lowered to stretch then spread in invitation. A shy invitation with shy confidence on Bumblebee’s part as he initiated a soft tender shaky kiss. Feeling the mech return it, servo holding the space between his door wings as he tightened his stabilizers around the mechs waist.

Digits slide to his valve and wait, he pushes his valve closer to them and the mech answers his welcoming. Sliding the first clawed digit inside breaking his seal. He gasps in pure pleasure, the mech inhaling his air sliding another inside. Twirling his digits slowly, working the fresh folds open careful to stretch them as slick pink fluid coated black clawed servos.

The dermas kissing his neck cables nipped at them, those sharp denta sent a shiver down his spine. Oh how he wanted the mech to open his chassis and bite his teat glands. He knew he couldn’t lactate but he wanted the mech to have the fun of trying.

‘Maybe I really do have carrier protocols that can be activated.’ That in itself was a surprise since he swore to himself he would never have a sparkling let alone take care of one.

The sudden pulse from his valve had his optics clouding for a nanoclick. The mech holding him had slipped two more digits inside him, he was impossibly tender and completely thorough in his stroking. He felt that sudden spike in heat wracking his frame his vents were starting to have trouble cooling him down and the mech bit a little harder when he felt the small bot in his arms gasp in pleasure.

“Jou like that? Hmm? Have I found jour bundle of nerves?”

Those skilled claws lightly rubbed the bundle of nerves and he felt his interior node spasm at the soft touch. His helm fell back at the sudden rush of slick fluid that spilled into the mechs servo. He felt his legs lock tighter and his hips rutting in tune with the mechs digits his own digits dug deep into the mechs shoulders scrapping his paint. And before Bumblebee could apologize he saw the mechs wings twitch in appreciation.

“M..mecha..your wings..so..ahhhh so beautiful,” he moaned. He wanted to touch them but he knew he didn’t like others touching his door wings so he was sure a full seeker wouldn’t want a mixed bot touching his own and Bumblebee didn’t think he’d be granted permission.

“Blitzwing.”

“H-huh?”

“My name, mein designation is Blitzwing,” the mech now known as Blitzwing, soothed to him pressing his helm against Bumblebees.

“Blitzwing,” the name felt like honey and riches on his tongue. He found himself repeating the designation over and over again as his valve pumped out slick fluid into the mechs servo. He felt so good all over, his frame may be hot and his tank felt like it would burst at any moment spilling out of his valve but he could care less. He chased that feeling, the unwinding bundle that threatened to swallow him whole as he bucked his hips keeping pace with the beautiful mech before him.

With the beautiful mech named Blitzwing that his optics just couldn’t get enough of.

“Hummel,” his groan was delicious to his audials but when Blitzwing pulled his servo back he whined like he was struck with pain.

“I vant to be inside jou, mein hummel, please,” Blitzwing moaned lining his spike to Bumblebee’s valve, “can I?”

When Bumblebee didn’t say anything Blitzwing pulled back ready to comfort him but Bumblebee’s stabilizers pushing him forward so the head of his spike could slip inside him, well it made them both groan.

Bumblebee’s valve was hot and soft to the touch, sucking Blitzwings spike in like a bot starved of the most delectable energon known in bot history. Blitzwing almost overloaded from just being inside the yellow minibot alone. He tried inching in slowly, allow the yellow mini time to adjust to his impressive thick spike but the yellow bug kept squirming and wiggling trying to lower himself onto his spike that he bit his lower derma to keep from thrusting in all the way.

“Careful zere hummel. Jou may rip something,” Blitzwing groaned as he almost bottomed out, servo curling around the yellow mini’s curvy mesh waist while the other held the back of his helm, Blitzwing watched the curve of his spike imprint the mechs tank. He felt his spike twitch spurting hot transfluid inside the soft meshy organ. Oh it felt so good to be fully sheathed inside the mech nestled in his arms.

His beautiful face plate was overwhelmed with pleasure, chassis heaving heavy vent after heavy vent in an attempt to cool his frame. His hips were twitching on his spike, he could see how full the mech was, so full of him that he almost slipped and overloaded inside him.

He didn’t want to hurt the neutral bot especially since he just broke his seal but he did want to make this experience last as long as possible. He wanted the mech in his servo’s to be ruined for anybot else. He didn’t want the yellow beauty to find comfort or solace in another mech or femme like this that wasn’t him.

He carefully cradled the mech closer pressing them chassis to chassis, covered spark plating to covered spark plating. Sucking what little air the mech had blowing cool air into his intake as he slid his glossa inside. Roaming every inch of the mechs intake when he felt servo’s hold his wings.

The sensation made him jolt in surprise.

This mechs touch, his small servo’s, his tiny digits, feeling along the expanse of his purple wings, feeling along the groves and long healed dents was the best feeling he’s ever had in his entire life cycle.

Blitzwing was so embarrassed his cheeks shaded complete purple as he moaned loudly, overloading inside the little mech who arched his back strut with impossible flexibility. Overloading slick fluid that sloshed and poured free from his valve mixing with the transfluid that dripped onto the sheets and down Blitzwings thigh plating and knee guards.

Blitzwing felt his wings fan out and stand at attention the same as the mech in his servo’s. He felt his processor crash for a moment, frame shaking making him thrust into the yellow mini’s interior node pushing him to overload once more. The sweet cries and moans coming from the bots leaking intake had his spike pulsing at attention and he couldn’t help himself.

Half crashed with his processor fritzing from overheat and excessive pleasure he kept thrusting. Their spark chambers thrumming at racing pace as they tried to connect through both the bots armor. Blitzwing had never been very vocal when interfacing save for some dirty talk but he couldn’t stop the moans and pleasurable grunts and growls as he soaked up all the attention his hummel was giving not just him but his wings as they interfaced.

He hadn’t touched the bots wings since one did not touch a carriers wings without permission. One didn’t touch a sire’s wings either but for this mini without question he made an exception.

“Ah, Hummel,” he felt his vox growl dangerously as another overload was building in his tank and circuits. Even with his ice powers blowing cool air on the air from his pistons it wasn’t enough. The windows were steaming, the berth was creaking as the metal frame slammed the wall making an ignored crack. The bot in his servo’s was trying to meet the rhythm of his thrusts his valve puffy and stretched out. Pink and blue energon surrounding it as their fluids mixed.

Blitzwing tried to stifle a particularly loud roar by biting so hard into his derma he spilled energon. His spike impaled the yellow mini’s interior node over and over until his little hummel overloaded with a loud cry of static before dragging his digits down Blitzwings wing plating then frizzing out into recharge. His frame spasmed in reaction to Blitzwing overloading inside him completely unaware of the large mech falling to his side and crashing into recharge after roaring loudly accidentally turning his thrusters on and firing his pistons. The last thing Blitzwing saw flashing across his hud before completely falling into recharge was that his processor had activated the protocol every seeker dreamed of.

His conjunx programming.

Neither mechs were in a rush to online their optics. Blitzwing was heading back into recharge when he felt his frame being moved and his arms lose the small warmth he’d held throughout the night cycle. His processor immediately took that as a threat making his optics shoot open and his pistons blare to life ready to shoot when a startled yelp rung in his processor and a flash of yellow dropped down.

He was quick to catch the little mech before he hit the floor boards, yanking him back into his arms as his optics searched for the threat. When he saw the berth room was empty save for the two of them he tilted his helm confused.

“Hummel, are jou okay?”

The mech in his arms was shocked and looked pretty shaken up though Blitzwing noted how he leaned into his touch instead of scurrying off.

“Hummel?”

“Stop calling me hummel. Thats not my designation.”

“Then what is jour designation? Jou never did tell me.”

“…”

The yellow mini looked down, face plate shifting to a hurt expression. His optics weren’t entirely clear but it couldn’t have been from the high grade. His scans showed the two worked it from his system during their first shared overload. His protocols were buzzing with worry something that didn’t show on his face plate but it did in his optics and closed off em field.

Deciding he would wait for an answer Blitzwing pulled the mech back onto the berth careful of sore stabilizers and his exposed puffy valve coated in dry transfluid and energon slick. He laid his back strut and wings comfortably against his pillows making sure the mech was comfortable against his frame. He could see the paint transfer on his thigh platings and he couldn’t stop the grin on his dermas. Em field motioning towards the mini he felt him jump slightly at the outside emotions.

“..b-127.”

His vox was low, it didn’t feel right to Blitzwing. The mech before him seemed so closed off, so closed in on himself Blitzwing was surprised he hadn’t split a circuit open. He knew the little mech had fire in him, that much was proven when he told him off at the bar. Sure he could be shy but that felt right. This. This didn’t feel right. And a designation like B-127? Thats not a real designation but he knows the yellow mech isn’t lying to him. So why was that his designation?

“B-127? Thats quite an odd designation for jour creators to give jou little one.”

“My creators offlined when I was few cycles old. Thats why I never got more than a sparkling center entrance number.”

The little mechs voice was cold and wavering as he spoke no matter how much he tried to stifle it Blitzwing could feel his em field howl with distrust, pain, longing, loneliness and sorrow at such a deep spark clenching grief. He was sure he could guess the type of life cycle the younger mech was tormented with. He knew well what the door wings on his back meant. The moved acted as wings a seeker would emerge with. He didn’t have the build of a grounder yet he knew the mech couldn’t fly. Sure he had a chassis like a grounder with no cockpit but that was it.

His plating was not build like that of a battling autobot but that of a civilian. He thankfully wasn’t framed like a pleasure bot but his natural frame was close. The yellow plating on his stabilizers went just above his mid thigh. His pedes had a small sharp strut to them and his hip plating wasn’t protective in the slightest. His tanks had no protective save for his back strut, the black plating blended well accentuating his curves that led to his yellow door wings with black opening handles just below the low window. His neck cables and upper chassis were exposed but his spark casing and tit glands were covered thankfully. His helm covering was yellow with black covering his audials, he had a strip of black on his forehead. That made Blitzwing get a good look at the antenna that drooped with his bots sad expression.

One he didn’t like.

“Jou didn’t vant to designste jourself?”

“Why should i? Not like anybots gonna call me by it.”

“It can be for jou, yellow one.”

“Yeah? And what if I don’t care about having a designation?”

‘Stubborn,’ Blitzwing smirked shaking his helm, “i think jou do but if jou prefer to be stubborn about ze subject.” Suddenly Bumblebee was pressed against the sheets. Blitzwing spike impaling him making the lingering transfluids sloshing inside of him slide back into his tank. His optics automatically began to haze as he felt some of the large mechs weight pressing him down. He never knew he would have a pleasure pressing kink, it was something he hoped the mech wouldn’t realize.

“Vhat if I told jou I wanted something to call jou other than the assigned numbers ze center gave jou. Hm?? Vhat if I vanted something better to moan during our bouts of interfacing? Hm? Ve seekers like spoiling our mates. Especially by calling their designations so every bot who hears us vill know who ve belong to.”

Blitzwing said the words as smooth as an icicle. They chilled him to his core in a way he felt heating his tanks just like the previous night cycle.

Bumblebee couldn’t stop his back strut from arching into Blitzwings middle plating. His valve slicking hot energon makes it so much easier for Blitzwing to pull his hips back, the tip of his spike keeping Bumblebee’s valve stretched as he made some excess transfluid and energon slick that was mixed together squelch out before it was roughly shoved back inside with a powerful thrust.

“Jou deserve a beautiful designation to be moaned in jour ear, hummel.”

Bumblebee felt his tank lurch and his gestation pouch pulse. His optics blew wide open at the assault on his interior node, lifting his helm to open his intake and defy the mech laying so comfortably on top of him. Ready to argue his words and the use of his magnificent spike that cured a loneliness he’d never known could be filled until Blitzwing slammed into his interior node again knocking his processor and vox off from their regulatory.

The mech was stroking him so deep with every pump of his spike he was sure that Blitzwing intended to hit the bundle of nerves on his interior node and even try slamming into his gestation pouch. The realization made his valve pour and he couldn’t stop his digits from digging into the sheets and as he arched perfectly into Blitzwings frame.

Blitzwing glued his frame to the mech below him and he decided his mating code picked a perfect mech to match him with. Sure he wished he could’ve gotten to know the mech better and know him for longer but if his sweet expressions were anything to go by. The parting of his dermas as static slipped free, his seductive arch, his tight little valve that went from relaxed to squeezing his spike like his spark depended on it. Every hum and whine and mewl the mech let out was far too great for Blitzwing not to bend down and steal for himself like the selfish decepticon he is.

“Nnnnnghhhhh,” those noises were music to his audial’s. He couldn’t help but open his optics as he kissed the yellow mech depely. Seeing up close for the first time just how beautiful the mech truly was. Smooth faceplate, glossy painted frame streaked with his colors with an incredible curvy femme like frame to pede. Not to mention his door wings.

Blitzwing wouldn’t ever admit it to any other mech besides himself and maybe his hummel but those wings. He watched those wings twitch with sad expression for literal joors as the yellow mini sat at the bar drinking high grade too high for his frame. He wouldn’t have really cared if it were another mech about to be taken advantage of. He knew what the bar tender wanted by giving the mech such expensive and tasteful energon. He hadn’t really cared until he saw just who the mech was.

He didn’t really know the yellow mini outside of seeing him in passing since the day he wandered into town. Expression blank in a way all too familiar to his own when he used to live in the slums of Vos and Kaon. He didn’t have a place to call his habsuite or home after his creators offlined. Surviving the cruel streets taught him to look as reserved and untouchable as possible. The same look he once adorned on his face plates was the same look the yellow mini possessed as he went about in town.

Many tried to chat with him and each bot was either rudely turned down or he shut them down before walking off. He intrigued Blitzwing at first, his first time seeing the mech up close he was in his alt mode. Seeming to be cruising to himself far from the other grounders who drove and raced together. Blitzwing admired the sleek form of his alt mode as he watched him from afar, vox stolen along with his helm and processor as he watched the yellow mini transformer into root mode and walk into the archive halls. Those wings were pressed flat on his backside, one that Blitzwing admired in its entirety as he took in the shapely aft and slender stabilizers that had small heel struts holding casual grace as they moved.

He was star speckled when he first saw the mini and ever since he kept his optic out for him. Engine almost purring at every chance he got to see his cute little aft bent over as his door wings bobbed in natural response. He never saw himself having a thing for grounders but seeing as the mech was half grounder half seeker he was more than happy to make an exception.

So seeing the little mech all alone at the bar with a cup of high grade had been a gift he was not willing to pass up. No he wasn’t intending to berth him but it had been a welcome surprise. One he wasn’t planning on letting him escape from. He was more than happy to show his hummel all the ways in which they were perfect together and if it meant starting in the berth room, well.

He was more than happy to get their odd courtship started.

“Ah! Ah! Bli-bLitzWing!”

“Go ahead, hummel,” Blitzwing moaned into his intake, glossa sliding inside for a quick taste before slipping out, “I vant to hear all of jou. Every whimper, every gasp, every whine. Go ahead. Don’t hold back on me. Mein hummel,” Blitzwing uttered against his derma, ever the secret romance bot, “Let me feel jour body tremble.”

With a loud optic leaking static cry Bumblebee felt Blitzwing intwine their digits together digging them further into the sheets. Spilling energon transfluid into his valve and gestation pouch as it burst from the round tip of his spike. Filling his tank quite noticeably as it swelled from not only his humungous spike imprint but the sparkling fluid drenching him with pure creation.

He couldn’t focus his helm circuits long enough to know the difference between opening his intake or his valve that greedily drank as if his life energon was at stake. His vox wouldn’t shut off no matter how many times he tried to shut his dermas and even the sheets he bit down onto wasn’t enough to stop the pleasured cry as he felt his spark chamber crack open.

The loud rumbling hum of a spark too big to be his own roared behind him. The life wisping energy of his untouched passionate bright orange spark began to mix in perfect harmony with Blitzwing’s mixed hues of orange and red life spark energy.

The two were in awe and amazed by the colors of each other’s spark. Blitzwing would never have guessed the yellow mini had orange in his spark or that a spark could even be pure white. Sure he’s heard rumors but thats all he thought they were rumors. He never believed they were real for a second but oh how wrong he was.

‘Orange and red? I’ve read about them but I never thought I’d see a bot with one! I never thought I’d see another bots spark at all to be fair…’

While Bumblebee and Blitzwing were awed at the sight of the other mechs spark and the beauty of the others essence, they completely forgot one important detail.

Their sparks were merging, becoming one, permanently.

The two mechs had just permanently sparkbonded becoming conjunx and hadn’t even realized until their energies permanently sat mixed within one another and their chassis closed.

Lingering specks of energy littered the air around them. Their digits were seemingly glued as their frames melted to each others. Bumblebee could feel a wave of warmth, confusion, anxiety and the ache of an overthinking helm in the pit of his tank and in the center of his spark. He reached his em field to touch it and the feelings burst to life with a static screech of his vox as he felt electricity burst from within.

His valve clenched tight around Blitzwing’s spike making the mech shake. The larger had been caught off guard by the sudden pleasure and discomfort around his spike after such an optic stopping moment as seeing a spark as ethereal as this. By Primus his spark put the stars in their galaxy to shame. He felt the symphony of the arts floating around his helm and the urge to paint his now bondeds spark on canvas to capture its immortal flawless core.

He needed to build. To craft such perfection and magnificence for him to behold in and out of the mechs presence. No not the mech presence, his mechs presence.

The yellow mini was not just a random bot anymore. This yellow mini who captured his attention without lifting a digit or batting an optic his way, was his.

And oh how he feared the clicks passing by as his affections and fascination grew.

“Hummel,” the mech groaned, digits clasping the mini’s tighter as he felt jolts of electricity stinging the core of his spark with fear and a warmth he’s never been granted past his creators.

“We bonded, oh frag we bonded!”

The panic settled in the form of his vox and vision glitching with fuzz and discolored sights in leaking optics that burned to his over working vents. He could not bring himself to release Blitzwing but he couldn’t bring himself to stop panicking.

“I just bonded with a mech I don’t even know! Oh frag I’m bonded to another mech! Frag, frag, frag!”

“Are jou telling me jou think jour on the femme attraction hummel?”

The raised taunting mesh above red optics annoyed Bumblebee especially when he could see the smugness in Blitzwing’s expression, though he refused to acknowledge his wanting to comfort the hidden fear in the mech he grasped tighter. Not because he cared and felt grounded by something as simple as touch but because he was running on high energy. He could delude himself for the moment he’s earned it.

“Shut up,” his cheek curves were blue with energon as he avoided that stiff smile, “its not that! I just don’t know you.”

“Vell ve are bonded now. Ve have all eternity to get to know ze other,” Blitzwing said accepting this a bit easier. Sure he was freaking out on the inside but the use of slightly taunting humor and the pretty mech still beneath him helped soothe him. That and he was still pumping transfluid inside the little mini and he was becoming fascinated with just how vast their size difference was. He was aware of his war frame being bigger than most bots but he was so used to being around other war frames and average sized bots, even heavy weight bots, that he forgot about mini bots.

Though now that he looks at the mech he didn’t exactly fit the form type of a mini bot. His protoform was far too…curvy and slim in all the right places to be a mini. They tended to be more round and husky, stout really. They were perfectly balanced in being heavy weight to make up for their short stature. But this mech didn’t seem to be stout he wasn’t even chunky. He was just curvy and little too slim.

‘Kind of like…oh..’

It would be best not to ask.

‘It vould be best to wait until ve’re more familiar vith each other to talk on our pasts..though I’m sure I know ze answer..’

“This isn’t funny! Do you have any idea what we’ve done?!”

“Jes.”

“And you’re just okay with that?!”

“Jes.”

“You don’t even know me!”

“I know enough. I can spot a good bot from a bad bot and jou hummel are a good bot.”

That seemed to catch his hummel’s attention. He was glad for it, he could feel a warmth grow within their new bond. A pulse of something thready beginning to form and a piece of his spark broke as he pin pointed the emotion.

Praise.

His hummel had never received praise or appreciation before.

‘Just how lonely a mech are jou?’

His mating protocols were kicking into gear. His instincts spurred him to drown his bonded in the affection he so desperately craved and needed. There was an abundance of emotions and needs both physical and mental that his hummel had never received. So many things were empty inside his hummels spark and the memories he barely touched were only of pain and basic mecha comforts. The care and affection he sent out through their bond was unrecognizable to the mini and as he heard sniffling and felt shoulder struts shake at the rush of overwhelm and confusion from below, he did his best to guide and comfort him through the torrent of unfamiliarity.

It took two joors to get his hummel to calm and by then the lunar and solar cycles events and lack of fuel had caught up to them. He wanted to get his hummel and himself fuel but the tiny servo resting on his spinal column had stopped him. He knew then he was weak for the pretty mecha as he curled around him drifting into recharge. Though the nights recharge was not helpful.

After bonding bots will share certain memories through the conjunx endurea bonding and it will be completely solidified. There would be no surgery or repairs capable of undoing their bond. Blitzwing had felt it necessary to share this information with his hummel who responded by loosely holding his larger servo between their chassis. He didn’t meet his optics but closing them and leaning close did more than words could.

Currently he was shifting an optic back at his hummel, he was sitting at the large table watching nothing but that was to he expected. Blitzwing knew a lot of memories of his life cycle were not at all pleasant. Sure he had moments where things were good but the horrors he committed in the great war. The painful experiment he went through granting him the ability and title Triple changer along with his long held curiosity and attraction to his hummel before meeting faceplate to faceplate.

Well, he was surprised his hummel was still sitting at the table let alone being in the same home as him.

Blitzwing attributed that to shock and his hummels own personal history of horrid memories one would like to leave behind. The care center, the casualties autobots often caused, the discrimination and hatred he faced on cycle to cycle basis. Coupled with having to survive on the streets while hiding carrier status at such a young age. Blitzwing stood no chance in shutting down his protective protocols the moment they onlined from recharge.

The yellow mech was finally able to escape his arms because his tank rumbled for fuel which is why they were in the fuel room. If his protocols deemed it safe Blitzwing would be carrying his mini mech around as he prepared them an early cycle fuel. He learned from the mini’s memories he never received a home fueling. Blitzwing was determined to change that no matter how much it tugged at his spark to think he could still taste his carriers home fueling while his mini mech has not.

“Here, jou need fuel and zis vill help jou feel better.”

“Thanks,” his vox was tired, empty, overwhelmed with his past and Blitzwings important memories through the ages he’s been functioning. They both were having a tough time seeing what the other had been put through. Neither were having any luck being separate for more than a nanoclick—another side effect of their newly formed bond.

Blitzwing hadn’t been making their morning fuel for a full eight clicks before both their frames grew cold from lack of touching the other. He was sitting beside his hummel before he’d realized he still needed to make his own morning fuel.

“Here,” he felt something warm press against his dermas, smooth liquid tickles the sensitive mesh filling his olfactory senses making his tanks growl. He opened his dermas allowing the energon blend to slide down his pharynx with a soft groan.

“No, jou must fuel,” Blitzwing took his own energon and held it to the smaller mechs dermas, “drink.”

The flush of blue to the minibots cheek plating was adorable. Blitzwing accidentally activated his internal cams taking in the slow rise and fall of his chassis watching his intake curl around the cup as he finished the last of his energon.

“Jou’re beautiful.” Blitzwing spoke without conscious, his words deepened the blue along his hummels cheeks to color his entire face plate. “I vill imagine this face in the midst of every battle, I vill gaze at jou every lunar cycle and every solar break. For I vant jou to be the ethereal that greets me every dawn und every dark that guide me through every trouble that aggrieves me.”

“You-you liquid tongued mecha! Stop it,” his hummel exclaimed covering his optics with black and yellow digits. “We aren’t in the heat of interfacing you don’t have to play smooth with your vox. I’ll frag with you again just not until I can walk properly on my stabilizers.”

Slowly inching his hummels digits away, Blitzwing locked optics with him, “I mean every word I say, whether in ze berth or not. Jou are mine now mini one und I make it a goal of mein to spoil that which is in mein possession.”

“Oh yeah? Well last I checked I’m my own bot conjunx or not so stop trying to velvet vox me,” the yellow mini spoke with fire that ignited Blitzwings spark.

“I hope to see jour fiery spirit more often, hummel.”

The curl of blue derma was enough for Bumblebee to try frowning at the larger mecha but the sound of their tanks growling made him look away with a huff.

“Let us properly fuel then ve can talk more, hm?”

“Fine,” his hummel said with defiance that turned liquid when Blitzwing pressed his dermas to soft grey mesh on his hummels forehelm.

The cute static and beep was much appreciated on Blitzwings part, though not so much on his hummels part who swatted him.

Halfway through the solar cycle and the freshly bonded conjunx were relaxing in each other’s arms. Content to feel the others spark thrum while talking things through.

It was obvious between the two Blitzwings home would be shared and the room Bumblebee was staying at would be given back. They spoke on Blitzwings status as a decepticon and what that meant for Bumblebee.

“Jou von’t be forced to join the ranks but jou vill be vith me if I am ever called for battle, should there be a battle. Jou von’t ever have to fight if jou don’t join but I vould feel better if I could train jou to defend jourself. Neutral or not, being vith me brings danger that I vill do anything to keep jou from.”

Bumblebee felt assured oddly enough. Sincerity flowed through their bond and he reached out in acceptance. He knew Blitzwing was high ranking from his shared memories and learning he’d been living in small towns like this for almost three million stellar cycles. After Megatron gave the call to hide Blitzwing did just that as he awaited for Megatron to call upon him once more.

“Truthfully I am not so sure I vant him to call me. I rather like living in peace especially since I have jou now, hummel.”

“What does that mean?”

A raised brow and Bumblebee specifies.

“Hummel. What does it mean? You keep calling me that so it has to mean something.”

“It is ze german vord for bumblebee. An insect found on certain planets. I once ventured on an insecticon ruled planet. Jou remind me of the few I witnessed fluttering about. Especially when jou bob jour wings.”

That made Bumblebee blush and as his optics grew wide. His intake fell when he felt the form of a memory tug at the back of his processor. He was confused on what it was until he felt Blitzwing smooth a digit over his servo and he looked into the large mechs optics.

He felt himself lean in and his processor opened allowing the image of a large insectibot with his colors bob and flutter around a gigantic organic planet before landing. He had to admit Blitzwing was correct in the resemblance, though he didn’t have any fuzz or fur on himself he did have similar antenna save for the sharp quality.

“Jou remind me of them. Though zey aren’t anyvhere near as beautiful as jou mein hummel.”

There was silence for a long time as Bumblebee replayed the memory on a steady loop in his brain module. Blitzwing sat patiently enjoying the awe on his hummels face plate until the silence was broken.

“Bumblebee.”

“Hm?”

“My designation,” Bumblebee uttered with some hesitant but budding confidence, “my designation is Bumblebee. I want that one. I want that to be mine.”

His vox was small, personal, mystified.

Blitzwing felt a warmth in his spark grow that he didn’t know possible. The care he held towards his hummel grew and he knew then he this was truly it.

His hummel. Bumblebee.

‘This is the mech I vant for the rest of my life cycle und the next.’

He was never one for smiling but for Bumblebee he knows it will be easy.

“A beautiful designation, mein Bumblebee.”

It felt like cyberhoney on his glossa and he knew then he was sparked further.

“I guess being with you won’t he so bad, Blitzwing.”

The delicate kiss on his dermas further cemented his revelation and Blitzwing rested a servo on the back of Bumblebee’s helmet pulling him closer to deepen it.

He did not want to interface with his hummel. He just wanted to feel him and his em field reflected as much and so did their bond.

Blitzwing was more than happy to feel the sentiment returned.

-

First & foremost Free Palestine & Free Sudan & the Congo. Please share their stories & protest so that the cruelty they face may be stopped.

Second - I did not expect to make this story so long in the beginning. I hope all who read it enjoy.

#tfa #bumblebee #blitzwing #smut #spark bonding #tfa blitzwing #tfa bumblebee #angst #hurt/comfort #blitzbee #beeblitz #blitzwing transformers #bumblebee headcanons #transformers blitzwing #blitzwing x bumblebee #transformers bumblebee #bumbleblitz #transformers animated #transformers earthspark #transformers prime #transformer prime #transformers cybertron #transformers #macadams #maccadam

[lets-try-some-writing]

Adults pretending to be hurt when playing with younglings to encourage them is definitely universal

Yes. Doesn't matter the species, one MUST cultivate the survival skills in the little ones.

Cybertronians are no different in this regard. It is highly beneficial for younglings to have the feeling of victory when training. It gives them the chance to find their limits and hone in on their confidence. Sure, they may not all be fighters, but the bonding of the moment has its own benefits. The mock fights allow families to grow closer and for mentors to show trust in their wards.

Again the mock fights vary between cultures, but as a general rule, grounders will engage in races with their younglings. Let the youngling get ahead just enough to win, that way they will have faith in their speed. Grounders will also pull minor awareness checks by sneaking up on their youngling and poking at them to see if they are paying attention. Sometimes they make extra noise just so that a youngling with a low win count can have a W. Cassette carriers, minicons, and beastformers may engage in games of tag, allowing their wards to run ahead and get a decent distance out of range before the game begins. Its all to let the youngling feel a hint of power.

Fliers are a bit different. They tend to fly in formation and let their little ones slowly take the lead. And when they are feeling more playful, the adults will begin to try and close in on a youngling almost as if they are going to attack. The youngling in question then has the chance to swoop out of the way and transform to push their mentor, a slight victory. It's all about air maneuverability. And sometimes young fliers are even allowed to chase their mentor through the skies with the singular goal of not losing sight of them. In these games, mentors love to fly through clouds and then come out at just the right time to let the little one win.

Of course in actual mock fights, grounders and fliers alike try to refrain from making too much of a scene. Sometimes a particularly sensitive youngling will believe they have actually harmed their guardian and will break down. As such, usually a Cybertronian will instead make a show of being tired to allow their youngling a feeling of victory.

#transformers #maccadam #transformers prime #cybertronian culture #pre war cybertron

[mangoisms]

i'll be the dangerous ledge (you be the parachute)

━ chapter eight: you are beautiful like i’ve never seen | read chapter seven

━ pairing: tim drake x f!reader

━ word count: 5.6k

━ warnings: none

━ masterlist

The first day of the four-day series between the Gotham Knights and the Metropolis Monarchs is soon upon you.

Like usual, Knights fans show up for their team. Even if they suck and have, on average, the worst win-loss record in the entire MLB, well. Gothamites take loyalty seriously. And you get it, anyway. Only you can say they suck miserably. Not the pretentious jerks who came down from Metropolis to jeer at the Knights. 

“They’re just jealous,” you say, sulkily biting into a pretzel, then offering it to Tim wordlessly as your eyes scan the packed stands. To your pleasure, despite the likely outcome of today’s game — and this series, the first one between the two teams finally taking place in Gotham — you see that those dressed in grey and blue, the Knights’ colors, outnumber those in Monarchs colors, which are white and red. 

He takes a bite, then, around a mouthful of pretzel, asks, “Why would they be jealous?”

“Metropolis got passed up to hold the All-Star game this summer. Which makes sense. They held it already a few years ago and Gotham’s never held it.”

“Sure.” Tim sips the absurdly large cup of Zesti, then offers you some. They were out of Soder, to your displeasure and his amusement. Still, you don’t say no, leaning over to wrap your mouth around the straw, your eyes still looking out at the field. With it being May, spring is in full-force and will soon be replaced with summer, though today, tendrils of it are already creeping in, humidity stifling you, along with the beaming heat of the sun. 

You’re in jean shorts and a Knights jersey, unbuttoned with a white camisole underneath, along with the Knights ballcap you bought last time, situated backwards over your hair. Finally, with a beat-up pair of Converse, you have a pair of black crew socks patterned with the Wonder Woman symbol. You are quite fond of her. All the Wonder ladies, really. Strong, beautiful women who can kick your ass to the moon and back — what more can anyone ask for? You’d said the same thing to Tim when he saw your socks and teased you about them. He found that very funny, though you aren’t totally sure why. 

The one in question is dressed in a maroon t-shirt, jeans, and a pair of surprisingly beat-up Vans, finished with the Gotham Knights cap you bought for him the last time you two were here. He wears his properly, though, unlike you, with the bill carefully hiding his face from any prying eyes. The air in the stadium is so charged with tension from the oncoming match, though, you doubt even if he took it off, no one would notice. 

“Bet you twenty the benches clear,” he says.

“That’s not even a question, Drake. Try better.”

“Alright… I say, the benches clear before the fourth inning.”

You squint thoughtfully, then nod. “I say after. You’re on.” 

The benches do clear after the fourth inning. But only in the ninth, both teams showing a, frankly, incredible amount of restraint despite the tense game that had them, shockingly enough, neck-and-neck. 

By the ninth inning, both teams were tied 4-4. But a grounder at the bottom of the inning allowed the player on third base to make it home, effectively breaking the tie. The stadium exploded into noise, the Knights themselves celebrating, too, and one thing led to another and then both teams were spilling onto the field, fists flying. 

Look, you aren’t saying the Monarchs are weaker because they’re from Metropolis. But the truth of the matter is, most of the Knights’ team is made up of Gotham natives and, well, this is Gotham. Can’t go around defenseless, not with the likes of the Joker, Scarecrow, Two-Face and more. More than that, you just think, in general, as being a team often at the bottom of the barrel… they must be holding in a lot of anger. 

And by the blood you two see, that anger is coming out full-force. Not at all helped by the tension among fans, who cheer on their teams, of course, but then…

Tim’s hand tightens around yours warily as a Monarchs and Knights fan start yelling at each other near you.

“I think,” he murmurs, lips near your ear in a way that has your heart stuttering, “we should go before we get our asses kicked.”

“You’re saying you wouldn’t protect me?”

“I don’t assume that you are a person who explicitly needs my protection. But if you ask…”

“Aw, no. Wouldn’t want anything to happen to your pretty face.” Fists start flying. You pull your legs in as someone drops a cup of beer, feeling droplets of it against your skin. “Yeah. I think we should go.”

The two of you leave posthaste, along with a decent amount of people also trying to avoid trouble. 

“So,” Tim starts when the two of you are in the safety of his car, blue eyes twinkling with something like mischief. “Pretty, huh?”

You refuse to be embarrassed. It’s, like, a fact of life. Everyone knows this. The sky is blue, the grass is green, Tim Drake is ridiculously pretty. So pretty he practically reinvents the word every time you see him. God, you like him so much. 

“Yeah,” you sniff, crossing your arms. “So gimme my twenty bucks, pretty boy.”

Tim grins and gives you your twenty bucks and the two of you get the hell out of there. 

(“So, like, would you… want to go to the All-Star game?” he tries to ask you nonchalantly later that night.

“Tim.”

“Maybe I want to go to the All-Star game.”

“You don’t even like baseball.”

He opens and closes his mouth a couple times, knowing you caught him out, so, he ends up going for the kind of honesty that makes your breath catch. 

“Well, you do, so.”

You watch TV for a minute, trying to settle the raging feelings inside you.

“Alright… I’ll let you buy us tickets to it if you let me buy tickets to the Knights kickoff game when the season starts.”

“But you don’t like football.”

You give him a look that says Hello? Are you stupid? Because so what? He just said it. You like baseball, so he tolerates it. He likes football — or, well, the Knights — so you’d tolerate it, too.

He doesn’t get that, you think.

That you’d do anything for him.

But he can’t, for obvious reasons.

So, you’ll just have to remind him. 

And he understands, too, laughing. “Alright. Deal.”

You think he agrees so easily because the football season doesn’t start until September and it’s only the middle of May. 

But little does he know, you will in fact be saving up money for the tickets and you will be hunting Reddit forums for tips on seating and ticket dealers, thank you very much.)

(Also, the Knights manage to win the next game, and you say manage, because a handful of them were suspended for fighting, along with a handful from the Monarchs; but you suppose that evens the playing field.

They lose the two after, but no one really cares. It’s nice to be able to win a game. And also a little bit nice to have seen the fight that unfolded between the two.)

The nice thing about teaching social studies is that the state of New Jersey does not require an assessment test for it. The only tests they require, starting from third grade to ninth grade, are for the English Language Arts, Math, and Science — the New Jersey Student Learning Assessments, otherwise shortened to NJSLA and colloquially known as the SLA’s.

The SLA’s are taken in the spring semester, in the second to last week of school in June. While your fellow teacher aides and teachers scramble to prepare reviews and ensure the students are ready, you and Ms. C can, for the most part, kick back and relax. Final grades are due next week but you two have them ready, so you don’t have to stress about it.

Still, it’s not all great as you feel the usual guilt that comes with watching teachers and students alike fret over the tests. It is collectively known that the standardized tests aren’t indicative of anything at all and Gotham Pointe is the kind of school that wanted to move away from measuring knowledge with tests, but they are state mandated and so, unavoidable.

To that end, you and Ms. C agree to not make class stressful for any of the kids in the lead-up to the tests and you think you succeed for the most part. You get roped into proctoring for the eighth graders, who scare you much more than the sixth graders, and you’re pretty sure they could tell, too, so that’s just great… It’s easy work anyhow, if not boring and procedural. 

But soon, the SLA’s are taken and done with and you are about to enter the final week of the semester. 

The weekend calls for highs in the eighties and the familiar cloak of humidity that will only get heavier as you approach the height of the summer. Gotham has brutal winters that dry out your lips terribly and unforgiving summers that make you sweat from every pore you have. 

But with it being only the first weekend of June and spare cloud cover that gives the occasional break from the sun, the weather is pleasant. Pleasant enough for you to decide to brave your allergies and convince Tim to have a picnic at Robinson Park. Cleaned up directly following the earthquake by Lex Luthor and then again recently by Wayne Enterprises, it has become a nice place in the city to visit. As nice as it can get in Gotham, anyway.

The park takes up a fairly sizable swath of central Gotham, east of the Upper East Side and south of Coventry. Not as far as Otisburg, where the Knights Stadium is, which is part of the northernmost area of the city. (Well, the northernmost area is probably, to be accurate, Bristol, the neighborhood where Gotham’s wealthiest reside, but you digress.)

You and Tim occupy a small, quiet area on the south side of the park. A large tree and perfectly-cut shrubs hide you from the prying eyes of others. 

The park is bursting with greenery, a breath of fresh air — literally and figuratively. The healthy trees and shrubs and freshly-cut grass remind you that New Jersey is technically known as ‘the Garden State.’ Hard to remember when you’re downtown Gotham, standing among towering skyscrapers, brightly-lit screens, and smoggy skies, but here, it is a nice reminder. 

You say this idly to Tim as you two eat an early dinner — caprese sandwiches he made, with lemonade brought back from the manor, courtesy of one Alfred Pennyworth, and the freshest strawberries you have ever had the pleasure of looking at and eating. 

He nods at your words, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “Ever since No Man’s Land, the park’s thrived. Nothing ever dies.”

“That’s not ominous at all. And… what about No Man’s Land?”

No Man’s Land, the cataclysmic earthquake that struck Gotham City several years ago — like when you were fifteen or something — that caused the death of millions and displaced even more. Though, you might say that is because of the US government’s response. Instead of continuing to fund rescue efforts and help, they abandoned Gotham, turned it into No Man’s Land. No longer part of the United States and those who stayed also exiled. Of course, many didn’t exactly have a choice…

The city has since been rebuilt, with all buildings built stronger — earthquake proofed. When it happened, the only buildings left standing were the ones owned and built by WE because Bruce Wayne specifically called for them to be earthquake-proof. He was also the last to leave, the last to fight in front of Congress. If not for the philanthropic efforts he does around the city, then for that, you have real respect for him. 

Tim shrugs, sipping his lemonade. “Apparently, Poison Ivy camped out here for the entirety of it. She left eventually when the city opened again but since, the park’s been healthy. Even during winter.”

“Huh,” you say. The conclusion is obvious, then, that she might have something to do with it. Well. You’ve heard she’s leaned more morally grey these days. Still wanted by the police and all but… you don’t know. It’s a nice notion, to keep some of the only greenery in the city healthy no matter the season. 

You’ve never frequented Robinson Park before now — again, allergies — but Tim often looks too pale for your liking and now that he isn’t working at WE, you are more inclined to get him out of Rose Oaks. Even at the risk of a stuffy nose and watery eyes that’ll bother you tomorrow. 

You finish your sandwich and lemonade, help yourself to more than a few strawberries, which are a delicious mix of sweet and tangy, then lay down, sprawling out on the blanket. Well. Not totally sprawling out. The sundress you wear doesn't allow for that. Yeah, you are wearing spandex underneath but still. It’s the principle. No one is allowed to get an eyeful under your dress. Other than maybe Tim. Definitely Tim.

The thought makes your face warm and you shove it away, distracting yourself with grabbing a napkin and digging through your tote bag for your makeup bag. 

You dab at your mouth and open your compact mirror, checking for any food that might’ve caught on the darkly-tinted lip balm you’re wearing. Looks fine, though it’s faded towards the center from eating.

Tim sits upright next to you, his body twisted toward you and one hand planted on the blanket as he leans back on it. His eyes are elsewhere as he lifts a strawberry to his lips. Your eye twitches as he bites into it and some of the juice dribbles down his hand and nearly out the corner of his mouth — you say nearly because his tongue darts out, catching the droplets before they can fall, and you’re pretty sure a meteor could hit Gotham right now and you would absolutely be none the wiser.

Doesn’t help when he lifts his hand to his mouth, either, eyebrows furrowing slightly as he catches the trails of strawberry juice. Pink lips move, shaping words, but you don’t notice, because this has to be a new circle of hell or something, you don’t give a shit what Dante thinks, this is the worst. 

With concerted effort, you turn your eyes to your compact mirror and dig for your lip balm. 

Forgetting that he had said something while you were staring at him and wondering why god was so cruel, you jump when his jean-clad knee brushes the outside of your thigh, the texture rough against the softer skin there. 

“Wh-huh?”

You look at him and he’s finally looking at you, the sunlight doing too much for him in the way it sets off his pale skin and his dark hair, his eyes a softer shade of blue than you’ve ever seen, like the sky in Metropolis, considerably less smoggy than Gotham’s. He’s cleaning his hands with a wet wipe — yes, he seriously brought wet wipes because he said ‘eating fruit is serious business’ — lips quirked as he gazes down at you.

“Did you hear me?”

“No. What did you say?”

“I said, do you know what that tree is?” he asks, nodding to the tree next to you, tall in height with faintly yellowed leaves.

You squint. “Should I…?”

“I guess not,” he says. “You’re more into social studies than science.”

You’re also not him, brain stuffed full with the oddest of facts. 

No one is like him. But this is thought with a ridiculous amount of fondness, as par the course. There is little he does that annoys you and info-dumping about some odd thing that grabbed his attention is not one of those things.

“So, you know, then?” you ask, lifting the lip balm to your mouth and reapplying it, a tad distracted as you keep an ear out for him.

“It's shagbark hickory. Carya ovata. Look at the trunk.”

You look at the tree trunk. 

“See how the bark is peeling and a little weird? That’s how you can tell.” 

“Kinda creepy, isn’t it?”

He exhales a laugh. “Yeah, I guess so.”

You turn your head, eyes scanning for another tree. You spot one some distance away, a pretty thing with white flowers blooming on the branches, reminding you vaguely of a cherry blossom.

“What about that one?” 

Silence meets your words. Your eyes flicker from the tree back to him. “Tim?”

Instead of looking at the tree you pointed out, he is looking at you. Not just at your face but your —

“Sorry,” he says quietly, lifting a hand to you. “You just have some lip balm right here…”

Just as he finishes speaking, his thumb slowly swipes the underside of your mouth, the slightly calloused pad of his thumb just barely catching the actual skin of your lips in a way that sparks a fire inside of you. 

There is no way for you to save face, you think dimly, and you know that to be utterly true as your eyes then find his thumb as he pulls back. On the pale skin, the smudge of your darkly-tinted lip balm stands out. 

You meet his eyes again in the next second and they seem a shade darker, more like the blue waters of Metropolis Harbor instead of their clear skies. It’s more than that, though, it’s the look in them, the weight of his gaze, like a physical thing, burning straight through you, and the urge to be close to him, to press your lips to his, is monumental, practically religious, like even that wouldn’t be enough, like the only way you might be satisfied is if you two were one, cells and atoms intermingling.

You want so much.

Too much that you can have.

The shriek of laughter from a child shatters the moment and he looks away quickly. Your heart pounds out of your chest, face unbearably hot. For him, too, red rises high in his cheeks, not doing anything to detract from your attraction. Exacerbating it, if anything. 

You raise your eyes to the sky, closing your eyes, trying to calm yourself.

Next to you, Tim clears his throat and suddenly flops down beside you with a grunt, arm brushing yours.

“White flowering dogwood.”

“Huh?” you ask, eyes opening as you glance at him. He’s looking up at the sky, allowing you a view of his sharp jawline, the slope of his nose, and the press of his full, pink lips. God…

“The tree,” he says, voice a little rough. “The one you asked about. It’s white flowering dogwood. Cornus florida. It can be pink, too, but, well, as you can tell, that one is white.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Yeah.”

You loathe the slight awkwardness that falls over you in that following silence. He seems to dislike it as well as he clears his throat. 

“You were right about this,” he says, voice back to normal, soft, soothing tenor, music to your ears. “It’s nice.”

“A little vitamin C does wonders for the mood. And complexion.” You pause. “Your complexion, to be clear —”

“Alright, alright,” he says, faintly amused. “I get it. I’m pale.”

The silence that unfolds in that next moment is considerably lighter, more comfortable. You force yourself to relax, crossing your ankles idly. 

“Any plans for the summer?” he asks after a couple minutes.

“Hmm, no, not really. Probably pick up a few more classes. Might visit my family.”

In the corner of your eye, he nods. “If you get any more of those offers to bring someone, count me in.”

“Yeah?” 

“Well…” he trails off and you turn your head as he moves, a hand digging through his bag. The sound of something crinkling, before he pulls out an object wrapped in wrapping paper, the same kind you use in class for finished products, that way they don’t break.

A grin pulls sharply at your lips as you take it from him. 

“It didn’t turn out so bad,” he says, a smile in his voice, though your eyes are on the mug, which you eagerly unwrap. 

You can’t help your gasp. “Tim…”

The mug the two of you shaped is no longer dull grey clay, soft and malleable, but hard and durable; you still hold it gingerly, smoothing your thumb over the now-smooth surface. Underlaid by a soft shade of blue, the mug is iridescent, glimmering green, blue, yellow, purple, and many more colors, almost like the surface of the water.

“I had to get some help,” he admits. “But I got the hang of it eventually. Despite this little… imperfection —” he reaches out to brush a finger over the lip of the mug, where it’s a bit wonky “— I think it turned out nice.”

“Told you,” you say, your matter-of-fact words belied by the soft wonder in your expression. “Perfection is a false ideal. And boring. This is beautiful, Timmy. Seriously. Thank you.”

“‘Course,” he says softly, a kind of warmth in his voice that makes your heart skip a beat.  

You look at the mug a little longer, taken at how it shines under the sun, then wrap it up again, passing it back to him. He puts it away. 

Warmed at the thought he put into the mug, you two sink into a truly comfortable silence, broken by the laughter of children nearby, the distant and usual wail of sirens, and the chirp of birds.

He hums thoughtfully. 

“What?”

“The birds.”

“Let me guess, you’re an expert in birds, too?” 

“Something like that,” he says softly. “Listen.”

“I’m listening.”

Multiple birds chirp in that following silence. Quick, repetitive.

You scrunch your face up. “Pretty sure I’ve heard this one, like, every morning.”

He lets out a soft chuckle. “Downy Woodpecker. Very common.”

You hum in acknowledgment, able to pick it out now that he’s put a name to it. The two of you lapse into silence again, a concentrated sort of energy coming from him as he focuses on something.

“Ah,” he murmurs, as another call joins. “Now this is a treat…”

“Share, share.”

“Any guesses?”

“Pigeon.”

He exhales a laugh. “Not even close.”

“Social studies. Not science. Or whatever that area could be classified as. Zoology?”

“Ornithology,” he says, because of course he knows the correct name, his arm brushing yours as he drops it to his side, like yours is. Fingers brush yours. You don’t pull away, allowing your pinky to skim his before his fingers slide against yours, filling the gaps. Your heart stutters as you let yourself bask in the contact, then attempt to focus on the bird call that just joined the Woodpeckers.

It’s not as repetitive or quick as the other one, calmer, in a sense.

“What is it?” you ask, voice unknowingly dropping into a whisper. 

Tim’s voice is just as low when he next speaks. “American Robin. Relatively common, too.”

His thumb rubs over your fingers right after, making your chest tighten with warmth, so all you can do is pinpoint the call of the Robin, that clear string of whistles the only sound in the silence. 

He is quiet for some time after, the both of you listening to the Robins and Woodpeckers sing. But eventually, he picks it up again, easily singling out bird calls and putting names to them.

You two spend several hours there, mostly dozing, but towards seven, you find yourself filled with perhaps too much sun and warmth, so he suggests something cold. You pack up and drop your things off in his car — you grimace at the grass clinging to the blanket and the way the blades of it catch on the material in the trunk but Tim waves a hand at it, unbothered, saying it’s not an issue. For him, with the ability to easily afford car washes and interior cleanings, you believe it. 

He pops by a Wawa’s to gas up while you search for nearby frozen treats but you get distracted by the attendant in the neon vest that quickly comes over to gas up the car. 

“This is why I could never get a car,” you say, watching the attendant punch the premium grade — at Tim’s request — then pull out the nozzle. “We didn’t have this so sometimes my parents made me fill up the car and I hated it. Something about it just makes me nervous. Like I know I’m pressing it for gasoline but I’m like… What if it did a little switchy-switchy and now I’m filling the tank with diesel and now it’s ruined and my dad’s going to kill me.”

Tim looks fondly amused. “So, shouldn’t the act of someone else doing it for you help?”

“No. Not even a little bit. Because yeah, I am nervous, but at least it’s me. We all grow up with different ways of doing this and I dunno. Besides,” you say, craning your neck to watch the attendant stand idly by the gas pump, numbers ticking rapidly as the tank fills up; the price makes you grimace. “This kind of feels like a safety risk, at least here in Gotham. What if they put in diesel?”

“Well, the good thing about that is they’re liable for it. So, I would think that makes it easier.”

You grunt. “I guess. I just think it’s a tricky thing, okay.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “Have you found anything?”

“Just some fro-yo places.”

“Fro-yo’s cold.”

“Yeah, but it’s fro-yo. I don’t want discount diet ice cream, I want ice cream. The whole concept of fro-yo is questionable.”

Tim laughs. “Who knew you had such strong opinions on New Jersey’s self-servicing laws and frozen yogurt?”

You flush, because despite the tease, he looks fond, and that’s too much for you after everything today, so you grumble a little bit and turn your eyes back to your phone.

The two of you end up at an ice cream parlor in the Upper East Side. Tim gets mint chocolate chip ice cream, much to your horror. 

“That’s basically toothpaste. You might as well brush your teeth then eat some chocolate.”

“Okay, drama queen. Relax. Maybe if you tried some —” the red spoon waves under your nose as he gets in close and you turn your head, bracing a hand on his chest, though you aren’t trying that hard to push him away. You find yourself noting the muscle there, something you’ve noticed since the two of you slept together on the couch. Tim has a lithe frame but there is no shortage of power, evidenced in the way he can easily carry a large pack of water bottles without losing breath. You can carry it, but even you have your limits for how long, limits he easily surpasses, you suspect.

The car doors unlock as you near it, parallel parked perfectly (and he made it look easy, too, though you won’t give him much credit on the driving front since he’s a little too much for you) in front of the ice cream parlor. Tim had asked if you’d ever driven the scenic route up in Bristol, to which you responded of course you hadn’t. That’s all the way north of the city, off the interconnected islands entirely. Much too far for you, at least with your bike. So, he matter-of-factly said that’s what you two were going to do and maybe if you stuck around long enough, you could see the sunset from there. It sounds awfully romantic but you try not to think about that.

Instead, you redouble your efforts on teasing him as the two of you pause by the car.

“Bleh. I’m not going to ruin my taste buds with that. You should try this.” You scoop out some of your ice cream, lifting it to him. 

“Chocolate chip cookie dough. Revolutionary. You’re really breaking barriers there.”

“It’s classic, Timothy. Do you deny that?”

“Have you even tried mint chocolate chip?” he shoots back, spoon still proffered. “Instead of, you know, jumping on the hating bandwagon.”

“Wow.”

He grins, stepping closer, wiggling the spoon at you. “Try it.”

And the mistake here, of course, is thinking that you have it in you to deny him. At least for something as unserious as this. 

And he can see the moment you give in, grin turning victorious as he lifts the spoon and you, with your face flaring with heat at the action, only just barely realizing it, have no choice but to take it. 

But the sharp minty flavoring combined with the sweetness of the chocolate chips saves it — you — from getting too weird.

Tim laughs, delighted, as you swallow it, face scrunched up in disgust. 

“I almost feel like you picked that one to torment me.”

“Tormenting you is fun,” he agrees, before dropping his spoon back into his cup, then taking your wrist, hand still holding the forgotten spoonful of ice cream, and guiding it to his mouth.

“You don’t deserve the goodness of my ice cream,” you say, forcing a scowl and a light-hearted glare in a desperate attempt to control the tidal wave of fizzling heat that envelops your insides at him doing that. Mostly his gall. Seriously what is up with him…

It seems to work as he releases your wrist, red spoon cleaned from his mouth — that’s going to haunt you while you eat — and he laughs again. 

You punch his chest lightly, grumbling, then go around him, checking the street for any oncoming cars before going to the passenger door. 

Tim slides in a second later, still chuckling as he turns on the car and leaves his cup of ice cream in the cupholder. You bluster about it for a little but eventually agree to help feed him some of it, since the drive might take a while. Along with that, he lets you commandeer his phone and the music, naturally turning on ABBA as he pulls out and starts for the Sprang Bridge that’ll take you to the northernmost island, with Otisburg and the Knights Stadium in the east and Burnley and Park Row to the west. Continuing north, you hit the Kane Bridge that’ll take you off the islands entirely.

Take A Chance On Me plays on the speakers as you dutifully spoon the last bits of Tim’s ice cream into his mouth, then set the cup aside. Traffic slows you down but you don’t mind. You’ve never actually crossed this bridge, you think, in your entire time here. To the east is Amusement Mile and Gotham River, while west shows the rest of the Atlantic, dark waters stretching out into oblivion.

Tim hums the song idly, barely sparing a glance over his shoulder as he moves into the left lane that is going faster than the one you are currently in. Even with his admittedly reckless and impatient driving skills, you are nothing less than smitten as he taps the rhythm to the song on the steering wheel. 

Hiding a smile, you finish your own ice cream and get comfortable. 

It takes a while to finally get off the bridge and onto the two-lane road for Bristol. Considerably higher in elevation, it affords you exactly what he said — a scenic route of Gotham, overlooking the entire island. Even Metropolis, off in the distance. The sun is starting to set, too, washing everything in gold. 

At that, he pulls off the main road to a small gravel-filled area with no other cars and a single path that leads through the woods. 

“I guess this is the time you’re going to finally murder me and dispose of my body?”

“Naturally. But only after we watch the sunset on Spillkin Hill,” he says, unbuckling his seatbelt and turning off the car.

“Ah, of course, of course.”

The trail leads to a grassy hill that overlooks the city. Tim brings out the blanket again and you collapse there, a little sweaty and a little out of breath. He offers you a drink from his water bottle, which you gladly accept. 

From here, you can see everything. The Kane Bridge, with bumper-to-bumper traffic, Amusement Mile, rollercoasters arching high into the sky, Knights Stadium, sun glinting off the metal, floodlights on and bright. Up here, away from the true reality of what goes on in the dark, the city looks beautiful washed in the golden light of the sunset.

So does Tim, you think, breath catching in your throat as a breeze ruffles his dark hair and your fingers twitch to run through it, to put it back into order. His skin glows under the light, thick lashes casting shadows over the swell of his cheeks, cornflower blue eyes softened in a way that makes you want to lean in. 

You don’t.

Instead, you look back out, biting at the inside of your cheek. 

You had thought and hoped that your feelings might be short-lived, just a crush, just an infatuation, but what you are learning, since the day you two went to the rec center, since he spent the night, is that it will not be that simple. These feelings, you think, are the kind that stick with you, the ones that will make themselves known every time you spy a flowering dogwood or hear the call of a Robin. 

But that’s fine. Tim has brightened your world, made it that much warmer. You just want him, in any capacity that you can have him.

Even with his odd behavior today and from the last few weeks, behavior that has you second-guessing… Hope is a dangerous thing to have in Gotham City, after all.

But who are you kidding, right? That’s half the reason you stay here. 

And maybe, just maybe, it can finally pay off here.

You’ll have to wait and see. 

━ end notes

1. the stuff about the state tests for NJ — i did search that stuff up, however, the SLA stuff i just made up bc i like acronyms. so :D also! new jersey and oregon are in fact the only states in the us with self-service laws still in place, so basically, you cannot fill up your own gas. i always have a chuckle when i remember that LMAO

2. about the poison ivy thing, i just thought that would be some Fun Gotham Lore. i also don’t know if others would know, exactly, that she was inhabiting it during no man’s land because during that event, it was all hush-hush and mostly rumors, but afterward, there had to be more talk about it, especially when the kids she was taking care of were turned over to officials, you know?

3. here’s a website where you can listen to the calls of both the downy woodpecker and the robin mentioned here!

reblogs are appreciated!

#tim drake x reader #red robin x reader #dc comics x reader #dc comics imagine #tim drake imagine #red robin imagine #tim drake x you #tim drake x y/n #red robin x y/n #red robin x you #batboys x reader #batfam x reader #batfam x you

[tigressaofkanjis]

Transformers Games That Should Exist

Transformers - Social Simulation (Based on Animal Crossing/Palia/Dreamlight Valley)

Synopsis: Traveling from afar, you (Bot or Human unknown, job: professional mechanic) find an abandoned space bridge in a remote region and repair it only to summon notable Autobots, Decepticons, and many others. As you create and mold the region to your liking, you build relations with the Cybertronians you encounter and make them comfortable living in the region with you. Hunt, gather, harvest, and document all the region has to offer from various colored Energon crystals growing in the wild to cybernetic species unleashed. Work together with your Cybertronian friends to maintain a world of your design.

Like Animal Crossing: New Horizons, you can venture into parts of Cybertron and some colonies to find certain Transformers and bring them to your region.

Region will be an Earth-based open world (could be another planet entirely) with plenty to explore including secrets of the past, up to eight different environments to unlock to roam among which will have cybernetic animals of all types you can interact with and document (possible organic animals may be included, some can even become mounts). Shockwave and/or Perceptor would have the most rewards for discovering animals and substances respectfully (they are unlocked as companions by completing that section of your guide).

Quests will be available from many Transformers, and when your relations with Transformers have built up to certain levels, you can either have them follow you as your companion or ride on their shoulders and control them to navigate your world but be mindful of certain limitations with each type of Transformer.

There is no timer on how you wish to approach Transformers or on their quests. The only thing that might cause delay is Transformers may return to and from their worlds so if you can’t find them in the overworld region, look in their respectful areas on their planet.

You can destroy the environment with your Transformers (it’ll grow back in an hour, don’t worry) and build activities for them to do to keep them and you entertained.

Various skins (G1, TFP, TFA, etc can be unlocked)

It is somewhat stylized, a mix of cartoon blending like Dreamlight Valley and Animal Crossing combined but in a ground level 3D space like regular games. Cues were also taken from Paleo Pines.

--------------------------

Transformers – Survival (Ark: Survival Evolved, Raft, Don’t Starve)

Synopsis: Stuck in a world unknown filled with Transformers, you must gather resources, survive on the land or suffer imminent death as the environment takes its toll, and the Transformers are not your friends. Tame them to use their abilities or kill them to utilize their parts to conquer your hell or succumb to it.

More resource heavy with little to no story and multiple challenge maps.

Will consist of different Transformers to either kill or tame for your benefit. Talking interaction is nonexistent, however, as specialized devices must be created to tame them as they will otherwise attack you. Most Transformers encountered will be generic Seekers, grounders, Predacons, Dinobots, etc and randomly spawned in the region, can be spray paint customized or modded with certain unlocked kits. Any Transformer of this kind killed in an area for parts will be replaced after a certain period of time in the wild with a randomized other respawning.

Main Transformers characters (i.e. canon characters) will have to be discovered and earned in the encounter. If option is chosen to kill them, the main characters you know will NOT respawn, but their resources are far more useful and will not break. The only way to get canon characters back once dead is to restart the survival mode or go to a previous save if appicable. If tamed, they come with their own unique features that can be utilized not just for various tasks and resources but killing other Transformers. Tamed main characters cannot be altered by their primary color visually but can get upgrades and can have colored designs added.

Will have an online mode where you can hunt and survive with friends. Dying is permanent until the party restarts. Will have revive feature with medical kits built unless dying health bar is depleted.

Transformers can swim…don’t think you are safe.

Battle modes are available with tamed Transformers, including canon characters both online and in single player challenge settings.

Transformers can be mounts but certain sizes and vehicle forms are better for certain resources and against certain Transformers than others.

------------------------------------

Transformers – Action-Adventure Open World (Legend of Zelda, Immortals Fenyx Rising, Horizon Zero Dawn/Forbidden West)

Synopsis: In the world of Autobots and Decepticons, you (a formerly neutral bot) must find your place among them and survive all their trials and tribulations. Explore Cybertron like never before, unlocking old mysteries with the Allspark as your guide, see past and present through the eyes of many, and learn what it takes to be a hero under the command of Optimus Prime and against the forces of the malicious Megatron.

DLC items would include an Earth story against Tarn and others. Faction DLCs would be available as well: choose between Autobot and Decepticon and roam through Cybertron with your fellow bots in different, isolated stories of past and present.

The Allspark Trials will earn you specialized Energon and resources unfounded to boost your stats and powers.

Mounts of neutral Predacons and Dinobots as well as other cybernetic creatures will be available to discover.

Don’t worry, the Nemesis means you no harm…yet. While you roam your world of Cybertron, you may see the Nemesis and Darkmount lingering in the distance. You can explore to your heart's content battling Decepticons in your own time as you see fit but do be warned. Megatron can occasionally cause havoc during your adventures from unleashing dastardly enemies like the vicious Predacons under his command to sending armies to scour the land for you. Hope you brought your A-game.

Unlock and upgrade weapons, obtain new chassis gear and colors to really stand out among the crowd. You can even earn your wings, literally. Make yourself the hero you want to be.

You can interact with cities and their bots from both sides that may request things from you. Be wise how you approach them as some interactions may not go as smoothly as you hope.

Hunting down commanders and lieutenants of the Decepticons in your journey is crucial in progressing but they can be anywhere, so be prepared when you find them. You are in for a devious fight ahead as you make sure Megatron cannot conquer Cybertron.

--------------------------------

Transformers – Survival Horror (Resident Evil, Outlast)

Synopsis: You (human) find two ships on a wayward island, crashed and decimated. Not only are they beyond repair but the entire region has been destroyed and infected with the Energon spilled. But not everything is as it seems. On Cyber Island, you are trapped there by malevolent robotic aliens, deranged and broken, and creatures of unknown make as they aim to kill you. Fight through the forces of both Autobots and Decepticons, or this isle will be your tomb.

It is your job to outwit and escape the clutches of the Cybertronians and the residents of the isle that have been mutilated by the toxins of Energon exposure. If you don’t, well, you’re just another dead body they can use.

It’ll be a boss run mostly against both Autobot and Decepticon canon characters by playing their greatest strengths and weaknesses against them. You have no allies; you must survive with limited ammo and resources.

Look for notes and other hints of characters’ pasts and how it got up to this point. Decipher the mysteries of the monsters that you cannot allow off the island.

All canon characters are sadistic, messed up versions of themselves and you will encounter them as such. No, you can’t save them. They are beyond repair.

Possible DLC would be playing as Autobot or Decepticon and seeing all the madness unravel before crashing on the island.

------------------------------

Transformers – Kids Apps/Cozy Apps (Cooking Games, Coloring Games, Puzzle Games, Basic Sports Games, etc.)

Synopsis: There technically isn’t one. But hear me out…

Just fun little games with Transformer themes. We rely so heavily on action stuff that sometimes I wish there was a little game like a cooking app or something where I can just have my favorite Transformer character as a muse, or they are my instructor.

Also, it wouldn’t be bad for kids too, you know? I wouldn’t care if the characters are Chibi or stylized to the environment. I would love a Transformers game where I can relax and not have anything to do except maybe play a few cheesy games with them as the mascot. Kids would probably love it.

If they came out with a bubble blast game with Megatron and Optimus just being there on the screen with like two motions total, I would love it. If Shockwave was just making simple little projects in a kid's science app, I would love to see that.

A Feed Grimlock app, a Talking Transformer app, a coloring app featuring unique Transformer designs from all the continuities, something, man.

Transformers don’t have to be all about war or if you do, reinvent it kind of. See, we don’t utilize Transformers as we should!

#transformers #farm sim #social sim #open world games #video games #survival horror #survival games #optimus prime #megatron #grimlock #shockwave #transformers animated #transformers prime #transformers g1 #transformers lost world

[singingcicadas]

The way it's depicted, Cybertron's pre-war societal issues had a lot less to do with Functionism and more to do with unchecked government corruption, massive wealth disparity, high layoff/unemployment rates, and disenfranchisement.

People were starving, they needed work, they weren’t getting any. Those that were fortunate enough to have work didn’t get paid living wages, much less have anything to spare for health contingencies. Even then stability’s still the luxury of the top few tiers; they live one cut away from layoff. The government cared only enough to exacerbate these issues by coming up with new ways for exploitation. Any attempts to protest or lobby were shut down through political persecution. As a result the masses turned increasingly to crime, drug abuse, thuggery, and violence. Extreme acts of terrorism gets lauded as long as the collateral damage's suffered by someone else. Morality and caution are eroded in the face of desperation.

Meanwhile the many alleged restrictions of Functionism are just lip service complaints made by the characters which doesn’t match up to most of the stuff we’re shown. Like if Rung could become a psychologist, a specialized job that requires higher education, despite having zero background on top of such a weird alt that he had to be classified as an ornament, then wow the functionists must be open-minded. If Dominus Ambus could be a scientist/doctor/explorer/author/successful social rights advocator during the height of functionist control with a minesweeper military-use alt (assuming that his secondary alt's the same as Minimus'), then wow the functionists must be accommodating. If Tyrest could become chief engineer under Nova and later go into law, a complete change of profession, while being a jet, then wow functionism's flexible. If Ratbat and Momus could become senators in a society that discriminates heavily against beastformers and labor frames, then wow that’s progressive. If every Prime from Nova to Zeta (with the exception of Sentinel, his alt’s a tank, he only has wings in Megatron Origin as part of his Apex armour upgrade), every single named pre-war senator other than Proteus and Momus, and four out of five of Nova Prime’s buddy club (only Galvatron's a grounder) were wingframes in a society that supposedly discriminates against wingframes, then wow that’s… inconsistent worldbuilding.

Megatron didn’t get into bloodsports or start a war because he didn’t get to pursue his dream job. He got driven into the pits and down the slippery slope of moral degeneration because his only source of income was cut off by the mine closure incident. People wanted livelihoods above anything else, it's the failure to provide that that made the miners go off the deep end and resulted in the death of a guard. If Functionism actually ensured that everyone could be guaranteed a job or at least minimized the unemployment rates, then stratified castes or not, there would have been no war. People, or societies, are generally capable of tolerating an incredible amount of injustice as long as the majority still have a chance at scraping by at the end of the day. But the government, and later Megatron, kept yanking the rug out from under everyone over and over until they no longer even had a chance at that; there's no other choice left but fight or die.

#I get that all prejudices are full of contradictions and inconsistencies meant to cater to the needs of the ruling class #for the sole purpose of upholding the social stratification #and tokenism is a common thing #but when you can pull out two or more examples as shown to the contrary for every one of a character's complaints #about how they suffered from functionism discrimination #then it's just a really bad case of inconsistent writing with all tell no show #like you cannot expect me to take the 'flightframes are low caste' thing seriously #because the entire pre-war upper class is almost exclusively comprised of flight frames. it's the ground vehicles that are the minority #honestly it just feels like something made up on the spot for Starscream's sake #and Thundercracker Skywarp Jetfire got benefitted by association #when was functionism introduced as a concept in the comic anyway #was it in that Megatron/Optimus conversation in Chaos Theory? #b/c I'm getting heavy retcon vibes there #I got no impression that functionism was even a thing that existed when reading Megatron Origin #Autocracy's written later but still no functionism #The main social issue is widespread poverty like I'm sure a lot of those ppl would be pretty happy if someone could assign them jobs? #the miners in Megatron Origin weren't mad because they had to work in the mines #They were mad because of the layoff and automation and knowing soon there's going to be no mines for them to work. and then they'd starve #idw transformers #transformers #maccadam

[transformersmr-hq]

TFMR Worldbuilding asdf - Vosian Exquisite

Aside from Seekers, one of the most unique thing Vos famous for is its delicious confectionaries. From crystal candies to mirror cakes, desserts made from Vos is considered luxurious goods that are popular among posh upper-classes as one of Cybertron's best delicacies.

The answer to the question of 'why there are so many confectioners in Vos?' Can be found in the fact that flightframes in general, which takes up about 80% of total Vosian population, have terrible fuel consumption rate. Since their body literally requires them to stop and take a snack as frequently as possible, Vosians always had high demands for quality snacks to have during their 'Cookie Break'. This naturally led to the growth of confectionary business , which resulted in Vos being Cybertron's #1 candy maker.

Among many types of desserts found in Vos, the one that is considered the best of the best is called "Vosian Exquisite". It's a bite sized piece of rich and dense oil cake, topped with luxurious foodstuff such as liquid metal and crystal candies. Authentic Vosian Exquisite is sold in very high prices, because they are also considered as an artwork too. Even Vosians themselves find it hard to even see this dessert, let alone actually buying a box for themselves, unless they are rich. There are also mass produced version of said candy, developed for common folks and tourists, but obviously they use much cheaper ingredients.

Vosian desserts are also notorious for how tooth-rottingly sweet they are. There is this one dessert called 'Maximo's Kiss', which is officially listed as Cybertron's sweetest dessert ever. It's a variation of Vosian Exquisite, which fills the inside of oil cake with energon whipped cream. An average grounder would start to feel sick if they attempted eating more than 3 at one sitting, and even flightframes struggle to eat more than 6 at a time.

#transformers: mobius run #drawing #blender3d #blender #Vosian delight #worldbuilding #maccadam #need s l e e p #food #cybertronian food

[empty-coiners]

ROLE GROUP: STABILIZER

stability handler, holder or a stabilizer -

a headmate role which describes a headmate who:

a. ) fronts to handle unstable headmates

b. ) act as a support or grounder

or c.) takes the feeling of negativity / unstableness away as their own.

this role group can be generally labeled as protectors and/or caretakers in some form.

each flag is in order with the letters. [first flag with stabilizer-a and so on]

note about the alt text: if someone would like to perhaps correct us on color alt text or add onto it feel free to reblog or comment, thanks!

#admin 🎲 #admin maki #coining post #system terms #label coining #proendo #plurality #system roles #alt text included

[moonlight-tmd]

I've read somewhere about Bee being half-insecticon. and it got me an idea-

Like, when he was being forged something happened- may it be insecticon raid or smthn- and he got those insecticon genes. like he's not half but surely a part of him is insecticon.

that being said, he developed wings. a pair of clear, shiny elytra that he cherished and kept a secret from everyone.

that is until the bad manager of the carequarters he was in found out and burned them away cuz it was 'wrong'. these beautiful things reduced to small, tattered and dark nubs.

he grows up and his wings are always stashed away, he often forgets they even exist. the only one to know they are there is Ratchet, he discovered Bee had them when the scout was damaged severly. They are beyond repair and Docbot can't do much about fixing them.

He never show his wings. 1. there is no use in it. 2. almost all autobots he met in the past were racist and discriminating on anyone different from them, he doesn't know his team isn't like this.

Skipping to Earth and the time when Waspinator shows up- Wasp knows Bee had those burned wings cuz he bullied him in boot camp and found out. So Waspinator teases and taunts him about his beautiful wings and Bee's broken ones. This sends Bee into a rabbit hole of hating himself and mourning his damaged wings. He hides it but the rest definitelly notices something it up.

[insert scenario of whoever's dating him reacting to his sad damaged wings and comforting him cuz i cannot be bothered to write it + its a general headcanon so no need for shipping my brain goes prowlbee or blitzbee on this]

During one of those seft-hate days they get a signal about the Allspark shard. At one point Bee gets the shard and is dropped from very high from the sky. In that moment he wishes he could fly-

and so he does.

he still crashes and once the dust settles- everyone notices them.

the long crystal-like wings sprouting proudly from his back. Bee himself can hardly believe it. Apparently, the Allspark decided they were not beyond repair. After a worrying amount of silence from him he starts crying and laughing and zipping around. The others are worried but Ratchet reassures them that everything's fine with Bee.

After that, Bee is slightly paranoid over his wings breaking again and rarely uses them. Both cuz he is paranoid and cuz he is so used to being a grounder. With time it gets better but he is still worried about losing them.

i imagine to unsheath them, Bee's subspace moves down and hangs from his hips, almost mimicking how earth bee's have an abdomen.

#tfa bumblebee #maccadam #tfa #angst #long post #part-insecticon!bumblebee au #tfa au

[witchofthesouls]

I have this image of Starscream taking pity on this poor Camien nurse. It happens occasionally. When an unrelated scheme trip takes Starscream to Cybertron Starscream gathers every datapad on seekerling and seekerkin development, unique developmental requirements, and documentation on the ailments of flight deprived seekers and seeker sparked and coded mechs in grounder fraims he can lay his servos on. Was it an excuse for why he took so long? Yes. Was it part of a complex triple bluff? Also yes. Does he think the New Sparks need all the help they can get with Tarn as their sire? Unicron fragging a unicycle, yes! Is it a ploy to get Tarn to give himself the idea he should become a significantly less armored flight frame? Absolutely!

I doubt Starscream would willingly seek out Tarn's presence, even to heckle over his fanatical loyalty. (But he would most definitely take the most convulated method to get datapads of Seekerkin development to the Peaceful Tyranny.)

Besides, it would take an Act of Megatron to part Tarn away from his tank frame-schematics. Plus, everyone and their creators seem to be sending Helex tips to give to Tarn via online communities because... Yeah, Tarn would need all the help to tackle parenthood.

Luckily, you're not afraid to smack sense into him on raising Seekerkin bitties, especially with a set of split-spark twins. And Nickel is there to drive it into his thick helm whenever you're down.

Everyone will need to come to terms that it's fucking Tarn, of all the mechs to do it first, that literally started a family in the aftermath of the war. And a ridiculously large one at that. Like there are mechs out there staring his armful of bitties and thinking he's starting another cult or raising the next generation of DJD.

#ask #transformers #transformers idw #idw #mtmte #the donor clause au #tarn #reader insert #cybertronian!reader #bitlets #sparklings #cybertronian biology #cybertronian culture #maccadam #my writing #mechs would look at Tarn and be like “Primus fucking below” #either it's you it's Tarn or a combo to yield that many babies

[dedalvs]

I'm wondering about naming outsiders/insiders, us/them in world building. There's a sci-fi/fantasy trope that we as humanity may call ourselves earthlings or just humans if we encountered alien life while the "aliens" may call us Terrans or similar. In The 100 there were grounders etc. how do you determine in-group and out-group naming conventions?

First, I want to recommend an article I wrote about naming conventions in works of science-fiction and fantasy. There I talk about common stereotypes and biases in naming. Generally, though, when it comes to any type of naming, I favor coming up with names that make sense to the universe itself. It'd be weird if aliens called us Terrans if we didn't call ourselves that. Why would they come up with something so Englishy? Wouldn't they come up with a term from their own language the way we do? I'm not a big fan of authors who use English or English-adjacent terms because it'll be "easier" for readers. That's what happens in books I don't want to read, and with authors whose work I have no patience for. If it's sff, make it sff. If it's a "human story set in a non-human setting", I'd rather read a better human story in a setting that makes more sense—or in something that's deliberately nonsensical, like the version of America we see in Franz Kafka's Amerika. If it's going to be lazy, make it accurate (e.g. it's pretty easy to set something in your own home town, since you know it so well, but at least it will be accurate); if it's going to be unique, put real effort into it. A lazily unique setting is suitable only for a Hallmark movie.

All right, that's enough from Old Man Winter. Back to your scrolling, bah humbug!

#language #naming #sff

[puthyflapps]

Had a little thot about clexa’s baby having a tough time with teething 🥺

Clarke strolled through the city square of Polis with the little girl tucked securely against her chest and flanked by a group of imposing guards. She thought perhaps, taking the child on a relaxing walk in the warm afternoon sun might help soothe her restless little body. However, the effort seemed to be futile as the small form strapped to Clarke’s body continued to squirm in discomfort. The occasional whimper would escape the baby’s soft lips, and it sent sharp pangs of worry coursing through her mother’s heart. The young woman was just about to retreat back to the comfort of the Commander’s tower when she was approached by a familiar face.

“Wanheda,” the elderly woman greeted with a kind smile.

Clarke recognized her immediately as one of the many vendors who regularly visited Polis. Her name was Margaret, and if she remembered correctly, the older woman was known for selling a plethora of delicious fruits.

Being the Commander’s wife came with many benefits. One of which included being showered in gifts by the locals anytime she so much as stepped foot outside the walls of the tower. And with the recent addition of their daughter, the gifts only seemed to multiply. Vendors willingly and eagerly offered up a variety of goods ranging from clothes to toys and so much more. The woman before her was no different. Memories of earlier days when the blonde had first joined Heda in Polis flash before her eyes. Margaret had been one of the first people to welcome her with open arms, and she made it a point to surprise the sky girl with a new treat every time she walked past her stall in the marketplace.

“Hei,” Clarke responded in the woman’s native tongue. The skaikru woman was nowhere near fluent in Trigedasleng, but thanks to her wife, she had learned enough to hold a basic conversation. Clarke had even managed to learn a good deal of curse words thanks to Anya, a fact that both annoyed the Commander and delighted the General.

“For Heda,” Margaret stated with bright, caring eyes as she held up a wicker basket that was practically overflowing with colorful fruits.

One of the many guards traveling with the pair whose hands, unlike many of his fellow gonas, had managed to remain free of gifts for the Commander’s family reached out to graciously take the basket from the elderly woman.

“Her favorites from when she was a goufa,” explained the woman as her smile grew wider at the memories of the green-eyed natblida who visited her stall frequently, always eager to see what new treats awaited her.

The young mother can’t stop herself from mirroring Margaret’s dazzling smile as she envisioned a much younger version of her wife. Such exquisite images served only to leave her wishing that she had been born a child of Earth so that she might have gotten to experience such an innocent version of her beloved.

“Mochof Margaret, Heda is always grateful for your generosity.”

The grounder’s hazel eyes showed brightly, and her chest seemed to puff up with pride at the mention of Lexa. Clarke wasn’t sure she would ever get used to how much the people of the coalition loved her wife. From the moment they met, it had been obvious that Lexa would do anything for her people. It was one of the many characteristics the two young women shared and a large reason why the two were so drawn to one another. However, unlike her own people, the grounders seemed to reciprocate the Commander’s love tenfold. Individuals leaped at the opportunity to serve their Heda in whatever capacity they could, whether that be in the form of a powerful gona or a caring handmaiden. Vendors and craftsmen laid gifts at her feet not because they were seeking notoriety of some kind or because they wanted something in return from the powerful woman but because it was the only way the people of the thirteen clans could thank Lexa Kom Trikru for what she had given them — peace.

Clarke was soon brought out of her thoughts when she felt a stirring motion against her chest. She cast her attention away from the woman before her and towards the small bundle grunting unhappily in the sling wrapped securely around her body. Clarke's arms encircled her daughter's form, and she held the child closer to her chest as she began to sway back and forth. Doing her best to soothe the little one.

"Shhh, it's okay. We'll be home soon, I promise," Clarke whispered to the baby.

However, her sweet reassurances do nothing to ease the baby's pain. A fact that served only to make the ache in Clarke's heart more intense. The young woman casts an apologetic look over to Margaret, who's focused her attention on the small bundle in Clarke's arms. Worry etches its way across her face as she tries to understand what could have caused the Commander's daughter such great upset. Clarke pulls the fabric of the sling back enough to expose her baby's tear-streaked face. She lifts her finger to the child's plump bottom lip and pulls it down just enough to reveal the beginnings of a tooth.

Margaret's eyes widen in understanding as she sees what's been distressing the girl. The older woman rests a comforting hand on the small of the young mother's back as she lifts her other hand to signal for Clarke to give her a moment. Clarke watches Margaret's fleeting form in confusion, not understanding what the woman has set out in search of. It's only a matter of minutes before she returns with another delicious fruit. Mango, if she remembers correctly. She's had it a few times with Lexa during the days before their daughter had arrived, when they would hide away in their quarters, making love the whole time and pausing only to eat a quick meal here and there. Clarke notices this time, instead of cutting the treat into bite-size cubes, the typically oblong fruit has been sliced in half to reveal a rather large seed at its core.

"For the goufa," Margaret explains with her sweet eyes and warm tone.

She can sense Clarke's befuddlement. She can tell Clarke's unsure of what to do, so she pushes the fruit toward the little girl's mouth. Smiling contentedly when she sees her latch onto the fruit almost immediately. Margaret releases her careful hold on the mango when tiny hands come to rest on either side of it. Clarke smiles gratefully when her daughter's tears finally cease, and she begins to let out sighs of relief. It's a funny sight to behold, really. Her little baby holding on tightly to the fruit as she happily gnaws away. Using it as her own personal teething toy. She's never been more grateful for the connection between the people of Polis and their Commander than she is at this moment.

Clarke isn't entirely sure what Lexa's plans are for the rest of the day, but she does know that she'll be sending her back to Margaret's stall to purchase as many mangos as her gona can carry.

#i got lazy towards the end and we dont have to talk about it and we also dont have to talk about how loooooooong this sat in my drafts #so many words just to tell y’all they gave the grumpy baby a little mango to chew on #clexa baby #clexa #clarke griffin #commander lexa

[transingthoseformers]

Okay even somewhat funnier Miko, Starscream and Breakdown team up to go save Knockout from Mech. Just the ultimate team and I think Miko would love haveing that conversion with Knockout and Breakdown (I have a soft spot for TfP Knockout transitioning his frame from a seeker to a grounder and it being like a really big deal). Also just for this au I think haveing the difference for Femm's and Mech's just being how they chose to present and identify would be fun it would also give Miko talking points with Arcee after the whole situation

Honestly I'm not sure how murderous Miko would let the decepticons or weather or not Knockout would just snach her so Starscream and Breakdown can destroy the place and leave no witness

The three of then would have very interesting interactions together!

Especially with Miko taking this as an opportunity to be as invasive as possible, and a worldbuilding moment

Esp since to me it seems like Starscream has ☆opinions☆ on how Knockout chose a car alt over a flier alt (because Star thinks fliers > everyone else)

Generally speaking that's how i see the difference as a matter of presentation, so it's interesting to see how the later convo would go with Arcee

I feel like they're going to have a "get in get out as easily as possible" mentality. But some murder, looking at Silas (kinda), some murder might occur. Possibly. But Miko's a good kid, she'd at least try to discourage it.

Also. Consider CYLAS, even if this is a breakdown lives au.

#maccadam #transformers #that or full murder #i just like the cylas shit #tfp breakdown #tfp knockout #tfp silas #tfp starscream #kobd #tfp miko #i saw a fic do the cylas shit using the mecha prototype instead of breaky and it was cool as fuck #or there's always vehicon frames lying around...