I have no idea what I am doiiiiing but list hopefully under the cut
Dratchet/Driftrod/Dratchrod
I'm a big Dratchet shipper and sometimes I like Roddy thrown in as a treat. Drift is the feeder who ends but a bit chubby cause he can't help it. Roddy is both feeder/feedee, mainly the type who start of claiming to be just a feeder before absolutely blowing up. Ratchet is a chunky mech to start and mainly a feedee with a bit of feeder in him just cause he wants his partners to enjoy themselves too.
Megaop
My main TF ship forever. They also fit into all flavours of feedism to me. Either of them can be feeder/feedee but I do enjoy Op mainly being chunky cause my mans stressed and tired and deserves to be spoiled and spoiling said prime keeps Megs distracted. Also feel like they'd be great for mutual gaining 🤔
TFP BulkJack
Feedee Bulkhead, feeder Wheeljack. Bulkhead needs to be so much bigger and I feel that if Wheeljack gets invested in feeding him less wrecker tomfoolery will happen. Also Bulkhead needs to lay on him, not for crushing reasons just cause I feel like Jackie needs some deep pressure to calm down
TFA BulkProwl/BulkBee/BulkProwlBee
Underrated ships. TFA Bulkhead is such a sweet feedee man. Plump him so much rounder. Prowl is indifferent to the whole thing at first but I'm actually saying feedee, newbie one. He just watches Bulkhead get bigger and softer and gets curious. Bee is an over eager feeder, like he pushes the others above and beyond. He's got a talent for somehow over stuffing even Bulkhead of all mechs
TexAid
I AM NOT IMMUNE TO THE TEXAID PROPAGANDA! Aid is a chubby mech naturally to me. Vortex like. Aid is both a huge feedee and chubby chaser. Vortex, much to his distress, is not getting out of this relationship without a potbelly, feeder or not.
SkyStar
Mild feedism here. Skyfire is a big mech, naturally chubby to help with deep space. Starscream is only feeder because his dumb shuttle forgets to eat and Starscream is too intense to not feed him himself and maybe sometimes goes a bit overboard... And if he's turned on by it he'll deny it.
WaveWave
Shockwave is a beautiful fat mech. From the start. Soundwave is a simp for his beautiful fat wife. Less you traditional feeder/feedee and more fat admirer situation.
G1 CliffBee
Newest one to the list thanks to @anony-man 's latest fic. I didn't know I needed a g1 feeder Bumblebee, but it works so damn well. Bee is a lil chubby himself but I see him being a big chubby chaser/maybe a closeted feedee who just makes Cliffjumper fat as he can so he can see his frametype huge without doing it to himself. But also cause Bee is full of love and wants Cliffjumper to feel it. I don't know how to explain but me like.
So far those are the main ones. Might add more as time goes on!
Who do you think Rod would allow to stuff him up? I can see him being a bit cagey about it honestly.
So me personally I’d like to think of it in layers! And it’s a spectrum of feeder/feedee kinda dynamics
But he definitely dose it with bots he trusts a lot and he cares for a lot. So that dose include a handful of members on the lost light, 4 come to mind immediately so I’d wanna show off what I think
Plus…it’s a good excuse to draw him stuffed silly >:D
Ratchet and drift
They both have experience doing it together and to each other, so with adding Rodimus it’s pretty easy. Ratchet makes sure he docent get sick or intakes more then he can handle and drift is more then happy to provide the fuel for it. Sometimes drift try’s to go a bit further then roddy can handle but ratchet always reminds him to make sure not to over do it.
Minimus
Minimus isn’t used to the idea of ‘stuffing’ or feederism, he’s heard of it before but never thought to enact on it. So the first time him and Rodimus tried it-he wanted to do it mutually. Same amount for each other-it’s only fair. However he didn’t exactly account for how small his frame is compared to rodimus so HES the one ending up getting stuffed silly.
Megatron
Megatrons understanding of ‘right amount’ is much different from Rodimus’ definition of it, so there is quite a bit of overstuffing and overworking his tank-intentionally or not. Rodimus try’s to take it on the chin but usually hast to stay in berth for a while being sickly or just embarrassed about the whole ordeal.
Thank u for the food (lol) a la bulkbee belly content <3
you're very welcome anon! for a little more, imagine hungover bee the next morning griping about how shitty he feels, so bulkhead comforts him with some more belly rubs. now that he's sobering up, bee's pretty shy about enjoying this, but he won't deny, bulkhead's big servos all over his aching tummy feels very soothing, so he's content to cuddle up to bulkhead's side and enjoy it for the time being.
I don't understand how cis people obsessed with gender norms think trans people are the weird ones. they're going around believing that your name has to correlate to your genitals. your fashion has to correlate to your genitals. your behaviours have to correlate to your genitals. your hobbies have to correlate to your genitals. who you date has to correlate to your genitals. whether you can put sparkles on your eyelids or not has to correlate to your genitals. and then people like me go "hmm. I might not do that. maybe I'll just do what feels fun and okay instead" and they LOSE their MINDS
so, for wg…. What are your fav areas for extra fat accumulation (belly doesn’t count t b/c that’s obvious… lol)
🤖🐀
Gahhhhh no belly… so hard to choose. LOL but jk of course, we got some other really good options I always love to read about
1. Cheeks
I love it when a mech has those round, chubby cheeks 🤤 soft and pudgy and pinchable, and it’s a surefire sign that weight is coming on other places, too
2. Chin/Neck
This feels like a more niche one, but I really love seeing a good double chin and chunky neck on mechs and characters 🙂↕️ something that jiggles when they laugh, stuff that protrudes outward when they recline, and hell, a chin/neck mix that’s almost so chubby you can no longer see the bites of food going down their throat
3. Assssssss 🍑
If I can’t say belly I DEFINITELY gotta go for the ass. I love a good ass that’s all heavy and full and protruding outward on the sides. Think less bubble butt and more big, chunky thing that spreads out over the hips and fills in the upper thighs and gets them caught in doorways and stuck in chairs 👉👈
4. Bonus: ARMS!
I feel like arms are kinda underrated, but it’s always such a nice addition to see. I love a good top-heavy bot with big weight on their chest and spilling into fat, jiggly arms 😌 it’s such a good look, and like, what’s a belly (starter belly exceptions of course) without some top heaviness and chunky arms to go with it?
So, Vortex comes home from a long day at work. His pedes hurt. His optics are heavy. His frame feels sluggish, and his rotors tingle from the long flight home. Yes, he was working on the other side of Cybertron, which sucked, but you gotta do what you gotta do.
But thankfully, he has a lover awaiting him when he gets home, which puts a bit of a perk in his step. The door palms open, and the Combaticon is immediately hit with the intense aromas of home cooking. The air is warm and sweet. The lights are dim and flickering. There's a faint hustling sound coming from the kitchen. Something pops, followed by a soft, rhythmic glugging sound.
Tex shuffles through the minimalistic living room- his partner preferred things neat and tidy- and peeks into the kitchen. His jaw nearly dropped at the vision before him. The table was set for two, illuminated by flickering candles. Red cloth napkins folded in intricate shapes rested upon pristine, white plates. The utensils were perfectly lined up, and First Aid had just set down the freshly poured red engex in wide-mouth glasses.
But the best sight to see was Aid leaning over the table, giving him a nice view of that wide load he was carrying- and not just that enlarged aft, but those hips rounded out as his flabby belly rested on the table. Aid’s frame was the perfect package.
And pressing his hips against that plump peach was always the highlight of his night! As was wrapping his arms around that softened midsection and burying his nose in the nape of his lover’s neck before stealing a kiss, or sometimes a bite.
“So...” The Decepticon speaks, voice deep and husky as roaming hands grope and caress the pliable flab of the stomach. “What’s the special occasion?”
“Just thought a dinner would be nice.” The medic purred, his belly growling as his frame leaned back into the embrace, grinning. “And having you feed it all to me.”
“You just love this food I cooked just for you, don’t ya?’ The bowl was tilted to get every last morsel possible.
“You just love filling me up, don’t you?” Prowl spoke between licking his lips and catching his breath. “Your cooking has greatly improved, Scraps.”
“Oh, I am chuffed to bits to hear that!” He really was. Providing such a hearty meal was the best way to show love, a perfect act of devotion without having to say any words. The best way to a mech’s spark was through their stomach, after all!
And when that once too slim belly expanded over delicious, home-cooked meals- plating being loosened and eventually removed to make room for that swelled tummy to be free, Scrapper knew he had done well. The added weight made it clear just how pampered he was! His chubbiness reeked of contentment. Seeing those thighs thicken meant he was properly doing his job as his caretaker.
Not that Prowl would ever admit to needing to be tended to. But Scrapper oversaw his gestalt- and Prowl was included in that count. All members were tended to; every need met, no matter how silly. Encouraging words. Extra snuggles. And being properly nourished was at the top of the list.
The only disappointing factor in feeding this Autobot was when the utensil clinked against an empty dish.
“Oh, you just gobbled that up.” As if to emphasize the soup's completion, the bowl was held upside down. “All gone!”
“I must say, it was a nice, hearty meal.” Prowl’s belly grumbled in agreement. “Filled me right up.”
“Oh, we ain’t finished yet,” Scrapper smirked, grabbing the largest covered plate on the cart. “Now it’s time for the main course.”
“I’m almost afraid to ask.” Prowl gulped, sneaking peaks with curious optics, but the green and purple frame blocked his view.
“Oh, you are such a fooler. This is a feast fit for the king you are!” Once turned around, the meal was nothing short of a feast! The plate contained a large cut of cyber beef, cut into nice, thick slices with a lovely rosy pink center, while the crust was golden brown. Lined around the main dish were round, roasted potatoes. The vegetable of choice was a medley of crystal carrots and broccoli. Everything, save the vegetables, was slathered in dark brown gravy. A side dish of puffy, round pastry-like items joined the mix.
“Dear Primus...” Prowl gawked. That meal would probably feed the entire gestalt! “Do you really expect me to eat all of this?”
“I can’t see why you wouldn’t want to!” Scrapper grinned, setting the large platter down on the end table beside the chair. “Doesn’t it just look scrumptious?”
That squishy belly let out a loud rumble, and no matter how fast, servos couldn’t hide those wails from the chef. Prowl bashfully smiled. “You could take that as a yes.”
“Splendid!” A fork stabbed into a thick slice of meat, and a knife worked to cut. “Shall we dig in?”
Once again, a sliver of meat was fed without any choice. Scrapper couldn’t restrain himself from doting on his lover- it was well earned, after all. Prowl performed an admirable service to the Constructicons, and all good deeds are rewarded.
Sure, Scraper didn’t die, but he was critically incapacitated at the worst possible time! But Prowl was there, taking over to save the day by miraculously merging with the others to form Devastator. True, there were talks that his dear Prowl was mind-controlled and then reformatted, but either way, to have the rest of his mates accept him enough to merge meant the world to him!
As was seeing those baby blues shoot wide open every time that savory beef stuffed his mouth full. All the signs of enjoyment were present. Door wings flicked with each new mouthful. Pleasurable hums rang out as the gourmet food was swallowed. The mouth eagerly opened, awaiting the next hearty offering. Watching the Praxian thoroughly enjoy this meal took his breath away.
It was also breathtaking when he felt the jolting influx of energy from his gestalt merging into Devastator on that glorious day. For a split second, all the pain evaporated from his damaged frame, replaced with tingling excitement. All five of his members entities buzzed through his frame like electricity, zapping and crackling its way to his spark. His chassis arched off the berth as he gasped at the formed connection.
He felt comfort. Familiarity. Togetherness.
He felt something foreign. A different frequency of energy that scared him to the core. Something wasn’t right. Someone didn’t belong, yet Devastator functioned. All six of them fit together like pieces of a puzzle. And the circuit remained complete, the tingling fear satiating to a feeling of acceptance due to a common cause: the battle was intense. And victory was paramount.
And victory was achieved. Scrapper and the rest of the Constructicons never thought of Prowl the same way ever since. They haven’t let him be ever since, either. And while Prowl may have shown reluctance at being courted by six Decepticons at first, the team rallied toward a shared goal: to make Prowl theirs.
And they did.
“This is really great...”
“Yeah, it really was...” Scrapper’s optics were unfocused as a carefree grin lazily appeared... until a throat was cleared.
“Hey Scraps... you alright?” Prowls servo reached out and gently gripped the other’s forearm.
“Hells bells! I was just having a jolly good time deep in my thoughts, wasn’t I?” Scrapper chuckled, his cheeks turning a slight shade of pink as he smiled coyly. Looking down at the plate, most of its contents had been mindlessly fed. “How is the meal?”
“Amazing.” The Autobot smacked his lips. “Those potatoes are so buttery, having a nice, rich, earthy taste as well.”
“Splendid! I just knew you’d enjoy that new recipe!” Another heaping forkful was held out. “Open up! There’s plenty more to go!”
“Primus Scrapper!” The black and white mech looked as if the food was about to bite him. “I don’t know if it will all fit-“
“You’re having such a bubble, love!” The forkful was shoved in the mouth once again. “See? There's plenty of room!”
Prowl gave the look. At least as good as he could with a full mouth.
“Oh, baby,” Scrapper tisked and shook his helm. “Here, let me make some more room!” His servo took to rubbing that now-ballooned-out belly. “Oh my, your tummy is so tight!” That hand gently slid over the swollen mass that gurgled in glee. Then pressed down.
The Autobot’s optics widen briefly before a long belch barked through the air. His servo quickly covered his mouth- and those now blushing cheeks.
“Bless you, my little piggy!” Scrapper all but chuckled. “How does that feel?”
“Scraps....” The Praxian glared despite feeling less full.
The belly rubs continued, pausing only when another mouthful of food was given. Bite after bite, food disappeared. Bite after bite, that enlarged belly was caressed. All attention was on filling his lover up and tending to that growing belly. Scrapper even took the time to coo such adoring words of affection and encouragement.
“Such a big boy...such a handsome mech.... taking such good care of yourself...” A green servo gently palmed that taunt, gray mesh in a testing shake. “You ate so well for me, luv. Gobbled up all my food.”
Prowl’s only response was a heft sigh and a growl of his stuffed belly struggling to digest that massive feast. Those optics heavily closed as his helm tipped back.
“Look whose plum tuckered out.”
“You...” Prowl worked out a polite belch. “You talkin’ to me or my belly?”
“Don’t be a kidder, love.” Scrapper removed the emptied plate. “Of course, I am talking to your belly. Such a handsome, devious thing!”
“Makes me wonder if it is me or my belly you are in love with...” The Praxian joked.
“Well, considering you're attached, I reckon I am stuck with you, too.” The Constructicon winked. “But your belly has the most perfect shape!” Prowl rolled his optics but couldn’t hide a smile. “Double bellies were always my favorite. Nice and tight up top from being stuffed so full.” A servo rubbed over the corresponding location as he spoke. “And so plush and jiggly on the bottom!” This time, the servo grabbed the lower belly roll and shook, grinning at how the protomesh rippled like water.
“Bless my soul!” A finger traced along the belly’s surface. “I do believe there are more stress marks tonight! What a delightful treat!”
“Wouldn’t surprise me.” The Autobot groaned, slouching down on the recliner. “I’m stuffed!”
“Jolly good.” A final pat bounced on the quivering belly. “Would you care for a spot of tea and puddings?”
Prowl's optics widened as his jaw dropped. “Are you kidding me?”
“Of course not.” Scrapper was already pouring that cup of tea. Rich brown liquid steamed as it flowed into a decorative teacup. “This brand is delightful. Yorkshire gold. It has a smoother profile and a nice malty flavor. You’ll love it!” A splash of enermilk was added, along with five sugar cubes, and the brew was stirred to a nice, creamy brown color. Three clings rang out as the spoon was gently tapped against the cup’s lip. “I bet this will settle that sour tummy of yours.”
“I suppose it may.”
“Pish posh, Prowler,” Scrapper handed over the teacup with a hearty smile. “Don’t I always know what’s best?”
The black and white mech made a face, brows widening as his lips pressed to a firm line. But he carefully brought the cup to his lips and took a sip. He sighed as his face relaxed. “This time.”
“Did I get everything right?”
“Couldn’t get any more perfect.”
“Splendid!” Scrapper beamed before turning around. “And I have just the perfect treat to go with that tea.” When the green and purple mech turned around, he presented a plate with a large slice of pie in its center.
“What the slag, Scrapper!” Prowl balked, nearly spilling his tea. “I cannot eat another bite!”
“Oh, those fibs you tell.” His helm shook. “But once you get a mouthful of this apple crumble, you’ll be begging for more!” A spoonful was gathered and lifted.
Prowl turned his helm away. “I doubt it.”
“Oh, this is so sweet, you’ll love it! The apples are nice and tart and loaded with cinnamon and sugar. And the crumble topping...I never tasted a more buttery flavored streusel! Goes perfectly with that tea, if you ask me.”
“According to you, everything goes well with tea...” Prowl grumbled.
“Oh, don’t be a spoiled sport, lad.” Scrapper frowned. “I promise to help you with this slice.”
Prowl glared, his bloated stomach let out a pained warble.
Scrapper pouted, his optics twinkling in their silent plea.
“You promise?”
“Cross my spark.” Fingers crossed over his chassis for good measure.
Prowl opened his mouth, and the first bite of warm, apple goodness was shoveled in. The Autobot’s optics widened as he chewed, swallowed, then licked his chops. All clear signs that this dessert was a hit! A second spoonful was offered, then devoured. But when the third came, entrance was denied.
“You promised you would help me, Scraps.” Prowl huffed.
“My dear, what do you think I am doing?” Scrapper’s face displayed sweet innocence, the kind that meant one was up to no good. “I am helping by spoon-feeding you this slice, silly.”
“Scrap-“
Another mouthful was shoveled in, silencing the complaint. “All good mechs clear their plates, hmmmm?”
Scrapper has been working on his cooking skills to properly dote on his Autobot lover Prowl. After spending all day slaving over a stove, just how did his efforts pay off? Will Prowl enjoy this feast and have his belly filled? Or will the food be too over the top for the Autobot’s liking?
Chop chop chop. Read the recipe. Measure ingredients. Stir a pot. When one task was done, another was ready to start. Slaving over a stove, imprisoned in the kitchen, was hard work- not to mention how hot it became through the day! His pedes grew sore from standing, and the counters became cluttered with mixing bowls, cutting boards, and splatters of ingredients dripping everywhere. Cooking was grueling; a full day’s task.
But Scrapper loved every second of it.
Creating such culinary masterpieces was truly a work of art, and he would do anything to please his lover. Slag, how many videos had he watched hunched over his desk late at night just to improve his cooking skills? However many it took for Prowl to no longer hide grimaces as he politely choked down his meals.
And those looks hurt. The upturned lip cut his pride. Drenching the meal in seasonings to hide the off-putting taste was an insult. Scrapper wasn’t mad that the Praxian showed an undesirable opinion of his culinary attempts, which he could admit were not his strong suit. What damaged his spirits was just knowing he was failing at being a provider.
What’s the point in feeding his cherished little hen if his food didn’t blow his circuits? Providing was his love language, and while Hook and Mixmaster were the chefs on their team, Scrapper wanted to up his game. Yes, his contributions were encouraging and motivational pep talks; anything to lift spirits and encourage creativity. But he could provide so much more for the Autobot who neglected proper self-care.
As the Leader of this Gestalt, it was his duty.
But Scrapper always fixed his problems as any good handy mech would. And any devoted carer should. Using his fellow Constructies as test subjects, he practiced preparing meals. Honest opinions- sometimes in the form of brutal honesty and sharp criticism- brought his culinary expertise up to par. Hook was the most helpful, taking time to cook with him and showing him the ropes. But only if not trying to operate the grill: that was his area of expertise.
But this meal was going to be the best. His masterpiece! A feast fit for his king, whom he had all to himself. Yes, he loved his Gestalt- would be nothing without them- but they were stationed a few towns over to provide himself some quality time with their seventh member. Was it wrong to do this? Was it selfish to desire his lover to himself on occasion?
Normally, the six of them would squabble over who got to feed Prowl. Or who got to wipe his messed face. Every member wanted to tend to every need all the time! Turn-taking worked, but only minimally, and Scrapper wanted his shot to do it all.
Oh, what shenanigans he was going to get up to tonight! A full-course meal. Expensive, fresh wax just waiting to be coated on metal with a fine, soft cloth. Fresh paint to touch up any imperfections. And a nice cozy birth with satin sheets and a warm, cozy blanket to retreat to for other rewarding festivities. And this time, he didn’t have to share. All he needed was for that black and white cop to bring that large aft of his back from work.
And to bring his appetite.
Lately, this hasn’t been an issue. That workaholic who used to drown in a sea of paperwork finally saw the light at the back of the oven and took the time to properly refuel himself. Okay, having six large Constructicons, armed with utensils always at the ready, may have persuaded him somewhat. But mealtime was thoroughly enjoyed, and going to bed with rumbling, empty tanks was no longer an option.
Just reminiscing about those bright blue optics widening over plates of food shifted his gears! Watching dishes of cybereggs loaded with stringy, melted cheese, greasy bacon, and piles of ener-baked beans on toast disappear one bite at a time always made his plating shiver. Having lunch pails loaded with cold cuts, crisps, and Cornish pastries return empty was a silent compliment to a job well done. Casual snacking of treats with gooey crystal fruit centers and rich, creamy icing on top proved that his care was perfection.
Prowl’s days of starvation were long gone; the Structies made sure of that!
But the best part was always the hand feeding. Occasional squabbles broke out amongst the Gestalt over just who would have the honors. The only solution was for feeding to become a group affair. One member chose the meals, while another selected the dessert. One would hand-feed, while another stood at the ready with the beverage. Napkin duty was divvied up as to who got to clean those plump, messy lips. Lastly, the final member received the honor of tenderly admiring that belly.
Except for when the meal was devoured, and that belly was stuffed so full to the point of being painful; then it was all servos on deck to soothe that angered beast! Hands dueled with each other over the best plots of belly to rub. Harsh words (usually from Hook) spat as wines of unfairness cried out. Squabbles broke out. Someone even had the tendency to cry. Everyone wanted the best spot.
At least until Prowl scolded all six of the Decepticons for acting like perpetual sparklings.
There was plenty of him to share, after all. All six divided their time between tending to that belly, his sore pedes, the quivering door wings, and such. After every meal stuffed into his intakes, their beloved Praxian received a full-body massage that continued into full-body snuggles once bedtime hit.
Group snogging was great. Nothing beats feeling the warmth of frames pressed together as hot air wafted against cabling. Wandering servos that caressed every nook and cranny were delightful! Pleasured gasps and content sighs encouraged the devoted touches to the extreme. But having such intimate moments to oneself was a desired treat. Yes, the work his fellow Gestalt members were doing was important, but Scrapper would be lying if this alternative motive wasn’t deviously planned.
His meticulous hard work in learning to cook deserved this reward, after all.
Bing.
The oven rang, signaling the feast was near completion. The time on the clock signaled his love to be on his way home. Everything was falling into place perfectly! Scrapper hummed to himself as he plated up the feast, wiping any stray sauce from the sides of the fine china to present his finest masterpiece ever. All he needed was for his precious little hen to walk through those doors, and then dinner would be served.
... ... ...
“I’m so glad you are home, babes!” Scrapper beamed the moment the door swung open, and Prowl dragged his pedes across the threshold. Tired optics raised as a faint smile graced his faceplates. “How was work?”
“Let’s see.” Prowl sighed, tossing his lunch canister on the table in the foyer. “New traffic plans downtown. Shoulda been good, right? The logistics with the plans worked perfectly.” His brows furrowed. “Scratch that. Would have worked perfectly had anyone bothered to follow the correct schematics.”
“That good, huh?” Scrapper shook his helm, fully understanding how the simplest plans easily blew up.
“Let’s just say the rest of my day was spent filing paperwork.”
“Well, it’s a good thing you love doing that.” The ‘Con winked as the Autobot groaned as he shuffled his pedes into the living room. While not happy, the workday was stressful, Scrapper couldn’t help but stare at the way those plumped thighs rubbed against each other. Seeing one flabby side squish as the other pushed over it was quite captivating.
“And just what is this?”
“The sexiest sight ever known to mechs.”
“What the.... Scrapper, wipe that drool from your chin.” Prowl demanded despite hinting a smile as his servo gestured to the table. “I’m talking about that.”
“Oh, just a little something I whipped up for you.” Shoulders shrugged as shovel kibble flicked. “Have a seat. You look quite knackered.” Prowl glanced at his desired armchair before moving towards the dining room table. “Ah-Ah!” Scrapper corrected, motioning to the lounger. “My exhausted king must sit in his appropriate throne.”
“The meal-?” Prowl questioned, as well as his grumbling belly.
“’Shall be fed to you as you kick back and relax.”
Learning to listen rather than argue took the Praxian a bit of time. Now, he just obeyed, sitting down on the plush chair, lifting his legs, and reclining back a bit. Meanwhile, plate after plate of super was loaded on a steel cart, then rolled close.
“Who’s ready for tea?” The first lid was lifted from the cloche, revealing three oblong and brown orbs. “Up first, we have one of my favorites! Scotch eggs!”
“A what eggs?” Prowl tilted his helm to the side, eyeing the food questionably. “What’s that brown stuff all over them?”
“Breading, you silly goose.” The Constructie chuckled as he snagged one before it rolled off the plate. “So, first you boil the egg and peel it. Then, you wrap the little buggers in flattened sausage meat and roll them in breadcrumbs. Finally, they take a bath in the deep frier til they turn a nice golden-brown color. Fancy a taste?”
How much of a choice was really given when said treat’s crispened edges pressed against the black and white mech’s lips. But the entrance was denied. The lips remained strongly closed as Prowl glared back at the other.
“Open up,” Scrapper chirped, pressing the rugged-textured egg to those soft lips once again. “Trust me, you’ll love it!”
Once again, Prowl gave in. Red optics flickered with excitement as half the egg disappeared inside that mouth. Denta bared down, and a slight crunch was heard, followed by an eruption of runny, light pink liquid.
“Hmmmnnnghhh!” Prowl jumped as liquid dribbled over those lips, down his chin, and splattered on his protruding bumper. Hands raced to his mouth to capture any more liquid that escaped while Scrapper quickly fetched a napkin.
“Blimey! Just look at this bloody mess you are making!”
“Me?” Prowl griped with his mouth still full as a soft, cloth napkin dabbed at his lips.
“Yes, you, my messy little piggy!” The remaining half of the appetizer was plopped into that gaping mouth. “But don’t you worry, luv. I’ll get you cleaned up in a jiffy.” The napkin swiped across the two-toned hood.
When the feeding resumed, each egg was carefully bitten to avoid the egg yolk bath. And with each mouthful taken, Scrapper’s spark threatened to burst with unbridled joy. The delicate soft-boiled eggs exploded with clean, savory flavors, complete with a rich and creamy inside. The saltiness of the sausage complemented the eggs perfectly. And deep frying just improves everything! He knew these fancy treats would be enjoyed!
“How’d you fancy them?” The empty dish was set aside, and Scrapper eagerly awaited the feedback.
Prowl licked his lips, his face pensive and unreadable. “They were... quite different.”
That wide smile softened, almost turning into a frown. He hoped these fancy treats would be enjoyed! “Were the eggs not cooked to your liking?” His optics widened and darted back and forth. “I timed them just right... giving them a less firm exterior and a nice runny yolk, just the way you prefer them-“
“Scrapper...” Prowl interrupted before a full-blown meltdown occurred. “They were delicious. Just... well, interesting combination.”
“So, I did well?” His fingers gently twiddled as he bit his lower lip. These were a hit in his city-state, but the two grew up on different sides of the tracks. Tastes for foods differed, but these dishes were to be desired.
“You've done amazing.” He patted his belly as if to further prove his satisfaction.
The ‘Con’s entire frame lifted as if a huge weight had just been removed. “Splendid!” That beaming face returned as the back kibble flicked. “Continuing on...Shall we feed that starving belly the next dish?”
“With that lunch you packed, I don’t think I am starved.”
Both mech’s stared at the quivering belly. Prowl’s optics widened. Scrapper smirked as his servo gently patted the angry beast.
“I know, my little sweetie,” His voice was higher-pitched as he cooed. “Here I am prattling on, and you are just crying out for more of my food! Just where have my manners gone!”
“You talking to my belly.... again?”
“My baby is starving! He must not go without.” Side flab was gently pinched before the next dish was selected. “I know just what will cure that ill!” Scrapper turned around with a large bowl in his hand. “Shall we try a hot bowl of Cock-a-Leekie?”
“Cockawhaaa?” Prowl balked as he looked at the colorful bowl of soup. Chunks of pink, green, purple, and tan floated around a greenish-tinged broth. As well as little oblong brown floaters, the Praxian hoped their home didn’t have a cyber-rat problem. “I... I never even heard of it.” His tummy rumbled, nonetheless.
“AH, mate, you are in for such a good treat!” Scrapper giggled heartily and sat on the chair's armrest. The spoon scooped up a chunk of warm soup.
“Mind telling me what ingredients it contains?” Prowl asked, eyeing a brown thing in the spoonful that regretfully looked like a little turd.
“It would be my pleasure!” The chef quivered with joy. “True to the name, there’s cyber chicken and leeks in it. There are also fillers used for taste, like onions, celery, and carrots.”
“Anything else?”
“Oh, it is seasoned with some pepper, salt, and thyme.” Scrapper moved the spoon closer, but Prowl pulled back. His spark clenched at the refusal. “What’s wrong, my sweets?”
Prowl wore that look. “What... what’s that brown stuff floating in the soup?”
Scrapper looked. “Oh, that’s the prunes! I chopped them up. They add a spot of sweetness to the dish. As well as some nice color, wouldn’t you say?”
“Yes, yes.” The seated mech sighed, smiled sweetly and opened his mouth.
“There’s a good hen.” His voice cooed as the spoon, loaded with ingredients, was shoved inside. “Not too hot, is it, babes?” Prowl shook his helm no, and the feeding continued.
Each time the offering of freshly cooked chicken loaded with leeks and broth was accepted-and with great enthusiasm, Scrapper’s frame tingled with joy. Nothing beats seeing a loved one devouring their meal! Food was homey. Nourishing. And always to be enjoyed. Hearing those soft hums was better than any symphony performance ever played. Seeing the hint of a smile after every gulp made slaving over the stove all day well worth the effort.
But watching those white servos rub over that squishy paunch took the gold star in entertainment.
Do you think Swerve stays behind after the bar closes, Swerve tries to see how much engex he can handle? (He's jealous about how much the bigger bots are able to drink.)
So, I do think Swerve eventually does stay behind once the bar closes to chug on Engex. The nagging feeling of how much he could handle has been growing as of late, and there’s no way he is going to do this act in public. What if something embarrassing happens?
But seeing other mechs knock back large drink after drink while mechs like him could only use what he called ‘children’s cups’ in comparison wasn’t fair. He wanted to drink with the big guys. Okay, maybe he’d never get up to that kind of limit, since he ran short on certain aspects. But there had to be something he could do.
Right?
On the first night, he only manages to finish a few cubes. His stomach feels full, and he kind of chickens out. Any little noise has him jumping, looking over his shoulder, and/or calling out to see if anyone is there. He tells himself this is stupid. Tosses the empty cubes and goes about cleaning up the bar.
Time goes by, and he just isn’t happy. Why? Well, he’s not liking his scrawny stature. Ok, he may not be as twiggy as Whirl, or as lanky as Chromedome, but still. There wasn’t anything he could do about his height. But there was something he could do about his width.
Despite the first failed attempt, he tries again, after checking that the coast is clear and the doors are locked. He watches some podcasts as he works on drinking cube after cube. This time, when he feels his abdominal plating grow taut, he only forces one more cube down.
Slow and steady wins the race, right?
The next night, it’s the same routine. Lock up. Pick a show. And drink. This time, he drinks two more cubes than the night before. This routine continues for a week or so, and the results start to show. His plating had been loosened and resized a few times, the protomesh seeping out in soft doughy rolls. While still short, everything about him widened. His midsection was obviously more convex. His hips grew broader, and those thighs rounded. Not to mention the butt he now sported!
On the outside, he felt softer. Cozier. The extra weight that thumped with each step of his pede definitely made his presence more known. But the best change was the feeling he felt inside. His mood lifted as he laughed at the podcast, frame reclined back to make room for that expanded belly. That belly now bubbled out freely since his abdominal plating went flying across the room.
Yes, he felt heavier, but that feeling just seemed to ground him. Feeling his frame taking up more space was delightful. Running his servo in lazy circles over his hard, beach-ball-like belly was rewarding. He was on his eighth cube, and that belly was full, sloshing around with all those cubes he consumed. He was happy, enjoying his shapely, more curvaceous frame.
And from the looks he would receive from patrons as he strutted around his bar, he wasn’t the only one who had noticed these lovely changes either.
