just saw a 'comments' tab on someones blog you know where the following and likes tabs would be if enabled and it was just showing all the replies theyve made on peoples posts. this is fascinating when did this feature come out
if you've made replies on posts there is now a tab on your blog showing every post youve replied to and your reply.
if this is not what you want, either go to your blog and click comments and disable it from there or just go to your individual blogs setting pages. just change it from blue to grey if you dont want everyone to see your replies AND the post you're replying to
PLEASE BE ADVISED that it is set to disabled for blogs that have not made any replies but it will turn ON if you reply with that blog in the future.! i just tested it with my main, which was greyed out but it turned on the moment i left a test reply
figured i'd get the word out bc i have not seen a single mention of this and i'm sure there are plenty of people who maybe comment on things they don't want on display for everyone to see on their blog lol. you can still look at your replies with it toggled off just no one else can, like locking the following and likes list
so for some reason this feature was actually announced on the tumblr engineering blog. interesting choice not to reblog it to the staff or tumblr blog, esp considering they asked for user input on how to implement it, but i suppose considering the response to the last update maybe the replies would be too overwhelming...
so couple of clarifications. comments are disabled as default for primary blogs that have their likes disabled. they are seemingly enabled for all other blogs that have replied to posts
posts you comment on may show on your followers 'for you' page if you leave your replies publically available. they may, in the future, show in on your followers dashboard if your follower goes to their dash settings and enables this. apparently, if your likes are enabled, your followers can already see those on the dash if they've gone into preferences and selected to do so, which I was unaware of, and that seems to be disabled at default, but it's possible i disabled it previously and forgot about it ig
Movie Version "Revolutionary Girl Utena: Adolescence Apocalypse" DVD Jacket, March 3, 2000. By Shinya Hasegawa.
Scan from page 161 of the Hardcore of UTENA - Illustration Side, a massive tome I'm scanning cover to cover, slowly, in 6k, for Empty Movement's Bibliothèque, a scanned archive of print media relating to Revolutionary Girl Utena. When the entire book is finished, you'll be able to grab it in even larger 10k from Empty Movement's account on the Internet Archive!
Octane was runniong his mouth again, and Sandstorm did what he could to silence him.
CW: chubformers/ cheesy pick-up lines / While not NS/FW hints at adult content at times /public stuffing / some embarassment
**Pick up lines used from this website**
Fill 'er Up
Which was more alluringâthe slim, purple frame with gently fanning wings, or the glorious spread of food behind him? That frame was pristine: freshly buffed and waxed. Fancy foods like these werenât easy to come by, and Sandstorm understood why femmes and mechs approached curiously. Flan with melting cadmium, a heap of mint ener-ice cream, and assorted cakes all had a prestige that pulled bots in.
Too bad no one was biting.
But knowing his experience with Octane, the Autobot couldnât blame the disgruntled mechs hurrying from the table of sweets. Octane was a good mechâonce you overlooked the sleazy old-mech vibes.
Interfacing was good- there was no denying the joys of blowing your circuits. But Primus, Octane always came across as too eager to get his spike wet to the point the âCon could even be called desperate! He wasnât shy to throw out the first move, and being discreet wasnât in his vocabulary. At all.
Sandstorm shook his helm and smirked as a blue-and-yellow femme balked, then shuffled away. Octane threw up his hands, looked forlorn for a second, then scanned the crowd for interest. âGotta hand it to youâyouâve got perseverance.â If Sandstorm got rejected that many times that fast, heâd tuck tail and run.
But Octane continued, his smooth voice working the crowd while not daring to leave his table of delights as if he was an exotic bird displaying gathered treasure to a potential mate ( or any mate, really). Sandstorm didnât know whether to laugh or cry at the sight. He knew how to put on a pathetically good show.
âLooks like I gotta swoop in for the save yet again, buddy.â Sandstorm emptied his glass in one gulp, then slowly strode over to his on-and-off acquaintance. Yes, their paths crossed before. Several times. But their paths never stuck- the morning after always resulted in waking up alone. That flier departed as quickly as he landed.
It was a shame, really. Sandstorm liked Octane. Time together was fun, exciting, but always too short.
Attempts were made for lasting meetings, but Octane was too aloof to stay. He had places to be, mechs to do, and craved changeânot commitment.
But that didnât mean the Autobot was going to throw in the towel. He wasnât a quitter, after all.
âHeeey, good lookinâ,â Octane greeted with a sly smile, optics raking up and down the Autobotâs frame.
Yeah, he had no shame about his intentions either. âStill working the usual crowd, hmmmmm?â
The Cheshire-like smile faltered, but only for a brief second.
âTough crowd tonight, Octane?â Sandstorm grinned, admiring the otherâs lithe, glossy frame as it casually rested against the table. Yeah, this mech worked every angle that he could. Wings gently fanned. Those eyebrows hitched. Those hips twisted in such an alluring way.
âSandy- baby.â He licked his lips. âAre you made of copper and tellurium? Because you are Cu-Te.â
Yeah. Octane was going with the classics tonight. Â Sure, he looked fine as hell. But the words that erupted from his mouth were a hot mess. Perhaps his processor was malfunctioning, and the filter didnât quite remove the cheese.
âAnd just what do we have here...party favors?â The orange mech relaxed his optics as he tore his gaze from the flyer and examined the table.
âSome fine treats. You know, a little of this. A little of that.â Pearly white appeared as Octane stepped forward. âSome pre-game for what is to come... Would ya care for a bite?â
A mix between a snort and a barking laugh spat from Sandstorm's mouth. âPrimus, Octane, you never change!â The question was, did he really want him to? Well, aside from the disappearing act, that is. He cleared his throat, then sat down. âSo, whatâs the special occasion?â A frown hinted. âOther than wanting to get laid.â
âAh, Sandy-baby, donât be like that.â In one quick and smooth motion, the second chair slid over, and Octane parked his aft down. Just inches away from the other. And that servo boldly reached out to roam up his thigh. âWould you like me to fill you up with something nice and creamy?â
That roaming servo was slapped away. He had standards! Well, some at least. âYou know better, you scoundrel. I need to be wined and dined first.â
âYou always make me work, donchya?â Octane playfully rolled his optics. âLuckily, I donât mind getting my hands dirty.â
The Autobotâs only response was the shaking of his helm. He pulled a dish containing flan closer. The Decepticon only had one thing on his mind: feeling good. Slag, who can blame him? Interface felt amazing- especially from one so good in berth as he. Despite the radiating cockiness, Octane was a very attentive lover, always game for anything, and made sure his partners were satisfied. Credits werenât the only thing he preferred âspent.â Â Not that heâd ever tell him that- it would go right to his helm!
Now if only Octane got over the âhit and runâ gig...
The fork easily cut through the firm, gelatin-like substance and carefully traveled to his mouth, jiggling all the way. âMmmmmmmmm....â The taste was perfect! The custard was thicker than pudding, but soft and velvety enough to melt in his mouth. While mildly sweet, the milky caramel flavor took hold. This was top-of-the-line grub! âMust have pulled off a big heist to be able to afford this.â His fork eagerly went back for seconds.
âWell, you know I have my ways of getting around...â
Golly, those eyebrows were going to fly off his face the way that âCon kept wagging them! Yes, there was no denying his enjoyment of his crush's amorosity. And not to shame one who enjoys romps in the berth, Octane was the pure definition of a âDecepti-slut.â He came in fast. He ran hot. And he always finished what he started.
Sandstorms plating flared, and he shivered at that thought.
âIf you like that dish, just wait until I serve the main course.â
Sandstorm swallowed and stared as the flier shifted in his chair, anxiously awaiting the follies to come. (Sandstorm couldnât deny him, not when he wanted him so desperately!) But what if he changed it up? As used to these lame pick-up lines and crude comments he was, couldnât that mech just shut up and enjoy each otherâs company for a moment? Did everything have to allude to what he wanted?
âCome close, baby.â Sandstorm smiled as Octane scooched his chair forward, their thighs nearly touching.
âHave you been out in the sun too long?â
Sandstorm braced himself. There was such a thing as too much...
âBecause youâre looking awfully hot.â
âOctane.â His voice was stern. âYou know I am sitting right here. You know you got me right?â
âGot ya right where I wantcyha...â The purple flyerâs helm tilted slightly to the side. âAlmost. Just a few floors up and a couple of feet-â
The spoonful of flan that Sandstorm was moments away from enjoying was shoved into that âConâs mouth. The flierâs optics briefly widened. Once again, those sultry optics returned as he hummed as he chewed the mouthful, then swallowed.
âTastes almost as good as-â
Another heaping spoonful stifled another lewd comment. Maybe if his mouth was full, Sandstorm would be able to enjoy some quiet time for once! Perhaps he would get the hint.
Every time the babbling mech would open his mouth to warble a cringeworthy line, another mouthful of food would barge in. Every time that face would soften, optics would half-moon in delight, and that husky moan would rumble past his lips as if in the throes of eating....something else. But the shoveling of food was never denied. And Sandstorm never stopped feeding.
Even when that dish of caramelized flan was devoured, the table offered a plethora of options to continue the feast. A nice peanut butter pie was selected, its top slathered in whipped cream and rich chocolate crumbles. The younger mech didnât even bother to cut a slice, just took the entire round treat and stabbed in, balancing a heaping forkful to the otherâs open mouth.
Well, that was a stretch. Words were coming from that mouth before the pie silenced them. But his plan was working, and seeing the enjoyment from the food wash over his wanted-to-be lover was unexpectedly erotic. As lewd as the sounds were, Sandstorm couldnât help but feel his engines amp up over them. That coy but sensual expression as he bit was thoroughly enjoyed, threatening to bring his cooling fans whirling to life. The way those red optics stared at him or how the tip of Octane's tongue ran over plump lips just egged his desire on. Just how much would this dirty old mech eat for him?
There was only one way to find out.
Bite by bite, that decadent pie disappeared- but the enjoyment of it never faltered. Each mouthful was swooned over as if it were the first. Octane squirmed in delight with any bit of attention thrown his way. Hinted smiles. Full body glances. And apparently, spoonfeeding him over and over again was enough to tickle his fancy. Soon enough, that dish was scraped clean.
âOh, look at that! You gobbled that up, no problem.â Sandstorm cooed and set the empty plate back on the table.
âThatâs not the only thing I like to gobble up.â
Those eyebrows wagged annoyingly again as that shit-eating grin widened over his smooth faceplates. So much for his moment of silence! However, there were more foods to silence that mouth of his. With a smirk of his own, the Autobot selected yet another dish.
âI think itâs time to put that mouth of yours to good use.â The dish of green ener-icecream was selected. Drips had started to cascade down its surface, succumbing to the warmer ambient temperature of the room.
âNow thatâs what Iâm talking about!â
A spoonful was held out. Octaneâs joyous expression deadpanned.
âYou canât have dessert unless you finish your meal.â
The flierâs face all but screamed âseriously?â But Sandstorm's face remained firm. Yes, he caved a lot for Octane, but now wasnât the time for giving in. If this geezer wanted a piece of him, he would have to earn it this time.
As if knowing this song and dance- and oddly agreeing with it- Octane sank back into his chair. He cocked a brow ridge, goading the younger mech on. âAlright then, baby-cakes.â His servos roamed over his stomach and playfully slapped at the plating as if he were playing a set of bongos. âI donât mind being topped off.â
That was enough fuel for the fire to make that spoon shove past those lips. Primus, Octane could just be so extra at times! But the lies told didnât suppress that giddy feeling rising with spoon-feeding the other. Why? Sandstrom didnât quite know. But watching as the ice cream slowly disappeared was enticing. Each gulp from the Decepticon made his stomach flutter with joy. And when the pace quickened, each gasp for air after swallowing just jump-started his engines. Feeding did something; it ignited some kind of flame, so to speak.
Surrounding noises became muffled by stomach grumbles and his own pulsing spark. Watching those lips part captivated him. Hearing those servos gently pat at his belly was alluring. While there was no physical contact, the Autobotâs frame felt as if he was riding the aftershocks of a tune-up. His plating flared. Engines idled. His core temp rose.
The routine continued; one dish vanished, another took its place. Cannoliâs loaded with thick, velvety cream disappeared as they crunched between teeth. The older mechâs servos continued to rub at his growing belly. Donuts covered with talc powder or mica sprinkles filled the flyer's mouth only to be washed down by a tall glass of cold enermilk. Â Flab accumulated, pushing against abdominal plating and spilling over his hips.
Despite awkward glances from the snickering crowd, Sandstorm kept feeding with wide, mesmerized optics. Cookies with feldspar flecks. Chocolate-covered crystal strawberries. Warm and gooey cherry pies with pink whipped cream on top. There was so much food, and Octane inhaled whatever was pressed to his lips.
And when the last chunk of the multilayer cake was stabbed into, only then did Octane show signs of succumbing to a food coma. His breaths came in ragged gasps, and those hands now clasped against a swollen ball of a belly. He looked beat, as if just participating in a triathlon.
âDonât tell me ya bit off more than you can chew, Octane.â The thick morsel of cake balanced on the fork.
With a grumbling stomach, the purple flier grinned. âHave no fear, my sweats. You know I can make it fit.â Said belly was gently slapped, resulting in more angry noises erupting.
How was he able to eat so much? That belly now swelled like an overinflated balloon and heavily rested on his lap. Gone was that lithe and sleek abdomen, only to be replaced by pudge. Seeing how that forkful of cake nearly missed its mark, Sandstorm was enjoying the sight before him. That tummy... looked so full... so lavish...so plump. So kissable.
âHelloooo... Sandy-babes...â Octane smacked his lips. âMy optics are up here.â A wide grin appeared. âHard to keep your optics off me, ainât it?â
The last of the cake was shoved in, mainly to save face. He was caught gawking, and the other wouldnât let him live it down. But what was even worse was knowing this....whatever this was had come to an end. All the plates were scraped clean. The joys of feeding ended.
But that belly remained.
And it was a hot, gurgling mess! Though Octane would never admit it, his face strained slightly with each sharp rumble. Ragged breaths of cool air were sucked in as fingers clenched at the bursting seams. Oh, how badly did Sandstorm want to rub his servos all over that rounded mass- press his lips to it, perhaps even nip at it.
Another pained gurgle erupted, and Octane stifled a burp with his hand.
âYou.... ah... that looks uncomfortable...â The Autobot mumbled, biting his lower lip. The joy from his actions was lost to the prospect of causing the other pain. âThat plating looks awfully tight...Do... do you want me to loosen it? Take it off-ââ
A haughty chuckle interrupted. âSo, you wanna get underneath my plating, huh?â
The orange mechâs jaw dropped. âYou scoundrel! I... I just...â
âWanna touch?â Octane didnât wait for a response, just grabbed dark hands and brought them to that belly.
And it felt delightfully firm! Warm. And with each groan, he swore he felt vibrations. But his highly anticipated moment was cut short by the sound of laughing.
Sandstorm looked up and suddenly realized they werenât alone, but rather in the crowded bar. A bunch of faces glanced their way, some hiding laughs behind their servos, others looking away in disgust. His cheeks felt warm, flushed bright red, no doubt. He yanked his hands away, suddenly ashamed of this behavior. And to make matters worse, his engines were rumbling, his cooling fans rattled as they worked to cool off his frame. It was blatantly clear he was turned on.
What a display they must have put on! Here he was, heating up and engines roaring over feeding Octane and ogling that belly. And he had the audacity to criticize the âCon for going after what he wanted? The Autobot sank into his chair, plating drawing close. He could feel the otherâs piercing gaze scorching through his frame.
Did he bring shame upon them both? Would Octane be mad?
Slowly, his optics rose only to see Octane leaning back in his chair, legs spread wide as he made a show of rubbing his hands around the vast circumference of his belly. Primus, no matter his frame shape, he had no qualms about showing off. Â Cat calls were made to anyone close to his vicinity. Wide, mischievous smiles given. Brows wagging like crazy.
Octane loved whatever kind of attention he could get!
Sandstorm stood up, bashfully glancing at the table littered with empty plates. âOctane, letâs go.â
The âCon spun his chair around, giving that all-knowing look. âDid you get your fill, Sandy baby?â His servos patted his swollen paunch. âIs it time I get my fill?â His belly clenched hard enough to make those quirked brows clench.
âLetâs loosen that plating to soothe that angry belly of yours.â Sandstorm bashfully glanced around, then whispered. âIn private.â
âHmmmm.... eager to take my plating off, I see...â That cheesey look returned to his face. âYou just canât wait to get your servos all over me, huh?â
Sandstorm pressed his lips into a firm line. Obviously, the answer was yes! Primus, he wanted to caress that starter belly, feel its firmness, and spend all night tending to its needs. But he was not going to mention that. He just held out his hand, which the âCon took as he hefted his heavier frame out of the chair.
Octane sauntered close to his admirer, that belly pressing against his side. âTime for me to get my dessert, huh?â An arm wrapped around the orange and yellow mech, guiding him towards the stairs to his room, no doubt.
The warmth that radiated from Octaneâs touch made his plating flare. Feeling the warm breath ghost over his neck cables sent shivers down his struts. Smelling the faint hint of leather mixed with polishing wax simply primed his engines!
âYou sure youâre gonna be able to perform with that big olâ belly?â Sandstorm cocked a brow in question.
Wings flapped. Engines revved. A shit-eating grin appeared. Octaneâs servo grabbed his rounded belly and shook. âIâve got enough fuel reserves to go allll night!â His brows wagged with fevered delight. This time, Sandstorm smiled in return.
Octane was runniong his mouth again, and Sandstorm did what he could to silence him.
CW: chubformers/ cheesy pick-up lines / While not NS/FW hints at adult content at times /public stuffing / some embarassment
**Pick up lines used from this website**
Fill 'er Up
Which was more alluringâthe slim, purple frame with gently fanning wings, or the glorious spread of food behind him? That frame was pristine: freshly buffed and waxed. Fancy foods like these werenât easy to come by, and Sandstorm understood why femmes and mechs approached curiously. Flan with melting cadmium, a heap of mint ener-ice cream, and assorted cakes all had a prestige that pulled bots in.
Too bad no one was biting.
But knowing his experience with Octane, the Autobot couldnât blame the disgruntled mechs hurrying from the table of sweets. Octane was a good mechâonce you overlooked the sleazy old-mech vibes.
Interfacing was good- there was no denying the joys of blowing your circuits. But Primus, Octane always came across as too eager to get his spike wet to the point the âCon could even be called desperate! He wasnât shy to throw out the first move, and being discreet wasnât in his vocabulary. At all.
Sandstorm shook his helm and smirked as a blue-and-yellow femme balked, then shuffled away. Octane threw up his hands, looked forlorn for a second, then scanned the crowd for interest. âGotta hand it to youâyouâve got perseverance.â If Sandstorm got rejected that many times that fast, heâd tuck tail and run.
But Octane continued, his smooth voice working the crowd while not daring to leave his table of delights as if he was an exotic bird displaying gathered treasure to a potential mate ( or any mate, really). Sandstorm didnât know whether to laugh or cry at the sight. He knew how to put on a pathetically good show.
âLooks like I gotta swoop in for the save yet again, buddy.â Sandstorm emptied his glass in one gulp, then slowly strode over to his on-and-off acquaintance. Yes, their paths crossed before. Several times. But their paths never stuck- the morning after always resulted in waking up alone. That flier departed as quickly as he landed.
It was a shame, really. Sandstorm liked Octane. Time together was fun, exciting, but always too short.
Attempts were made for lasting meetings, but Octane was too aloof to stay. He had places to be, mechs to do, and craved changeânot commitment.
But that didnât mean the Autobot was going to throw in the towel. He wasnât a quitter, after all.
âHeeey, good lookinâ,â Octane greeted with a sly smile, optics raking up and down the Autobotâs frame.
Yeah, he had no shame about his intentions either. âStill working the usual crowd, hmmmmm?â
The Cheshire-like smile faltered, but only for a brief second.
âTough crowd tonight, Octane?â Sandstorm grinned, admiring the otherâs lithe, glossy frame as it casually rested against the table. Yeah, this mech worked every angle that he could. Wings gently fanned. Those eyebrows hitched. Those hips twisted in such an alluring way.
âSandy- baby.â He licked his lips. âAre you made of copper and tellurium? Because you are Cu-Te.â
Yeah. Octane was going with the classics tonight. Â Sure, he looked fine as hell. But the words that erupted from his mouth were a hot mess. Perhaps his processor was malfunctioning, and the filter didnât quite remove the cheese.
âAnd just what do we have here...party favors?â The orange mech relaxed his optics as he tore his gaze from the flyer and examined the table.
âSome fine treats. You know, a little of this. A little of that.â Pearly white appeared as Octane stepped forward. âSome pre-game for what is to come... Would ya care for a bite?â
A mix between a snort and a barking laugh spat from Sandstorm's mouth. âPrimus, Octane, you never change!â The question was, did he really want him to? Well, aside from the disappearing act, that is. He cleared his throat, then sat down. âSo, whatâs the special occasion?â A frown hinted. âOther than wanting to get laid.â
âAh, Sandy-baby, donât be like that.â In one quick and smooth motion, the second chair slid over, and Octane parked his aft down. Just inches away from the other. And that servo boldly reached out to roam up his thigh. âWould you like me to fill you up with something nice and creamy?â
That roaming servo was slapped away. He had standards! Well, some at least. âYou know better, you scoundrel. I need to be wined and dined first.â
âYou always make me work, donchya?â Octane playfully rolled his optics. âLuckily, I donât mind getting my hands dirty.â
The Autobotâs only response was the shaking of his helm. He pulled a dish containing flan closer. The Decepticon only had one thing on his mind: feeling good. Slag, who can blame him? Interface felt amazing- especially from one so good in berth as he. Despite the radiating cockiness, Octane was a very attentive lover, always game for anything, and made sure his partners were satisfied. Credits werenât the only thing he preferred âspent.â Â Not that heâd ever tell him that- it would go right to his helm!
Now if only Octane got over the âhit and runâ gig...
The fork easily cut through the firm, gelatin-like substance and carefully traveled to his mouth, jiggling all the way. âMmmmmmmmm....â The taste was perfect! The custard was thicker than pudding, but soft and velvety enough to melt in his mouth. While mildly sweet, the milky caramel flavor took hold. This was top-of-the-line grub! âMust have pulled off a big heist to be able to afford this.â His fork eagerly went back for seconds.
âWell, you know I have my ways of getting around...â
Golly, those eyebrows were going to fly off his face the way that âCon kept wagging them! Yes, there was no denying his enjoyment of his crush's amorosity. And not to shame one who enjoys romps in the berth, Octane was the pure definition of a âDecepti-slut.â He came in fast. He ran hot. And he always finished what he started.
Sandstorms plating flared, and he shivered at that thought.
âIf you like that dish, just wait until I serve the main course.â
Sandstorm swallowed and stared as the flier shifted in his chair, anxiously awaiting the follies to come. (Sandstorm couldnât deny him, not when he wanted him so desperately!) But what if he changed it up? As used to these lame pick-up lines and crude comments he was, couldnât that mech just shut up and enjoy each otherâs company for a moment? Did everything have to allude to what he wanted?
âCome close, baby.â Sandstorm smiled as Octane scooched his chair forward, their thighs nearly touching.
âHave you been out in the sun too long?â
Sandstorm braced himself. There was such a thing as too much...
âBecause youâre looking awfully hot.â
âOctane.â His voice was stern. âYou know I am sitting right here. You know you got me right?â
âGot ya right where I wantcyha...â The purple flyerâs helm tilted slightly to the side. âAlmost. Just a few floors up and a couple of feet-â
The spoonful of flan that Sandstorm was moments away from enjoying was shoved into that âConâs mouth. The flierâs optics briefly widened. Once again, those sultry optics returned as he hummed as he chewed the mouthful, then swallowed.
âTastes almost as good as-â
Another heaping spoonful stifled another lewd comment. Maybe if his mouth was full, Sandstorm would be able to enjoy some quiet time for once! Perhaps he would get the hint.
Every time the babbling mech would open his mouth to warble a cringeworthy line, another mouthful of food would barge in. Every time that face would soften, optics would half-moon in delight, and that husky moan would rumble past his lips as if in the throes of eating....something else. But the shoveling of food was never denied. And Sandstorm never stopped feeding.
Even when that dish of caramelized flan was devoured, the table offered a plethora of options to continue the feast. A nice peanut butter pie was selected, its top slathered in whipped cream and rich chocolate crumbles. The younger mech didnât even bother to cut a slice, just took the entire round treat and stabbed in, balancing a heaping forkful to the otherâs open mouth.
Well, that was a stretch. Words were coming from that mouth before the pie silenced them. But his plan was working, and seeing the enjoyment from the food wash over his wanted-to-be lover was unexpectedly erotic. As lewd as the sounds were, Sandstorm couldnât help but feel his engines amp up over them. That coy but sensual expression as he bit was thoroughly enjoyed, threatening to bring his cooling fans whirling to life. The way those red optics stared at him or how the tip of Octane's tongue ran over plump lips just egged his desire on. Just how much would this dirty old mech eat for him?
There was only one way to find out.
Bite by bite, that decadent pie disappeared- but the enjoyment of it never faltered. Each mouthful was swooned over as if it were the first. Octane squirmed in delight with any bit of attention thrown his way. Hinted smiles. Full body glances. And apparently, spoonfeeding him over and over again was enough to tickle his fancy. Soon enough, that dish was scraped clean.
âOh, look at that! You gobbled that up, no problem.â Sandstorm cooed and set the empty plate back on the table.
âThatâs not the only thing I like to gobble up.â
Those eyebrows wagged annoyingly again as that shit-eating grin widened over his smooth faceplates. So much for his moment of silence! However, there were more foods to silence that mouth of his. With a smirk of his own, the Autobot selected yet another dish.
âI think itâs time to put that mouth of yours to good use.â The dish of green ener-icecream was selected. Drips had started to cascade down its surface, succumbing to the warmer ambient temperature of the room.
âNow thatâs what Iâm talking about!â
A spoonful was held out. Octaneâs joyous expression deadpanned.
âYou canât have dessert unless you finish your meal.â
The flierâs face all but screamed âseriously?â But Sandstorm's face remained firm. Yes, he caved a lot for Octane, but now wasnât the time for giving in. If this geezer wanted a piece of him, he would have to earn it this time.
As if knowing this song and dance- and oddly agreeing with it- Octane sank back into his chair. He cocked a brow ridge, goading the younger mech on. âAlright then, baby-cakes.â His servos roamed over his stomach and playfully slapped at the plating as if he were playing a set of bongos. âI donât mind being topped off.â
That was enough fuel for the fire to make that spoon shove past those lips. Primus, Octane could just be so extra at times! But the lies told didnât suppress that giddy feeling rising with spoon-feeding the other. Why? Sandstrom didnât quite know. But watching as the ice cream slowly disappeared was enticing. Each gulp from the Decepticon made his stomach flutter with joy. And when the pace quickened, each gasp for air after swallowing just jump-started his engines. Feeding did something; it ignited some kind of flame, so to speak.
Surrounding noises became muffled by stomach grumbles and his own pulsing spark. Watching those lips part captivated him. Hearing those servos gently pat at his belly was alluring. While there was no physical contact, the Autobotâs frame felt as if he was riding the aftershocks of a tune-up. His plating flared. Engines idled. His core temp rose.
The routine continued; one dish vanished, another took its place. Cannoliâs loaded with thick, velvety cream disappeared as they crunched between teeth. The older mechâs servos continued to rub at his growing belly. Donuts covered with talc powder or mica sprinkles filled the flyer's mouth only to be washed down by a tall glass of cold enermilk. Â Flab accumulated, pushing against abdominal plating and spilling over his hips.
Despite awkward glances from the snickering crowd, Sandstorm kept feeding with wide, mesmerized optics. Cookies with feldspar flecks. Chocolate-covered crystal strawberries. Warm and gooey cherry pies with pink whipped cream on top. There was so much food, and Octane inhaled whatever was pressed to his lips.
And when the last chunk of the multilayer cake was stabbed into, only then did Octane show signs of succumbing to a food coma. His breaths came in ragged gasps, and those hands now clasped against a swollen ball of a belly. He looked beat, as if just participating in a triathlon.
âDonât tell me ya bit off more than you can chew, Octane.â The thick morsel of cake balanced on the fork.
With a grumbling stomach, the purple flier grinned. âHave no fear, my sweats. You know I can make it fit.â Said belly was gently slapped, resulting in more angry noises erupting.
How was he able to eat so much? That belly now swelled like an overinflated balloon and heavily rested on his lap. Gone was that lithe and sleek abdomen, only to be replaced by pudge. Seeing how that forkful of cake nearly missed its mark, Sandstorm was enjoying the sight before him. That tummy... looked so full... so lavish...so plump. So kissable.
âHelloooo... Sandy-babes...â Octane smacked his lips. âMy optics are up here.â A wide grin appeared. âHard to keep your optics off me, ainât it?â
The last of the cake was shoved in, mainly to save face. He was caught gawking, and the other wouldnât let him live it down. But what was even worse was knowing this....whatever this was had come to an end. All the plates were scraped clean. The joys of feeding ended.
But that belly remained.
And it was a hot, gurgling mess! Though Octane would never admit it, his face strained slightly with each sharp rumble. Ragged breaths of cool air were sucked in as fingers clenched at the bursting seams. Oh, how badly did Sandstorm want to rub his servos all over that rounded mass- press his lips to it, perhaps even nip at it.
Another pained gurgle erupted, and Octane stifled a burp with his hand.
âYou.... ah... that looks uncomfortable...â The Autobot mumbled, biting his lower lip. The joy from his actions was lost to the prospect of causing the other pain. âThat plating looks awfully tight...Do... do you want me to loosen it? Take it off-ââ
A haughty chuckle interrupted. âSo, you wanna get underneath my plating, huh?â
The orange mechâs jaw dropped. âYou scoundrel! I... I just...â
âWanna touch?â Octane didnât wait for a response, just grabbed dark hands and brought them to that belly.
And it felt delightfully firm! Warm. And with each groan, he swore he felt vibrations. But his highly anticipated moment was cut short by the sound of laughing.
Sandstorm looked up and suddenly realized they werenât alone, but rather in the crowded bar. A bunch of faces glanced their way, some hiding laughs behind their servos, others looking away in disgust. His cheeks felt warm, flushed bright red, no doubt. He yanked his hands away, suddenly ashamed of this behavior. And to make matters worse, his engines were rumbling, his cooling fans rattled as they worked to cool off his frame. It was blatantly clear he was turned on.
What a display they must have put on! Here he was, heating up and engines roaring over feeding Octane and ogling that belly. And he had the audacity to criticize the âCon for going after what he wanted? The Autobot sank into his chair, plating drawing close. He could feel the otherâs piercing gaze scorching through his frame.
Did he bring shame upon them both? Would Octane be mad?
Slowly, his optics rose only to see Octane leaning back in his chair, legs spread wide as he made a show of rubbing his hands around the vast circumference of his belly. Primus, no matter his frame shape, he had no qualms about showing off. Â Cat calls were made to anyone close to his vicinity. Wide, mischievous smiles given. Brows wagging like crazy.
Octane loved whatever kind of attention he could get!
Sandstorm stood up, bashfully glancing at the table littered with empty plates. âOctane, letâs go.â
The âCon spun his chair around, giving that all-knowing look. âDid you get your fill, Sandy baby?â His servos patted his swollen paunch. âIs it time I get my fill?â His belly clenched hard enough to make those quirked brows clench.
âLetâs loosen that plating to soothe that angry belly of yours.â Sandstorm bashfully glanced around, then whispered. âIn private.â
âHmmmm.... eager to take my plating off, I see...â That cheesey look returned to his face. âYou just canât wait to get your servos all over me, huh?â
Sandstorm pressed his lips into a firm line. Obviously, the answer was yes! Primus, he wanted to caress that starter belly, feel its firmness, and spend all night tending to its needs. But he was not going to mention that. He just held out his hand, which the âCon took as he hefted his heavier frame out of the chair.
Octane sauntered close to his admirer, that belly pressing against his side. âTime for me to get my dessert, huh?â An arm wrapped around the orange and yellow mech, guiding him towards the stairs to his room, no doubt.
The warmth that radiated from Octaneâs touch made his plating flare. Feeling the warm breath ghost over his neck cables sent shivers down his struts. Smelling the faint hint of leather mixed with polishing wax simply primed his engines!
âYou sure youâre gonna be able to perform with that big olâ belly?â Sandstorm cocked a brow in question.
Wings flapped. Engines revved. A shit-eating grin appeared. Octaneâs servo grabbed his rounded belly and shook. âIâve got enough fuel reserves to go allll night!â His brows wagged with fevered delight. This time, Sandstorm smiled in return.
[đ] has your stomach growled in public this week?
A: ... Don't walk past the bakery before your lunch break, especially when you've had nothing but a sip of motor oil.
A: E-everyone noticed, I know it...! That's so embarrassing...
D: Even if they did, he's the only one who cares this much.
~Cosmos Icon: Character Design referenced in 'IDW Transformers' comic
Personal Description
This art is special because it was drawn for a good friend for a celebration; who on a friendly server has been described by them having a similar personality to a Transformers character - Cosmos! â¨
@nariin-i-am is a wonderful friend to have, who we share equal love and interests in writing, storytelling and art. All thanks to us having a thing for certain Medijet Autobot called Pharma. Who would've thought? đ¤
Working on a fun story.... my fav trope... scrawny mech getting a starter belly.... AHHHHH just who could it be... and how squishy is hi sbelly gonna get?
Tfa Bumblebee is usually seen as a feeder but what's your opinion on feedee bumblebee? He IS the type of laze around and eat endlessly while playing videogames in my mind
Games and Treats
Drabble based on the prompt of video games and eating. Hope you dont mind blitzbee! nd sorry for how long this took me!
CW: Chubfic, blitzbee
What better way to spend an evening than to relax in front of a wide-screen holovid, deeply immersed in the hype of a brand-new video game? The thrill of the flashing screen. The blaring of the sound effects. The excitement of exploring darkened mazes, crawling with gruesome monsters that easily met their demise by a rainstorm of bullets.
Not to mention the servo that kept rubbing his belly.
His gamer's chair was simply the best. Big, cozy, and warm. A mechâs lap was always the comfiest to lazily lounge. And this chair was equipped with all the extra features. Engines rumbled, vibrating against his back in time with the action on the screen, and warm air wafted over his frame, adding to the suspenseful atmosphere of the game. But those werenât the best features.
The best perk was that this chair was self-feeding.
Every so often, small ener-chocolate balls met his lips, eager to be devoured. Rich, creamy milk chocolate, with hints of caramel, cherries, or peanut butter, filled his mouth. The treats were delightful. Delectable. Devoured.
âEnjoying your treats, little bug?â A soft voice cooed as the rounded belly was gently squeezed.
âAHhhh...â Bee yelped as his belly rumbled. âCareful, Icy! Be gentle after that feast you gave me.â By feast, he meant huge bowls of thick, creamy lithium mac and cheese, crunchy fried cyberchicken, and a mountain of sweet, smoky baked ener-beans. Bee had several plates...and still had room for dessert.
âYou Autobots are so veak.â Said servo released its grip only to gently pat the taunt, rounded mass that spilled upon thickened thighs. âDo you vish me to stop with ze desserts?â
Bee snorted. âYou better not, ya geezer!â
âWho you calling geezer, whelp?â Another ball of gooey goodness was shoved in, silencing the playful banter. And another rev of the taller mechâs engines vibrated, tickling along the yellow mechâs back struts.
âHmmmmmmmmm....â Bee hummed, both from the taste of the treat and the sensation that buzzed through his frame.
âGood, ja?â Blitzwing grinned. âEnjoying yourself, I zee...â
âDefinitely!â The âBot snuggled himself back. âWhat a perfect evening.â
Who would have thought draping across a Decepticonâs lap could be so relaxingâespecially Blitzwingâs? Here was a big, bad âCon, famed for wartime violence, yet not a hint of harm touched his frame. The feared battlefield mech now caressed him with care.
Was it odd that Bumblebee found such affection from a fearsome mech so comforting? He felt safe, protected, and cherished. The constant flow of food and gentle touches helped. With a sweet tooth, Bumblebee knew Blitzwing understood exactly how to catch his attention.
``` ``` ```
âGet back, you vile âCon!â Bee spat, widening his stance as he readied his blaster. For weeks, he went about his rounds, scouting for lingering danger that, until right now, had never shown.
Blitzwing stood tall, his servos gently brought up. Empty servos. As in, no gun. Icy fronted, remaining calm. âZe var is over. I come in peace-â
âLike you know that word!â The blaster whirled, emitting a faint glow as it charged up.
âThink, little bug,â the Decepticon said. âYouâve crossed zis barren land for two veeks straight, same time. If I vanted to harm you, I would have by now. Trust me, Iâve had chances.â He pulled a small box from his subspace, filled with colorful treats. âVant something sveet?â
Primus, those were energon candies- a rare delicacy back at Autobot base. His mouth watered just looking at the pretty pastel colors. His belly grumbled. Despite his hearty breakfast, his frame still craved more! And when a light pink candy with bright blue decorative icing held out, Bee had to steel his nerves not to snatch it. âI ain't gonna fall for the oldest trick in the book! You probably poisoned them!â
Icy tisked and shook his helm. âYou âBots always think ze absolute worst of mechs.â
âGee, I wonder why!â A scowl formed, yet optics stared at the said treat as Bitzwing lifted it to his mouth and bit  it in half. Now, Beeâs optics shot wide open in desire. Light green goo erupted from the treat's center. âIs that....â
âLiquidized cadmium.â Icy hummed as he licked the sticky substance off his lips. He held out the rest of the treat. âZee? Itâs safe.â
Bee hesitated, despite his frame craving that morsel of delightful goodness. Â His belly clenched like the suctioning pull of a vacuum. Upon relaxing, a loud, demanding grumble roared. And just like the rest of his Autobot comrades, Icyâs optics raked down his frame, smirking at the appearance of his bulging abdominal plating.
Primus, why was everyone making such a big deal about his weight? His stance shifted, arms lowering to cover his belly.
Icy immediately frowned. âHmmm....little bug, donât be like zat.â
âLike what?â
âDonât be shy.â The half-eaten candy was held out. âI know you vant zis...â
His belly answered in the form of a drawn-out whine. Slag. He did want those treats! They looked ever so scrumptious. But Optimus had warned him about taking candy from strangers...
But when that intense sugary taste pressed against his lips and sent shivers down his spine, Bumblebee couldnât help but open his mouth and accept the gift.
``` ``` Â ````
Taking candy from strangers sure paid off that time! That box of chocolates was devoured... and every following day. Blitzwing brought such tasty snacks every visit. And each visitâs timeframe grew, just like his belly.
There was no talk of politics. Bee revealed nothing about government reform, and Blitzwing never asked. Their boundaries were set and respected. Their meetings were pure enjoyment, never about past factions.
Bee just wanted to taste all those delicacies. And Icy just wanted to dotingly feed.
Now, the duo retreated to a little hideaway in neutral territory. While they may not have been able to meet up as often as each would like, the time spent here was peaceful. Relaxing. A nice break to simply enjoy the finer things in life that post-war rebuilding took away. Like long evenings of gaming and nights full of delicious, fulfilling treats- all hand-fed to him, of course.
âIâm parched...â Bee announced, feverishly working his control as he battled the levelâs boss. âWhatcya got to drink?â He didnât even need to take his optics off the screen because a straw was brought to his lips, and the glassâs cool, fizzy liquid was guzzled down.
And thanks to the carbonation, his belly churned as a bubbly sensation rose in his piping. His belly swelled as pressure built, slowly rising up his pipes.
âBllooooorrrrrrgggghhhhhhh!â
âMercy!â Icy chuckled, jiggling that belly with both hands. âExcuse you, little piggy.â
âYouâre the one who fed it to me!â
âYou swallowed on your own accord.â The jiggling became gentle pats as Icy used both hands, coaxing more trapped air from Beeâs tummy, almost like burping a baby. A chorus of belches joined the cries of the now-defeated boss. âDid you enjoy?â
âNever said I didnât. Did ya see how I conquered that badie?â
âOh, I quiver in my plating, little mech.â His chuckle was playful. âVould you like a prize?â
âYeah, can I?â Bee shook his frame in payback, but the sensation of something moist and soft pressing to his mouth stilled that wiggling.
âHave a taste.â Icy filled that gaping mouth with a double-feldspar brownie, topped with crushed geodes. âI baked zese specially for you.â
And did these fluffy squares taste spectacular! Who knew Blitzwing could bake? The brownieâs top had a nice crunch, but the inside was delightfully soft and chewy. The cocoa taste was intoxicating, and the feldspar added just the right amount of pizazz to spark his taste receptors.
âOh, Bee.....â Icy gasped. âYour game!â
âFrag the game!â Bee clacked his teeth together, announcing his mouth needed refilling. âI need more of that in my belly.â
âPatience is a virtue,â Icy beamed, but eagerly filled that mouth. âDid I do vell?â
âHmmmmmm Hmmmmmm!â The yellow and black mech all but moaned. Â His pedes swayed in pure bliss as he wiggled in his seat.
The âCon enjoyed the joyful signs of glee, revving his engines in return. This was his dessert! Each swallow was chased by more brownie. And after each mouthful, that servo went to claim its prize: a rounded, stuffed belly that gurgled with gluttony.
âOh, I could spend ze rest of my life just hand-feeding you such gourmet treats and tending to your tummyâs every need. You know that?â
When one square disappeared, another took its place. The exquisite taste never grew old, just continued to flourish with culinary wonder. The cakey treat was just the right mixture of softness and crunch. Just enough sweetness to richness. Just enough satisfaction to fullness.
âIf you keep baking like this, itâll be hard to resist!â
âVhy deny yourself ze pleasures you want, hmmm? Icy whispered as his servos thoroughly explored the bloated paunch. First, they circled over the crest, moving as the circumference widened to encompass the expanding mass. When the pudge sides were reached, fingers lovingly pinched into the flabby rolls. Bee squealed, the controller from the now forgotten game dropped on the floor.
âGah- that tickles....!â
âI know,â Icy smirked as his fingers relinquished their hold within the protomesh folds. One servo remained, gently groping the belly. âVhy donât you?â
âW...Why donât I what?â Bee knew where this conversation was going and knew it was only a matter of time before the topic was officially breached.
âCome back with me?â
âI...ah.... my team needs me...â
âYou embarrassed to be vith me?â The âCon frowned.
â...â Talk about a trick question. âYou are still on a wanted list, Blitzwing! Â And...ah....â
âAnd vhat, little bug?â
Primus, Icyâs tone was soft and hinted at sadness! âLook, itâs not you- well, aside from still on the wanted list. But... well, while my buddies have the best of intentions, I just donât feel like getting âthe talkâ again.â
âZhe talk?â
âYeah!â Bee huffed, crossing his arms across his chassis. âLook, I know Iâm young...â Blitzwing questioningly hummed. âThey treat me as if I cannot make decisions for myself. Iâm not a sparkling, you know!â
âHmmmm.... kinda like how zey tried talking you into dieting?â Bee nodded. âAnd vhen that didnât vork, zey put you on patrol?â
âCan you imagine the field day they would have if I ran off with you?â
With a pensive face, Icy nodded. âCan you imagine zhe field day I vould have if you ran off vith me? I vould have to become a full-time chef!â The âCon made such a show of lifting a rounded candy to his own mouth.
âHey! Those are my treats!â The Autobot whined as he squirmed upon the otherâs lap. He still had room left in his tanks.
âIs it now?â Icy cooed, lips raising in a smirk. âVhy donât you come and get it zen?â The chocolate ball was sucked into his mouth.
And Bee had no choice but to retrieve that little treasure. And as their lips pressed together- the sensation soft and gliding- the yellow and black mech realized something. This was their first kiss! The treat was bitten in half to give each a taste of the rich, cocoa flavor, only to be bombarded with the gooey liquid-filled center as it erupted across their lips. Bee didnât know what tasted better- the treat, or the kiss!
âSo,â Blitzwing whispered with half-lidded optics. âIf I get off zhe vanted list...would that change things?â
âWould def make things easier...â Bee responded in a blissful daze, optics locked onto the dimmed red ones.
âGood... good...â Icy coed as he smiled. Then dipped his helm into lick that gooey mesh off the otherâs sweetened lips.
I really liked translating the dynamic between these two into something a little more⌠romantic đ much to Starscreamâs (pretend) displeasure LOL. Enjoy!
Chubformers drabble #398!
Characters: Starscream & Blitzwing (TFA)
Word count: 1.9k
Starscream could hardly believe he had let himself be manipulated into such a demeaning predicament. He, the highest ranking Decepticon, the factionâs saving grace, the one responsible for bringing together the idiots beneath him that he was forced to rely on so heavily⌠now crouching on his knees, face twisted into a scowl, plating hot with flustered embarrassment, and servos working quickly to keep the hungry, yapping mouth in front of him busy.
He was doing this for his own benefit, just like he had when he first saved the wretched triple-changer from a fate worse than death. Blitzwing was a rusty bolt in his side on the best of days, but Starscream couldnât deny how helpful the mech had become to his overall mission. Like it or not, he found himself relying on Blitzwing rather heavily, and to his own steady detriment.
Clearly, based on the situation heâd gotten himself into now, the role of leader and pitiful follower trapped under his control had run its course, as Blitzwing had somehow found a way to earn some payback of his own. Starscream hadnât meant to let his guard slip when the Autobots caught him by surprise, but he had, and now he was paying the price. He was left with no choice.
Blitzwing had quite literally saved his aft that day, to put it simply. Starscream knew it⌠and clearly, so did Blitzwing.
âYou oversized, reckless beast,â Starscream hissed as he snatched up another cube of energon and thrusted it forward for Blitzwing to take, his scowl deepening as he watched the wild smile on Blitzwingâs face grow wider with a cackle. âAny more of this payback nonsense and Megatron will begin to catch on.â
Blitzwingâhis random side, to be specific, the one that Starscream loathed the most and squirmed the hardest under scrutiny fromâwas all giggles and gleeful laughter as he took the cube from Starscreamâs outstretched servo and chugged it down. Heâd gone through nearly twenty by then, and their secret feeding session held together in Starscreamâs private quarters had only started fifteen minutes ago. He guzzled the energon reserves Starscream managed to sneak into hiding like a madman starved for days, and he showed no outward signs of ever getting close to stopping.
Starscream made a small, grumbling sound of annoyance in the back of his throat as he watched, his optics drawn to the way Blitzwingâs belly had begun to stretch out beneath the curve of his upper midsection plating. He owed it to Blitzwing to do what Blitzwing wanted and desired until that unfortunate slip up of his could be forgotten, but the more days went by with him sneaking around and stashing away enough energon to feed an entire army hidden in his room, the more he feared that this little debt between them would never be fully paid.
He was grateful for the save, of course. More than grateful, really, because Blitzwing coming to his rescue meant that the triple-changer was on his side in the end, even despite the questionable alliance between them both at times. Blitzwing was always his to command and his to direct, no matter what Megatron might say. Starscream had been the one to save him, after all, and Starscream was the one to give him a place amongst the Decepticons.
Now⌠well, Blitzwing had clearly become a little too comfortable for Starscreamâs liking. He pushed boundaries. He taunted Starscream. He questioned Starscreamâs leadership, his motives, the permanence of their dynamic together.
Blitzwing was unpredictable at best and a dangerous mech to side against at worst. If he ever decided that Starscream was no longer worth working for (or with, Starscream thought, because now it really felt like they had become even), Starscream was in trouble.
It was why he hadnât put a stop to the trips up here to his quarters late at night, when the rest of the Decepticons were deep in their recharge cycles. He kept his energon reserves stocked well, anticipating Blitzwingâs shameless greed and bottomless appetite. It was a good thing that he did, too; once Blitzwing had started eating, he never seemed to stop. Starscream wanted to stay on top of it. He didnât want to risk calling themselves even if Blitzwing decided the miraculous save heâd sacrificed himself for wasnât covered just yet.
Blitzwing had come here once each night for weeks in a row now, and so far, it didnât seem like it was going to change. At first, Starscream had been annoyed. Blitzwing had gotten his reward for doing what he was supposed to, which was covering Starscreamâs back and saving him when he got in over his head. However, the reminder that Starscream had once done the same thing for Blitzwing (if not moreâBlitzwing had been on deathâs doorstep back when Starscream first recruited him, after all) didnât seem like enough for the triple-changer.
No, it hadnât been enough. Not according to Blitzwing. Thus, the feedings began.
Late night stuffing sessions. Shoveling fuel down Blitzwingâs throat as fast as he could so he didnât have to listen to Blitzwing recount the massive favor heâd done Starscream (and how he could easily leave if he didnât get his reward). A scowling face and a permanent heat in his cheeks as he listened to the big mech slurp and moan and burp and groan, sounds of which made a strange fluttering in Starscreamâs chest that he desperately tried to ignore. Short, snappy words when Blitzwing overstayed his welcome and reluctant belly rubs when Blitzwing overdid it, nights spend lying awake on the opposite end of the berth when Blitzwing fell asleep after the crash of overindulgence hit and mornings rushing out of the room before Blitzwing could wake and ask for more.
He was in too deep, and he knew it, but how the frag was he supposed to fix it now? He just had to wait it out. Eventually, it would come to an end. Eventually, Blitzwing would get tired of it. Eventually, that obnoxious laughter and wicked smile would no longer carry an undertone of something deeper and serious and unfamiliar enough to leave Starscream frozen in place while his face burns hotter and his spark races faster while he tries to name the sound.
Blitzwing was playing him, he knew. He could tell⌠but he couldnât do anything about it. Not yet.
Starscream snapped back to the present when he heard a new sound, and something that he hadnât heard from Blitzwing since they first started this new routine. He tried to hide the smug smile that slowly replaced his scowl when he saw that Blitzwing was lying stretched out across his berth now, belly painfully stretched out below his plating and looking uncomfortably full where it spilled over his sides and protruded into the air at the top.
Blitzwing had an awfully big appetite, Starscream discovered, but he also had an unfortunate tendency to overestimate said appetite by a lot⌠especially on nights when he seemed to notice that Starscream was particularly easy to annoy or fluster.
âFinished already?â Starscream taunted, scooting forward to lean over Blitzwingâs massive belly and study the stuffed mechâs face. He tried not to let the satisfaction slip into his voice as he studied his handiwork, but it was hard. Blitzwing looked so⌠so full. âMy, my⌠itâs not like you to leave the last few cubes untouched.â
Despite the pain etched into his face, Blitzwingâs random side still wore the wide, silly smile. He gave a weak giggle-snort in return and wiggled around slightly in an attempt at sitting back up before giving up and letting his helm fall back against the solid berth with an audible clang.
âSo⌠so full,â he said, emphasizing the word with a dramatic puff of air at the end. He tilted his helm and smiled at Starscream before nodding towards the last two cubes sitting next to them, the energon undrunk and untouched. âAh⌠a little help?â
Starscreamâs face immediately turned back into a scowl, but it was moreso to hide the sudden rush of new heat blooming across his cheeks. He sputtered and huffed, making a show of shaking his helm and crossing his arms at he glared down at the poor triple-changer.
âWhy should I waste the last of my precious resources on you when youâre far too full to drink them yourself?â he spat, one brow raised while the other remained in an angry arch over his optic. He saw Blitzwingâs smile grow in that dangerous, knowing way, and before Blitzwing could respond, he cut in again. âRight, right. Itâs only fair, what with you saving my life back there⌠something that happened weeks ago now, mind you.â
Whatever. If it kept Blitzwing loyal to him, he would indulge the mech. He shifted closer, reaching out a servo to help haul Blitzwing up and pointedly looking away as he grabbed for the energon so he wouldnât see the way Blitzwingâs round, taut belly jiggled and shifted when Blitzwing moved.
âSit up, at least,â he muttered as he peeled the first lid free, âand try not to make a mess of my berth. Iâm only feeding you this once, so donât expect me to make a habit of it, either.â
A lie. This wouldnât be the first time Starscream had stooped to Blitzwingâs level and hand-fed him, and it likely wouldnât be the last. Secretly, he was happy for that.
Gently, he moved forward a little further until he was straddling Blitzwingâs lap, then held Blitzwingâs helm steady while he lifted the energon cube up to Blitzwingâs lips. He tried not to think about the way Blitzwingâs belly felt pressed against his front, or the way Blitzwingâs face twisted into something so soft and content as he sipped his way through the second to last cube of the night, but somewhere along the way, he failed. His spark hammered in his chest until he was finished, and when both cubes were gone and Blitzwing looked too stuffed and cozy to move, Starscream began the newest nightly ritual of making themselves comfortable and seeing himself over to the far end of the berth.
Blitzwing had gotten what heâd wanted from him again, and as usual, heâd done it all while saying nothingâtoo busy drinking fuel to speak, too content with his warm, full belly to bother. Starscream almost hated the silence, because in its place, something different had settled.
Something warmer. Something knowing. Something in the way Blitzwing studied him, the way he checked in passing during the day that âtonightâ was still to be expected, the way he watched Starscream fumble and fluster and struggle to get through a feeding without the taunts and irritation turning into something he didnât want to address.
Another long, sleepless night of trying to keep himself from shuffling across the berth so he was pressed up against that warm, soft belly next to him meant plenty more time to sit awake and stare at the wall as he replayed that nightâs feeding session over in his head. Like usual, he was scowling, irritated, and ashamed to let himself be used like this. At the same time, something that happened more and more was the way he felt himself accepting itâŚ
âŚand realizing that, quite honestly, he wasnât so sure he even wanted these payback stuffing sessions between them both to end.
never shared the bunny run in! So, we spent all weekend changing out the fencing because the main home base in the bedroom- the panels are so tall that the posts you put in canât co e out without hitting the ceiling. So we put the smaller ones in for his home base. He now has a chunk of the living room to run around in, a small hallway, then his room.
where is his favorite part of this run in?
Typical Sunder bunny. Squishes himself against the wall.
Drabble request for Rung? Iâm curious to see how you would handle him. Heâs one of my faves!
One's Purpose in life
This is a darker drabble. CW: light chubformers, mpreg, goes from sweet to sour, hinted non-con elements ( nothing graphic)
A deity could rule in many ways. Some were harsh, barking orders and demanding blind obedience. Others were kind, seeking counsel from their peers and making decisions based on their communityâs needs. His own style of rule was more like the second.
Rung was a provider.
He cared deeply for his Cybertronian and provided all that he could. His followers were fed when hungry; their needs were met, and their voices were always heard. Councils would gather around bonfires, and the lanky orange mech welcomed all with open arms and took time to listen to what had to be said.
And when they claimed Cybertron needed to be repopulated, he obliged.
The main banquet hall was bright, filled with colorful flowers and fine feasts. Tables overflowed with plates: lithium spaghetti in cadmium sauce, hearty cybersteaks and robochicken platters with roasted potatoes and steamed crystal vegetables, and homestyle meatloaf with thick gravy. All his favorites were there.
Dessert was always the highlight: warm crystal apple pie with ener-ice cream. The sweet, marshmallowy vanilla blended with cinnamon-spiced apples, sending warm shivers through his frame. Cakes with rich icing came in a close second, but he never refused any dessertâchocolates, tarts, scones, all eagerly enjoyed.
After all, his growing sparkling needed nourishment too.
And his sparkling was not the only thing growing. His once twig-like frame had begun to expand. At first, it was the baby bump. Once the new life-form dropped from his spark and settled into the gestation chamber, his paunch domed out. His thighs broadened until he worried they might scrape paint from their rubbing against each other.
At least while that plating remained.
Piece by piece, his outer shell came off, allowing the protomesh to breathe and grow. Rung recalled his abdominal plating releasing its gripâhis belly spilled onto his lap, and he could finally breathe deeply. Arm plating loosened, and non-essential kibble was removed from his frame.
This newfound freedom was enibriating. While he took up more space in his chair or berth, nothing beat the satisfying feeling of creating new life inside his frame! He would gladly grow if it meant the best for his future kin and the future of his colony. Plus, feeling the sparkling move around, feeling his body change to best provide, was such a wondrous and complete feeling.
He was on top of the world!
Then lactation began. Soon, his chassis heavied as if filled with cement, and his nozzles grew sore. Once that tickling sensation traveled down to his spouts, Rung knew it was almost time. Â And when that sensation grew too much to ignore, leaving the orange deity squirming and idly scratching at plating, his subjects performed the sacred act of milking.
Being milked brought relief. Removing the fluid increased production, and Rung wanted the best possible flow for his sparkling. Pumps slid onto his offered spouts, and he watched as light pink liquid filled the canisters, humming with pride as the count grew each session.
But a second sensation in his chassis emerged. It was the growth of his special feature. His spark crystals. The one final ingredient to fully activate the sparkling upon its berth. His spark filled with glee at how well his body provided! His servoâs lovingly caressed his rounded belly. His followers eagerly spoon-fed him whatever he craved. He was doted upon with such admiration and devotion!
As pains radiated and his belly clenched every fifteen minutes, he was escorted to his special berthing room. Set in a high tower with glass panels, it offered panoramic views of the city. Blue skies and white clouds warmed his plating, and when windows were opened, a calming breeze brought rejuvenating air.
The time drew near.
A handful of subjects doted upon him, providing cooling drinks or dabbing sweat that beaded upon his brow. A decorative but comfortable crib awaited to cradle its upcoming gift. A soft berth with stirrupsâwhile a little scary at firstâawaited him once those contractions gripped every five minutes. Rung smiled despite the growing pain.
It was time.
His followers gathered and tended to his every need. A period of immense pain eventually resulted in the breath of a new life. It came out as high-pitched screams, but that was a good thing. Seeing those wide little optics staring back up at him just melted Rungâs spark.
Speaking of sparks, birthing wasnât quite over. The little bitlit was wrapped in a warm, fuzzy blanket and whisked away to be cleaned. Rung inhaled, closing his optics as his chest plates loosened, then retracted to reveal the piercing light blue glow from not just his spark, but the fully formed crystal. Such a perfect object for a perfect purpose.
This energy crystal will complete the sparklingâs birth, providing a special boost for its special life. With careful servos, the crystal was gathered in a decorative cloth as it emerged from his spark. The room glistened with pulses of light blue luminescence. The euphoric feeling of providing such a gift for his freshly emerged sparkling blossomed. His subjects were more than pleased.
Everything felt amazing. Everything felt good. Rungâs entire frame, though worn out and tired from emergence, felt perfect. What better way to serve as a deity for his community than to give back such a precious gift? Everything was right in the world.
Until everything felt wrong in the world.
The beautiful view of Cybertron vanished. The windows still remained, but the vision turned into a more dystopian version of the world. The view was dark, tinged with deep reds, and smoke blooms erupted in the distance. Occasionally, vibrations would rumble through the tower's floor, shaking his spark to the core.
Entrapped in restraints, he was imprisoned in his once beloved tower. Lifeless machines tended to him; cables pierced his wires to monitor vitals, and tubes forced nourishmentâbland compared to previous joyful meals. Taste no longer mattered; only nourishment did.
All feelings were removed. The prospect of reproducing became redundant after how many sparklings and crystals emerged. The wondrous event became routine, time passing only by counting cycles, which soon muddied into each other. Conceive. Cary. Create. That was all.
Once born, his offspring were never seen again, but Rung knew they were used for nefarious purposes. His loving children grew into cold-sparked enforcers that roamed the streets, hunting down any mech who strayed from their chosen path. His children were devoid of his values and filled with poison that now ruined the planet.
Life grew dull despite being reminded of his contributions to society; contributions to a society whose views misaligned with his views of peaceful tranquility. Now, rules were strict and rigid, following a code warped in discipline and meticulous order.
Every Cybertronian had one purpose, dictated by altmode. Mechs were grouped by job, determined by function. Strict punishment maintained these caste systems, throwing equality by the wayside. Rung had been replaced by Adaptica, a golden calf upholding rigid beliefs.
Primus help you if you become obsolete.
What was a deity to do when entrapped by corruption? Even birthing had lost honorâit now simply marked time. Filling cubes with milk brought only horror. Each sparkling was pitied; its life was stolen before awakening. Every crystal taken felt like a piece of existence lost. But this was his purpose in the new world.
Aww lookit your cute cheeks are getting chubby~ Just wanna squish em! Who else do you think would look nice all pudgy
ANothr late response- better late then never right?
My top favs for looking good chubby:
Blast Off- i mean, he'd look good anyway but there's something about a flier being so round and chunky that makes me go brrrr. Plus, he'd be so insistent upon indulging himself in the joyous things in life, so he would eagerly taste all the rich, foods of fine dining- he deserves it!
First Aid- a smaller mech overdoing it in the name of comfort for this medic! He is def an admirer of curves- even if they are his own! Even better when he has a partner that eggs him on! I imagine him to be a big time cuddler too.
Ratchet- my first mech I ever chubbed up. He just screams dad bod to me. Sadly, he can be a stress eater, but he could simply just not care and do what makes him happy- if he gains some weight... whats the big deal?
Drift- obv since this is prob from the mukbang speil I did. For me, its the classic speedster to chubster deal. He finaly gave in and treated himself to the sweet, sugary foods he loves. Plus, his thighs def look good thick, wouldn't you agree?
ANyone else have some favs on who would look good chubby? If so, share away!
