#ghostlyvisage

[alacritysparked]

@ghostlyvisage || continued from [ X ]

Even with his background and knowledge of Autobot and Decepticon files, Bumblebee couldn't place a name to a face or vice versa. But that's ok, his partner in this game would play along. A soft hum leaves him as he feels a large servo cradle his helm. Despite being held in place, Bee finds comfort in the touch and craves more of it.

His ministrations stop for a moment as he admires the spike, biolights casting a soft glow against their plating. It's an unusual design, its owner definitely put a lot of care and thought into crafting this image, and Bumblebee acknowledges that with an approving nod.

Pulled closer, face practically rubbing the spike, he lets out his best airy, startled, erotic gasp. Primus, it has been a while and he refuses to turn down this golden opportunity. It's hard to find bots willing to play, let alone treat him like a goddamn adult.

Without further hesitation, he opens wide and takes as much of the spike in his mouth as he can. He knows it'll be too big, but he's always been creative. He alternates between sucking and licking, rubbing whatever he can't fit in his servos, and he keeps his frame close to the other. He won't get his hopes up, but maybe he'll walk away from the night delightfully ruined.

[viciousbite]

The circlet sat almost crookedly on his helm as he exchanged the shanix with his current handlers. Servos crossing over his chassis and helm tilts to the side.

He had said almost nothing, accepting the required items for handling him. Golden optics tilting down to look at him, turning the remote in his servos.

"Would you like to kill them?"

@ghostlyvisage

Throughout the whole process of being handed over, Darkfang barely struggled. Only growled and hissed when jostled around. Act well now, so his aft didn't end up straight back at the facility. He hated that place, more than the mech's wasting their shanix on him. His skills, his fangs, his venom. He growled, frame slumped forward, with golden finials lowered to a half way point. His pedes clicked along the floor until he stood beside his new 'owner', which, he observed the whole time. The circlet, the items handed to him, the remote, his expressions. Signs of weaknesses, which spot would make the best to go to when he decided to lash out.

His processors came to a stop at the words, audial fins twitched, and optics stared with confusion at him. Huh? Normally at this point, they'd grab him and drag him along, but instead he had been slapped in the face by a question that had read the constant state of his head module. Kill, rip them to shreds, don't care if they are mere workers, in the middle of the real bastard. All of them lacked a processor to care, to treat him like a person. His growls became louder, the confusion shifted into aggression.

His servos began to tug and scratch at the muzzle placed upon his face. The straps pressed uncomfortably around his helm, while the black small bar between his denta kept his jaws further shut. Magnetic, only unlocked by his owners or handlers. His actions became more frantic, as if the thought of killing the handlers, had snapped him into a new frenzy. Impatience, no care, if this was the first 'order' placed upon him, he'd do it anyway.

His helm turned to the Mech, optics gleaming with an intense craving for the deed the Mech suggested. Along with begging to be released from his muzzle, that he eagerly pushed towards him.

[seacrestseacon]

"Hey Sea Rat," No Ghostspire is not calling him but his name anymore. "You collect war propaganda, right? The cards?"

Have three unopened tins shoved Seacrest's way.

For a moment it is a frantic scrabble of reflexes to grab all three tins shoved at him, processor screaming NO DROP! till he can properly hug them to his chassis and blink at the trio of 'gifts' bestowed upon him.

Three Battle Card Series 3 tins, little scuffed, but still more or less sporting their iridescent shrink wrap film, and Seacrest is slowly tilting his helm up to look at Ghostspire.

Is this what they meant by 'Playground Romance'? Where people call you names, are aloof or shove you in the hallway, because they secretely like you and don't have healthy coping mechanisms instilled from a young age?

Was Ghostspire courting him!?

"...................... conjunxes?"

Or did he just pick up the strangest Sugar Sire arrangement known to Cybertron.

Either way;

HEART OPTICS MOTHER FRAGGER

[lord-overlips]

What time was it? Overlord onlined blearily. Frag… they must have gone at it hard earlier. His frame felt like it had been put through a grinder, a smelter, then scraped off the floor and mashed back together. He ached. And not in the fun way.

Overlord grumbled, rolling over on to his side and touching warm metal. Ah… G, wasn’t it? The cute little bot with such a pretty frame, all those stars etched in to his plating glimmering in the light. He reached over to stroke the mech affectionately, purring low and long. Something seemed… off though.

Finally the bot onlined his optics. Wait. Ghostspire wasn’t blue… and he wasn’t this small- and- oh no. What? What was this!

Clawed servos reached for the frame beside him, shaking insistently.

“Wake up wake up wake up wake up wake up!”

He glanced down again, finally taking in the colours, the claws. He was…. he was in G’s frame? The frag sort of joke was this! No no no he did not like this one bit. He was small, apparently injured and fragged up in all sorts of ways and- slag it, wake up! “G! Wake the frag up!” His servos slipped, claws digging in to a gap in that blue plating, jabbing the side of the big bot.

@ghostlyvisage

[twcwheeler]

warning, sender presses a knife against receiver's neck as a warning.

ACTIONS SPEAK LOUDER THAN WORDS || Ghostspire @ghostlyvisage

As the blade finds a rest near one of the major energon cables between her neck struts, Arcee halts her hostility immediately. Checkmate.

Servos lift in defeat. It is really all that can be done without potentially bringing harm to herself. Without taking a risk to try and move her helm, the glowing tri-hues shift to right, in hopes to catch even a glimpse of the figure in peripheral. For a while she anticipates the blade to dig deeper - but perhaps, it wasn't the stranger's first priority.

" What are you after?" she finally asks, in surprisingly neutral tone now, even though the engine revs quietly within. Perhaps, words before blades would have been smarter to begin with. However, Arcee was loyal to the commands bestowed upon her: Stay on guard.

[quantumlogician]

After cutting through layers of red tape and submitting an endless stream of proposals ( more so tedious back-and-forth really ), Shockwave was cleared, rather instructed, to commence the Project Recro: the ' super soldier ' option. Not to claim any sort of morality regarding his hesitation on it, it was that the calculated expectation of failure, resource, waste, anticipated diminishing returns weighed far more than a few battlefield advantages.

However, the ' field ' was not within his purview, it seems.

At the directive of his lordship, Shockwave went ahead and scanned through all the updated medical lines he acquired from Flatline, seeking potential candidates for such a monumental undertaking. Given the uncharted, unvetted territory that this was, there was no ' perfect ' qualifier. At this point, it was ' capable bodies that may not crush under physical stress and alteration '. Not a promising subset, but Shockwave did warn he would have to feed through several warm frames to manage a single good one.

It seems the cost of 5 sparks for 1 really good spark was a permissible loss.

On the third page, the scientist's optic caught on one: Ghostspire. Lightweight, but a flight-form. Megatron seemed to have favored those where Decepticons always had clear aerial advantage. He marked the profile for approval and submitted it.

Now, he awaited for them to appear as he sat in his front-lab. The one absent of all his nightmarish tools and trinkets only sparklings could whip up in their sleepy imaginations.

He only had a table ready, sterile, with his many monitors ready to plug in and perform their diagnostics to deem how compatible this Ghostspire was for the upgrade.

Closed starter — @ghostlyvisage

[autobotmedic]

no no, not the box

@ghostlyvisage sent:

📦 >:3

"YOU."

[pharmanic]

@ghostlyvisage asked: ‘  vengeance is like an open wound.  ‘ Pacific Rim sentence starters

"Oh, how poetic." It's said blandly, tone irritated. "Vengeance is normally about trying to even the scale. And sometimes, depending on what that scale looks like, it's not only warranted but deserved. Anyone who tells you otherwise is trying to protect themselves from whatever harm they may have caused you."

"What brings all this up, anyways? What are you expecting from me?"