Black Jeans, Half Black Hoes.

Little darlings

🐇

Insecticons

Transformers: Art Of Prime

IDW Publishing, 2013

*Please note: This book is heavy and too big for my scanning bed. Scans are uncleaned and portions have been cut off by technological limitations. You should buy it, anyway.

Part 8🥀🩶

The mech beneath her groaned in a way that made her feel unwell. He was a peculiar frame type for an upper caste, squat and rather rotund, which made his mobility (both generally speaking and intimately) limited. Considering this, she was made to sit atop him, staring down with thinly veiled disgust as he writhed beneath her practiced motions. As though servicing him wasn’t bad enough, he was loud, obnoxiously so.

In the past, she’d simply slipped into the recesses of her processor, recalling pleasurable moments shared between her and her lover. Now, the memories made it worse, knowing there would be no new intimacies to be had and cherished, to be called upon in times of need.

Another groan. Her tanks twisted.

‘Shut up.’

Why couldn’t they have just taken her away when they’d found her? Scrapped her, too? Both she and her Star, together in oblivion.

“That’s so good.”

‘Shut up!’

Her facade slipped, lip components curling back to reveal her derma in a derisive snarl. The look didn’t deter him. In fact he seemed to read it as a sign of her impending overload, making an effort to lift his hips from the berth to meet her downward stroke. He all but howled at the connection.

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut Up!”

“I beg your pardon?!”

Her optics focused on his face, which was twisted up into an affronted frown. Oh… had she said that out loud?

“Why you- how dare you speak to me that way, you impertinent whore!”

Her spark stammered in her chassis, surprise not something she was used to feeling. She wasn’t usually so careless, but with everything that had happened, she had become easily distracted. A violent beating was certain at this point - she’d just been given a warning, after all.

Wait… perhaps… perhaps if her crime was egregious enough… they would have no choice but to terminate her. They could be one again, in the only way left to them. She looked away from the blustery mech – still spewing threats and indignities – to a figure carved from precious ore that sat invitingly on the table next to them. Surely… that would be heavy enough to do the job.

She reached over, wrapping her digits around the base and swiftly hitting him across the faceplate. The strike was jarring, sending vibration up her arm as it made contact. It shut him up, and sent a spray of bright blue energon across the berth next to his helm. He spluttered, wailing in alarm. No one would hear him though… not while in a private room.

“You… you’ll pay for that with your miserable existence,” the injured bot hissed.

The red femme stared at the liquid on her servo, then down at him, surprised to find she was not as averse to the sight of his fluids as she might have expected. It actually felt rather good… to put him in his place, to make him pay for the terrible treatment his lot subjected them to. She lifted her arm again, and his whole demeanor shifted, anger replaced by fear as he stared up at her.

Something in her lurched… not in disgust… in pleasure.

Pushing his flailing servos out of the way, she brought the heavy figure down against the side of his helm, denting the ornate adornments and the plating beneath. He shouted in pain. The sensation pulsed again… and again she hit him, this time across the jaw. It split his lip components, making him choke on energon as it pooled in his mouth.

She had never experienced something quite so satisfying. She thought about the countless times she and others like her had been forced into distasteful situations with bots they wanted nothing to do with, abused, humiliated, used… rage rose in her like a black tide, swelling to consume the brittle sorrow that had been plaguing her for orns now, since her lover had been stolen away.

She struck him again, and this time, when he garbled out a plea for mercy, she laughed. Such a cruel, sadistic sound… she liked it. Over and over she lashed out, not stopping when his face became an unrecognizable mess, nor when he stopped moving entirely. It wasn’t until her frame seized with an unexpected overload that she reared back, arching, crying out in bliss.

Several kliks passed as she sat there, staring up at the ceiling as she came down from her startling high. She let the statuette fall from her limp servo, slowly removing herself from the berth and stepping back to stare down at what she’d done.

‘I… I offlined him,’ she thought, shocked that she had actually succeeded.

Now, all that was left to do was wait for them to find her like this… though, that might take awhile, and she certainly didn’t want to sit here with his grotesque cadaver as it continued to leak fluids everywhere. So… she could go find them… show them. She imagined a Keeper wouldn’t be far.

Turning to the door, she strode slowly but resolutely toward it, placing her servo atop the handle… only to pause. It was as if some unseen force kept her from turning it, locking her in place as she stared down at the polished lever.

‘Is this really how it all ends? They just… scrap her… and scrap me… and that’s it? They win?’

The thought didn’t sit well with her. Despite the lingering ache that seemed to permeate every part of her, there was a spark - hot and sharp - at her core, demanding justice. A desire to see them pay for everything they had done, to see the pain they had caused visited upon them a thousand-fold. She thought about the mech who had taken her sweet little femme, about the Keeper who spoke so flippantly about it, and the Master who’d chastised her for daring to hope for something better.

“You were not made for love. You were made to serve. To please! It serves you both right, for thinking yourselves above your station!”

Echoes of his callous words rang through her processor. The hate that had taken root inside of her spark branched out, twisting, choking out the sadness. They deserved to suffer. If she perished now, no one would ensure that vengeance was meted out.

Gingerly she lifted her digits from the handle, taking one step back.

‘And who will deliver this vengeance… me?’ she asked herself, considering. ‘I’m no Megatron. No gladiator.’

Yet he had not always been a gladiator, she recalled. He had been a miner. It was sheer power of will that had helped him carve his path. A short chuckle escaped her. Though, judging from the size of him, she imagined his strength had likely helped him along. However... not every gladiator was of that same towering stature. Those who weren’t relied on other skills: speed, precision. These were things she did indeed possess, and with time, perhaps she could become more.

Her optics fell to her servos, still smeared with freshly spilt energon. Perhaps one day hers would be the servos to deliver their retribution. And if she was offlined in the process… well… at least she had made her stand.

Across the room, the lights of the city flickered through a tall window. The dark of the night whispered to her, pulling her closer. Her gaze dropped to the bustling streets below. The height was staggering, though it had never been something that bothered her. She placed a pede on the sill and stepped up, balancing herself in the narrow opening. 

"This is for us, Star of my Spark."

Without looking back, she released her grip on the frame… and let herself fall.

Sketch of the day 

Zoom zoom

🖤💜🖤💜

It was definitely worth it.

I drew all of this just to make a stupid joke

【click the pic】

Best dad ever... wish he was my dad *sobs hysterically*

🏖

Part 3🩶🥀

Cables taught, she bowed herself into a tempting pose, helm tipped back, optics shut, mouth agape, creating the illusion of pleasure, a beautiful picture painted for her onlookers. Her frame spun in lazy, controlled circles, allowing everyone in the room a chance to see her. She twisted, artfully bending, placing limbs in ways that were not possible for most Cybertronian frames. But she was unlike them. Cold forged, altered, built specifically by the Masters to perform feats of enticement and pleasure not attainable anywhere else. It was a cruel existence, to be placed upon a pedestal as some beautiful thing, to have no say in who used you or how you were used. To know your life was always in the servos of those willing to pay the most. And not all of them were kind. Most were entitled, corrupt, careless, and violent… it was why appearances were so very important. This game was one of wits, persuasion, and desirability, and she played the game well.

Retracting the lines, she rose higher, weaving her legs through the cables and balancing herself inverted as she parted them, an impressive and lurid display that prompted several cheers. Her dance was a deadly one, the danger creating more intrigue than beauty alone ever could. Every move was calculated not only to entice her audience, but to ensure her safety. One wrong turn, even a nano-klik too late, could result in her frame ending up a battered wreckage upon the stage. And – if the damage was extensive enough – that would be the end of her. She was an object, after all, and should they decide she was not worth the investment to repair, she would be discarded, like so many before her, and another would take her place just as easily. She catches the optics of a mech she is familiar with, one who – while old and entitled and dreadfully pompous – was gentle. Or perhaps it was that he didn’t physically have it in him to be violent anymore. He looked as though a stiff wind might knock him off his pedes. Regardless of the reason, if she could entice him to bid, at least she could walk away from this encounter unscathed. The scarlet femme made certain to keep his gaze for a time before glancing past him, knowing the attention would please him. Luck was on her side this night. Many in attendance were regulars, with only a few new faces. While she could not yet be certain if any of them possessed the wealth to outbid him, the odds were favorable. Her best bet was to play the part she knew he liked, and hope his was the winning offer. Lowering herself to the stage, she unwound her cables from the beams above, drawing them back with a snap of her wrists. She spun slowly, kneeling as she did so until she came to rest on the cool tile, helm against the floor while the rest of her arched invitingly. Suggestively. Again, a round of approving cheers. Without making it appear she was favoring him, she moved to and fro, casting little looks at him whenever an opportunity arose. He hadn’t looked away, his expression intent, and she felt triumph unfurl in her spark. This appointment would belong to him, and she would live to see another sunrise. The dark, bitter part of her that had festered over so many millennia in such a cold and inhospitable environment delighted at knowing how many bots would walk away from this place with empty servos. Some would find company elsewhere, but many would leave to nurse their battered pride. It gave her a petty kind of joy to know they all wanted her, and only one would succeed in having her. The assortment offered at The Spire was carefully curated to meet every need imaginable, and of the variety of treasures to choose from, she was among the most sought after. Not because of her beauty, no – they were all lovely. Nor was it her aerial prowess or her dancing. She had learned long ago that the most valuable skill for any courtesan to have was the ability to read their patrons. And so she watched, learned, honing her craft. Clients, Masters, Keepers, even her peers, all of them became as easy to decipher as glyphs on a datapad. She recognized patterns in speech, body language, and actions, hearing the words between the words and recognize everything left unsaid. It was a skill she had mastered long ago, and she used it with the same painstaking precision as she used her grappling lines. When your life depended on pleasing those around you, knowing how to speak and how to act in times of intimacy (and otherwise) was the most valuable tool one could possess. It had made her into an optimal companion and had served her well for many orbital cycles, allowing her to keep herself – and those she cared about – alive. And she would continue to ply her skills for as long as she needed to, filing away whatever information she thought might be of use. Somehow, she would find a way to use those same skills to take her and her lover out of this place and make a better life for them. Until that time came, she waited, watched, and played the perfect part.