Why Punctuation Is ImportantI Saw A "bed, Wed, Behead" Post With TFP Megatron Without A Comma Between

Why punctuation is important I saw a "bed, wed, behead" post with TFP Megatron without a comma between "bed" and "wed". A Freudian slip occurred, and my train of thoughts was unstoppable as usual. Megatron, the bed-wetter? Well, weird, I've never considered. But, eh, logical.

I recalled a German movie about Hitler hiring a Jewish man to help him improve his eloquence. And there Hitler was portrayed as a nervous addict pissing his bed. It is this type of comedy that makes you wonder what the bloody hell you are watching and WHY, and makes you wanna put your brain in a dishwasher. But now I think maybe it's a legit way to portray a dictator?

Not to mention that being high can make your body betray you in the lowest ways. So, Dark Energon can have an unforeseen side effect.

And all that because of one missed comma. 

(I'm not sure if I should tag this as kinky stuff. At this point, it's not kinky, but maybe we could explore this side in this blog later.)

[This post is sponsored by Minimus Ambus, your favorite grammar Na… oh no, not now.]

Some thoughts on prostitution in TF

I'm torn between two options. For one thing, Cybertronian culture lacking prostitution as widespread and common as we have it today, while Cybertronians themselves are sexual beings, is an interesting concept. Ya know, a bit of otherness for yer alien robots having bars, booze, propaganda films, and other modern human shit.

I do like "selling oneself" to mean selling one's parts, or technical files containing schematics and know-how information about peculiar features, or the source code so it can be replicated. Or, like Deadlock in MTMTE, just renting your body out so losers can drive a race car or fly a jet for a day or two.

But fuck it, if Cybertronians had something resembling a courtesan or hetaira culture in human historical societies, I wouldn't be opposed. Them being a social class associated with exquisite entertainment, arts, and intelligence, being educated and cultured. 

There's no room for this during the war, but man, without sexual orientation being a concept or homophobia killing the game, there's absolutely no problem finding a casual fuck, just look at your desperate buddy or colleague.

Spent yet another day arguing over:

๑ Semicolons ๑ Line spacing ๑ Letter case

Why would I ever need a Transformer self-insert OC. I'm literally poor man's Ultra Magnus (or, more size accurately, Minimus Ambus). I could write a fanfic on him furiously fucking a list. Same for Tarn.

I sometimes imagine Cybertronians' spikes not having an opening on their head, but rather (unlike human dicks) their sheath being made of small metal scales. A structure similar to an armadillo's outer shell. Slightly flexible under the touch and very tactilely pleasant.

And lubricant seeps from each seam. And the climax is not a jet of fluids but a copious cascade.

(But I'm also a sucker for a good cumshot. So a more humanized way is always welcomed and desired.)

Rodimus slightly fucking with the discipline while slightly fucking the discipline enforcer.

Working with Ultra Magnus can sometimes be a hell of a task. Who says that interfacing with him would not? Yet Rodimus would not trade having Magnus by his side for anything. And, when after Minimus' true identity was revealed and things started taking quite an intimate path, it came to them exploring each other in a way that was never an option for an enforcer of the Tyrest Accord (but for just Minimus Ambus, well, could be discussed), there was a lot to figure out. 

One minute Minimus could be a lovely pile of moaning, trembling metal and wires, coated messily in fluids. And after a short post-overload bliss, he's quickly put back together with his usual self-control and, sadly, his compulsory habits. And for Rodimus, having Minimus all grumpy and fiercely trying to immediately clean up is an act of cruel party-pooping. Can't they just cuddle for a little bit?

Solution? Take Minimus to the captain's personal washracks and cuddle there under the streams of solvent. 

That's how they end up again, Rodimus standing under the steaming fall, hissing over his plating, with Minimus tucked into him back-to-chest and Rodimus' right hand holding him safely over his middle. And the other hand is purposefully ruining the blissful idleness of the moment, holding a hose against Minimus' hips. A warm stream, strong but not overly firm, is meeting with Minimus' lower torso, traveling to his spread tights, then traveling back, and again. 

Minimus is quivering, his expression quickly losing its stiffness. But he continues with his words about how they are violating the rules of using the ship's washracks, which paragraphs they're breaking. And how they're just wasting the solvent, and how it's all just "Rodimus, it's not necessary.".

"Sorry, can't hear you," Rodimus snorts. "Too steamy here, the sound must be dispersing."

He aims the massaging stream at Minimus' uncovered valve, gaining a precious moan and feeling his own array pinging him for stimulation in sympathy. He knows the nodes over the entrance are pulsing with crimson light, just as they do every time he's taking this valve with his spike or his tongue. Speaking of spikes… The stream is moving higher, hitting little nodes on the underside of Minimus' spike, and Minimus is undignifiedly kicking the air with his legs. And back to the nodes around the tightening entrance. The moment Minimus gets the sweet pressure back on his biggest node, he convulses with his whole frame, adding to the solvent with his own wetness. He sags and hears Rodimus' frantic swearing. 

Rodimus is unsure of what to do with himself. Fuck his tired partner again? He's not an asshole. 

"Give me the hose, Rodimus." He's not arguing. With his both hands he's moving Minimus lower until the small, hot valve is pressed to the upper side of his shaft, and clumsy fingers are touching the head, and the firm stream is hitting his own nodes this time. Rodimus has to lock all the joints and servos in his legs to just stand straight, crying out in overload, one or two expletives leaving his voice box. 

Oh, how Minimus will scold him and lecture him on terms of use of the ship's washracks. But he's thankful for a good minute of just relaxing under the warm shower with (finally) a completely relaxed Minimus.

Can you find that fic about OP humping Megatron's fusion cannon again??

Sure, here it is. I'm starting to feel kinda jealous of this cannon's tempestuous love life.