Muh Heart - Tumblr Posts
\o Datschaos be me, and me be lookin' for a beta reader or two if anyone is interested in helping with Transformers fics!
Beta Reader for Transformers fics?
Ya'll, it's been ages since I've done much collaborative writing where fanfiction matters are concerned, and I miss it. My work is always so much better when I have other voices to chat with about it.
I'm a little stuck on some of my stories right now, and I lack friends who share my fandom obsession to chatter about silly fictional mechas; let alone open the can of kinks they contain phfhbthaha.
I'm wondering if there is anyone interested in being a beta reader for one or two of my stories?
I can only consider applications from other adults, as my stories contain 18+ NSFW content.
Specifically, I'm looking for help with: (Below the cut)
Star of the Show (nsfw) (Book 1)
Star of the Show - a Starscream x Female OC human x Mirage fic that goes more than a little w i l d. It's kinky. It's got plot because I just can't resist and story happened and of course it got out of hand and here we are now; it's more or less a big long giant 600+ paged (I had to start a book two because I exceeded the character limit on google drive, o p e) comfort fic that follows a human who emits Energon radiation... and that priceless gift to the Cybertronians, basically ruined her life with disability and forged a very strong but very lonely woman. It was meant to be a Starscream centric fic, and it still most certainly is (that boy nEEDS SOME LOVE, MY HEART, GUH. Ahem. Continuing on.), howEVER.
HOWEVER.
MIRAGE YOU FANCY FUCKER.
He stole roughly 130 pages of story and is so dang irresistible he somehow ended up added to the StarscreamxOC relationship later on. How could I make those pretty blue optics sad. I didn't see any of that coming until it did and. Yeah. I love it. It's also crazy. And kinky.
Anyhow, it's also my first ever Transformers fanfic-- and as such, I am pretty rough on still working out how to portray my interpretations of lore and my wild ass guessing because I have seen only a few Transformers cartoon series and not all of them in full and I have only read a few comics and all the movies but oh man THE TRANSFORMERS WIKI SLAYS ME I ADORE THE FUNNY CAPTIONS
Also, though this fic is very much a romance-centric focus on SC/M/OC, it's also got SO MUCH GRANDPA RATCHET SCREENTIME. I love that old mech. I started off with the movie-version Ratchet in mind but then I began watching Transformers Prime while writing this story, and that one kinda took over. He's such a good character aaah. He serves as a great grounding foil for everyone's chaos (both in the show and in my fanfic, imo XD)
Ahem. So. Anyhow, here's an excerpt from Star of the Show, book one (which is ready to be beta-read):
~*~
“Why did you make him bring you to me?” Starscream asked once they were sitting in the dark and quiet. He’d actually laid down on the metal slab this time, so she sat in his co-pilot’s chair normally, except with feet braced on the seat and her arms wrapped around her bent legs, chin resting on her knees.
“Because it’d be silly for you to be in pain when you don’t need to be,” she answered after hesitating. “Especially since this costs me literally nothing but some of my patience.”
“But I am your enemy.”
“Are you? Like, are you really my enemy, because I’m kind of thinking I’m supposed to go to Cybertron whether it’s the Autobots, Decepticons, or some other alien faction that hauls my ass there. I keep having dreams about it.”
“You dream about… Cybertron?” Starscream’s voice asked from closer by, and she lifted her gaze from the flight controls to see his Holo’s face peering at her over the pilot’s seat.
“Yeah, sometimes,” she admitted quietly. “Optimus showed me what it looked like before and after the civil war, but… I keep seeing this cliff face in my dreams, and if I’m honest, I think I’ve seen Cybertron before. Like… I don’t actually remember the dreams, but parts of it-- It felt familiar? Not what I saw, but… What I felt,” she stressed.
“What’s it look like?” the Seeker asked after a long pause.
Clara described the tall, level bluff and the barren landscape before it, and how the massive cliff-face had been split down to the ground level in line with the moon’s orbit.
He stared at her in disbelief.
“That’s the entrance to the Wasted Canyons,” he said quietly. “It’s not far from the main capital. For a Seeker,” he amended, realizing it’d probably be quite a trek for a grounded ‘bot.
“Oh. Well… It sounded sad,” she mumbled.
“I will never understand you,” Starscream swore like it was a bad, but inevitable, oath.
She smiled a bit.
“That makes two of us,” she confessed quietly.
“...Will you show me?” he asked.
“Huh?”
“Will you show me… What you saw in your dreams?”
Clara hesitated. She didn’t want to see him brutally beaten to death by his own commander, but she didn’t think that meant she could treat him as an actual friend she cared about. She might care about him on principle… but he didn’t care about her, and she had to remember that.
The blue holo’film screen he’d shown her once before flipped back out as the flight controls folded themselves away. His heavy gaze remained on her face.
Clara normally considered herself immune to any form of puppy-eyes or pleading, wheedling tones. Toddlers, cats, actual puppies, any species under the sun, Clara could look them in the eyes and refuse. She’d never had children of her own, but she’d spent time with plenty, and she’d grown up with a full household of animals indoors and out.
She was very good at saying a ruthless, unchangeable ‘No.’
Starscream… was too practiced at begging, but it wasn’t his eyes that did her in on his carefully blank poker face.
It was the tentative quality of his raspy, damaged voice, more than the unexpected plea itself that swayed her.
“...Please?”
.
.
.
Leaking Spark (nsfw)
Leaking Spark - a Knockout x AFAB Human!Reader Insert x Soundwave. This was a story intended to be explicitly Soundwave x Reader, but then Knockout apparently got mad he didn't get to be the main character's bestie in Star of the Show (he was supposed to become Clara's confidant while kidnapped... instead she ended up terrified of the spooky medic. Oops?), so he stole his way into -this- story as a main character like. Damn. Smooth man. He and Mirage are story-usurpers I tell you what.
So anyhow, it's another plot-mixed-with-fluff-and-smut fic, with a way looser plotline than Star of the Show, but this one is a reader insert. Since it's a story I'm writing for myself (but I think it's good enough maybe to share it eventually so others can enjoy, too, wooo!) I imagine the female reader with pale skin, a small build, and brown hair.
An excerpt from Leaking Spark:
You should have predicted it, really; he comes back.
It’s months later, almost an entire year. Despite your promise to be inhospitable, you can’t even muster the strength to be angry at Knockout, not even for him waking you up with a loud honk at an ungodly hour of the morning. The crowbar drops from your limp fingers when you see him parked in your driveway, all his lights off.
It’s still dark out, but that doesn’t do much to hide the absolute wreck of his vehicle form as his engine sputters with an unsteady pattern.
Without a word you pick up the crowbar, then slip back into your house and open the garage door. He rolls inside with a slow, agonizing pace you think might actually be a sign of pain, then comes to a somewhat unsteady stop as metal squeaks against metal shrilly.
“Can you hang steady here while I go clean the trail outside up?” you ask, just as his engine cuts out. Puddles of dimly glowing, luminescent cyan trail down your driveway and where he’d been parked.
The long pause between the sudden silence and his pained, strained voice answering has you worried he might have just died. You have no idea what to do with a dead alien-robot-car corpse in your garage except maybe have an existential crisis and wait for his buddies to come pick him up. Oh, and maybe move. Changing addresses was probably wise at this point, and yet…
“Yes,” Knockout croaks out, a pained wheeze, but your steps freeze when he continues, “Be… Careful. Maybe followed. Maybe not, I’m sorry, I… I had nowhere else to go,” he says tiredly, smooth voice cut with a gravelly rasp.
“...Stay here and rest,” you say shortly. “I’ll take care of it.”
Then you’re grabbing the bucket of rags and marching out of your garage as it shuts behind you.
~*~
You don’t go back to sleep that night. You spend the time from closing your garage door to the sun peaking above the trees, painstakingly scrubbing away every trace of blue glowing goo that you could find on your long driveway. You scatter sand over the spots you wiped as clean as possible then rub it in, preventing any tattle tale sign of dampness.
You even go ahead and make sure that the irregular trail on the street continues well past your house, leading a false trail that turns off the main street onto a boat launch just past your neighbor's house, towards the water. You hope Bob wasn’t awake early today.
You really don’t want anyone to ask what the hell you’re doing. If anyone does, you’re determined to claim you were preparing for a silly video shoot someone dared you to do on the internet. A… Lake monster slug, or something.
Then you would have to do a silly video shoot just to make the lie a truth so no one asked more questions. Ugh.
Fortunately… no one seems to catch you, and you trudge up your long, cracked driveway. You’re exhausted. You’d had a rough week of work that wasn’t yet over, and you had to leave in what you guessed was a few hours, judging by the light in the sky.
When you enter your garage to check on your unexpected wreck of a guest, you find him still parked in vehicle mode, engine off, utterly silent.
You stare at the gouged metal and scorch marks on his paint, the puddles of blue blood beginning to spread on your garage floor, and the drips that feed them.
“You awake, tough guy?” you ask.
He doesn’t answer.
You close your eyes.
What you should do is kennel your cats, call the cops, grab your bug-out bag, and get the fuck out of here.
What you do instead is go inside and feed your cats, call your boss, and use precious sick-days to take the next two off of work before the weekend. You’ve had a few people remark at work how tired you looked lately, so it’s easy to fake it for your boss as he begrudgingly lets you have it.
It helps that you have a stellar, squeaky clean reputation.
You walk back out into your garage and stare at the thing that just might ruin it, then sigh, and get to work.
~*~
Knockout doesn’t know why she does it, but he’s not going to complain. He doesn’t even ask her to; talking is painful, so he avoids it in favor of turning his waning energy and focus towards diagnostic scans.
The human just starts going to work to try and patch him up while he checks over his systems. The results he gets aren’t great, but once he’s fixed his communicator, he can contact the ship and get himself bridged home, get himself fixed up. He’ll be fine, once he’s safe at base.
He doesn’t get a chance to explain any of that to her, though. Midway through another scan of his systems to check which he needs to reboot and which ones need the most critical care, his vision goes dark.
