Subtlety

Going back to my roots w this one

Someone’s gotta teach that boy how to kiss

sans be upon ye

i showed my bf the art of megs squishing soundwaves face and he said “when he pulls his hand away it just stays like that. the faceplate’s just bent now”

Knockout is so tired

K,, Kirbee,,

@starflungwaddledee I was instructed to tag you when I drew swallow tail Galacta <3

Is it okay for people to study your art style? I love your use of colors a lot.

Sure! I’ll be honest, I’m incredibly flattered that someone would even ask! Thank you :D

Cult of the lamb romantic garbage I barfed up <3

Immortality had its gripes.

The One Who Waits thought that every day he spent in this dreaded cult. It was designed to be his. It was cultivated and shaped in his image, and now he didn’t even have the capitals of his pronouns anymore. He was stripped of his status, his power, everything but his name.

And now, he was married to the lamb who took it all away from him.

The stares of the other cult members bore into him when the lamb gleefully pointed at him for the marriage ceremony. He knew saying no would mean certain death, and death was something he had evaded for as long as he could.

So, he gave in.

He spent days in the cult farming and chopping wood, worshiping at the altar, doing anything that dreaded lamb asked. This was almost worse than being chained in the depths of wherever he was before. It had been so long, he’d forgotten.

Followers around him grew old, died, were replaced with new followers by morning. A cycle he had wished to run, to destroy, to start anew again on his own terms. Without that wretched lamb.

Over time, he guessed, the lamb grew on him.

Daily kisses went from eyerolls to reciprocation. Chats and dances with the lamb became more enthusiastic as he grew into his role. This life was simple, but god it had its perks.

He began to look forward to his daily interactions with the lamb. And hey, if there was a bloodcurdling scream or two in the night, he didn’t breathe a word of it to his fellow cult members.

It was a leader thing, he supposed. It needed to be done, and he understood that better than any of these mortals.

So, The One Who Waits settled into his new life. Almost a century passed in it, with him tending to the farms and saying hello to that god forsaken line of frogs every morning.

It wasn’t until the ninety-fourth year that he noticed something was amiss. His third eye caught a stain of something on the robe of his beloved leader.

Now, bloodstains on the lamb? That was normal. Expected, even. With the murdering of the elders in the night to the frequent outings to the lands of the old faith, red stains often adorned the lamb. But this one in particular caught his eye.

It was black.

No other follower would have noticed such an occurrence, and if they did, they wouldn’t know the significance of it. But The One Who Waits, having worn the dark crown, knew.

The one who wore the crown bled black ichor, the blood of the gods. And the lamb had stopped taking hits around forty years ago.

So either there was a new threat out there, or the lamb was growing weaker.

Sadistic joy filled his veins, and he knew all he had to do was wait until the sun went down.

~*~

As the sun disappeared over the horizon, The One Who Waits crept out of bed and wove through the houses of the other members. He spotted the lamb, out sitting near the farm. Silently, he crept closer, trying to assess the situation before deciding what move to make next.

He heard raspy breaths as he drew close. The lamb’s hands were gripping the ground, black blood staining the grass and sinking into the dirt below from where it dripped at their side. Their cloak was stained even more now, and as the liquid seeped into the fabric he caught little wisps of gold sparking out of it.

The lamb was weak. Now was his chance.

He crept closer, stance low and ready to take back his crown. This was his only shot, and by god he was going to get it.

“Narinder.”

He froze.

The lamb hardly spoke, opting for nonverbal communication with that absolutely smarmy smile of theirs. Their voice, however rare it was to hear, never betrayed how they were feeling in the past. It was always just on the edge of questioning and conceited. But now, as he heard their deep baritone voice sound more brittle than it ever had before, he knew he was caught.

“...Yes, my lamb?”

The lamb stood, turned. The unreadable expression on their face was enough to send ice through his veins. He stared into their red tinged eyes, unblinking, sideways pupils shaped into slits as they looked down at him.

He finally managed to tear his gaze away, staring at the ground in front of him as he began to bow in the grass.

“Apologies, I didn’t-”

The lamb’s hand beckoned him, and he stopped in the middle of his apology to look up at them. They gestured again, this time for him to sit next to them in the grass. He sat hesitantly.

He dared not speak.

They extended an ichor-soaked hand to him, allowing him to take it. They guided it to their injured side, staring in his eyes the entire time. He felt exposed, like they were picking his brain apart from just staring into his pupils. On instinct, he felt his third eye close.

When his hand made contact with their side, the lamb hissed, eyes going completely red as they broke eye contact. They quickly regained their composure, however, and resumed staring at him.

They kept still, waiting.

Experimentally, he lightly dug one finger in.

Their eye twitched, but they made no move to stop him.

He dug another, harder this time.

Their entire face scrunched up and they leaned forward, resting their forehead against his chest. Their hands gripped his forearms and yet they didn’t pull his hands away. They just…waited.

The One Who Waits felt a twinge in his chest. The crown was in front of him, staring at him with its piercing eye. Almost like a challenge. He had the lamb at his mercy, after all of these years. He was so close, he could just pick the crown off their fuzzy little head. He had his hand in their flesh, gripping it so hard that they crumbled under his hold. It was a power rush, so intense and overwhelming that his third eye opened back up and he reached his other hand for the crown.

But he couldn’t.

He was touching the crown, and still it stared. Still it bore its single eye into his soul, daring him to take it. Daring him to rip it away from the god that sat trembling against him.

And he couldn’t do it.

His mind kept replaying the past near-century in his head, flashing through every moment they shared together. Of his defeat, his utter humiliation and greatest shame. Of them showing him mercy, extending their hand to him and him slapping it away and trying to make a swipe at them again. Of the first month he was here, freshly wed and full of hate.

Of their renewal of vows ceremony.

Of the time many years into their relationship that they swore off all mortals, opting to make a special place in the cult for just the two of them.

Of the many nights they spent together in that place.

The handmade meals.

The daily kisses.

The way they held each other in their arms late into the night, even though the lamb had never a need for sleep.

He looked down at them, at the way they gripped his shirt, at the way their breath seemed almost silent if it weren’t for the occasional wheezing gasps.

He brought his hands away from them. He couldn’t do it.

He hated to admit it but this sight was painful for him.

He hated to admit that he actually cared about them on a level he had never cared for anything before.

And sitting here, seeing them in the most amount of pain he had ever seen them in, he felt sick.

The crown looked at him once more before it let out a sigh, closing its eye.

The One Who Waits sat there, in the dead of night, and relinquished the last of his former self.

He stripped himself of his title as he scooped up the trembling lamb, carrying them back to their shared hut.

And if in the morning any of his fellow members noticed that the sign outside their hut read “The Lamb and Narinder,” well, they didn’t say a word.

Soundwave having a normal mouth is heinous and blasphemous to me

I think he got robbed

Is Soundwave a lesbian (I know this is stupid but I saw him with lgbt flag and megs with lesbian flag and I wanted to make sure because I am a lesbian Soundwave truther)

The short answer is they’re both he/him lesbians to me <3

The slightly longer answer is that cybertronian gender/sexuality is way different than humans and I put whatever flags I like on them lmfaoo