MUNDAY  ASKS !

I'm sure this post is old plz tell me he got his lil surgery?!?

Line Art Commission SALE!

My cat needs a lil operation done to get a cyst on his paw removed. The cost isn't terrible but it's not something I have the money on hand for atm because bills ate up every spare dollar I had this month. But this is my BOI my SON my LITTLE CHEESE and goddammit he deserves to have a nice little paw where he can freely stremch his little beanie weenies without an ouchie dang cyst!

Please note that these are the prices PER CHARACTER!

he's literally the only cis man who has done nothing problematic in his little life fr

This is so good!!!

A wonderful commission I got from @giulialibard on Instagram. I missed my Loftwing Screamer!! 🩶🤍🩵❤️

Cute

60 minutes? drawing. Themed “Sleep”

This is stunning babe go get that autograph!! I'm sure he'll be blown away!

Print I hope to get signed by Frank Welker at TF Con LA! My fav line ever in a tf series tbh

Part 2 🩶🥀

The Spire’s patron list was extensive and elite, comprised of Cybertron’s most influential and wealthy. Being admitted into the establishment was a status symbol all on it’s own, an accomplishment that few outside of the high castes would ever hope to achieve. Guild members, decorated military officials, and heads of important functions frequented the brothel often, at times bringing with them promising new additions. The Master’s, while enthused by their success, could hardly keep up with the demand this produced, a demand that weighed most heavily on the courtesans. Their schedules were rigid, the Keepers ensuring no time was spent idle. During busy periods, it was not uncommon for them to go several orns without rest, and on minimal refueling. These stretches were nearly unbearable, not for the workload. Rather, it left no opportunity to indulge in more enjoyable activities. Her lover’s soft gasp filled her audials, field shuddering, skating across her own in the most delicious way. “Not too loudly.” A light smack on the arm was her reward for the taunt, vivid cyan optics narrowed accusingly in her direction. “Then perhaps you shouldn’t be so – ah! Insistent!” “But you like it when I’m insistent.” Her lover’s responding hum was light and airy, slim frame lax and pliant against her. The smaller femme tilted her helm back, arching up to press their mouths together in a hungry kiss. It was over all too quickly, and her lip components twisted into a disappointed grimace. “We should go. I have a client coming soon.” Wrapping her arms possessively around the other’s slight waist, she pleaded, “Only a little longer. Who knows when we will get a chance like this again.” “We might get caught.” Defiant, she squeezed harder. “We are made to please, why shouldn’t we chase our own delights?” Her lover’s expression grew wistful, and she turned in her arms to reach up and clasp her face between caressing servos. “You know that’s not how it works. If they find us, we both get punished.” The thought of her gentle lover brought to harm filled her with unease, her spark tightening in her chassis. She covered the smaller servos with her own, tilting her helm to place a kiss against the tips of their digits. “It’s not fair. We should leave… you and I… and never look back. Then no one will keep us apart.” “And where would we go? There is no place for us… no place but here. And here is far better than where we might end up if we tried to flee.” A pause. “It’s not so bad,” the white and gold femme replied, ever the optimist. “After all, our presence here allowed us to find one another.” The unrest in her quieted at the reminder, and she bent down to gently press their foreheads together. “You, Star of my Spark, are the only thing that makes any of this worth enduring.” “Then be patient, my Scarlet Flower. We will have other chances, better chances… where time is on our side.” Venting in defeat, she released the smaller bot, allowing her to step away. “Until then.” “Until then.” She watched as her lover exited the parlor and stepped out into the hall, filled with jealousy at the thought that someone else – some unworthy aristocrat – would get to hold her, touch her. The thought made her tanks churn bitterly. For a moment she stood, waiting, willing away the anger. It would not serve her well. After enough kliks had passed, she too took her leave, glancing up the hall toward the Inner Theatre. Music slipped down the passageway, along with the sounds of approving spectators. Helm tilted down, she placed her servos behind her back, palms open, and made her way toward them.

(genuinely offended) "I trust all of my viziers"

Me, hanging on to my final sliver of my sanity for dear life...

Now taking headcanon writing requests...