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primevein · 1 year

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The Prime of His Youth: Prime of His Youth: Book I: Forging His Own Path: Ch18: What Do You Want?

Ratchet saw the hangar door open up, and stood up. "Can I help you?" Ratchet asked, and Knockout swaggered in.

"More of a consultation, if you will."

"Knockout?!" Ratchet exclaimed.

"In the flesh, so speak." he replied, and Ratchet grumbled.

"And just what do you need help with?"

"Medical ethics, of course." Knockout replied.

"You?! And medical ethics?!" Ratchet asked, and dismissively mumbled.

"I did join the winning side." Knockout pleaded.

"Because it was the winning side." Ratchet accused.

"How hard is it to believe that I wasn't actually evil?" Knockout asked.

"Oh?! And why else did you join the Decepticons?"

"Because I don't have to worry about medical ethics." Knockout stated, and Ratchet just stared at him. "What, you think I'm joking?"

Ratchet grumbled, "Well, then why are you here?"

"Because I want to experiment on Humans." Knockout stated, and Ratchet just stared at him.

"You want me to help you experiment on Humans?!" Ratchet asked.

"Exactly."

"And why do you want to experiment on Humans?" Ratchet asked.

"For their benefit, of course." Knockout stated.

"Their benefit?" Ratchet asked, "Their benefit with what?"

"If I'm right, Humans will be able to safely pass Energon through their system."

Ratchet just stared at him a moment, "Humans and Energon is something we have absolutely no idea how to treat. This could... change everything."

"Okay, I'll admit, it's more of a pet project of mine, but it's gotten to the point it needs actual test subjects. So, ethically, what do we have to do to experiment on Humans?"

"Well, consent for one." Ratchet stated.

"Simple enough."

"Not simple enough." Ratchet said to him, "You need INFORMED consent. Your patient will need to know everything you know about it. Test history, known side effect, likelihood of damage..."

"And how do I get that without injecting a Human?" Knockout asked.

"Traditionally on Terra, animal experimentation. You would need to set up a lab, hire Humans to maintain the animals and catalog everything."

"Me?" Knockout asked, "Working with Humans? Have you gone mad?"

"Of all the Decepticons I've known..."

"Autobots." Knockout interrupted, "Or did you forget how much of a help I was."

"That's not it..." Ratchet said, and briefly grumbled, "You appreciate what Humans have created more than any Cybertronian I know, from either side."

"I what?" Knockout asked.

"What, you didn't know?" Ratchet asked, "You have engrossed yourself in Terran culture, and had the most close contact with strangers of any of us when we were still in disguise."

"They are oddly engrossing..." Knockout stated, "If I'm going to be working with Humans, I will need someone who can... Human with them. And a lab. And a Human I can pet."

Ratchet just looked at Knockout for a moment, "I hate thae fact that you could probably find a Human to do that." he grumbled.

"What, really?" Knockout asked.

"Humans are quite a varied... and perveted group. It probably has something to do with sexual reproduction."

"Wait, the Human would want to... interface with me?" Knockout asked, and shivered with disgust.

"You are the one that wanted a Human to pet." Ratchet stated.

"I suppose I did... But, I will need a staff, and a lab, and someone who can handle the paperwork. What do Humans do when they want to do research?"

"They usually go to universities or the government to get a grant."

"Yes, that sounds positively dreadful."

"The military might want to help you study." Ratchet stated, "Or we can contact Raf, he is working to combine Cybertronian technology with Terran."

"Wasn't Bumblebee working with him?" Knockout asked.

"Something like that." Ratchet stated, "They both work with the government."

"So, in order to do this research, I'm going to have to crawl through Human bureaucracy, begging for money?"

"Unless you want to use your own Energon." Ratchet stated, and Knockout looked about. He then looked Ratchet in the eyes, "I'm a robot with needs."

Ratchet just grumbled at him, "Either way, Raf, Bumblebee, and Fowler are probably your best bets."

Knockout thought it over for a moment, "Which one is the closest?"

"Major Fowler is in this base." Ratchet simply stated.

"Could you give me the com codes for Raf and Bumblebee?"

"That I can do." Ratchet said, and paused, looking him in the eyes, "And I just want you to know, I want to see your research completed."

Knockout then turned away, waving a Ratchet as he left, "You and me both, sunshine."

* * *

Knockout walked up to the tent. "Knock-knock!" he shouted, and thought he could feel someone stiffening up. A few moments later Fowler appeared out of the tent, giving him a fearful look. "Why so glum?" Knockout asked, "I'm only here to experiment on Humans." Fowler used his right hand to undo the snaps on his pistol, and put his hand on the grip. "Ethically, of course." he stated. Fowler relaxed a bit, but did not let go of his pistol. "I understand there are guidelines for this. I want to start a lab, hire some little Humans to keep lab rats. The whole nine yards."

Fowler relaxed a bit more, released his pistol, and stood neutrally. "What did you want to... accomplish... with these experiments?"

"I've been studying and making it so Humans don't die form Energon. I've done what I can with cell cultures, and have a serum I want to test."

"This - serum - will protect Humans from Energon?" Fowler asked.

"Oh, even better!" Knockout said proudly, "If I'm right, it will allow Humans to even absorb Energon. They might even be able to use it for that Human technology you like carrying."

"That would make handling Energon a lot safer, and be a revolution in mobile technology." Fowler said, and snapped up his pistol.

"Don't feel shy; tell me you love me." Knockout said with glee.

"And what exactly do you want?" Fowler asked.

"Oh, you know, a lab, a Human that good with your ethics. More Humans to take care of the lab rats."

"If the DoD sponsored it, they would want to keep control of it." Fowler stated.

"That seems pretty reasonable." Knockout replied.

"If you actually wanted to help people, you'd need to go with the government. And getting grants from them is not my speciality."

"Hm? Do I actually want to help people?" Knockout asked, and paused to think it over, "You know what? Sure. Why not? I'll guess I'll bother Bumblebee and Ratchet."

"They're in Vegas." Fowler added.

"Oooh, Vegas baby?" Knockout asked, "A lot of Humans, but a lot of things I wished I could see back when I was in disguise."

"Well, now's your chance." Fowler simply stated.

* * *

June looked at herself in her mirror. If she was going to quit, which she was, she might need to find something other than scrubs to wear. She pulled off her sweater and then top, before slipping out of her pants. She still thought she looked good. The Fembots seemed to think so. It had been so long since she had thought about being sexy. She'd spent the last 18 years worrying about Jack. But, he has his wife; he even had a maid. It was time she thought of herself, at least for a little bit. She walked over to her closet, and started digging through clothes she had almost forgotten about. She had gotten so used to grabbing the same thing that she rarely even noticed them anymore, as if they had become part of the closet. She started to pull clothes from the closet, and honestly didn't like any of them. What was she thinking? How young was she when she thought this looked good? She grabbed a slinky dress. There's no way she would look good in this, would she?

* * *

June looked at herself in the slinky dress. The last, and only time she wore it was in Las Vegas. It was practically scandalous. There's no way she could wear it in public. She blushed just thinking about it. She blushed looking at it. It was almost worse than being naked. Her underwear also showed, and there's no way she could do that again. She went to put it on the bed with the others she hated, but could not do it. In the end, she put it back in the closet, pushing it off to the far left side.

* * *

June looked at herself in the mirror. The little black dress clung tightly, maybe a little too tightly, but she had to admit, she looked good in it. She put it back in the closet, next to the slinky dress.

* * *

June looked at herself in a bikini. A simple, but elegant dark blue bikini. Well, elegant when she was younger. Now it was almost scandalous.

* * *

June saw her reflected self in lingerie. See through under, garters, and stockings.

* * *

June looked at her closet, and only saw the scandalous clothes to the left and her scrubs to the right. She turned back to the bed and saw all the clothes that were 20 years old. They wouldn't be any better than wearing her scrubs. Well, this is what happens when you don't buy clothing for 20 years. Her instincts were to just throw the old clothes out. But what was she going to wear them? She shook her head as she reminded herself she hadn't worn these clothes in at least a decade. She could donate them, that's what she could do. It would mean less clothes to move, after all.

* * *

June found herself going into every cupboard, grabbing anything she did not think they needed anymore.

* * *

Jack grabbed his bedroll, but paused, realizing he wasn't cold at all. This shouldn't come as any surprised, as that was one of the points of the exosuit. He turned to see Bulkhead in stasis with Miko, laying the depression just below his shoulder.

"What's up?" Arcee asked him.

"Just thinking I might not need my bedroll." he stated.

"I supposed to want to cuddle me." Arcee said dismissively.

"I will volunteer." Sirenia stated, and Arcee gave her a deathly glare. At that moment, Arcee's eagerness felt palpable. "Should I enter stasis as well?"

"Unless you're feeling homesick." Arcee stated, "But powering down together is an important part of Human intimacy."

"Then can I join the cuddle?" she asked, and Arcee tsked.

"You asked for that." Jack said, with brilliant smile. Arcee rolled her eyes, and Jack turned to Sirenia, "That's a yes."

"Alright." Arcee huffed, "If we're going to do this, I get to be the middle spoon."

#transformers #prime #the prime of his youth #darcee #jack darby #arcee

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thanksjro · 4 years

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More Than Meets the Eye #13- Swerve Doesn’t Have Any Friends

Okay, let’s go ahead and get this out of the way.

It’s a FUCKING SPORTS BRA AND RUNNING SHORTS ALEX.

And don’t think I don’t see that friggin’ cleavage alien back there. You ain’t slick.

I’m going to make it a law that all comic book artists learn how to draw clothes that don’t vacuum-seal themselves to women’s bodies. Milne gets six months for this infraction alone, and Roche gets a year for the initial bra crime he committed back in Last Stand. Learn how women’s underwear works, you ninnies.

Our issue opens up with Swerve stretching his radio personality muscles.

Oh, Guido Guidi, whisk me away to flights of fancy!

Our artist for this issue is none other than Guido Guidi, ascended from fanwork to deliver us from evil with his near-superhuman ability to emulate other artists’ styles and just make things look really pretty. He was responsible for the mythos pages in the 2012 Annual, AKA the best part. He also filled in on some of the art for Last Stand of the Wreckers, not that I really noticed because he’s just that good.

Swerve lets Blurr know that while it might have looked like the Lost Light had exploded, thus killing everyone onboard back in issue #1, that isn’t actually what happened. I’m glad someone filled in the Cybertronian populace on that.

I was never great at math, but those speech bubbles might be phoning it in a bit.

Swerve says that he’s having a great time on the quest, despite all the hiccups, and we get an explanation for why this long-range communications system hasn’t been seen prior to this point. It’s been broken for a while- most likely due to the quantum jump that started the series off with a bang- but Blaster managed to get it running again. Good job, Blaster. With this little setup for our framing device out of the way, we get into the meat of the story.

Swerve is being nosey about things that weren’t any of his business, happening in a closed off room, when Drift drags him down the hall and hid him away for safety. Swerve doesn’t much appreciate being manhandled, but there’s a method to the madness here.

Drift’s nose has vacated the premises once again, so we’re just going to have to deal with that. And how shapely does one have to be to be known as “the guy with the legs”? I mean, Drift is RIGHT THERE.

Drift uses his own powerful legs to kick down the door to Cyclonus and Tailgate’s room. It turns out that the horrific screaming wasn’t the sound of a murder or sexual relations taking place, but rather that of Cyclonus singing in Old Cybertronian.

My god, he’s completely enamored with this unrepentant murder machine.

We are just all up in Cyclonus’ grill for this panel. Nothing but lips. Was this specified in the script? Because it feels like it might have been specified in the script.

Old Cybertronian, or the Primal Vernacular as some might call it, was last seen in general when Rodimus channeled the will of the trapped Titan all across Tailgate’s chest. It was last seen spoken when we met Vos, the terrible murder gremlin who turns into a gun and uses his face to cause puncture trauma.

Comic books are wild, y’all.

Now that we’ve established that no one’s being killed, Drift goes back to what he was doing earlier, with Swerve deciding to tag along because he’s horrifically lonely. He invites Drift to come room up with him, because I guess if you’re going to sell off your comatose roommate’s bed out from under him, you might as well go for the guy who’s third in command, is probably one of the hottest guys on the ship, and slices people into chunky salsa if they try anything funny.

Drift politely declines, and awkwardly removes himself from the conversation when Swerve doesn’t take the hint, returning to his sword lesson with Rodimus.

Oh thank god, the obnoxiously pink room is back.

Ultra Magnus bursts into the room, appalled by the actions of his fellow crew members. Some of his concerns are well-placed. Others, well…

Is- is that another friggin’ retainer on those lower teeth? Why does this design choice keep showing up?

So Magnus has imprisoned roughly a third of the ship at this point, and Rodimus suggests he take a chill pill. Magnus doesn’t even know what a chill pill even is, so we’re forced to make use of our most dangerous weapon- the threat of a good time, courtesy of Swerve.

The fact that Ultra Magnus hasn’t reduced Swerve to an oil stain on the floor is genuinely astounding. The guy has zero respect for bureaucracy or proper business management. It has been MONTHS, you dinky little man, get your act together as a business owner.

Swerve takes the bribe, and soon everyone’s shipping off to Hedonia, where the drinks are plentiful and the women… well, most of the Lost Lighters don’t even know what a woman is, so that aspect doesn’t really come into play. Thanks, Furman.

Also, Rung’s back to normal. Don’t worry about it, not a big deal.

Swerve isn’t having much luck on his Roommate Quest, as Tailgate spurns his advances, stating that he’s good kicking it with Cyclonus, mainly because they’re both old as shit.

I see we haven’t quite hit the threshold on the “Cyclonus is allowed to have friends now” meter. Give it a few more issues, I’m sure we’ll get there.

Man, zero for two for Swerve on trying to get a hot roommate. Maybe third time’s a charm?

Rodimus pops into the back of the shuttle to remind everyone that their entire race is more or less despised by the entire galaxy, and to play it safe by using their holomatter avatars.

The revamp by Brainstorm and Rung is truly a blessing, because the avatars in IDW were awful to look at up to this point.

Y’all, that is HOT ROD. Jesus wept.

Getting back to Tailgate’s questionable taste in companionship, Tailgate asks if Swerve and Blurr connected right away. Swerve gives him an affirmative, then starts listing off the guy’s racing stats until Ultra Magnus plops down between the two of them, drawn in by the melodious sound of statistics.

Magnus is having a hard time relaxing, but he’s giving it his best, and I think that’s very commendable of him. It’s hard trying new things.

On the surface of Hedonia, it would appear the B-Movies are having a Pride event in the entertainment district.

Okay, moment of truth- show us those avatars!

Oh thank god, they aren’t totally hideous. Though, isn’t Rewind old as shit? I guess youth is a state of mind. Still, I can’t believe we missed out on silver fox Rewind.

Rung’s line is in response to folks at the time claiming that Rung was a self-insert character, which is interesting, because we’ve already seen what a self-insert looks like when it’s Roberts doing the inserting, and we’ve also seen his Mary Sues.

Rung, while an original character who had appeared in Roberts’ pre-professional works (a single line of text in Eugenesis, where he was a psychiatry play-on-words), he isn’t what I’d consider a Mary Sue. Mary Sues are usually stunningly beautiful, beloved by their peers, insanely talented in ways that no other character is, and typically have some sort of connection to another character that more or less forces them into the story despite not needing to exist.

Mary Sues don’t get their friggin’ heads exploded, or exist in a constantly-forgettable state. Sure, he’s the only therapist we’ve ever seen in the Transformers franchise, but there was kind of a massive need for that sort of character to be created, seeing as all of these sons of guns have PTSD and clinical depression. And, as we’ve seen in previous issues and will continue to see later on, he’s really not even that great at it.

That isn’t to say that he doesn’t have certain traits befitting such a characterization, merely that they don’t add up to equal that sort of whole by issue #13. Transformers (2009)-era Drift is way closer to a true Mary Sue than Rung is.

Anyway, where the hell did Tailgate get to?

They really just let Frodo Baggins in this bar all babybjörned up, huh? Does Tailgate even know what a baby even is at this point? Does he just think he’s a very small person? How much human media has he consumed? We haven’t gotten into the reproductive process for the continuity yet, but fresh Cybertronians aren’t exactly a one-to-one to human infants. Damn it, Roberts, what the fuck am I supposed to make of Babygate?

Whirl’s off in the corner, disguised as a 12-year old girl who’s fucking STRAPPED. Magnus has disappeared, but Rewind locates him pretty easily as Rung makes a comment about Magnus needing to make an appointment with him.

Oh hey, Verity. Been a minute. Careful, ol’ six-eyes over there is leering at you.

The fellas come back to the bar as they truly are, and sit down for a round of drinks. Whirl gets Ultra Magnus a drink that sounds disturbingly like a Cybertronian equivalent to Milk Coke, and we get a little anatomy lesson. Transformers have something called a Fuel Intake Moderation chip, something that keeps them from getting drunk on pretty much the only thing they can consume. Swerve suggests Magnus turn his off so he can have a good time- which I don’t personally agree with, but this is Captain Stick-in-the-Mud we’re talking about here. Magnus gives it a shot.

And that’s a series wrap on Ultra Magnus!

No, the man’s just got no tolerance and has been knocked the hell out by his drink. Things begin devolving. Tailgate is crying. Skids has found out that Whirl didn’t give Magnus Milk Coke at all, but instead the equivalent of liquid cocaine. Swerve is convinced he’s going to prison. Rewind is filming the whole thing.

Nobody actually checks to see if Magnus is actually dead, until Rung gets around to it. Swerve, you’re a doctor by original trade, what the hell are you doing?

The boys sit Magnus at the table to wait out his nap. Hours later, nothing’s changed, except that they’ve started up the nemesis game, and Whirl’s decided he’s going to be rude about monoformers being monoformers. Rung gives a non-answer, because that’s just who he is as a person. Skids names Misfire as his worst enemy, only because he’s still missing a good chunk of memory and can’t remember if he had a worst enemy, but still wants to contribute to the conversation.

Rung, don’t be a dick, he did his best. You were right on top of Fort Max, it was a tricky shot.

Ultra Magnus finally starts waking up, and that’s the point where everyone decides to foot Swerve with the bill for the emotional labor he’s going to have to perform by explaining just what the friggity-frack happened.

Magnus starts laughing, then crying, then offloads his troubles onto Swerve. Magnus feels like he just doesn’t fit in on the Lost Light. He’s just trying to do his job and everyone makes fun of him, or disrespects his authority. He’s trying, he really is, but he’s just not built for post-war life. He’s actually tried to leave his position on the Lost Light, but they just keep pulling him back in.

Probably doesn’t help that Rodimus seems more interested in Drift’s opinion on matters than his own SIC half the time.

Oh no, he’s making digs at the things Swerve’s sensitive about. Where is Rung?

Magnus just wants to be understood, y’know? He’s a fully realized creation. He’s got interests. Like music! And the fact that Swerve is missing his Autobot badge!

This was the point where MTMTE was still bouncing back and forth on whether it wanted to commit to the crotch badge. It was a tumultuous time for everyone, very dark days.

WHERE THE FUCK IS RUNG

Magnus, having had enough of sharing his feelings, takes another sip of his cocaine and slips back into unconsciousness. Swerve admits to his limp body that people don’t actually like him, but rather only stick around because of what he can offer- namely, a good time.

The rest of the Swerve posse comes back, with Cyclones having joined the party. Rung shows off his new model ship, which gets Rewind started on his movie collection. He pulls up the opening ceremony for the Ark 1. Y’know, the Ark 1, that ship that Cyclonus was on that disappeared into the Dead Universe for six million years. The Ark 1 that Tailgate was supposed to be on.

Before we can get started however, someone throws the model at Rewind’s head.

That someone is none other than Cyclonus, who proceeds to fly into a rage, throwing tables and shoving the still-unconscious Ultra Magnus to the floor. My word, what a reaction! What could possibly be setting him off so much? Does he not like being reminded of his fated trip to the stars? Is this a manifestation of trauma from that event?

Who knows? No time for questions, Skids is too busy punching him in the face.

Tailgate intervenes, explaining that because Cyclonus and himself are so goddamn old, the engex Cyclonus consumed is wreaking havoc on his body. He tells the rest of them to go on while he tries to calm Cyclonus down. Interesting that Rewind doesn’t have any sort of input on this, given that he is also super fucking old, but there’s no time for questions! We’ve got to get Ultra Magnus back on the shuttle in the next 20 minutes, or else they’ll be stuck on Hedonia FOREVER.

They start throwing Magnus on the floor repeatedly, trying to get his t-cog to spin up. No dice, however.

It’s 4AM. Do you know where your Domey is? Because Rewind sure as hell doesn’t.

Okay, time for Plan B.

I’m guessing not, Rung. I’m guessing not.

Using Magnus as a trampoline does the trick, and the boys are rewarded with the sight of Magnus’ alt-mode… resting on its roof, upside down. They get him sorted, pile in the cab- Rewind is driving, which leads me to believe he at least has some experience handling a vehicle. Chromedome does turn into a car…

I don’t even know what that sort of activity implies for a Transformer. We won’t go any further down this line of thought.

The boys manage to get Ultra Magnus to the shuttle in time, and all’s well that ends well!

This is about the time that Blaster knocks on the glass at Swerve to wrap things up, seeing as he’s been at this for over nine hours now. There’s one last little aside before we’re done with our story, however, and it involves just what happened in the bar after everyone else left.

Cyclonus calmed down almost immediately after the rest of the guys left, paying for what he broke and inviting Tailgate to have a seat.

Well, I say invite, but it’s really more of an order.

If you’d already figured out at this point that this jumpy little marshmallow was lying about being the biggest badass who ever lived, a gold star for you! It turns out, dear Tailgate has been crafting a fabrication, spinning a yarn, telling a tall tale since Day One on the Lost Light. The story has been feeding us a steady diet of fish the whole time!

Red herring!

Red herring of Tailgate’s own design! Autopedia’s mods are a friggin’ joke.

Tailgate was supposed to be a the Ark 1 launch, but it was because he was on the cleanup crew. Boy’s a sluicer, and his arm SHOULD say "waste disposal”. Through a cunning use of his wits and cold reading, Tailgate faked his way through the dismantling of the bomb on Temptoria. A smart boy, he is, if not a bit self-centered.

Which brings us to why exactly Cyclonus freaked out in the bar: he wasn’t having an episode, but rather faking a reaction to prevent Tailgate’s lie from being exposed. He still thinks that Tailgate should come clean about this whole thing, before things get really messy, but it wouldn’t be an issue of MTMTE without some raw-ass emotions getting thrown about.

Cyclonus, who hasn’t allowed himself to feel anything other than simmering rage or national pride for over six million years, is beginning to feel something for Tailgate.

That feeling is sympathy, and maybe a little pity.

He offers to teach Tailgate a song to help him feel better, because that’s what he does when he has feelings.

And given that Cyclonus seems to sing often enough that Tailgate’s gotten used to the horrific sound, it might be that Cyclonus has feelings a hell of a lot more often than he lets on.

Roberts, how many times are you going to make Tailgate cry? How much pain are you going to subject him to before you’re satisfied?

The scene closes out on the two of them getting their karaoke on in the empty bar, in the god-awful language that is Old Cybertronian. I can only imagine that they get kicked out of the bar pretty quickly after this.

Getting back to the present, Swerve has finally, finally finished his story, closing out with an invitation for Blurr to come visit Swerve’s.

Blaster gets ready to shoot one hell of a voice message at Blurr, but there’s a problem; the number Swerve has isn’t long enough to be a personal hailing frequency.

Yeah, turns out that Tailgate isn’t the only liar on board the Lost Light.

Four million years ago, Swerve met Blurr at a publicity event, got way too friendly with a celebrity, pestered the guy until he gave him a fake number, and has convinced himself that he made a life-long friend to this very day.

Big oof.

Later, back at Swerve’s, Swerve is busy cleaning the glassware when Ultra Magnus comes in, sober and having just gotten out of surgery to fix his fuel tanks. Guess that second sip of Nucleon really wasn’t a good idea.

Swerve tries to tell a lie about what happened the night before, only to have the dawning horror that Magnus remembered the entire night, as he’s presented with a new badge. Swerve, bolstered by the fact that, while Magnus didn’t enjoy the previous evening, he appreciated having company, begins to ask Magnus if he’d want to room with him.

Wow, zero for three! That’s rough, buddy.

Kind of a bummer end to this whole issue, but it was still decently light, tone-wise, for MTMTE. A great deal of fun was had, in between all the mortifying reveals of our characters inner demons.

...Well, shit.

#transformers #jro #mtmte #issue 13 #maccadam #Hannzreads #text post #long post #overthinking about robots #incoming analysis #comic script writing

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twitchesandstitches · 4 years

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Femboy Upgrade for Polypa and Konyyl’s Boys

Commission in the same continuity of hyper muscular musclegut Konyyl and Polypa, featuring Azdaja and Tegiri being transformed into femboys!

Focus on femboy transformations, hyper muscle, size difference, with a sex scene later on. Small references to milkiness and general hugeness throughout.

========

“And, signed!” the small alien said cheerfully, taking a delivery notice from a pair of claws thicker around than his arm. His name, Polypa had learned from some past associations with him, was John Egbert, and his world was a fairly recent addition to the galactic community that the new Alternian regime had started building to repair the damage the Condesce had caused before her defeat.

She supposed he’d been right there for the most momentous of times, and felt a bit jealous. He had met alien revolutionaries crash landed on his planet, traveled with them to exciting worlds, fought on their behalf, and had a front row seat to the fateful duel between the then-Heiress and the corrupt empress they’d fought against, and of course had been there for the beginnings of the new empire… all built on the ideals of the prophet who had foreseen all of this, according to the revelations of the new Empress’ head advisor.

She, on the other hand, had pretty much missed most of that until some of the fighting went to her doorstep. All the time, she’d been on Alternia, living in quiet dread of duty coming for her to leave and never see her quadrantmates again. Her lover Tegiri, most obviously, and though he’d long since shifted into the red quadrant of romantic love, she still harbored some pale feelings there. Who’d take care of him?

And what about her friend/rival, Konyyl, or her quadrantmate, Azdaja? Konyyl had benefited from the same mutations she had, and would have been an attractive prospect for front-line shock troops, but the only thing waiting for a psionic like Azdaja was a one-way trip as a psychic battery until it fried him.

And then, it didn’t matter anymore. When the revolution came and went, and left all those worries as a completely moot point with the dismantling of the old conquest system, she didn’t feel relieved. Just… strangely bewildered.

Keeping these thoughts to herself, Polypa Goezee regarded the small human with a calm affection and a faint smile behind the bandages she wore over most of her face and a lot of her body. A single eye, pure olive-green but for a yellow slit, regarded him. From a lot higher, though; he barely came up to the upraised shin of her digitigrade legs, and while humans were much smaller than trolls, they normally were about twice their size. Among trolls, Polypa was a mutant, and had grown into a true giantess over the years.

Considering the enormous out-slung mass of her belly, though, she could appreciate that he was not in a position to actually notice her trying to smile and put him at ease. For that matter, he probably wouldn’t have been able to look her in the eye even if she didn’t have that belly; her nectar-stuffed boobs (what he might call milk, despite the biological differences) were so big, they’d get in the way. And even with that...

Okay. She was starting to work out that there were some barriers to dealing with aliens, so she had to figure that out eventually. The Empire was all about xenophilia, these days; a bit more literally, for some.

She had many alien neighbors, after the new Empress had opened it up for repopulation after the revolution had left the population severely under-staffed and underpopulated. She’d worked out that her people were far larger than most aliens except maybe some of the Gems (whose hard-light projection bodies could get VERY big), or the robotic Cybertronians, who varied from ‘troll size’ to ‘is that a fucking city’. Her people were huge, by most standards, but she (and her friend, Konyyl) were really goddamn big.

Polypa had rarely seen any troll that was even as high as her waist, but she felt strangely powerful in front of this adorable, tiny alien, and protective; the sight of him made her feel weirdly wobbly and full of squishy feelings that normally only Tegiri had produced on her.

The new regime, weird and surreal as a lot of its policies seemed to be, couldn’t be so bad if it produced guys like him.

As he made a call to bring in the delivery, he studied her; not with an erotic interest or fear, but with a mild interest that made her want to show off and flex her many, magnificent muscles just to boast. Polypa, like many trolls, was mutated to a degree outside the norms of tradilistionalist breeding practices; like many as well, she was not mutated to the point that she couldn’t contribute and so she’d been tolerated. In her case, it had been a common one for her blood caste; a hyperactive metabolism and stomach alteration that converted the food she ate into pure biomass and absorbed it directly.

Her particular version was abnormally efficient; most olives with this mutation wound up very bulky or outright fat, due to complications with the process. For Polypa and Konyyl, who benefited from the same mutation, it had made them grow far exponentially larger after molts than a normal troll did. Their hips grew enormously wide, their incredibly massive and producing much more nectar than normal. And over the years, her stomach had kept growing into a huge mass and a biological wonder, a bundled mass of separate digestive chambers fully capable of melting down trolls and bigger things into just more fuel for her body, so much of her body dedicated to it that her gut had grown larger than the rest of her body, a vaguely spherical mass as long as she was tall, so high its upper regions rose past her eye level.

Her belly was her pride and joy, her clothing designed to show it off, her bandages designed to be thin and reveal as much of her muscles as possible. And her visitor regarded her bulk with fascinated interest; his gaze didn’t linger that much on her rumblespheres (swollen by many meals and several liquid tons of nectar, nearly as massive as her belly and gently parted by its highest point like a pair of whales upset by a much bigger whale rising from beneath it), nor by a butt so big that it rose up to her waist and expanded out by nearly eight feet, her tail curling whiplike around one firm cheek.

For a moment, as he regarded her with some innocent fascination, she was reminded of the curious shifts she’d felt in her insides; deep in her lower abdomen, around some reproductive organs that had been bred into uselessness since the advent of the Mother Grub and the mass production of trolls. She’d felt a heat there, and something growing. A strange process that made her feel hot and flushed, and needy, like she was empty, a factory desperately in need of raw product to fashion something. Oh yes; another facet to her mutation, she supposed, though there weren’t any obvious manifestations of whatever it was.

If there was a definite answer, it certainly wasn’t gonna come from Egbert.

He was chiefly interested in her muscles. Most of her growth, over the years, had gone straight into her muscles, and given that she was approximately 25 feet tall by his people’s measurements, that said a lot. She looked massive; a broad shouldered, broad hipped and broad-limbed beast of a troll woman, broad being a general keyword, but most of her apparently mass was her muscles, grown and transformed so much that they had merged with her fat to create an additional layer of flesh that was surprisingly flexible and under her direct mental control, lumping up in places where her black skin darkened into a chitinous carapace around her back. Those muscles were massive, expanding violently outwards from her body in heavy, bulbous masses of fiber by at least ten feet in most directions. Her biceps alone were bigger than her torso, and every single one was so incredibly defined and veined that they were useful anatomical studies for any enterprising xenobiologist.

Even her stomach was muscled. Abdominals swelled up around it, like plates of armor, enfolded and swelling its mass to even greater extremes. A muscle gut wasn’t terribly uncommon, exactly, but one this big? With the mutated processes conspiring to make it bigger, every day? That was unique to her.

“You guys must work out real good here!” John said brightly as a delivery barge rolled up. Several trolls brought over a heavily sealed crate, moving as if they were afraid to touch it.

Polypa blinked. For a moment, a thick vein pulsed against her bandages in thought, and her massive lips moved beneath the wrappings too as she considered saying something pithy, but it felt dishonest. She scratched behind her long, jagged horns with a single massive hand, bandages winding around them as much as anywhere else on her body. “Um. No, I’m just… a really big girl.”

John nodded as the trolls deposited the crate on the entranceway to the Polypa-sized hive she shared with her best friend, rival and occasional lover Konyyl, and their respective tiny boyfriends, Tegiri and Azdaja.

John nodded, with such graveness it reminded her of Tegiri; she had to smile. He gave her a mock salute. “Okay; sorry if that was rude! Anyway…” He glanced at the order and hesitated, as if going through a mental checklist. “Everything’s signed, everything’s delivered, and we’re good to go! Have a good day, Miss Goezee!”

“Tell the same to the Empress or whoever you’re working for,” Polypa said dryly, as she picked up the crate.

John gasped as the trolls acted as though they were suddenly deaf. “You’re not supposed to just SAY it like that!”

Polypa shrugged. “Hey, they cut a deal with me and Konyyl, and this whole regime is supposed to be about honesty.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s the actual opposite of what governments are for.” John paused, as if to ponder this, and then shrugged. He waved to her one last time, and left with the movers.

Polypa watched him go, still enjoying the memory of the frankly admiring look upon his face. But there would be time for that later; she picked up the crate and took it inside.

Humming softly to herself, she walked past rows and rows of shelves weighed heavy with her various hobbies, and that of her friends; painstakingly painted and assembled model kits, tabletop war game figurines, hand-made paintings and posters of particularly obscure shows. Her body emanated warmth as she passed, rather liked a stoked fire, growing hotter and with signs of actual flame as she got a bit worked up at the thoughts going through her mind.

The craft was brought to a special room, kept cooler than most of the house like a walk-in fridge. They referred to it as the milking room, for some obvious reasons. She stepped into a space large enough for her and Konyyl to use at the same time if necessary, though not comfortably: with the machines they’d adapted from those that milked certain lusii, there wasn’t much space.

She eyed the suction cups dangling from a rack, designed to adjust to her monstrously puffy sap-ducts. Briefly, she longed for the pleasures of feeling her nectar drained… but no, not right now.

She opened the crate, and inside there was another, more tightly sealed box. She opened that up; and inside was a puzzle box of sliding geometric faces. She aligned those faces until they formed a very rude message indeed, and it split… and inside THAT was a tiny treasure chest, with a riddle upon it, and a keypad to input a solution. Polypa snarled.

Roughly two and a half hours passed in this fashion, as she solved the puzzles and got increasingly smaller boxes with even more frustrating puzzles, and by the time she was about ready to march up to the one remaining moon and lodge a complaint, the last box opened up to reveal not another container, but a small canister.

It simply read ‘HYPER FEMME MUTAGENS’. Next to this was a heart, in fuchsia ink. And next to THAT was a small note that said “TH1S’LL T34CH Y4 TO NOT B3 SN34KY W1TH 1MPORT4NT S3CR3TS. N3XT T1M3, DON’T T4LK 4BOUT OUR D34LS 1N PUBL1C, YOU DORK!” it was signed with a Libra sign, and a cute monster face, as if to say that whoever had written that had known damn well, in advance, that Polypa would have talked about those secrets to the delivery boy.

Polypa snarled.

The note exploded in a hail of glitter, for no apparent reason.

After Konyyl floated into the room after getting Polypa’s call that their plan was ready to go, she wasn’t terribly surprised. She’d warned her about a stunt like that. The Empress’ head advisor could be a… well, an absolute troll.

-----

Some time later, Tegiri and Azdaja got the call that today was, at last, the big day, and they shuffled into a side room with a little bit of excitement, and a lot more nervousness. Today was something the girls had been planning for them for a while, after all.

They’d agreed to it, of course. The two boys had worked it out with them. But still, there was a tension in the air.

Azdaja supposed, you never really did know when your future came up, leering at you and urging you onwards.

Still. He swallowed, and stepped into a doorway that looked cavernously huge to him, and when he passed through it, it felt like a grand moment.

Tegiri walked at his side; taller than him, and broader, and not just in the way that a tealblood tended to tower over a goldblood like Azdaja. They were opposites in most respects: Tegiri was broad of shoulders and moved with a surprisingly jerky grace that belied his speed; Azdaja was more than a foot shorter than him, slender and delicate where Tegiri was fit and muscular. Azdaja’s tail was thin and long; Tegiri’s thick and heavily furred; Azdaja’s horns grew in two curving pairs, Tegiri’s horns were broad and hooked. In personality, Tegiri was dour and serious to the point that it felt like he was putting on a performance; Azdaja was jovial, straightforward, and gushed charisma like a fountain. Even their abilities were contrasts; all trolls were psionic, but like most highbloods, Tegiri’s were focused into raw physical power and strength. Azdaja was a powerful telekinetic who would have been facing some serious difficulty had the helmsman battery role not been completely phased out, which made him inclined to look favorably upon the new Empress.

Tegiri was more wary of her strange proclamations and laws, he knew. But they did have one thing in common; their adoration for their incredibly big, beefy girlfriends.

In the room, normally used for careful assembly work or personal workshopping, there was a table that could be used for meals in a pinch. Upon it now was a large jug was set upon a table, olive-green nectar swirling around and quite visible through its transparent exterior, and the boys thought there was a power emanating from it.

One side of this table was the boy’s couch: plush and thickly padded. On the other side was the girl’s couches, looming and skulking with a vague sense of authority much like the girls themselves tended to do, overstuffed with support gel and larger than some vehicles on the open market, and extending from their undersized were wide, scooped dishes. It would seem an odd thing if you weren’t familiar with Polypa or Konyyl’s, body types.

All four of them were assembled there (all five, perhaps, by Polypa’s reckoning; she sometimes regarded her belly as its own entity, a loving but stern ally to be nurtured and fed at every opportunity). Polypa sat as straight as she could, her muscles filling up all available space on and around the couch and overflowing it as well, and besides her was Konyyl, who was built on broadly the same lines as Polypa; she benefited from the same mutations as Polypa, and had grown large like her, muscular like her, and buff like her.

There were some differences. Konyyl was shorter than Konyyl, her head barely coming up to the upper curves of Polypa’s bulbous biceps and her jagged horns at Polypa’s eye level. Her muscles were almost as bulky, and swelled up over her couch as she sprawled back, but they were barely defined at all, and looked softer, more like the classical weightlifter with their muscles concealed in their bulk. This impression was helped by her stomach; smaller overall compared to Polypa’s musclegut, it was a huge and fairly smooth orb, with firmer hints beneath the fat to suggest her powerful abdominational growth.

Her curves were bigger. Konyyl rose up on a massive butt almost as large as her entire body (though not including her gut) and her rumblespheres were somewhere around the same size. So heavy with nectar that their black was tinted a deep and translucent green, her sap-ducts swelling out against her clothes. The impression was of overwhelming plushness, and even her tail was thick, a broad paddle splaying from under her onto the floor as she leaned back.

Now Konyyl waved a hand, and her muscles tensed with energy, and an olive-green glow shined from her muscles.

All trolls were, again, psionic. Polypa and Konyyl’s mutations had bootstrapped them onto some level of power previously limited to only the previous Empress, fusing their psionics to their bodies and making their muscles both a source, a battery, AND a channel for their potent energies, and they had different talents for it. Polypa made fire, and was immune to her own flames. Konyyl was a telekinetic, far stronger than her own matesprite, and now she projected a wave of mental force that pushed the keg closer to the boys so they could see it clearly.

Azdaja peered at it as it came to a stop. “This is it?” he said, intrigued and trying to play it off, but Polypa heard the fascination in his voice.

“Yep,” said Polypa, leaning back, her swollen forearms bracing her rumblespheres upwards. “The mutagens harvested from the biggest and most curvy trolls in the empire. Some from the new Empress herself and that big advisor of hers.”

Tegiri swallowed nervously. “You don’t say?” he said, perhaps imagining a familiar sight to anyone who watched news stories: a massive tealblood almost as impossibly massive as Konyyl, her enormously curvaceous body an unforgettable sight, and her dragon-like form exuding a predatory intensity matched only by the odd sense of malice everyone got from the broken crystal ball she wore in cleavage that could have housed a lot of Polypa.

That troll was something of a sexual idol to many, Polypa mused, and if something was from her to put essence of feminizing into this concoction, as requested, the results ought to be impressive. “And a bit from the two of us,” Konyyl said smugly. “But not too much. We’re not looking to turn you two into duplicates of us.”

Polypa nodded, leaning forwards, her one visible eyes staring plainly down at them. “Just like we discussed. The whole thing is here; all you gotta do is drink it.”

Tegiri and Azdaja looked silently about the jug, which wasn’t very large, but then it didn’t need to be. It was big enough to supply a cupful for the both of them, and that was all that was required.

“If you want to,” Polypa said, as if to be sure.

Konyyl shrugged her shoulders, and psychically wrenched the top off the jug. “Do iii~iiiit,” she said, sing-song, teasingly, but not seriously. “Do it, ya wimps!”

Polypa scoffed at her. “You guys don’t have to do this,” she said. “If you don’t want to…?” A question hung there.

Azdaja glanced at Tegiri, and a dozen conversations replied between the two of them, in the spaces of their head. They’d had this talk, before. A lot. With each other, with the girls, with themselves.

It was a gift. An upgrade, Polypa had put it before. To make them stronger, to survive the girl’s full sexual ferocity and strength. And to fully bring out the parts of themselves they most secretly loved to be.

But that kind of change could be frightening.

Azdaja looked at Konyyl, staring her in the eyes. Her gaze softened, his eyes staring up into hers, and after a moment, he glanced back to Tegiri, who had been staring soulfully at Polypa. “It’s a big decision,” Polypa said. “I don’t want you to do this if you don’t actually want to.”

“I know,” Tegiri said firmly, and he smiled as genuinely as he could.

The two girls breathed a sigh of relief, as the mood changed. Ultimately, the boys wanted nothing more than to please them, and this was simply the ultimate extension of that.

Tegiri glanced at Azdaja. “Do it.”

In a single, smooth motion, Azdaja’s eyes glowed and an energy in the same colors blossomed around his hand. He waved dramatically at the jug and the precious contents rose up; a mass of green nectar-milk, straight from Polypa and Konyyl’s rumblespheres, augmented by the specially treated mutagens so recently delivered to them. The stream split into two cups, in front of the two boys.

Azdaja took his cup and raised it up, abruptly getting the idea for a toast. “To you girls,” he said brightly. “You’re everything I want.”

Tegiri toasted them as well. “And to what we will become. May we become everything you want.”

As one, they both drank their cups full in a single slurping gulp.

They blinked slowly, loud gurgling sounds coming from their stomachs, and they waited. For a few minutes, nothing much seemed to be happening, as the relevant processes were firing off at a much deeper level for them to really be aware of it.

Around the time where the relevant adjustments to their digestive tracts, reproductive organs and some brain chemistry had finished, Tegiri spoke up. “Are you sure you put the mutagens in-”

He stopped, interrupted by a sudden surge of psionics from within, and the noise he made was notably more high-pitched than usual.

That last noise was more of a squeak, as his lips abruptly swelled up so much it silenced him.

And then, the next thirty minutes got very interesting for both the boys!

----

It was several weeks before anyone saw anything of Azdaja or Tegiri.

Polypa and Konyyl, yes. They were a familiar sight around the neighborhood, and this did not change much. They came out more often than usual during those two weeks; ordering groceries, having brief discussions with mutation specialists who were hanging around in the area for reasons unknown to the general neighborhood, and talking measurements with a local tailor, and asking for some very specific outfits.

They spent most of the time at home, helping their quadrantmates through their new change. And helping them with newer, and far more ferocious sex drives. It was a good thing their walls were reinforced to muffle sound or the neighbors would have noticed something by then.

A day came when it was time to pick up their ordered clothing and Polypa and Konyyl decided to show them to the world, and unexpectedly, the boys had some ideas on showing themselves off as personally as possible.

Now, as they strode onwards, the boy’s covered up in fashionable grey cloaks, people glanced by as they went.

The streets of Thrashthrust had changed since the youths of the transformed quartet, and among other things, there were other beings than trolls and lusii that walked its streets. Or flew, or swam in the canals, as appropriate.

The architecture was modified to suit them. Most buildings had doorways of the right size for humans, who were generally around half the size of trolls; a few were much larger, for the sake of particularly large aliens. The general architectural styles had not changed much, since the immense strength of some trolls demanded buildings that could withstand the sort of power they had as a standardized requirement; even the Condesce had accepted that. It translated easily into structures that could deal with the strength of beings much larger than trolls. Even the streets and room designs of hives had been adjusted to accommodate beings that could vary a lot from trolls.

This kind of redesign had been necessary. The shining forms of thinking Gemstones walking in humanoid hard light bodies, gigantic machines that thought and felt, quadrupeds loping about in comfort, and blue-skinned curvy aliens lived in a city that accommodated them, and when the revolution had come it, it had not been a quiet one. The old city had not survived the process and so the new Empress (or, perhaps, the shadowy forces behind her) had built a new one to fit the people that now lived in peace within the Empire.

Certainly, it was a lot more adjusted to women as large as Polypa and Konyyl (who were within the size range of some of their bigger alien neighbors; mostly Gems and the bigger Cybertronians). Their boys, having some trouble adjusting to their new forms, moved before them as they made their way to a clothing store to suit their new bodies. Their cloaks didn’t do much to actually obscure their identities, but did offer a vague degree of modesty.

This was important; much as the girls had such massive bellies, the boys had grown some out-slung masses, and those cloaks did a decent job of concealing bulges and shame-globes grown so obscenely massive that they extended right out of their bodies, where trolls normally kept them concealed until they were put into use.

And, in their wake, they left behind the shocked, the startled, the astonished and the openly lusty. Trolls, humans, and beings from distant stars, all creatures that could be reasonably expected to have absolutely nothing in common when it came to sexual desires, nonetheless watched the boys go, their various visual organs wide as they followed the pendous rippling of newly enlarged butts.

They were fixated on the stride of legs now ideally suited for sensual swaggers, every muscle fiber dedicated to synchronizing with widened hips to walk and jiggle just right, so that all the world saw them in motion, and could do nothing but watch. The swish of manes far, far longer than usual for those boys, and their heart analogues beast faster to see the boys glance back.

And at the side of huge, soft lips that looked ideal for sucking, for kissing, for pleasuring, various reproductive organs worked to painfully intense function, at the mere glimmer of light playing on their supple flesh.

The trail expanded, and there became a crowd around Konyyl and Polypa’s favorite clothing store; not moving or following, but frozen in place, transfixed by the new beauties being firmly steered by the big-bellied amazon olives, and even after they went into the store, for nearly 30 minutes people were still hanging around, hoping to get a glimpse of them.

People were asking, who WAS that? Who were those boys? Did those buff women get new boyfriends?

And one person worked out what had actually happened with commendable speed. She sat up at the small table she’d been enjoying lunch alongside a friend, and as she watched the two gorgeous male trolls stroll by under the watchful eyes of their mates, it clicked for her.

She didn’t know them particularly well; they were just neighbors, but anyone around Polypa or Konyyl wound up sticking in your mind. She knew them. And however modified, however beautified, she knew the faces that glanced her way with an endearing touch of shyness.

“Was that…” she glanced aside, perhaps for confirmation. “Was that who I thought it was?!”

“Who was?” Said an alien friend of hers; a mass of curvaceous hard light, and at her chest was a large garnet. She was one of the Gem people, her true self being that gemstone nestled between her massive breasts.

The human woman pointed at a towering building, a sign atop it indicating that it was ‘GALGOR’S WHATEVER THE HECK APPAREL AND I DONT GIVE A DAMN ACCESSORIES’. Various mannequins in the windows, of increasingly improbable forms, indicated that it offered outfits for every body type, and the proprietor really meant every body type possible. Inside, through the windows, you could just barely glimpse someone coming out.

“Azdaja and Tegiri!” she said.

Strolling out from the store were four trolls; carrying up the rear were Polypa and Konyyl, whose huge sizes meant that they were a crowd all on their own, their huge bellies alone filling up so much space that they could plow their way through a crowd without fear of ever being surrounded; people backed away in the certain knowledge that they were fine with knocking people around with those guts. Standing in front of them were Azdaja and Tegiri, and now their neighbors stared, mouths open in surprise..

“Come take a look at my boy!” Konyyl said proudly, gesturing at the goldblooded psionic now floating around her like a fairy from troll myth and legend, a psionic glow curling around him as he levitated with an ease suggesting some truly terrifying power. It took even the neighbors who knew the power quartet well a moment to recognize Azdaja, as he slowly revolved in the air, an monstrously huge butt distorting his orbit. Then his face came into view, and even with his skimpy clothing, his changed hair, and his radically different body, his face was not so different. The muzzle structure was a bit different, any hard edges or straight lines smoothed out even more than they were before, and dominated by a massive pair of lips pulsating in his psionic colors, but nonetheless, it was Azdaja, and greatly changed.

He moved like a troll who had burst out of a particularly painful molt and was reveling in the feel of a body that felt perfect for him, his legs primly pressed together. Admittedly, walking was probably a bit of a problem at the moment; the formerly slim troll’s mass had compacted so that he was downright frail, except for his hips. They were massive, swelling out ot a prodigious swell of squashy chitin and barely-there muscles, all around perfectly curved fat, flaring out of a waist barely a foot across, so incredibly thin that it looked like a severe structure weakness; his enormous hips swelled out as wide as he was tall, almost violently in the contrast.

His torso was slim, covered only in a short and glitzy jacket too small to be of practical use. His shoulders and chest, and torso in general, looked much smoother than it used to be, psionic channels glowing across him in vibrant patterns, particularly around his chest. His areola had swelled, so puffy and thick now that they were nearly as large as the breasts of some aliens, and his nipples extended out nearly as long as his forearm, stiffened by the attention he was being given. Just as his psionics, one was colored blue, the other teal, glowing softly.

A long and slender tail curled around nearly three times his height and looping around him in a living ribbon, swirled and kept him balanced in the air. From the twitching of his legs in the air, it was obvious that he had no idea how to walk properly with his new body; those hips must have come with a complete shift to his center of balance, and his legs looked poorly suited to it. Below the knee joint, they dwindled to nearly stick-thin lengths, digitigrade heels and nubby climbing claws curled around one another. His butt, clad mostly in spangly shorts that covered about as much as a thong, was almost as big as he was, rising up to his shoulders nadi ts lower slopes dipping nearly to his foot-joints, and where it actually joined his body, fused with his thighs.

The crowd watched, fascinated, as Konyyl lovingly stroked him, running her claws through silky mane that fell past his knees in sheets of gold-tinted black, kissed his astonishingly gorgeous face, and as their tails intertwined, she gave his gigantic ass a healthy smack, again and again. “Look at this soft bastard!” She yelled happily, sinking her claws into it. “Damn thing almost eats up my entire hand!” Azdaja moaned, thighs broader than his far slimmer upper body squeezing together.

And at this, a monstrously huge genital length extended outwards from his crotch, a strange echo of Konyyl’s massive gut; somehow his shorts managed to contain it, but everything was outlined; multiple enormous shafts as thick around as his entire body, glittering fabric tight around ribbed ridges, and below, a quartet of enormous and squashy shame-globes jiggling out of his body, thick and descending down to the ground, each one at least eight feet around, and they somehow swelled bigger as Konyyl stroked him, digging her claws in with enough pressure to leave marks but not enough to actually hurt him.

And for the other pair, Polypa was inviting the crowd to take a more hands-on approach. “They got cute recently, and now they really want to show themselves off,” She said, supporting Tegiri on one muscular forearm like a tiny wriggler in its lusus’ claw. Tegiri squeaked shyly, but with a strange lusty hunger, adjusting his body so the crowd could better see his new body, and he was built on roughly the same lines as Azdaja; his enormous butt spilled onto Polypa'’s arm and even pushed against it, his micro shorts defining hips no thinner than Azdaja’s door-wrecking pair. An absurdly long tail curled around her arm, covered in the same sort of hair as that spilling down his head in a dense, poofy mass.

As Konyyl held Azdaja in front of the crowd, inviting them to see come close and examine how his chitin had merged with flesh for a supplet and squeezable coat, and even lifted up his mini-vest and tube top to demonstrate, Polypa caught the of the human who’d spotted them in the first place. “You,” she said heavily. “Come here, please.”

The human stepped numbly forward, aware of all the eyes upon her, Azdaja giving her an intrigued look, and Tegiri studying her. As she approached, she noticed a sudden smell she hadn’t. It was a nice smell, and not particularly strong. It was pervasive though, and it must have been coating the area around them for some time. Pheromones, she supposed, as she felt a heat rise in her loins, and a dryness in her mouth. She smacked her lips numbly, and felt an urge to rock her hips forward as she took in more of the beautiful feminine boys.

Tegiri’s bulge looked… inviting. Especially as it got closer when Polypa placed him down.

Tegiri squeaked as his massive shame globes touched the ground; he only had the one pair, but they were as big as all four of Azdaja’s shame-globes, combined. There was a surprising sloshing sound, not unlike that coming from Polypa’s own rumblespheres, and as his full weight settled against his shame globes, Tegiri moaned with something that was almost pained, but aroused as well; the hint of distress made the human want to rush in and kiss him better until he smiled, but she also wanted a lot of other particularly lewd things.

She was blushing, she was sweating; he was just so… sexy.

“Come on,” Polypa said. “Give him a touch. Feel for yourself. He likes it.” Tegiri nodded at her, with a hint of impatience and a thrust of his hips that spoke to a ravenous need. The human stepped forward, timidly, and in response to an unspoken primal need that was doing unfortunate things to her underwear, extended her hand out. Normally she’d never consider such a thing, but Alternia had an.. open approach.

Even against his shorts, his shame globes swelled out hugely, and when her hand pressed against one, it sank in. She gasped; the round mass almost sucked her hand in, cool flesh pressing around her fingers and wrist, kneading tightly and shit that felt good, and her thighs relaxed in unconscious readiness. She felt liquid in there; no real solidity, just soft flesh and reservoirs underneath, and it swelled against her, pumping up.

His bulge extended. He only had the one, but it was apparently very dextrous and a little bigger than the sum total of all of Azdaja’s bulges, a prehensile and dextrous organ with a number of soft spikes rising beneath the fabric, faster and faster as she had drawn closer. Faint teal patterns glowed faintly, bioluminescent designs drawing the eye to its gentle width.

Without thinking about it, she placed a hand against what was presumably the tip. It felt cold, bracingly, and it felt good, even as her hand unexpectedly sank in, and the flesh curled attentively around her fingers.

“Ah…” Tegiri moaned, almost going cross-eyed. The girl pulled her arm back with a loud sucking noise as the bulge extended out even more, as if longing for her touch. He whined again, louder and in a very real pain, and he gave her a reproachful look. “Don’t tease, miss.” He humped back and forth on shame globes big and soft enough to actually support him, wincing and sloshing noisily, his butt wobbling archly. “It’s very - ah! - rude!” The girl blushed and disappeared into the crowd meekly.

Her gem friend watched with strange, stirring feelings as other boys, girls and neutral beings gathered to cautiously examine Tegiri with their hands, or to gaze upon Konyyl demonstrating the marvelous pliability of Azdaja’s body with smacks, kisses and the occasional pinch. They crowded around; fingers, palms, metal digits and more diverse limbs pressed against Tegiri’s fat lips, ran through his soft hair as he rumbled his pleasure. Succumbing to the erotic pressure he exuded, they moaned in soft delight as they pressed themselves against his butt, or felt at the tension of his belt against his waist, or stared in shock at just how little his calves looked compared to his bulky thighs. Others pressed against his huge bulge, trembling at its sheer bigness and magnetizing weight, feeling up its arousal spines and examining his cum-stuffed shame globes.

The gem felt passions she’d have thought alien curl around inside her, subtly modifying her projection in response to desires that were suddenly getting a lot more potent; she’d never seen the… attraction in the masculine form before, but now she was really wanting to explore some boy’s bodies with her own caresses. Some part of her that had a xenological interest thought about how unusual these mutations were, and louder parts demanded that she touch them, RIGHT NOW.

She joined the group; ogling the now more tender strokes of Konyyl’s claws exploring Azdaja’s multiple lengths and working him up with the skill of someone who knew damn well how to get him horny before his sensitivity got ramped up ten-fold. She dallied at that for a time, eyes fixed on every wobbling ripple of his soft butt, appraising the narrowness of his shoulder and how his hips comprised almost most of his mass (including his genitals and butt, of course). She studied, for a time, Tegiri’s needy begging for the indulgences of the crowd to touch him, and it was surprisingly not entirely sexual. He craved touch; on his jaw, against his stomach, slow and dragging caresses against his shoulders. Even his hair was sensitive, and in soft, urgent whispers, he pleaded for it to be touched. She complied, as did half a dozen others. It would have been cruel not to.

And so it went on like this for some time. The others were not yet accustomed enough to Azdaja and Tegiri’s gently shifting personalities to really notice their need ramping up, how their words were getting slower against the lustful desires and scenarios taking up most of their brainpower, or how as they got more and more aroused, their fecund shame globes were pumping out mega-liters of gene material and expanding their shame globes, and their bulges kept getting bigger, heavier and the urge to shoe it into someone was so overpowering they were losing the ability to speak, at all.

Konyyl noticed it, though, as Azdaja’s flowery speech and bragging slowed down into needful whines. Polypa saw it, as Tegiri’s more terse speech withered away entirely until he was squeaking miserably. The others were too enraptured to see what they did, but they knew their boys so well.

And now their boys needed them, and Konyyl and Polypa had spent so much time showing off their boy’s new bodies that they were positively drenched in lust too.

The two women exchanged a look and as Konyyl’s route passed close by, a word. Polypa stood up, picking up Tegiri and propping up his painfully stiff bulge with her other arm. The people below her cried pitifully, one or two still clinging to his body for a few moments. She shook them off. “Sorry, folks. Our boys are done for the day; it’s been a very tiring day for them, after their little molting today.”

“They don’t look tired,” a Cybertronian mini-bot in the crowd said, with a hint of defiance.

Konyyl gave her a look and a growl that sent her scurrying away. “Don’t you dare try to pressure my Azdaja!” He clung to her, and even as his bulge sank against her cleavage, he had an insufferably smug look.

Tegiri clung to Polypa and started impulsively thrusting against her shockingly warm body, a consequence of her own fire-theme abilities. She flexed a muscle to be big enough to obscure him, and as her muscles swelled up, he vanished from sight. People sighed in disappointment, as the four left.

All in all, Konyyl and Polypa supposed, it was a good demonstration of how good their boys had gotten. Azdaja and Tegiri weren’t in much of a position to think clearly and give their own thoughts on the matter, but probably would say the same later.

---------

The two girls, nearly blinded with their own lusts and doing their best to soothe the boys without them busting their load on the spot and wasting precious genetic material, searched for a place to offer them just enough privacy to satiate their boys without being caught or interrupted.

But it became clear, fairly quickly, that with their physical requirements, they’d have to make such a shelter.

Konyyl located an alley off the turn of the street, and urged them in; Polypa followed her in, and the two of them put Azdaja and Tegiri down as gently as possibly, trying not to brush them against their own bodies. That could be enough to make them… lose it.

“You boys hold tight,” Polypa told them as Konyyl surveyed the area. “Konyyl’s just gonna… give us some privacy.” They whimpered in some vague approximation of understanding. Impulsively, she kissed Tegiri on the cheek, and he calmed down, even as it made his arousal worse. Life was complicated being her boytoy.

Konyyl’s muscles swelled as they generated and directed her psionic powers, and the alleyway reshaped itself to her whim. Abandoned buggies flew up around her as dust fountained up on the wave of her telekinesis. Fences ripped themselves out of the ground bits of buildings that weren’t being used for anything were torn away and anything big enough that was in the area was pulled up, and then finally slammed down at both ends of the alleyway, and then above them. “Privacy!” She said, in a faint paint. “Got some… damn privacy!”

Polypa turned towards the boys, a smug smile on her face that underlined something that was almost feral in her. Heat pulsed from her in response to her own psionic powers generating a massive ton of heat, embers flickering around her. She reached out for them, and remembered that Tegiri was her’s, specifically, and focused on him as Konyyl advanced first on Tegiri, remembered herself, and focused on Azdaja. For a moment it felt like things were blurring together, that one was not the other, and it was a true romantic quartet.

An odd thing, to feel as abruptly natural as it did. Polypa let the thought flow on by, and Azdaja’s empowered abilities painted the dark so brightly it was like having lamp posts in there. Both girls loomed over their boys, letting their own tension built.

Need swelled the boy’s bulges even bigger, their glowing bodies getting almost painfully bright now; both sets of bulges were longer than the boys were tall now, at least twelve feet for both and growing, and growing faster as the girls approached, the muscular bows of their thighs just barely touching tips that were, amazingly, still clothed.

Both pairs, femboy troll and hyper muscular amazon troll, quivered in anticipation, in delight, and in absolute, mind-melting need.

Konyyl moved first. She was upon him in a flash, but careful to not mash her stomach into him, and Polypa half-expected her to simply shred Azdaja’s clothes off, given her earlier ways of showing him off. Instead, she stripped away his short jacket with a tender mindfulness, and at the same time, her telekinesis undid his shorts, pulling the tight fabric and complicated support garments away so that his equipment fell freely. He squealed at the sudden rush of cold air, his bulges stiffening painfully, and her telekinesis did not half that at all. In say way, her psychic grip was still her grip, and he responded to it as much as he would her hands or the rest of her body; he moaned, softly, pleadingly, but with a hint of challenge.

As the rest of his clothes were taken away, leaving him nude, Polypa did the same, and she had to do it very delicately. As much as her mutation gave her special fibers that let her flex her muscles for some unusual gripping strength across the whole of her body, it didn’t make her any good at actual telekinesis. But she was a lot better at delicate movements that her bulk suggested. Long hours of careful kit assembly, painting, and bucket-filling with a far smaller and frailer troll had made her very skilled at being careful. His clothes came away easily under her claws, her lowered gut twitching in such a way that her big abs could actually clip things off and peel them away. Her muscles did the same to her own clothes; a sports bra, her shorts and her bandages rained down around her, and in the soft glow he produced, the burns streaking across her body looked softened, dulled and blending into the rest of her; in the right light, you couldn’t see them at all.

As Polypa took a couple ponderous steps back, thus, it was with all his clothes, leaving him completely naked; his body a smooth black dappled with the teal of his caste, his glasses still on, his hair falling down around his delicate body, and it all supported on his massive butt as he lay portraste on his back. His bulge towered up towards her, like a worshiper raised up before their goddess, and all his being concentrated into the sensations and awareness of that marvelously sensitive organ.

Konyyl stripped herself, her clothes coming off with a faint sucking sound that suggested both their tightness and the various fluids their milkiness and arousal had a tendency to produce. She lowered herself onto her boy and got to work, psychically pulling him onto her belly; she made a noise as his butt slid against her sensitive belly, half giggle and half pleased gurgle, and his butt was no less sensitive. Azdaja growled loudly, with a pleased edge, his tail curling against her belly and digging in, sliding against the places he knew that she loved.

He back arched up, her rumblespheres rising high, hair and horns arching upwards. “Ahh yeeeah,” she murmured, voice so low it was almost growling. “That’s my boy…” Her rumblespheres came down low, engulfing even his massive bulge.

It said something about how big and huge their bulges were, Polypa mused as she started working up Tegiri, that they couldn’t be hidden in their bodies anymore. She trailed her claws in curling patterns around his hips, seeking out the little sensitive borders between true chitin and his more tender flesh that few others could even see now. He rewarded her diligence with approving, loving moans, and he tried to sit up, perhaps to return the favor somehow. She pushed him back with a swell of a forearm muscle, cooing gently at him. “Nah, nah,” she said, and blew kisses at him that echoed in this space. “You let me handle this bit; your turn comes soon.”

He nodded meekly.

Polypa’s inquistive claws slide close to the base of his bulge, the beginning of the progenerative mass of his shame globes, and there was an interesting change there. Most trolls had a tentanook; a flexible bulge that was mainly used in the sex act, concealed within a larger nook. It differed from troll to troll, but that was the general rule. But these boys were different; there was no hint of the feminine lips of a nook at all now; her claws found only deliciously soft flesh rising in ridges around the bulge, and enormously sensitive too, each slight brush making him twist and moan in pleasure. It made her thighs loosen, her own nook pump up and her bulge slide out and dripping gene slime.

She felt her own bulge… part. She had her own genital mutations, of course.

She worked this area there, slowly eliciting little gasps and moans with careful strokes, warming up both him and herself, stoking the heat of lust and getting her own body warmed up just right. Beside her, Konyyl was doing much the same thing, her massive rumblespheres folding around his mass of bulges and swallowing up even those monsters. He slipped into her belly, gasping and panting half-challenging demands in wordless grunts, stringing them out as she flexed her rumblespheres, around and mashing against his bulges.

Azdaja’s head rolled back as pleasure over took him, his awareness of the world dimininshing into a sea of olive perfection; his bulges swimming in a sea of squishy fat, impossibly erotic flesh massassing his every sexual inch, and tons of sweet liquid swimming around it all, droplets of nectar being forced out and raining on him; he drank it up in a haze, seemingly lost to everything but his most basic instant of pleasing her and teasing her at the same time. Polypa groaned in soft delight, her mutated rumblespheres a massive erogenous zone, her breathing growing fast and heavy, a long tongue hanging over her bulging lips.

Polypa, unwilling to let herself be beaten to the punch, lowered herself over Tegiri, her lips parting and then her mouth opening wide. Her lower jaws split apart like the mandibles they were, a thin film connecting both parts, and the inside of her newly revealed maw a slippery, wet mass every bit the equal of her nook, complete with throat muscles of astonishing control.

Once, that particular modification had been useful in her occasional devouring of other trolls and threatening aliens; throat muscles she could flex as well as the rest of her body to gulp them down and force them down no matter how they struggled, and a mouth capable of swallowing anything up to her size. Over the past few weeks, she’d seen some more recreational uses for it too.

Her parted mouth dived down onto Tegiri’s bulge. She slid down it, slow and careful, her warm tongue almost a flame against his far cooler body. He squealed at her first touch, and in her impatience to take all of him at once; she swallowed his entire bulge in a single gulp, and he actually yelled out loud in a delighted squeal of overwhelmed pleasure, made wordless; it was too much sensation for him to think at all, that part of his brain shutting off entirely in the moment.

Her throat muscles squeezed tight, pressure strong against his bulge, every inch swimming in saliva normally meant to slide hapless prey and other meals straight down into her gut with no hope of escape. Some awareness of this had to get through to Tegiri, a measure of excitement at coming close to a fate he had absolutely no power to avoid. He was in her grasp more literally than normal, and his big hips rocked, his cries increasingly more urgent as he humped at her throat.

She cooed through the mass filled her up, and withdrew and forced down again, in a smooth motion she was starting to refine; her lips slid down a slick path of saliva mingled with the troll equivalent of pre-cum, bright streaks of teal visible in her olive saliva. Her huge lips pressed tightly every second in hungry kisses, and up she went, and down she went, fellating him ferociously and without any mercy.

And yet, at the same time, it was a curiously gentle thing, her hands descending to his hips to pull his legs against her belly, her ab muscles flexing lovingly against his inner thighs, as if longing to stroke every inch of him that she could. Both loving, and domineering; that was her relationship with him in many ways now.

For a long time, perhaps several minutes (long, by the standards of stamina she’d learned from him by now) he humped into her throat, and she pleasured him in this way, taste receptors in her throat marveling at the multitude of flavors his bulge possessed, her throat muscles squeezing tight around spines meant specifically to pleasure nooks. And her throat was built very much the same as a nook now, and certainly in sensitivity. Pressure mounted, in Tegiri, and a thunderous churning in his shame globes as at least some threshold was reached.

And the taste flooded down her throat, bright and cool and addictively delicious, as his bulge contracted and pulsed and let loose a stream straight down. Not his only one, of course, they’d learned the boys had some truly ridiculous reserves. Even so, she felt well and truly warmed up, and she pulled up, looming into the sky and swallowing about a hundred gallon’s worth of genetic material.

It pooled in her stomach, mutated to have nutritional value, and exactly the right kinds of tastes and flavors she craved; if she could consume nothing else in all her life, as Tegiri seemed to be doing with her nectar, she could subsist on him and him alone. She swallowed again, her throat working on its own as if furiously desperate to gulp down as much of it as she could, and Tegiri’s bulge remained stiff as she moved up. “Okay, she said, sliding herself on top of him. “Now it’s your turn to handle me.”

Beside her, she heard a faint series of noises that sounded like liquid hitting a wall. Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted Konyyl lowering Azdaja with delicacy, some of his bulges still clinging against her rumblespheres. Nectar polled down her, her entire front and a lot of Azdaja too, and even more of it was streaked onto the floor below; enough to fill a large tub. Not from an orgasm, Polypa suspected, but the sheer force of Azdaja’s ejaculations. This theory was pretty likely, from the yellow-hued genetic material dripping deeply against her rumblespheres. She covered him with aggressive kisses as she lowered him down to between her legs, her nook so swollen it was a pulsing mass of sexual flesh, her bulge tip slowly pushing out, and the ground beneath her oozed from the olive fluids gushing from her nook..

The ground beneath Polypa was no less slippery. The need pulsed hot than the flames that were slowly rising from her body now, and she lowered herself onto him, with a trembling thrill inside her nook as her bulge mashed against his.

Before, this would have required so much delicacy; he’d been weaker, then, though he was exactly the same size. But he was stronger; even with her full weight pressing into her, Polypa felt his body as a firm and steady platform for their pleasure, solid as a rock despite his softness, and through careful experimentation, they’d learned something they had hoped they’d get:

Their new bodies could absorb the kinetic energy of even their most powerful thrusts or the impact they constantly put out. The girls couldn’t hurt them now, as they’d been so worried about in the past.

And now, Tegiri didn’t even flinch or gasp in pain as Konyyl settled her full weight upon him, her fat larger body eclipsing him. Her greedy nook swallowed up his bulge, as huge as it was, and the only sign of it was a happy distending in her body, and her nook apparently doing its best to try to swallow up his hips as well.

Her mammoth thighs gathered him up, holding him closely and her thigh muscles completely cocooning up as he thrusted into her, and she let him at it. She waited, studied, kept the desperate lust at bay just long enough to feel for his rhythm, to burn it into her unconscious mind.

Ah, she thought with a little smile as her head tilted up. There we go.

She thrust back, with such force that outside windows shattered. Glassy micro-organism cultures fell out of their frames and slithered around on the streets. Doorways blasted out of their frames as Polypa (and now, Konyyl, finding the rhythm of her Azdaja more efficiently if not as completely as Polypa had) thrust into him, riding on the wave of his own motions to redouble it right back.

Back and forth, two together, mingling such sweet forces together that all other sensitive diminished.

There was, for the moment, nothing in the world but the awareness of the other.

One, a massive body engulfing a smaller one, squeezing around him with a delicate and ravenous force; a marriage of things that ought to belong nowhere near each other but complemented each other so well. The other, a thing so small it seemed to have no business filling her up so well, thrusting and riding her like he was born to it, that there was absolutely nothing to existence besides pleasing her, drawing out every little gasp and satisfied moan, and the sounds of those noises were accomplishments, driving him on to do it again. Harder. Faster. Heavier, with far more enthusiasm and ferocity you’d expect of their newly passive natures.

Perhaps they were no less fierce now. They just saved it all for satisfying their amazons.

Polypa’s bulge was one of those that could blossom, the tip opening up like a flower in full bloom, its internals acting as an auxiliary nook. Tegiri’s questing bulge, driven to fill up as much of her as he possibly could, kept pushing in more and more, twitching wildly as each of Polypa’s internal clamping drove it onwards, and at least it dove into her bulge, and was greedily pushed in, her body wanting as much of him as it could possibly get.

The quartet were very different, but on this, their respective pairs were nonetheless of the same bent, now as they accelerated faster and faster to their peaks:

And as she thrusted, intent on absolutely emptying his shame globes and leaving him spent and happy and pleased-

And as he pushed into her, the only thing he could think of satisfying her more and more, his muscular goddess, the looming authority to which he’d dedicated all his life-

They hit that peak.

Separately of one another, both Azdaja and Tegiri cried out with a wild sound that was nearly feral in its honesty, stripped of all complexity. Their hips pumped wildly and their shame globes contracted with such speed that it made a strange noise. Their bulges swelled, distended the girl’s bodies by a small but shockingly notable measurement-

And in single jets, they came inside them, spraying out a massive payload right into the girls. Absurdly virile genetic material, laden with mutagenically-amplified agents and a measure of psionic substances, filled them up. At least twenty thousand gallons of genetic material flooded into them, and their bellies actually swelled slightly larger as it pooled in.

Not a single drop of it escaped their bodies. Special biological mechanisms locked it all in, absorbent tissues sucking it up or muscular action pushing it upwards, towards internal chambers unknown in modern trolls, where millions of eggs were being produced every second in waiting of being fertilized.

The gene-flood came, and the eggs swelled as they sucked up every single droplet. Instantly fertilized. The significance of this was lost to the troll girls, who had been having sex for weeks without this particular mutation of the boys kicking in until now. They felt a deep sense of sudden satisfaction unrelated to the orgasms twisting in them, pulsating and rising up until they tilted their heads back and roared their satisfied delights, pleasure rising up and peaking so hard it felt like blacking out. They squeezed the bulges against in their pleasure, triggering another sudden jet of gene material, and even more eggs were fertilized in the process. From Polypa in particular, her whole body lit up, flames blasting around her and her scars glowing like illuminating brands, and in that moment she was an inferno, blazing bright and knowing nothing but the heat, but the fire.

The boys flopped into their girl’s muscles as the latter drew back, panting in a curious warm feeling they couldn’t quite pin down. They just felt… satisfied, as if some biological compulsion or itch had finally been scratched. Both pairs settled back, panting and letting their depleted stamina recharge.

It was a nice feeling, laying there. Fluids pooled around them, they were covered in each other’s sexual liquids, the smell of one another. All the same, it was a restful thing, a peaceful thing, a small moment of something almost divine.

And then, soon enough, Polypa sat back up, gazing down into teal eyes that looked far more alert. She wiggled her thigh as Konyyl also stirred, and Polypa brushed one of Tegiri’s shame globes. IT still felt full of genetic material, though a bit less than before.

Nonetheless. “I want more,” she said, voice rumbling with a need that had barely diminished at all.

Tegiri smiled brightly, and the look of his eyes was more than a little unhinged with the same kind of desire. “Yes, ma’am,’ he said, voice husky.

And all four of them went right back to it, obliviously wrecking more of the neighborhood without realizing it, lost in one another. Azdaja and Konyyl didn’t even say a word, and didn’t need to.

The clean up after they finished and vanished was a bit of a nuisance and gave a lot of people woozy feelings of arousal, but that wasn’t their problem by that point.

-----

On its own, that would have been the whole thing, and all of the thing. A newly mutated pair shown off to an envious world, and their quadrantmates slaking their lust in sudden love in an alleyway.

Normally, that would have been enough.

But there were aspects to Konyyl and Polypa’s mutations that had a lot more importance than they thought.

Some time later, after discussions and a few off-hand comments that meant something very different to the white-haired scientist human who seemed to have a close relationship with the new Empress (And had apparently masterminded this whole exchange), there’d been emergency visits. X-rays, physical examinations. There were charts and technical explanations that neither troll woman really understood.

Finally, the scientist got to the point.

Polypa stared blankly at her. “What the hell is ‘pregnant’?”

The buxom scientist, Ms Lalonde, thought of a way to explain it. “Well, you know that Mother Grub thing you have?”

Konyyl and Polypa nodded.

Lalonde explained, gesturing so emphatically that her massive bust bounced with nearly as much exuberance as herself.

Finally Konyl said, “So… we’re like the Mother Grub now?”

“We have… trolls growing in us now?”

Lalonde nodded. “I think your mutation triggered some kind of atavism; you trolls used to be like that, until the Mother Grub bred it out of your people. I guess this woke that up, so you can be impregnated. And your boy’s own mutations reacted well with that. Really, really well.”

Polypa contemplated this, monumental a moment and a complete game changer as it would one day before the entire troll species in an age when the government could not exert any real control over troll population dynamics, and she spoke her judgement in a way that would probably not make it to the history books:

“Huh. Neat.”

#/#//#///#////#/////#queued #my writing #fics #commissions #twitchy!homestuck #twitchy!polypa #twitchy!tegiri #twitchy!konyyl #twitchy!azdaja

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