If You've Seen That One Screencap, You Know What It's About.

Part 9 🥀🩶

Sweet baby Jesus only one more to go!! And then I PROMISE I will get to that KOBD drabble request 😭🙏

While she didn’t know much about the world outside of the brothel, there were two things she was certain of.

Firstly, she was a fugitive, and given the level of her crime, she knew they would send the Guard out to search for her. She would have to be cautious and alert at all times.

Secondly, while the grappling cables in her arms had allowed her to escape and offered her a quick and efficient means to get around, they were not weapons. She needed to find a way to arm herself if she planned on exacting revenge against those who had wronged her and her beloved.

So she kept to the shadows, listening, searching for word of the resistance and any potential allies that might aid her. It had taken her several deca-cycles to pick up on a single lead, and another several to find the bot in question. As she stood staring at the nondescript unit that matched the address she’d been given, she felt her spark flutter nervously.

Ex-venting, she glanced up the street discretely to see if anyone was watching her, and with a casual grace that belied the tumultuous storm of emotions she was experiencing, strolled toward her destination. Stepping into the shop, she paused to look around, noting the variety of work displayed along the walls. Near a desk, standing in stark contrast to much of the other pieces, was a form - fitted with intricate armor plating. She recognized the coloration and style instantly. This had been commissioned by a member of the Elite Guard. It would seem she had come to the right place.

“Can I help you?”

Turning away from the display, she replied, “I hope so. I’m looking for weapons.”

He gave her a once over, optic ridges raising in surprise. “You uhh… with the Council? Their order isn’t quite ready, but should be within the next few orns.”

She gave a small, pointed smile. “No… not the Council. I’ve been told you cater to… other clientele as well.”

He froze, servos dropping from his hips slowly. His expression wavered, and he stepped closer to the desk. His lower half was hidden, and she would bet just about anything he was currently reaching for a weapon of his own.

“Not sure whatcha mean, stranger,” he replied, the tightness in his tone not unnoticed to her. “My priority is the Guard. Anything outside of that will have to wait.”

She kept her servos open and visible, not wanting to give him cause for alarm. The fact that he was wary confirmed he was exactly the bot she was looking for. Based on what she’d been told, he operated as an industrial machinist before Kaon was captured by Decepticon forces. The same armory that supplied the gladiators with their resources had also forged much of the Elite Guard’s weaponry, and without access to it, they had been forced to source elsewhere. Which of course meant bullying local businesses into working almost exclusively for them, under fear of pain should they refuse. Some bots hadn’t been too fond of the treatment and harassment they received.

“I’ve been told you make exceptions… in the event that I provide you with this,” she continued, slowly reaching into her subspace and producing a single shanix, the glyph for the number thirteen carved crudely into one side. She placed it on the desk between them.

He stared down at it, his posture instantly relaxing. Then he glanced back up at her, optic ridges furrowing. “Hope you can excuse the defensiveness, I’m under near constant surveillance.”

Tipping her helm in understanding, she acknowledged, “It’s to be expected.”

“So… weapons, hm?”

Not willing to divulge too much, she chose a more vague approach. “I would like to join the fight, but am woefully unprepared to do so. I can’t linger too long.”

If there was one thing she had learned from her time in the brothel that seemed to ring true everywhere, it was that some bots were willing to pay just about anything to have a night (or two) with someone like her. She hoped he was one such bot. He was attractive, in a rough kind of way, something she didn’t get to experience much while locked away in that Pit-foresaken place. She was intrigued.

“I don’t have much in the way of wealth. You’re welcome to the meager shanix I’ve been able to procure, but I do have… other means of paying you for your work.”

He almost seemed startled by the request, the vents framing his face suddenly aglow. Recovering relatively quickly, he laughed, a low, pleasant sound. “There’s no need for that. I make sure to overcharge those uppity fraggers as much as possible for all the grief they cause. Which means any special work I do is covered, unwitting compliments of the High Council.”

The mech turned from the desk and reached for the console on the wall, pressing in the sequence to lock the front doors. Wouldn’t do for the wrong bot to walk in and find him out. As he did so, he threw over his shoulder offhandedly, “Besides… yer not quite my type.”

Her derma flashed, pleasant smile turning devious. She had suspected as much. “Oh?”

Plating shifted apart, components rearranging as her frame expanded.

“Not to offend, yer certainly easy on the optics, but I think I-”

The words fizzled out in his vocalizer as he turned back to address her again… only to find a mech standing in her place. The bot shared certain features (along with the color scheme), but was otherwise taller and broader in frame, nearly matching him in size. “Primus… what-?”

“If you won't accept payment for your services...”

The bot’s voice was mildly shocking, several octaves deeper, and as he moved around the counter the shop keeper felt his spark seize a little, spike stirring to life. Reaching out, the mech grasped his chin in a broad servo and leaned forward until their lip components were nearly touching. 

“...you can consider this a tip, then.”

.../♡/...

“The quality of your work really is as good as they said it would be,” she observed as she studied her new, reinforced plating. He had an optic for details, each addition blending seamlessly. The metal, while thin enough so as not to be bulky, was strong, tempered and molded to perfection.

“Thanks. So, uhh… what’s your designation?”

The machinist’s inquiry gave her pause. No one had ever asked her for a name. She had never been given one. A courtesan had no need for it, after all… they were objects.

‘Maybe it’s time I took a designation for myself,’ she considered. Megatron had… yet… what would she call herself?

'My Scarlet Flower.'

Any version of the pet name given to her by her lover seemed inappropriate, and truth be told… didn’t feel quite right. At least not anymore. That part of herself - the soft, delicate part - had perished, along with the lovely white femme who had held her spark. She was determined to become something frightful, some dreaded entity … her designation ought to reflect that.

A memory flickered through her processor, of vicious fangs striking with unparalleled precision. Of course…

“Naja,”

“Naja?” he repeated.

The Spire had earned it’s reputation as a luxury establishment for many reasons. Their selection of courtesans was second to none, each hand forged and carefully trained to provide the ultimate experience in indulgence. Yet they were not the only menagerie housed within the glittering tower; a variety of exotic wildlife was kept there as well, for no reason other than novelty and rarity. They relied on a great number of suppliers to bring in new and interesting specimens, and on one such occasion, a collection of beautiful razor-snakes had been brought in for their consideration. The carrier had handled them with such confidence, displaying each one and describing their subclass and toxicity to the patrons present – and their accompanying courtesans. He'd assured the guests and Masters the beasts had all been de-fanged, and were safe handle. Apparently, they had missed a snake. The largest of the lot, a great shimmering thing with a flared hood that framed its angular face. The supplier had reached for her, and in a motion so fast none of them had perceived it, she struck him in the face, fangs sinking deep and injecting him full of corrosive acid. Within a matter of nano-kliks half of his helm was missing, sloughing off in a puddle of bubbling metal.

The memory had always stuck with her, not because she’d been afraid, but because she recalled how very beautiful the creature was, making it deceptive in it’s capacity to harm. Nodding to herself more than anyone else, she repeated the word again, testing it, enjoying the way it sounded.

“Yes… Naja.”

Stepping toward the door, she glanced over her newly armored shoulder. “It’s been fun.”

The sentence was said in his voice, and the machinist stammered a little, nodding and waving her off.

Exiting, she took to a narrow lane after ensuring the coast was clear, glancing down at her servos. More specifically, the gleaming, hooked talons that tipped them. An addition he had suggested. She crooked her digits, grinning when they extended before retracting once again. Made to snag, carve, rend. With these, along with the thin blades he’d outfitted her with, she could begin cutting her path through the corrupt upper castes. Vengeance was within reach, but before she could return to The Spire, she needed practice…

A newly sparked predator honed their skills hunting glitch-mice long before taking down larger game.

Ahead of her, further down the lane she was traversing, she watched as a group of laborers worked diligently on the construction of a new building, bustling without pause from one job to another. A snide looking femme with a distinct badge affixed to her arm - identifying her as an architect - moved about the site, pointing and shouting, speaking down to the laborers and even striking one. They all looked at her with a bitter fear in their optics, but did as she bid them, clearly aware that they would be further punished should they speak up against the higher ranking bot

What a perfect place to start...

That back 💜🖤🤍

还在画，一些我流数据接口

A - Z Megatron X Reader

Rating: Mature

Warnings: violence and death, innuendo, destruction

Megatron/Reader(You) as a neutral during the war 

B is for Begging

You pushed with every ounce of strength left in you at the massive slab of debris that pinned you in place, cringing when it shifted minimally, revealing how severe the damage to your leg was. Plating was cracked and curled, pulled away from the mesh and cables beneath, all of which looked severed and mangled. It was hard to tell if it was salvageable with energon pooling so quickly in the wound,  making it impossible to properly assess. Your helm was spinning, vision flickering as you came dangerously close to passing out. You shook yourself and continued to push, knowing that going into stasis now would result in you draining out.

Primus it hurt, so fragging much!

Nowhere was safe anymore, war creeping across the planet faster than a rust plague. All around you came the sounds of others as they stumbled through the wreckage, along with the ever present siren that blared in the distance. Your called out for help as you continued to attempt freeing the trapped appendage.

Suddenly there was a sharp cry, followed by the panicked scrambling and screams of many other bots. From your place on the ground, you pushed yourself up minimally, peering over the mound of rubble to see what was happening. Your spark nearly stopped as you saw the soldiers, noted the insignia that decorated their frames.

Decepticons.

Snapping your mouth shut, you threw yourself back down, trying to control your shaking as you were forced to listen to them mercilessly gun down civilians. Soon enough there were no more voices, only the shuffle of pedesteps and the shifting of debris as they searched for other survivors. Several kilks passed in aching slowness, and for a brief, glimmering moment you hoped they would miss you, until a soft, whispering hum drew nearer. You gaped in horror as a small airborne figure flew overhead, stopping as it noticed you. The creature let out a low whir, and soon after a dark, angular mech appeared from the same direction, pausing to look down at you. You shivered, noting the way he moved nearly soundlessly, and the visor that concealed his face. The little deployer hovered closer before returning to its larger host, fixing itself neatly against his chest plating.

He turned away from you, making no move to attack. You hadn’t the time to feel relieved as the sound of another approaching made you instantly queasy, your tank churning at their heavy steps rocked the very ground beneath you. When his hellish red optics met yours... you knew in an instant who you were looking at. You’d seen his likeness portrayed everywhere since before the war had even started, but there was nothing that could’ve prepared you for this. Seeing him in person, here, in front of you, sent fear like you’d never known into every inch of your frame.

He assessed you for a moment, scanning you for what you could only assume was an insignia of your own. When he found none he scowled. It was no secret he despised neutrals, some might argue even more than he despised Autobots. He found their unwillingness to participate in the war cowardly. When he reached down you thought for certain you were done for, but then he grabbed hold of the debris holding you in place and lifted it with ease. While the fact you were no longer being crushed was a positive development, the instant the pressure on your leg disappeared the circulation of energon began anew, spurting from your wound and bringing with it a whole new wave of pain.

You hissed, reaching up to clutch at your leg and fumbling to stifle the flow. His massive servo slipped around your neck a moment later, hoisting you off the ground. You released the injury to pry futilely at his digits as they began to tighten, optics going wide as you realized his intent. Your frame dangled from his grasp, one functioning leg kicking in a pitiful fashion as he began to crush you.

“P-Please!!” you whimpered.

He laughed deeply. “There is no room for indecision in a war.”

Your struggles did not seem to hinder him in the slightest, the enormous mech watching your plight with twisted satisfaction. Again you pleaded, “No! I don’t w-want to offline. Please! Please stop!”

His grip tightened ever so slightly, and you cried out as you felt the sharp edges of his claws slice the cabling of your neck.

“Are you prepared to become of use to me?”

The only thing you could think of in that moment was survival, and you gave a weak nod. His grin was sinister, as he turned and deposited you in the servos of two soldiers. Megatron nodded to the slightly smaller mech at his side, whose visor flashed a series of coordinates before a groundbridge opened up just a ways ahead.

“Ensure this one is taken to our medic immediately. They are in need of repair.”

As you’re hauled away, he speaks to you once more, his words ominously low. “Let’s see how sweetly you can beg when you’re functioning at full capacity.”

A part of you wishes you’d just let him off you.

A - Z Megatron X Reader

Rating: Mature

Warnings: violence and death, cult-like mentality

Megatron/Reader (You) in which you are a zealous follower at the dawn of the war

F is for Fanatic

“This is madness!”

Your narrowed optics observe the old bot as he is restrained, hoisted upright to stand on trembling limbs. Members of his guard, those who remained alive, protested the rough handling through their muzzles. The one at your pedes attempted to rise, but you pulled him back down to the ground, glowering at him in warning.

“You call this madness… I call it justice.”

The room stilled at the deep utterance, the entrance of the Decepticon figurehead seeming to stop time. Unhurried steps carried him through the wreckage of what was once the doorway, across the glossy tiled floor until he towered over the detained mech.

“The masses will not stand for this attack,” came his somber reply.

“We are the masses,” Megatron bit out, fanged grin punctuating the statement. “We are the righteous, once chained by your ambitions, but no more. You will bear the culmination of our wrath.”

The weathered official shook his helm, the cables that framed his faceplate swaying as he insisted, “The Council has agreed that the castes be disbanded. Is this not what you want?! The Prime will-”

“The Prime,” he interrupted, reaching out to clamp his talons over the old bot’s mouth, “does not speak for us. He has never lived as we have, never suffered at the servos of the Council. If you truly thought, Ambassador, that we would be satisfied with such a representative, you are a fool.”

You snarled in agreement, ramming your blaster into the helm of the mech at your pedes.

Megatron releasied the envoy, turning as he began to circle the room. He addressed his followers. “From the beginning, they've treated us as though we are nothing. It is the wreckage of our bodies that feeds their machine, our energon that fuels this planet.”

His every step is measured, towering frame casting its shadow upon all as he passes by. “And peace… peace is what they offer to appease us when we finally come to collect. An insincere apology for the horrors we’ve endured.”

He stops before you, and elation dances along your circuits as your gaze meets his. “What say you to that? Do you want their peace?”

“No!” the word all but leaps from your vocalizer, echoed by the thunderous cry of your brethren.

The silver titan turned to face the subdued old mech yet again, claws splayed at the demonstration. “And there you have it. We will take what is owed to us. And it starts with you.”

Pulling himself into as straight a pose as his aged frame could manage, he accused, “You are no savior, Megatron. You are nothing but a criminal. You claim to want to free your people, but the tyranny you offer in place of the caste system is no different.”

His laughter was deep, slow as he approached his prisoner, talons sliding into a fist as he unsheathed the blade from his gauntlet. “My tyranny, as you call it, will shape this world into greatness. A world in which all bots have the freedom to choose. I have plucked us from the cesspit of despair we have been forced to toil in. I have opened the optics of this planet’s inhabitants to the corruption of the High Council and the upper castes. Decadent, gluttonous vermin leeching profit from our suffering. There is only one way this can end. We take what we are owed and shatter every remnant of the old ways. Either you stand with us to realize this vision, or…” he drawled, lifting the weapon to rest upon his enemy’s shoulder plating. “You stand in our way.”

He took a moment to look around at the subdued guards. “The choice is yours now. Stand with us to dismantle the system of oppression that has gripped Cybertron for too long…. or face your end here and now.”

When no one responded, the large mech took a sweeping glance at his followers, nodding once. Blaster charging, you pressed it into the base of your captive’s helm, awaiting the final call. Righteous anger barreled through your lines. How they could continue to stand with these… monsters, after everything they were responsible for?! How could they not see the depravity of their world as it was? How desperately they needed to be cleansed. And cleanse them you would. This entire, filthy planet would be delivered from its wrongdoings by the only mech who was fit to rule it. You watched with mounting anticipation as your master lifted his blade.

“Decepticons, our time is now!”

His cut was clean and precise, and the Ambassador’s lifeless husk was dropped unceremoniously to the ground. The outraged cries of his guard were silenced shortly after with a barrage of gunfire. You smiled down at the smoking hole in the back of your captive’s helm before curling your servo into a fist and lifting it into the air.

“All hail Megatron!”

Shamelessly plugging my own OC here... trying to get some semblance of my shit together with this blog so I can use it to engage with other blogs. Eventually will have art and details up, but for now starting with a good old fashion origin story.

Countless optics slid over her as she passed by, some gazes fleeting, others not. Those that lingered were assessing, measuring, judging. She kept her helm tucked low, expression giving nothing away but the appearance of calm. Paying them no mind, she cut her way through the swath of patrons that occupied the Grand Salon, noting they seemed busier than usual. Others like her milled expertly, Keepers directing guests according to their desired experiences. Larger parties were ushered into separate parlors for entertainment, and couples or smaller groups toward the upper floors where the private rooms were situated.

She entered a lift, along with a cluster of others, noticing the mech to her right seemed rather interested in her status. The patches adoring his glossy pauldron suggested a high-ranking Elite Guard. Turning in a tight circle as she moved to face the door, she ensured her servos – both closed into neat fists behind her back – would be visible to him. Noting this, he glanced away, expression momentarily displaying his disappointment until the pretty little mech already hanging off his side snagged his attentions once more.

Her own optics swept the crowd below as the pod ascended, tracing the slim fingers of golden light that spilled through high, towering windows. The floor, a complex mosaic of reflective slabs, cast the sun’s rays into every corner of the vaulted room, where it caught against the intricate detailing that accented columns and framed doorways, making them gleam. She glanced down at the fragile metal mesh draped over her. The delicate crystals fixed into the garment were made to catch that same light with every subtle, tinkling shift, sending a myriad of colored pinpricks dancing across nearby surfaces. A deliberate addition, to snare the attention and interest of their clients.

Exiting the lift on one of the upper floors, she pressed on in silence, husky promises and tittering laughter falling away as – pair by pair – the others branched off into their own rooms.

The final stretch of hallway was mercifully empty, and she slowed her pace, savoring every moment of peace - of solitude - as she closed the distance between herself and the room at the end of the corridor, where her client awaited. The soft, tinny clack of her heel struts against the tile echoed faintly, their frequency and tone reminiscent of a death knell. Fitting, as these walks always felt a little like an execution march.

She paused a moment at the door, glancing up to catch her reflection in the polished metal as she lifted a servo to knock. A vision of perfect contentedness… but inside… a yawning, empty chasm that longed to be filled. Her spark was a restless thing in her chassis, always hungry. Desperately so. Why? She had everything she needed; much more than so many others, as the Masters liked to remind them. Draped in the most luxurious finery, surrounded by opulence… attending lords, council members, and bots from walks of life that most could only dream of meeting. So why didn’t she want any of it? Was she flawed? Was there anything that could satiate the desperate, aching need for something she couldn’t name that chiseled away at her?

She closed her optics, silencing the riot in her processor and composing herself as she allowed her digits to rap gently but crisply against the ornate slab. A voice, soft and low, bid her enter.

“This is all I need,” she told herself – the lie cold and bitter on her glossa.

They totally do...

him and scream gossiping about megsie

Yaaassss

Source

Good kitty

takes a pet like no problem

My fav gays 💚🤍💙

Screamer❤️

It's Starscream's Day today, so I thought I may honour my blorbo by practicing drawing him from screens to further better my abilities in that department.

Happy Starscream Day to all of you! Thank you @starscreamweek for organizing the event, and All Hail Starscream!!!

Screens I used