Outside Looking In

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!”

dailybot sketch # 841/999 weird day, edition

Neat

This concept for militarized testudines incredibles fabric textures for the neck and legs, which grant a semi-organic feel to the mechs. 

“Mech Turtle” by Rofelrolf. 

alien experts ^ㅠ^

Amen

i love writing porn and i wont feel bad about it. understanding the eroticism of a character is character analysis if u are enlightened.

You do you, bae

Nobody:

Starscream:

Part 7🥀🩶

Only 3 more to go!!

Existing without her was… excruciating. Every breem that crept by brought with it little reminders that she wasn’t here any longer, and the blade in her spark twisted anew. She wondered if there would ever come a time when it didn’t hurt anymore… and then wondered if that was something she even wanted. That would mean that she’d forgotten… healed. She didn’t quite deserve that.

She’d been under near constant surveillance since they’d found her comatose in that room, whimpering and unresponsive. It had not taken them long to figure out the cause of her state, which had prompted a long-winded lecture about following rules, along with the promise that she would be punished in the event that she acted out again.

Not that she truly needed supervision. She was all but a husk now, completing her duties listlessly, still wading through the shock and grief of her loss. She hardly registered anything, moving more out of habit than actual obedience. Tonight she was serving in the lounge again, the room yet another reminder. The last place she had seen her Shining Star.

A servo flagged her down, and she moved soundlessly to the table, filling the first cup.

“I told you he was dangerous… I told all of them! We should have sent someone to take him out during recharge… and now the whole fraggin’ planet’s in an uproar!”

“Another attack, this one in Praxus.”

“Primus… they’re getting closer all the time.”

She couldn’t help but overhear their conversation, gratification coiling through her at their obvious distress. She had never liked members of the Elite Guard before, their mannerisms and predisposition to violence making them the least enjoyable patrons… now she had even more reason to detest them. She moved around the table, filling as she went, her digits tightening around the handle of the carafe as she resisted the urge to spit in it.

“As if that wasn’t bad enough, they’ve taken full control of Kaon. Not having access to those forges is going to severely reduce our flow of resources. It’s only a matter of time before they come here. The Council needs to move fast if we have any hope of squashing this movement. We need to mobilize immediately.”

“He’s a miner… a miner! It’s embarrassing that he’s been allowed to get this far. I say we bring this fight to his doorstep and wipe out every lowly bot in that Primus-foresaken place. Throw them all into the smelting pits.”

It was strange, feeling anything other than the sorrow… in a way it was a relief. A distraction. Deep inside her aching chassis, the seeds of resentment she had once fostered for the higher castes blossomed into hate.

“Yeah, well… good luck pitching that to Alpha Trion. He’s still insistent we can resolve this through the Prime initiative. Fool. Megatron wants no part in peacekeeping. He’s out for energon.”

‘I hope he eviscerates all of you,’ she thought to herself, moving away from them and back into the corner.

Hearing word of the uprising was strange, the news filling her with a grim satisfaction while simultaneously fueling her pain. To know there truly had been a future out there for her and her lover was as infuriating as it was heartbreaking. They had been so close… what a cruel, cruel joke.

We have always existed, and we always will.

... but it's such a good song...

I'm going to kill Tailgate if he plays "We Don't Talk About Bruno" one. more. time.