This Is Actually Hilarious. No Hiding Any Of His Own Fuck Ups From Ghostscream. I Can Just See How Screamer

Pretty...

my fav microwave, cockout

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.

A - Z Megatron X Reader

Rating: Teen

Warnings: Mentions of death, alien blood

Megatron/Reader(You) as an onlooker in the crowd at the Pits of Kaon

C is for Champion

Your optics watch as he pushes himself up to his full, glorious height, the body of his most recent opponent lifeless at his pedes. His wounds seep a steady stream of energon, but he doesn’t let it deter him. The frenzied din of the crowd slowly dies down, until everyone is on the edge of their seat, waiting for him to speak.

His voice breaks the silence like the coming of a storm.

“Brothers… sisters… for too long we’ve suffered, neglected in this festering waste of a city, cast aside by those who call themselves our betters. For too long they’ve reaped the benefits of our labor while we rust and perish! But no more...”

Your spark pulses a little harder at the promise in those words… a promise for something better. A change that was long overdue.

The gladiator gazed upon his audience, lifting his servos as he went on, “Soon there will come a time when the High Council will be made to face justice for the crimes they have committed. When that time comes… you will all need to make a choice. Will you stand with us, when we rise to fight for our freedoms?”

The collective voice of the crowd cried out in affirmation.

“Will you stand with us, when we take our plight to their doorstep?”

Again the crowd responded with a rallying cry, growing louder and more sure.

The silver behemoth curled his digits into fists. “Will you stand with us, when we shatter this system of oppression?!”

By this point everyone was on their pedes, and again the arena erupted into cheers. You were no exception, your gaze never wavering from the proud figure that stood at the center of it all. His words never failed to inspire, and as the thundering chant of his name grew and grew to the point where you were sure that it echoed through every crevice and corner of Kaon, you let yourself hope that he was the champion you all needed.

I can genuinely empathize with Megatron during this portion of his life. As someone who is an avid supporter of human rights movements, I imagine I would have been right there in the crowd, chanting along with everyone else.

by Dragon76

https://www.dragon76art.com/works

Yes as one does...

This counts as vent art.

Noice

There, calling this one done. And no, I most certainly did not watch enough Zone of the Enders or anything…

Part 2 🩶🥀

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

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