thinking bout Roddy doing his level best to cuddle Megatron. Roddy is sure that in his entire evil life, nobody’s ever held him in their arms because, well… Megatron. It’s not easy, he can’t cover enough surface area. Megatron is way too large and there’s only so much of him.
tired of Rodimus aggressively starfishing on him, Megatron barks at him cease this. you know I’m capable of mass displacement. and he knows he’s made a huge mistake when Rodimus’s optics dilate until they’re taking up his whole face. his existence is a farce now, just a never-ending series of capitulations to rodimus’s every whim, and the only thing he can do is sigh and wait for Rodimus to tell him how small.
Rumble shook his head. “Not sure that’s your problem, Boss, if
you don’t mind me sayin’. Your problem is, you think too much.
It’ll be fine, you’ll see.” And he strolled off to find his
brother, leaving Megatron sitting on a makeshift bench below an
illegal fighting pit, staring at his hands and wondering whether he
could really do this. True, when he’d smashed his fist into that
Senate enforcer and felt plating buckle beneath his fingers, felt the
warmth of living fuel spatter over his face, it seemed to awaken
something in him; but to take on a lackey of the Senate in the heat
of the moment was one thing. To walk calmly into a gladiatorial
arena and hurt a complete stranger, possibly kill him – that was
something else.
In the tense quiet, Megatron could hear someone humming. Then
singing, very softly:
Rain fall sharp, and the mist rise cold,
And the foreman come down for his purple gold,
He’ll take it from your cart, or he’ll take it from your
lines,
Or he’ll take it from your spark, ’cause you’re married to
the mines.
Megatron rose without really meaning to, and followed the sound until
he stood over a spindly bot with a drill arm that reminded him, for a
painful moment, of Impactor. “Where were you a miner?” Megatron
murmured.
The bot started. “Uh – Luna-2. Before the energon started
drying up. You?”
“Messatine. Much the same.” He sat down a little ways down the
bench, giving the stranger some space. “We had the same song.
Only… some of us came up with a variation, on the chorus.”
“Yeah?” The bot seemed grateful for the distraction, and turned
towards Megatron. “You remember it?”
“Oh yes.” Megatron hummed deep in his throat, finding his pitch.
Then, in a voice a little rusted with disuse, he began to sing.
Rain fall sharp, and the moon rise blue,
No purple gold without me and you,
Take your axe, take your hammer, meet the foreman at the door,
Tell him we ain’t married to the mines no more!
The song began in silence, but by the time Megatron was halfway
through, there were a few mutters, here and there; whispers of,
“Mmm-hmm,” or, “Right on,” though their owners kept their
faces turned away. By the third line, a few smiles were breaking
out, and when Megatron finished, he lifted his head to find half the
room looking at him, grins on their faces.
“Sing it again, miner,” someone called.
Megatron obliged, and this time, a few other voices joined in. The
third time, most of the bots in the room were singing, and the rest
were stamping along with the beat; and when Megatron roared out,
“Take your axe, take your hammer, meet the SENATE at the door!”
cheers broke out.
The whole crowd chorused back, “Tell
’em we ain’t married to the mines no more!”
“Boss?”
Megatron turned. Rumble was grinning in the doorway, but all he said
was, “We’re up.”
“Hey, miner!” a voice shouted after him as Megatron turned to
leave. “What’s your name?”
“Megatron.” And with that, Megatron of Tarn entered the arena
for his very first gladiatorial match.
He didn’t say, “With an R.” He didn’t say, “As in
neutron.” But for once, he didn’t have to, because no one got it
wrong. When he won, the waiting fighters started chanting, and the
audience took it up in turn: “Meg-a-tron! Meg-a-tron!”
And Megatron – always thinking – began to see the shape of
something forming, in the faces and the voices and the fuel-slick
sands beneath his feet.
I have projects to work on that aren’t femme gladiator Megatron but at the same time BOY I want her to storm into those other projects and start sweeping people off their feet.
Look at Soundwave just zoning out and ignoring Megatron’s yelling at Starscream. He’s probably doing something useful back there. Or just playing Pong.
I was watching Transformers Prime again and I kept noticing how Soundwave would project live security footage or computer screens on his mask and people (mostly Megatron) would just stare into his mask and watch. It got me thinking: do you think he’s ever tried to show something to someone something, but the image was too small and too far away, so they grabbed the sides of his face and tilted it so they could see better? Maybe someone pulls him down a bit because they’re short, or a tall person gently tilts his chin up, or someone gets literally in his face because they can’t see the tiny details otherwise?
(How awkward would that be, especially if he has a face behind the mask and can see them through the projection?)
I couldn’t help myself…Soundwave is so much fun to draw!!!
Commission for jirotaka, who asked for some TFP Megatron and Soundwave lovin’! I really really hope you like it, I’m sorry this took so long, TFP characters are really hard to draw with a broken tablet x_x But it was fun nonetheless! Thank you so so much for commissioning me!
Warnings: sticky, bad writing, stuck in a cave situation, robos-doing-the-dirty, weird rough foreplay stuff…idk guys just read at your own risk…
G1, MxOP, NSFW
Optimus could not believe that he was actually stuck in a cave with Megatron. Scenarios like that only happened in those terrible romance novels he used to read when he was younger.
He wasn’t sure why that was the first thing that came to mind.
When Megatron first said, “I don’t fear you,” he meant it as defiance, and he was unprepared for the sheer delight, the sheer longing, that emanated from the being in front of him, ploughing into Megatron’s EM field like a physical wave.
“What do they call you?” he murmurs now, much later, his claw-tips gently stroking a tendril of dark matter that is there and not there; the being doesn’t speak, but an idea presents itself in the forefront of his mind: I Am First And Best, and Megatron would scoff, were it not for the sadness that accompanies the words, as if they are a burden rather than an honour.
“I will call you something new, more befitting a protector rather than an emperor,” Megatron muses, then offers, “What about Hunter of Peace – Orion Pax, in the old tongue?” and the dark void, so black it gleams with a kind of reverse light, settles happily against his frame, and tangles its essence around him.
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