- MEG-A-TRON, (n.): Stubborn, big, angry, refusing to die out of spite.
Megatron offered him a chunk of granite- they were high in silica, and one of Megatron's personal favorites.
All this conflict on Rung's end and here Megatron is, digging in the ground.
And occasionally eating a rock.
If I can't romance Nick Valentine, then what was the point.........
a-life-revised reblogged
"I see you've met Rung. ...when were you going to tell me that you were here, old friend?"
Ah yes, it was only a matter of time that his once dear friend would become aware of his arrival. He had hoped it wouldn't have come so quickly. He quietly cleared his vocalizer before offering a response.
"Forgive the delay, I wasn't sure that you would want to reconnect - given our less than amicable parting - which I have been thinking about and espouse some guilt over. Please accept my apologies on both counts."
Megatron watched him from under his helmet for a while, optics squinting, before rolling his shoulders in a shrug and snorting.
"You're getting old and soft, Terminus. ..fortunately for you, so am I. Apology accepted. I know Rung invited you in to fuel, he invites everyone over to fuel. You look like you could use a shower, too." A pause and he tipped his helm in consideration.
"..you do know about the Springs, here, don't you?"
“Mum,” Damus hedges nervously, standing in the doorway. “Pet threw up.”
Megatron peered a little blearily over at Tarn, only just woken up, and then cracked a massive, fang filled yawn, before stretching and standing from the edge of the berth, adjusting the blanket over Rung and Elegy before nodding.
"Let's go clean that up, then. Did Pet eat anything funny?"
a-life-revised reblogged
Hope Ratchet is prepared to be squarshed under Megatron.
—Okay. Kind of, uh, extremely fucking weird.
But Rung likes him. Rung likes Megatron an awful lot, actually, enough to make Ratchet feel a little queasy about it when he catches the two of them staring at each other like lovesick newbuilds. And he has been doing his best to… not make up for stuff, because as far as Ratchet’s concerned there’s no way to make up for the sheer insane scale of Bad Shit Megatron did, but he’s been making better choices. Hesitating when he would have just shot someone before. Rodimus still has his head and spoiler-wings where they should be. Ultra Magnus is as fussy and outspoken as always.
And he still feels a little bad about having to feed Megatron slag instead of real fuel for a while.
So, sure, Megatron is the literal destroyer of worlds and end of civilizations, but they can… ugh.
Cuddle.
Almost completely crushed under Megatron’s bulk, Ratchet grunts and drops his helm back. This might as well happen. “Happy with yourself?”
"Immensely so."
Unfortunately, Ratchet is catching on to the cold, hard truth- Megatron is a cuddler. And Ratchet had, quite literally, asked for this, so Megatron was behaving, technically!
Or at the very least, that was the justification. He mostly just wanted to see what Ratchet would do. If he had shooed Megatron off, if he had told him to leave, the tank would've, but Ratchet was an outspoken mech anyway, so he must not of had that many complaints to begin with.
And so Megatron settled his weight on the medic with a hiss of his actuators and pistons relaxing, and putters his engines, optics going half lidded. Best place to rest his helm, like this, was Ratchet's windshield.
"But if you don't want me here, you know how to make me go."
Is he.. kneading Ratchet's sides, too? Seemed awful content for an ex-warlord.
a-life-revised reblogged
I can't believe I wake up and stuff has happened, but I will make a public announcement that I do NOT condone the harrassment of artists of petty nonsense.
I am not affiliated with anyone who does so, and will continue to not be affiliated with anyone who does so. It will not happen, not on my blog or in my life.
Thank you.
“Shhhh,” Rung whispers as Megatron comes through into the darkened berthroom. “I just managed to get Rodimus to sleep.”
Rodimus is there, wrapped around Rung with most of his face pressed to Rung’s sparkplate and hands hooked around the antique’s back. Between Rodimus’ possessive hug and Elegy mooshing herself against the back of his legs, Rung’s not going to be going anywhere any time soon.
Now isn't that something? Megatron's mouth quirked upwards at one corner, and he gentled his steps until he was safely able to reach the berth, keeping an optic on Rodimus to ensure he didn't wake up.
Once he was sure he'd cleared the creakier parts of the floor and made it to the berth side, he climbed up behind Rodimus, and carefully curled up behind him, reaching a servo to settle on Rung's hip, peering at the little orange mech over Rodimus' shoulder. Rodimus was the sort of mech who didn't stay in one place for long, even if he was in the same area. Frankly though, if anyone could get Rodimus to sleep, though, it would've been Rung.
...or Magnus.
a-life-revised reblogged
“I said NO.”
Ratchet strains forward, engine gunning into the redline as he fights the tension of the chains bolting him to the anchor point. He’s no big rig, but any combat medic worth their reds can physically carry a patient out of the line of fire— and that same strength can be applied in a couple of different situations.
He might not be able to break the chains holding him, but he can pull hard enough to work the nails driven into the anchor point out of the wall. And when he gets free—
He’s going for Megatron’s throat. Well, the weak point in his knee first. Then his throat.
"You did- despite your.. concerns, my audial capacities are working." Megatron's mouth slanted in amusement, optics narrowing slightly as he watched the medic pull and tug at the wall. He had no doubt Ratchet would get loose, no, but that wasn't the point. Those nails weren't even meant to keep Prime in check. If he'd wanted Ratchet to stay still, he'd of ensured his restraints himself.
No, he thought as he considered the medic's renewed struggling, Ratchet was meant to consider his unique position.
..not that he was doing much thinking beyond likely plotting Megatron's demise. Megatron rumbled a low laugh, and circled closer. "Here- I'll save you the effort. But listen, and listen well. You're well liked, Ratchet, and no doubt someone will want to come and rescue you. It's not a matter if I can keep you restrained, is it?" Let the implications lay where they did.
"All I ask.. is your cooperation."
a-life-revised reblogged
“Meeting you was like listening to a song for the first time and knowing it would be my favorite.”
— Unknown
a-life-revised reblogged
"A moment, please? Look this way." Megatron sat in a chair, but there was.. a thick piece of metal craddled between his thighs.
“Yes, Megatron,” Rung calls back, ever keen to see what his darling was up to. He sets aside his sewing work (Optimus accidentally ripped one of the nice towels) to wander over, definitely puzzled by the chunk of metal.
“Is that the one you dug up on Tuesday? What’s it made of?”
"Tritanium. I'm not sure what it was doing out here, but it was not connected to anything, and was in fact just laying in the hole. Once I'd dug around it, it fell out, and there wasn't more where I found it. But that's not the important part." Megatron's optics get a glint to them, as, once he's made sure he had Rung's attention, he began to squeeze the metal between his thighs, until it began to warp, making a distinct crunching sound.
“That’s not the— oh, my. Oh,” Rung stutters and wrings his servos as Megatron ever so casually just.
Crushes a solid block of metal with his legs.
Rung makes a strange little wheeze of a laugh and takes his oculars off just to have something to do with his servos other than doing something completely inappropriate. To Megatron. Megatron’s thighs particularly.
Glorious, glorious thighs.
“Well done, dearest. You really showed that bit of shrapnel what-for.”
Megatron's laugh is low and rolling in its amusement. "Oh, I see- you thought I was done."
This is truly not the case, because Megatron opened his thighs, which have left their indents in the now crumpled metal, and then turned the metal sideways, forcing his thighs wider, and placed his palms flat on the seat behind him, putting his back into an arch as he began to crush it the other way.
And very purposefully look at Rung as he did.
a-life-revised reblogged
“Yes, the words of the text itself are important, but I’m not interested in the literal meaning of the work. I want to know how it made you feel. Your thoughts on it. If I wanted a direct repeat of the passage I would have just read the passage.”
Strange- usually that would have satisfied any farther curiosity from whomever asked him about the mark of Primus on his arm.
But this wasn't a normal mech, he'd gathered. Soundwave had alerted him that he'd had a visitor, and not one of his normal, fawning guests, either. A little orange mech whos oculars had obscured his gaze, perhaps some sort of Towerling, or an unknown mech with a lot of money.
He was certainly odd, Megatron pondered, leaning back in his chair and letting a thigh splay out to the side.
"Rung, isn't it? Let me ask you a question, then, before I answer yours. Do you believe in Primus? In the concept of an All Knowing Being who watches us from somewhere, unable to do anything but watch over us?"
Sat upon a bench that had been dragged in from the mess hall, legs crossed at the ankle joint and looking altogether incongruous with the dusk of his surroundings, Rung favors Megatron with a smile. It was not unkind— the dimples that crease the plasticine of his face suggest that he smiled often, and often genuinely— but it had the faintest suggestion of being in on a joke that you were not aware of.
Well-worn fingers steeple together as Rung leans forward towards Megatron, the counterpart of his casual sprawl, eyebrows raised in curiosity. “Now, that is an interesting question. Or two questions, as it were. Do I believe in Primus? In a manner of speaking, yes, I suppose you could say I do.”
His antenna twitch, the gold charms clasped around the longer one tinkling faintly against his plating.
“I don’t think Primus is omniscient. Or omnipresent. I think he was an exceptional mech with an exceptional gift who queued up more than he could process, and if he’s still out and about, most likely doing his best to chip out a living for himself the same as any one of us would. Maybe some orn or another you’ll pop into a diner and there he is, alone at a table. Maybe you pass him on the way to the tunnel train hub. I think every mech has some little speck of something from Primus about them, but what that thing is? Eh. I could not tell you.”
Troublemakers make that sort of smile, and Megatron liked troublemakers the best.
"That is a fascinating take on Primus," he admits, resting his cheek upon his knuckles. "To think that Primus could be any one ordinary mech, wandering around with no particular direction like the rest of us, trying to make sense of things. I don't particularly believe in religion. I understand its importance to others- I won't discredit that." A pause, as he thought over his words.
"But I can not put my faith in someone or something that I can not see or feel when I get by doing things myself." Here, his optics dim a little in emphasis.
"I am a mech who does not believe in 'fate' or 'destiny' because that is an implication that things were pre-ordained. I grab what I can with my own two fists. I make things happen. The people around me make things happen. The people around me react to the things I make happen. Not some deity underneath my pedes who's resting, or watching from a distance. Me. Certainly, some mechs have extraordinary abilities, but they're just that. Abilities. Not god powers.
That tattoo is not because I believe in Primus, but because I do not. I believe in the mecha around me. The tattoo is a reminder of that."
a-life-revised reblogged
"A moment, please? Look this way." Megatron sat in a chair, but there was.. a thick piece of metal craddled between his thighs.
“Yes, Megatron,” Rung calls back, ever keen to see what his darling was up to. He sets aside his sewing work (Optimus accidentally ripped one of the nice towels) to wander over, definitely puzzled by the chunk of metal.
“Is that the one you dug up on Tuesday? What’s it made of?”
"Tritanium. I'm not sure what it was doing out here, but it was not connected to anything, and was in fact just laying in the hole. Once I'd dug around it, it fell out, and there wasn't more where I found it. But that's not the important part." Megatron's optics get a glint to them, as, once he's made sure he had Rung's attention, he began to squeeze the metal between his thighs, until it began to warp, making a distinct crunching sound.
Anonymous asked:
Your blankets are disappearing again, and the vent is open.
Hope you didn't need that duvet.
Vents open, blankets gone.. that can only mean one thing. Megatron huffed a sigh of relief, and shoved a few more blankets and pillow near the entrance of the vents.
Jazz is back.