Meet the Muse!

LEGAL NAME: Megatron
ALIAS[ES]: Lord Megatron, Megs, and whatever nonsense Smokescreen is calling him on any given day
DATE OF BIRTH: Unknown, but I have it assigned as Frank Welker’s, March 12th
FRAME TYPE | SPECIES: Panzere (has since been altered for flight), Cybertronion
PLACE OF BIRTH: The Well of Allsparks, surfaced at Tarn
CURRENT LIVING CONDITIONS: Confined to the Nemesis medical bay
SPOKEN LANGUAGES: Neo Cybex (several dialects), Primal Vernacular (a little rusty), the dominant languages of the last planet he visited (in this case, Earth)
EDUCATION: Self-taught. Everything he knows is either from experience, his time spent with secret access to the Hall of Records, or his extensive spy network
OCCUPATION: Lord High Protector of Cybertron
DRINK | SMOKE | DRUGS: High grade, hasn’t smoked a cygar since the pit, and please do not give him anymore drugs
LIKE[S]: Respect, trees, thick warm energon sludge, flying up above the clouds, thunderstorms (when he’s not caught in acid rain)
DISLIKE[S]: Assumptions made about him, people who regularly quote Optimus Prime, being confined for indefinite periods of time (he is going MAD in the medbay)
FEAR[S]: Dying before Cybertron has reached the ideal he has in his mind, being under anesthesia, that Soundwave won’t wake up or something will go wrong with his recovery
PERSONALITY TRAITS: Stubborn, protective, determined, private, undyingly devoted to those who earn it

_{{ P H Y S I C A L I N F O R M A T I O N }}

ARMOR COLOR: Silver with purple accents (and rust patches, thank you Unicron)
OPTIC COLOR: Ice blue
HEIGHT: 35 ft
TATTOOS: His Decepticon brand above his spark (which will have to be replaced when his chassis is rebuilt)
PIERCINGS: Well he’s been pierced by weapons and shrapnel? A lot?

_{{ F A M I L Y I N F O R M A T I O N }}

SIBLING[S]: None
PARENT[S]: Primus (in the sense that he is Well-forged)
CHILDREN: (No real children, only vaguely adopted ones) Rigel, Smokescreen
PET[S]: Rex the Tarnish Ridgeback, Sever, Oxide and Bruce the giant metallic fish

{ R E L A T I O N S H I P I N F O R M A T I O N }

SEXUAL PREFERENCE: TF’s may not have classic genders, but there are certain slender-waisted frametypes that rev his engine more than others
RELATIONSHIP STATUS: Conjunx with @xxxsoundwavexxx, in a relationship with @willnotgogently, not currently seeking more

Tagged by: @heligooddeals!
Tagging: @willnotgogently, @the-scrappy-stinger, @ask-smokescreen, @radioactivibee, @thesoundlessvoid, @choochoomotherslagger, anyone else who would like to play!

👁️, 👀

Answered here!

What is the most disturbing thing they’ve ever seen?

…You know, anything that unnaturally jams organic and mechanical messes together. He’s seen it several times now, and it never gets less disturbing. The least disturbing out of that category was Silas-Breakdown, and even that turned his tanks.

🎵👄 🗣

If they were going to torture someone, what music would they play while they did it?

He’s never done this to music, but if he had to pick a song it would be ‘Friday’, very loudly. He’d shut off his own audial receptors and make it a part of the torture.

If your muse had the ‘kiss of death’, would they ever use it?

Not anymore.

When is the last time they yelled at someone in anger?

Barring various monsters? …I think Rigel. That was the most recent time he’s lost his temper at someone specific, unless I’m forgetting something.

👁 🤡

Have they ever been a stalker, or been stalked themselves?

Yes, and yes. Tends to come with the job when you run a rebellious regime.

Do they have any phobias or irrational fears?

Being restrained, successfully. He’s really damn strong, and can break out of most common methods of restraint like stasis cuffs and chains if they’re not specifically classed to higher strength levels. But if he tries to move or get free with all his power and finds he still can’t, then he’ll start to panic.

🔪 🔮 👤 💥 🍷

What do they think is scarier: a killer with a gun, or a killer skilled with a knife?

It depends on the weapon, but generally a gun he considers far more dangerous. If the person has intense accuracy and a high-powered projectile, you may not even know you’re being attacked before it’s too late.

They have a premonition that something terrible will happen to them. How do they handle the situation?

It’s not the first time. Megatron has famously never been one to accept the fate he’s been told to have if he disagrees with it. He’ll fight to his last to prevent it, which in some cases may in fact cause said bad thing, sitcom-style.

If they could switch bodies or lives with any one person, who would it be?

Permanently, or temporarily? Either way, he’d use the switch to his advantage and further his own means. He rather likes his own body and life. Maybe Ratchet.

If the world were ending, would they be satisfied with their life?

There is always more he thinks he can do, always more he thinks needs to be done. Especially if the world is ending! His job now is kind of making sure it doesn’t. Besides that, he’s one of those people who won’t/can’t ever retire and will work until the day he dies.

What would they do if someone slipped them a slow-killing poison?

Find and murder the person who gave it to him while mocking them about not using something more immediate and then look into a cure. Priorities.

😱

When was the last time they were shocked or startled?

It’s gotten to the point where it takes a lot to shock Megatron. He’s been through all manner of otherworldly experiences holy, unholy and surreal, and he’s seen pretty much every kind of gore. That said, this shook him.

This is a close second.

Shakespearean Aesthetic

_MACBETH:

the howl of wolves. moonless nights. dirt under fingernails. stained silk. chattering teeth. voices hoarse and cracked. rotting fruit. echoing drums. dry heaving. hanging cobwebs. stifling humidity. bloodshot eyes. the roughness of rusted steel. wild rosebushes. muscle cramps. the sound of splintering wood.

_{A MIDSUMMER NIGHT’S DREAM:}
crackling fires. ivy crawling on stone. the faint music of running water. petrichor. dirty, bare feet. tattered clothing. thistledown. wilted wildflower crowns. late evening birdsong. curling leaves. a symphony of croaking frogs. drifting feathers. the eerie sound of windchimes at night. humming bees. beds of clover.

_{ROMEO AND JULIET:}
warm golden lamplight. worn shoes. crumbling brick walls. whispered poetry. embroidered satin. cool, hazy mornings. tousled hair. rosewater. flushed cheeks. distant orchestras. unfinished marble statues. cobblestone streets. loose threads. ink smudged on parchment. tapping fingers. dust illuminated by sunlight. poison vials.

_HARRIET:
shattered glass. a cluster of fraying ribbons. unanswered knocks on doors. lingering dampness. white noise. inexplicable drafts. migraines. bleeding ears. the taste of metal. reflected mirrors. dry, cracked lips. the sound of tearing paper. fogged windows. memories of dreams. tarnished silver. protruding veins.

^{RULES: REPOST, DON’T REBLOG. bold what applies to your muse.}

^{TAGGED BY: @chiaroscuros-void}

^{TAGGING: @heligooddeals @big-shoes-to-fill @willnotgogently @the-scrappy-stinger @thesoundlessvoid @ask-smokescreen @radioactivibee @alpha113n-redshirt-eradicon and anyone who wants to!}

tertiaxdecima:

&&–Dark Fairy Tale Prompts { @mightymegatron }

On Muse A’s 18th birthday, a trickster (Muse B) appears and claims their parents offered to give them their newborn child as part of a deal…18 years ago.

Above them, the sister moons cast a soft glow upon the world below. Yet the light was cold and distant, and the wind moaned fearfully through the lonely alleyways of Kaon. The two mechs stood across from one another, one a gun-metal gray and the other crimson-and-cobalt. The latter held himself tall. Yet despite his bright colors and decorated plating, he looked to be exactly where he belonged and intended to be.

“You were promised to me long before your forging, young one,“ the other-worldly mech rumbled. “Your creators begged for my favor, and I granted them as much. Now I have come to collect…”

Megatronus dropped the datapad he’d been reading, staring at the mech before him. No… This thing surely wasn’t a mech. His finials arched and twisted over his helm and into the ether, like the antlers made from the branches of an ancient tree. Never having been to Earth, the young fighter could hardly comprehend such organic forms.

“What do you mean… promised to you?” He took a step back, away from the thing pretending at being mechanical. “I am no trinket to be sold, no payment to be bartered… The creators you speak of are long-since dead, and I refuse to be… claimed!” Megatronus unsheathed his sword, but took another step back.

He spoke bravely, but fear roiled in his spark.

💀

the-scrappy-stinger:

(he’d been the last one…)

(After he’d lost everyone else, he couldn’t let his lord go. Hurt on top of hurt weighed down every day of his life until this book offered him that one shred of hope. He’d drawn and redrawn the circles, made the sacrifices and spoken the words. He couldn’t bring himself to kill anything, no, but he was certain whatever forces were listening to him would accept something.)

(The magic rings pulled the offers pieces of himself inside violently, and for a few unbearable seconds, Bee couldn’t think for the agony. His right arm and leg were gone, ripped rough from their sockets, leaving mangled and dripping stumps behind.)

(He just had to wait for him. He’d come back. This had to work.)

The primary circle began to glow, brighter than the rest of its array. Electricity arced from his severed limbs to peaks in the drawn lines, which raised to dissolve the offerings piece by piece. The shapes swirled and the ground swelled in the center, pulsing until something bright burst forth from a mighty crack in the Earth.

As the light began to dim, it became clear that the form was an orb, spinning and jagged, a brilliant white with purple tinging the edges. Megatron’s spark floated down to Bumblebee, tendrils of energon drawn to his leaking sockets.

From far below came the creaking of ancient laughter.