#idw overlord x reader

[inhan---inhan]

[michaela-o]

I haven’t posted in a while so here’s a bunch of wips i’m planing to finish🥰

Made a lil drawing of myself aswell as used selfinsert. I tried making myself super tiny since Overlord is one of the bigger mechs😳

[wifetomegatron]

one hundred and one nights (overlord/reader)

summary : reader gets abducted by overlord. he has an infatuation. pairing : overlord (idw) / afab! reader fandom : transformers idw continuity, more than meets the eye rating : e for explicit and mild descriptions of gore & dubious consent, minors don’t interact (mdni!), not safe for work (nsfw!) warnings : descriptions of violence, references to human disembodiment, human!reader, smut, sticky sexual interfacing tags : a lot of references to fairytail / folklore, mostly one-hundred and one nights & this goyard painting.

I. You've heard stories about him. Luna two, Garrus-nine, Hell's point. Albeit not from Swerve, or Chromedome, or Rodimus — that would be ridiculous. Impossible, even, when his name is already non-existent in the space of a ship big enough to fit thousands of Cybertornians. Not even a whisper, as if people were afraid that a slip of his name would be mistaken for a prayer and he would come to life, emerging from the shadowy corners of the Lost Light. Optics, sickly artificial red as they burn holes through the veil. But not even Primus would be as cruel as to materialize Overlord here. At least, you had hoped.

Only several nights before were you and Ratchet discussing him. The doctor knew you deserved an explanation for what transgressed over the weekend with Fort Max, Whirl, and Rung. On who he was, what he has done, and what he will continue to do if his spark wasn't sealed in a white vacuum — serpentine green drowning in nothing. The silence stretched for what felt like years, minutes solidifying themselves midair to bake the air thick. And your mouth was dry, face drained of its color. You didn't ask further, choosing to retreat into your room, where you made the last-minute decision to sleep with the lights on.

It was an irrational fear, you thought. To be afraid of someone light years away, deconstructed and stuffed in a box.

And yet here you are, trapped inside a prison chamber with him — limbs suspended, mouth curled into a grin.

II. It was a stupid accident. A stupid, preventable accident that could have been avoided if everyone had just sat down and listened to the noises Red Alert had been talking about. Their audials would have picked up the voices, the whispers, traveling through a crack big enough for you to slip into. Down the rabbit hole, you fell very slowly before hitting your shoulders square against the crown of Overlord’s head. Slipping ungracefully down an arm, and into the palm of his chained hand. You should have never taken directions from Whirl, because God knows how long it’ll take for the crew members to realize you were gone. And how many seconds left do you have to live, considering that you had conveniently fallen into his grip? A curse. A gift.

“What’s this?” He asked aloud. A dragon waking from his slumber, voice heavy as they echo throughout metal walls, “ Hm. They brought me a plaything.”

You couldn’t speak. Stunned mute as your head barely manages to recover from the impact. The chains rattled slightly, and he squeezed you — yet you were still intact. Surprisingly whole, save not for a few bruises. He says it’s because he’s bored. And that there’s no fun in having you bleed all over when he can’t clean himself up after.

He demanded you to speak and so you did, finding courage in your voice. Yet it sounded so tiny compared to his. And Overlord reveled in this. The more you tried to prove you weren’t afraid the more he’d tighten his grip, horrified to know that this level of self-restraint had (most likely) earned you a broken rib. You wonder what would happen if he had less motivation to keep you alive.

So you became Scheherazade and spoke softly in between trembling breaths. The boiling temperature inside this circular prison may very well be the Sahara, and if you flutter your eyes shut you can hear the sand dunes sing with the wind. And you lay in a dimly lit room with your new husband, spinning him a story so that he won’t plunge his blade past your sternum — the tip of his silver knife shimmering under firelight as they nick your pulse point. Overlord was your Shahryār, yet you wondered if he was just as curious as the prince or if he was too clever to be outwitted by a story. Most likely the latter. Yet maybe he’s just willing to play along, knowing that he will always be the cat, and never the bird. That there’s only one ending — for he has robbed you of your sunrise and conquered all your dusks— so might as well make it count.

III. But maybe Overlord should’ve killed you. He should’ve snapped you in half, and if the sight would have delighted him into a good mood, it would even be painless, quick. Yet instead, he decided that you were worth more than that. This cat wanted to play with his food. Wanted to hear it sing. And so he performed a massacre and took you with him.

At least it spared Chromedome the pain of having Rewind aboard the compartment with Overlord. Instead, he had you. And ever since then you've been drifting, deeper and deeper into darkness. Swallowed by the void of space, where nothing seems to glow brighter than his optics.

IV. You continued telling him stories. It became the only thing you knew how to do, rather than the only thing that kept you alive. You were now at an abandoned spaceport, where your captor sought temporary refuge. It conveniently hovered above the organic civilization living below on Saturn. He jokes about colonizing them, yet you didn't laugh, quietly staring at the man Overlord just squished under his foot. He must've been a routine worker sent to check the premises. He could have alerted the planet below. And could've called for help.

Bile was rising into the back of your throat.

Maybe he came with a friend. Or maybe Overlord had their way with them already. As you silently wept, you turned the other way — opting to blankly stare past the window. You can see his reflection approaching, the metal beneath you tremble with each step. 

" What did I say about your crying?" He crooned, a digit forcefully dragging your chin upwards. You tried to be defiant, to puff out your cheeks and stop your lips from trembling. Yet there was blood on his armor, sprayed across his face. And now there were some on your cheek, wet and sticky, enough to make the tears fall faster.

Then, amid the silence that has crowded the room, between the background hums and noises coming from the machine arose the subtle, clicking noise of a cooling fan. He pushed the tip of his thumb against your bottom lip, the red shade of his optics burning into a deep shade of garnet. 

" Look at me when you cry," He commanded, " I want to see it."

V. You told him a story of the Roman titan who devoured his sons one by one — afraid they’d overthrow him. Eat or be eaten, was that what Megatron thought when he installed a killswitch in his head? You hoped this would flatter him. It did. A little too much.  

VI. You usually don't talk when he's inside of you. When his spike is stretching you almost too painfully, you never make conversation, it is always the sound of your shallow breathing and his indulgent moaning, mingling together in the air. He didn't force you, no. A part of you had wanted this. Out of sheer fear or stress, you're not sure.

Either way, it's safe to say that Overlord doesn't want you dead anytime soon. Yet he's starting to get bored. Or rather, tired, of wanting. Of fighting this internal disgust in himself for ever thinking of having you like this: underneath him, writhing and struggling to have him all the way to the hilt. He has always been more glutton than prideful. And so here you two were, with his mass displaced yet hands still big enough to cover the expanse of your back — thumbs draped against your nipples. Squeezing, circling. His optics leered at the hickeys and bruises loitering your skin. He has a fascination with how they turn purple and bleed red, sometimes blooming into blue before fading. You tell him as long as he's gentle enough not to break anything, he's more than welcome to have you like this. 

As insatiable as he is, that was enough for him.

" If I had known...organics were this pliant. I would have gotten myself a plaything eons ago."

He roughly snapped his hips upwards, dragging you against the berth. 

" Sing for me."

Nothing made sense anymore. Not when he has you by the talons like a wild animal, hunched over to devour its prey. Atoms would condense and cluster and sink onto your skin, crowding you with heat from the brutal pace he's setting. You're afraid he'd snap your hip as he hikes up your right leg. Angling you, using you, to his pleasure. And there is pleasure out of this for you too, molten liquid tightening around your abdomen. So you indulge him. He likes seeing you cry, and so you did. Begging, whining — which only causes him to hold you closer to his chassis. The thrum of his spark against you is loud enough to send you into a headache.  

It's too much. You wanted to say. But you know it's futile. So as you reached your high — spent and overstimulated from this newfound obsession of his — you could do nothing but brace yourself for the rush of trans fluid spilling down your legs. Your cunt, sore and aching as he finally pulls away.

He says you're funner this way. That's the closest thing you'll get to a sunrise.

[ikkosu]

SOME WORDS UNSAID

(prowlxfem.reader)

author’s note : hello yes, I bring another angst. whew another long, long fic I’ll probably never look at agn. a draft that's been rotting for like months now. had the chance to finish it now. (a bit inspired by the prowl headcannons)

summary : prowl soon realizes the extent of his own loneliness is something he pushed away for far too long. (alternatively, the three times he's asked you to stay; you were never able to.)

warnings : a bit of smut. death. blood. emotional manipulation.

[i]

He's yet to understand these patrons. Why they frequent the bar so often. Drink away to forget their problems.

Prowl leers at the purple ripple, watching it crest before it breaks out into a wave. His digits were deft and tense, wrapping around the mug, rims caked with the same kind of sludge. Pressed against the table, his helm buzzes with the clamour of the bar.

'It's simply illogical, how can someone be so reeled into their thoughts it becomes a plague? 'He'd chastise Chromedome once.

Now, his face is a clear visage on the engex, seams of a frown present, yet the more he glared, the more it churns into something different. Into something alien. Into something unlike him.

"I think it's time we open up that box of problems," Rung's voice was gentle. Unbiased. Not sickly sweet, not monotone, just a clean middle ground where it doesn't ring a bell to punch.

"There are two ways a Cybertronian choose to store their memories." A digit juts out, perking in tandem of his list. Prowl holds back the urge to roll his optics.

"One is much like a gift, wrapped with an abundance of colors. Sparkly and bright. All the good things you'd want to store. The other is a safe haven. A comfort you can dwell when weather comes hard. The last—''

"Let me guess, garbage?" He says dismissively, unbothered to hold the spectacle-looking bot his gaze.

He’s looking at the wall behind him, at the certificates and little ‘toys’ lodged up on the shelf. Is he even a licensed psychiatrist? He'll have to review his profile in full.

"If you want to put it that way, yes." He eventually voices, then seemingly with a more cautious tone he edges on. "Are you bitter about what transpired?"

"Don't even try." Prowl grips the armchair with a vice "There's no point talking about this. What's done is done; it's all in the past. Locked away, tucked neatly from where it came from. I don't get why some people think it's a good idea to re-open up the memory lane."

Rung smiles, often directing his gaze back to the scribbles on the datapad. "I'm sure to you it won't mean much but it helps to understand the underlying emotions of your own grief."

"Yeah? Well, what' it going to do, bring back the dead? " An accusing digit juts out to Rung's chassis. "So, immediately after I open up, it's all sparkles and glitter and everyone lives happy? Is that it? You think it's going to do something?"

'bring her back to life?'

"Loss is something we inevitably face. Avoiding that prospect only broils more complications." He tries to explain.

"Oh, forget it. Why did Rodimus thinks he can be bothered enough to urge you to 'talk' to me about how 'oh-so-feel'?"

"It wasn't his orders, actually. It's Chromedome." He fixes his spectacles, still treading on the gentle tone.. “ He was, ah, in his own terms, worried about how you'll approach the situation...."

Prowl grits his teeth, bristling. "You think I'm mad? You think I need help?"

"Prowl, please." The datapad is laid on his lap as Rung tries to reason. "Nobody thinks that way. In fact they're all worried about you despite your unnatural disposition—"

"About me." He laughs. A bitter one. "About me?"

Prowl stands up with a kick of the chair. It's sent sprawling to the other side of the corner. Momentarily lost, Rung doesn't notice Prowl inching up close to the psychiatrist, snarling much like a jaguar.

"Listen here, goggles." Every enunciation pelts him like a bullet. "If they're so worried about me they would've listened to my concerns the moment I tell them something's about to go wrong. You think I want this? You think I'm mad enough that I need help?"

Rung winces when his helm hits the headrest, avoiding prowl's domineering gaze when he leans in. Nose to nose. Up and personal.

"I'll say it once and I'll say it again. So don't pester me with all this ridiculous requests. I. Dont. Need. His. Help. Yours, either. Everyone's too. So, don't expect me to come back here."

[ii]

None of his business.

Prowl grips the hinds of the door, staggering out from the bar. The engex pounded his helm. It reeled him senseless, mindless. The ground spins beneath him. He's dizzy, close to stumbling. He ignores whatever the bartender chattered about as he left. Something about straightening out the local punks causing trouble. Something about graffiti.

The city lights are a mingled mass of blur as he sauntered across the pavement. Funny looks were thrown at his expense. The ironic visage of his own authority dawdling off like a drunkard. Every organic he sees churns his spark. Forget about transforming, he can't even think straight. Can't even discern which left was his right, or which right was his left. Or if anything was anything, for that matter.

Wherever his mind wanders, his pedes too follows, and against his better judgement, he finds himself stumbling onto your bed. His nose dives into the soft cushion of your pillow, satin silky, a citrus kind of cushion. He closes his optics.

It still smelled like you.

"perhaps it is time you should come to peace with it..."

Maybe, just maybe. Now?

Not yet

[iii]

"You're what?"

"Leaving." You say, a cheery disposition bounces off your tone as you're packing your things, shoving and stuffing whatever you could nab from your desk and into your bag. The leather satchel you're so fond of.

"Leaving? You're kidding me." He scoffs and bristles when you're also grabbing the snow globe from the counter. "Look at me for a second and would you put that thing down? You're seriously leaving."

The snow globe dawdles above the pouch. "Uh huh."

He reels away, mollified. "You're joking."

"Not this time I'm not."

"You too? First, Ratchet, Chromedome and now you? Did he bribe you to come along? Is this some horrible stunt you're pulling to piss me off again? If it's about the time i—"

"What? No! Just..." You look up then away. "Look, Rodimus made a good deal—"

"A lie is what it is!" He grits out, following, as you pawed around your workstation for your trinkets. Those little boxes you marked with stickers. Insides are souvenir of your travel off-world.

"—Sugarcoat, sweet, crafted lies meant to reel you along to ridiculous shenanegans. And for what? A waste of time! An officer of the law like you should know better than to trust those kinds of bots!"

You whirl to face him, clutching the duffel bag like a barrier. "And, as the officer of the law I'm obligated to aid my people into doing right."

"Your people?" He scoffs. "By joining a ship filled with, Primus knows who, on there?"

"That's exactly what I'm going to do."

As you're about to turn away he grabs your forearm, grip unrelenting. "You're making a mistake."

"What do you want me to do here?" You manage to break free, exasperated at his eagerness to coop you up in this place. " The war is done. All opposing factions already withdrew. Organics and Cybertronians are living with each other now. There's nothing to be done anymore!"

"Why does everyone say that?" He equals your look of irritation, servos gesticulating abrasively to prove his point. " No, it's. Not. Just because the war is over doesn't mean the repercussions are gone. We're living off the effects of the war. I need officers, soldiers, anyone who can listen to rebuild the structural order of society." His hand holds out, placatingly. "I need you."

"You don't."You look away. " You need someone better."

"You're better."

"Prowl, please."

"Look, I just." He looks away from a moment, chuffing out a quick vent. It's all transpiring so quickly his emotions pass through the filter in almost a sporadic breeze. "Can we talk?"

You kick the ground, not holding his gaze.

"What's there to talk about?"

The wide, spanning glass, overlooking the myriad of buildings were veiled by the darkness of space, freckled with an occasional shimmer of stars. You're looking off to the side. He's turned away, fixed on the datapad on his table. It's his list. A list of your travels.

His mouth opens. Then, it closes, uncertain. He wants to say those words. Purge them out like his spark is on its last grip. Maybe you'll stay. Maybe, you won't. It doesn't matter because, despite the strange churning in his spark, he can't find himself to do it.

"Stay." He tries for a last grip of hope. It's almost imperceptible to your ears. A daunting whisper. He doesn't bother regarding your apologetic eyes.

"I can't."

[v]

He's lying but he thinks about you a lot. He thinks about how different you are to him, an oxymoron of some sort, baring the usual 'opposites attract' kind of shtick. It was ridiculous, really.

"Who's this?" Prowl waves off the profile dismissively.

Chromedome holds it up with a raise, "New recruit from Iacon. Heard she's a heavy hitter. No, actually— I meant in Forensics. Uh, the Organic department. You know, like, ah, dog sniffers?"

Prowl does a slow one eighty turn. "....Dog sniffers?"

Silence.

"Forget it." He tosses the datapad to the desk. " Just be nice."

"I'll give you a week max before she quits."

And in typical Prowl fashion he'd already did a background check on your profile, pulling up a list of your 'miniscule' crimes, like missing the crosswalk by a second when the signal churns red, or eating in public when you're not suppose to.

Those kinds of stuff.

Chromedome stares at the datapad, scrolling down the 'list' as they trudge towards the conference room. These aren't even illegal. They're just insanely normal things to do. He's not sure how Prowl thinks they are.

"Primus, Prowl. Isn't that a bit kind of creepy?"

"You're a Mnemosurgeon, Chromedome." A mocking croon pelts back. "You go through brains. Isn't that kind of creepy?''

Like a newly wrapped gift, you turned up in front of their office, dressed in a neatly tucked police uniform, wide smile and sparkling eyes, hands primly folded behind your back. The desperate detective wannabe.

"It'll be a pleasure working with you both."

Intuitive yet naive, idealistic yet grounded. He hated that you couldn’t choose a middle ground.

"It won't be, trust me."

[iv]

Under the autumn tree, you held up one leaf to your eye as you peer over to prowl, sizing him up with child-like curiosity. He's hunched over his shoulder, grimacing at the data pad. Sometimes, he thinks if you're even capable of dropping the act.The typical junior constable, laughing under the shade. The occasional spool of light from the crevices, reflects the white of your eyes.

“You know the people that sat next to me on this bench..." You begin, pelting a rock across the river.

It skidded three times before it dawdles off.

"Are mostly held up in vases. Those customs where they put the dead's ashes in. Keep them on a table and light an incense stick to honor them."

He leans against the bench overlooking the lake. In his servos, his digits clamp around an ice cream cone, half melted. He'd spent more time scrutinizing the germs on the sludge, more than he indulged in the taste.

"Y'think you can beat that?"

His tongue shoots out warily, curling up to lap at the cream. "Beat what?"

You threw another rock. This time it doesn't skid. It just sinks, the water rippled after, breaking into a gentle wave.

"Turning up dead."

[vii]

“Wait!”

"Why are you still here?" You snap back, legs unable to upholster your balance.

He managed to grab your arms but you struggled, wrangling away from his grip.

“You don’t care about me." You laugh. A bitter one. "Wait, why should you? I thought we were friends, Prowl. Friends. friends don't do this. Friends don't disrupt the only trust you have with them!"

The sky thundered, dark clouds rolling. The gentle pitter patter of rain prickles your uniform. The cold seeps into your back. You're too messed up to care. He made you mad. Made you angry. He'd call you useless, a martyr. You’re slurring, staggering.

You’re upset.

"Is that why you wanted to leave? To see if I cared enough to ask you to stay?”

"You think I'm asking you to care? You think I wanted you to care?" You jabbed a finger to his chassis. Alcohol reeks from your breath, sweet and ozone tangy. He doesn't move, the scowl on his face undeterred. Your lips quiver, nose scrunching, eyes misty.

"You know what's funny? You always go on about this and that, paranoid about the people who'll betray you, when you're exactly the type to— actually, no the person who went behind my back and tampered with my files—"

When he opened his mouth you cut him off with venom.

"—And don't you even try to cover it up. You know what Red Alert told me this morning? That I was an anomaly! That I couldn't go in!"

"I ensured your files were of proper order. Nothing beyond that is tampered."

"Stop— when will you stop lying to me!"

Against his better judgment, his servos fisted your collar and he reeled you in, "You think I enjoy doing this?"

Before you could reply, his lips catches your own, pressing you up against the wall. The rain is pelting now, soaking you both. Your lips, mingled with the alcohol, tasted sweet. Almost, electric. He can't get enough. So soft, pliable.

You try to break away. He only deepens the kiss, pushing his tongue into your mouth, suckling your own, forbidding you the chance to speak.

His digits curl into your waist, clutching the fabric, holding you close. He needed you to stay. He needed you where he could see your face. Where you're there. Somewhere, close to him. You can’t leave him.

You can’t.

“I don’t care.” He breathes against your lips, "I don't care. Not now. Not yet."

It was a blur. Before long, you find your back dipping against the cushion of your bed, servos palming your thighs, chassis against your bare chest. Uniform fumbled and peeled away to the ground.

Maybe it was the alcohol talking. Or maybe you were too tired to protest. It didn't didn't matter. His lips latched onto your neck, suckling on a light bruise as he rolled his hips, yours moving in tandem, rocking against the bed.

“Prowl—“ He kisses you again.

Don’t speak yet.

Even when you’re pulling the sheets, arching against the soft bed, whimpering, straining out every sound he wrangles out from you, he's erratic, just how he’s rutting you up against the headboard, gripping your wrist, not your hands, face pressed up against your neck

“Stay.” Is a breathless whisper against your flesh.

"I—I can't."

He pulls you into a deeper kiss before you could say anymore, transfluid unspooling, purging the bedsheets mauve.

[viii]

The next morning he’s gone.

You’re alone.

You curl into the blankets, cheek against the pillow, not sure what to think. Perhaps it's a better goodbye than whatever you had in mind. It's not like Prowl is the sentimental type.Theres a note on the floor though, but it’s crumpled, torn apart, pieces littered in a clean pile. The pen is discarded in the kitchen counter. A last reign of control.

Tiptoeing across the cold floor, you scrape it against your palm and dropped it in the bin. It was better not to pry his thoughts. But there was something there, a glimpse of the words you always wanted to see, but still. You don’t believe it.

It's better when things are left unsaid.

'yes, yes. Hello! This is Rodimus speaking! Heard your files were a bit in a pickle yesterday. No worries! I managed to convince Magnus to let you in. Apparently, the system is now of working order. Strange, huh. Should hire better engineers, am I right? Anyways, how about a tour round the ship?'

[viiii]

It’s been months.

You were tinkering in your habsuite, a screwdriver in hand, fisting the electrical cord on your lock, the mini-enabler (a made up name as per Brainstorm's insistence for it to be so) when the communicator on your table pinged. A quick glimpse of the name blared out five familiar characters : Prowl.

Prowl? Your Prowl? What's he doing at this hour? He's, like, miles away. In that space station or whatever. What could he possibly want?

You were tempted to ignore it, reminded of your last meeting with the cop-bot that's likely to grant an awkward reunion. Then, you think with a grimace. What's the point? He'll probably forget about it, avoiding his feelings like the purge of the black plague.

So, you went through and now you're both staring at each other. Expression, neutral. Not sure what to say.His military-like stance contrasted your casual one. Though, he loosed up when the scowl on your face deepened. The holographic display did an impressive job at scaling his actual height. You had to crane your neck to see the light, cyan blue fizzle of his face.

One of Brainstorm's better invention, if you must say.

He looks around, scanning the interior of your habsuite, taking note of the cluttered books on the table, the snow globe you perch on your desk beside your datapads. A complete replica of the cubicle beside his own before you left.

"You’re not..." He trails off, unsure if it's safe to proceed. "...living alone are you?”

With a you huff, you cross your arms.“If you’re here to be a piss baby about it, leave.”

He vents, "I'm not here to be a 'piss baby', I'm here to check up on you."

“Right. So, you can what? Go behind my back and do something stupid again?"

He stiffens up on the immediate defensive. "Fine. I admit it. I did that. But you have to understand—"

"Yeah, well there's nothing to!" You throw up your arms, "You think you can just, I don't know, leave me hanging by a thread then call me five months later when you feel like it? Don't you care about how I feel? Or—"

"Can you listen for a moment?"

"Oh, now you want me to listen. What else, you want me to hear you voice out your justification of being an ass?"

"I did that because I..." The hologram looks away, glitching slightly, "...Because I don't exactly trust the crew enforcing their responsibility over you."

The thrum of the generator lulls over the silence. You stare at him, exasperation fading away. He's no longer staring at your feet, directing his gaze firmly to your eyes.

"It's not that I don't trust you." He says. The hologram takes a step close. You don't turn away, basking in the attempted touch of his servo on your shoulder. It phases through your arm, anyway. Even when it's an affectionate gesture, his expression is strained.

"You've got the knack to pull yourself in unpredictable situations."

You turn away with a huff. "If this is your way of trying to butter me up it's not working."

He looks off to the side, fixed on the snow-globe. "How about a tour of your room for a change?"

You're silent for a moment. "...We can start with the trinkets. "

[viiiii]

The alarm blared before you could think.

Prowl is half-way inspecting another faulty contraption upon your urge when the room is flared in a dark, crimson red, a sporadic bursts in tandem of the swirling siren. The connection is momentarily lost and the hologram fizzles away.

"What's going on?" His voice is a warbled glitch from the datapad. The visage of prowl in his office greets you.

"...The alarm sounded." You stammer, clutching the datapad close, a desperate reign of touch for him here, "That...that doesn't happen often. Well, sometimes . I think. But that was false alarm.

"Then, stay in the room." He commanded. "I'll try to get in touch with Magnus. There's a probable breach going on."

"You think so?" You pace around, a nervous twitch of your fingers, glancing to your door. "But this is. This is different. Usually, Magnus would pinge us. Tell us the situation. Last time, with the sparkeater—"

"Sparkeater?"

"Oh, you can arrest everyone later!" You huff. "My lock's broken, Prowl, what if—"

A distant explosion sounds, rattling the ship just slightly. It's muffled. You vaguely hear the clamour of pedes running, the yelling, the clang of metal scraping — then the storm. It's footsteps. Quick, loud footsteps pattering along towards this hall. Louder and louder. Heavier and heavier. Something clenched your heart tight. Whatever's raging through the ship can't be heading this way, can't it?

Prowl seemed unnerved. "Stay where you are."

"I'll try to close the lights. Maybe it'll disguise me here."

It's proved futile as the moment you reached your door, the shadow does as well, and you're sent sprawling across the floor as your habsuite door is torn wide open. The perpetrator tosses the flimsy metal to the side.

"Oh, dear. Wrong room." The familiar drawl dances through the air.

Your head swivels up, trailing along the path of the navy blue paint scheme, to the notorious curve of a grin, then to the eyes — blood lust.

Over lord.

"My, my, my. Have I seen you before? You look quite familiar."

He starts sauntering towards you. The datapad is clutched taut against your chest. Your eyes flail around for an exit. You're crawling, backing up against your desk.

"I was hoping it was the dreadful warden. You see I've got unfinished business with the latter — but you'll do as well."

"Get out of there!"

Prowl's yell was enough to deter his focus for a moment. You lunge for the space between his legs, rolling across the ground to the other side.

"Feisty little thing!" You hear him croon.

It wasn't long before you pick up the pace and start belting. Boots pounding the metal floor. At the end of the hall, you spot two figures from your periphery : Chromedome gesturing to the trapdoor on his side. Rewind jumping to get your attention.

"Lead him here!"

You yell back. "I've got a better idea!"

"Absolutely not!"

"But he's behind me, Prowl! We can't keep him here forever! Uhnf—"

The momentum of your sprint sent you stumbling into Chromedome and the Archivist, Overlord, following along, clattering against the wall of the hull. The one meant to trap the six phaser. You feel your lungs give out, grime scraping your elbows. Prowl's visage momentarily glitches as it clatters to the ground. Chromedome managed to toss Rewind out in a fit of panic. When it's your turn to grab his servos, you realized it's a spliced out limb from the swift shutting door, energon spooling out from the chafed sockets.

Rewind's staring at the window with despair. Chromedome is slamming his fist against the window, yelling.Prowl grips the screen tight, digits denting the rims of his datapad. He's not breathing. He's lightheaded. He can't get you. You're out there. He's here. You're there. Get out. Get out. Get out!

"Prowl?" Your voice is shaky as you speak. You're hunched over the datapad on the floor. He can see the shadow looming above becoming more prominent. More darker. More daunting. Two crimson flicker for eyes.

“Stay."

Don't let go yet.

Don't let go just yet

“I can't."

[starliights-shining]

Hi again! If it isn’t too much trouble, could you also write some relationship headcanons for IDW Overlord and Trepan (separate) with a human s/o? :o

Heyyy, It not to much trouble, I am an Overlord girly, unfortunately! But thats okay, Hes like really an extremely bad character, but he's still on my love list :( Anyways, I hope this is what you were looking for and I do hope I got Trepan correct! Enjoy :)

Characters: IDW! Overlord and IDW! Trepan

Overlord

Okayyyy, i know Overlord has like always been coo-coo but, i generally feel like if he had an S/O he'd attempte to like take it down a tiny bit. Not to much tho, he still has things he's gotta do.

He wouldn't want you to be apart of anything that has to do with killing or the decepitcons. He actually attempts to keep it this way.

If he can't then he just won't care, as long as youre not in danger on purpose. Get in a situation where you know you shouldn't be and he WILL NOT help you out of it.

If he can help you, he probably will make it seem like he won't and take his sweet ass time to do it. Maybe might get you to beg for him to save you. He's fucking crazy and would do it no questions asked.

I have this like idea, that since his human S/O is so small, he would just hold you in his servos. Lifting you up to places you find interesting and so you can see what he sees.

Since he also shows you what he see he talks to you about certain things, explaings who different cons are and why he(which turns into we) doesn't like them. It's kinda like when someone shows their S/O a reality tv show and is explaining people and lore to them. It's cute, he finds it cute that even in your small state you attempt to give advice and help him in situations.

He's ncie to you, but has a slight sarcastic tone and attitude at times, but its just his normal tone. He can sometimes be super mean, but its very rare he is mean towards you, since he mostly directs it towards Cons or Bots.

He doesn't have anything special about him while in a relationship, he's just kinda there. I can't even say he would attempt to take care of you, because he just doesn't. He spend time with you and trys his best to take you everywhere with him, he cares about you like a little bit. Ask him and he'll say no he doesn't but that simply beccause its Overlord we are talking about.

He just likes having you around, a constant in his crazy coo-coo ass life, and to be honest that the only thing he'd ask for. The rest of his time in the galaxy could just be spent with you, if he didn't have a raging ego and wasn't crazy ass shit, anyways I love Overlord and so should you :)

Trepan

Im going to be real with you guys, he's also fucking crazy. he kidna gives off vibes of keeping his S/O down in his secret ass lab. Just because down there he knows where you are, can make sure you're at least a room or two over from him is he feels off.

I feel like he would try to keep your knowledge of what he does to a minimum. He simply does not want you knowing he is a "bad guy" as he thinks you'll put it.

If you don't care and he allows you to know, he'd be straight up with you, answering any questions you have about his work and why he does it.

He's not mean, he can be a little condescending but other than that he will let you know how he feels. I feel like he enjoys quality time too, so if he can't do something during an experiment or whatever, he'll go looking for you just so he can be in your presence. Either askig you what you think or just quitely doing somehting or watching you do whatever. If not this then his idea of idea of time together is you sitting watching him work on some poor Cybertronian, while he tells you what is happening andd going on. This is only if you show intrest in what he does, if not then uhhh he just sits in a room with you talking or listening to you.

I feel like he's the type to lie if he thinks its better for you, ask about why the autobots are bad and he'll make something up. He WILL lie if it means keeping you with him or on his side, but you don't need to know that

I also want to say that a relationship is nothing special, but I'd be lying, and my names not Trepan. He's kinda controling, never letting you talk to other Cons or Bots that show up asking for him, keeps you hiden away from the rest of the planet or galaxy, simply because he likes you. HE GIVES YANDERE VIBES, i feel like that's what he would do. I was like this bitch is crazy, and it lowkey feels like something a lot of people like in some characters. He CAN and WILL be a Yandere if he feels its nessecary, but if it can all be fixed with a few lies and a nice little kiss then he'll go that route. He doesn't want to scare you off, he just wants you to know he loves you, very dearly.

[cliffghamper837]

💦

[bloodmoon-bites]

Alrighty the transformers x reader has won the poll! who do you want it written with?

Xeno's crackhead cafe on Tumblr

[yexar]

MY TRANSFORMERS MASTERLIST,

WFC

Jetfire smut

IDW 1&2

Senator Shockwave — part 1

OFM

Soundwave x reader — smut

G1

None yet,

TFP

Oc X megatron, platonic 1 & 2

CBW

Overlord smut (not done yet,!)

[signedaiko]

Royalty [Tarn x Reader x Overlord]

Reader is Cybertronian Femme | MTMTE Based

Recommended Song - Dernière Danse by Indila

'You have got to be kidding me.' It had been thousands of years since you had last heard anything from this mech. Why now?  A large ship paced below my own smaller one, housing only a crew of 30 or so cons. I would recognize the peaceful tyranny from anywhere, I was more so unsure of why they were here. Tarn was not one to warn anyone of his endeavors if he intended harm.  I had more reasons to be worried when I noticed Deathsaurus ship pull over top and another much smaller one behind me. Something was up for certain. Standing in the front navigation section of the ship I waited for any kind of hail or notice.  Beep! Beep! The incoming call on the front radar flashed, and I was quick to answer. A cross-section of three faces appeared, mine along the bottom part. Tarn was accounted for on the top, to the left was...Deathsaurus, and to the right...Overlord? This was more than strange.  Hiding my discomfort behind my mask, I tilted my helm upwards. "Hello, Tarn." Quick and to the point would suffice, my patience was running thin. "Happy to see I was invited to the little group chat." A jestful throw, I couldn't help myself. Deathsaurus seemed to crack a small smile, and I had my own forming behind the faceplate, I knew he was the least of my worries tonight. No one else had spoken yet, and I was beginning to contemplate pressing the panic button.  "I have a proposal for you, y/n."  ~~~~~~~~~ It didn't take long for my ship to lock itself into place atop the tyranny, latches keeping it from floating off. There was business to attend to, so I dropped my crew off on Deathsaurus' ship first; they had plenty of friends there and it would hopefully help manage the rising stress levels visible on the ship's AI health data.  When I climbed into the great Tyranny, I was face to face with none other than Vos. We had met before, in not so similar circumstances. I still had some holes hiding under my faceplate courtesy of him.  His unfamiliar tongue broke the silence and he moved to rushed me over to where I was presuming I would meet the rest.  One step at a time, I got there faster than I'd of liked. The smaller purple con didn't seem to care for my discomfort and rushed me into the large room. A table was in the middle, and around it? The entirety of the DJD,  the murderous Overlord, and the sweet Deathsaurus.  All eyes were on me,  the grip my own servos had behind my back became near painful as they pulled in an attempt to reduce stress. I had encountered each on their own before, why was it so hard to do now? "Y/N! Come join us." Deathsaurus smiled and motioned for me to stand next to him, which I did in haste. He was the only one I trusted enough here, I had been a part of his crew long ago; we were good friends now.  "So," There wasn't much to speak about, the deal was already sealed. I supposed Tarn just wanted to intimidate me into staying with them, "You got a new arm."  The words bounced around my head as my arm instinctively moved into my vision. It looked near identical to my other one; aside from its newer paint and finer shape. It was more the insinuation behind the words that bothered me.  'Wouldn't have needed it had it not been for your mistake.' I bit my tongue, careful y/n.  "I didn't exactly have a choice." That's where the wall between the conversation finally worked, and Tarn turned to his crew to begin discussing something about security. My optics finally trailed up the largest threat of the room, meeting his red ones that framed a smirk.  He treads carefully to a door, and I followed suit. The door closed nimbly behind us and freed me from the nervous breakdown I was about to have in there. It was so terribly awkward when you sat in a room full of old acquaintances, friends and enemies alike. What kind of high school reunion was this? "Never expected you to have made it so far, y/n." Overlord found his voice, purring out my name while he led us on our stroll. I used to know him well. "And clearly you took to some changes."  His remark wasn't wrong. Last we met I was a scientist under

the cons, a shy nobody with a bright colour palette and hope for a better world. Now? I looked dull in comparison to then- however, I myself glowed brighter than any star now.  "Seems I made a name for myself out there, and you did too?" Less of a question than a statement, but I wouldn't help but wonder what he had done to get here. I've heard whispers of his designation over the many years since we last spoke.  A shift of air caught me changing stance, pressing a blaster to the mech's stomach; his servo inches from my neck. He had become predictable too.  "Feisty~!" His grin looked sick, he looked like a psycho. I wasn't about to play cat and mouse with him though, his games were for children. My servo pulled something from a compartment I had on myself,  dangling the device before his very optics.  "And to think I was going to give this to you." I teased, swinging it back and forth. I would have my own fun. His servo moved away from my neck to snatch the device, and for once I could have sworn he was impressed.  "How?" The device was a kill switch; many existed! But this one was for a particular person, a certain one that stood before me. I knew he would want it; even if it could no longer harm him.  "By stealing it from Megatron." A sharp voice cut through, it was angry. We both turned to see Tarn and his crew behind us, Kaon's hands were crackling with electricity.  "You would be mistaken," I dared, stepping closer to the DJD all to everyone's surprise. I had survived them once, I would do it again. "For he gave it to me."  My servo moved to my faceplate, pulling it off with a click and a hiss. Below my optics was my mouth, and nothing more. But on the inside of the plate? A special insignia sat, revealed to the rest.  "By Primus..." I heard Overlord take a sharp intake of air, before a deep chuckle reigned, "This whole time we have had royalty onboard?" The insignia of the Royal Sciences Division, or the R.S.D. It was a Decepticon logo, however, the top of it had a golden crown decorating it. The symbol of a long-forgotten crew that served right by Megatron, awarded for the advancements made by mechs and femmes of every flavour.  It didn't take long for the tension to drop, and I had finally stopped right in front of Tarn, looking him straight in the optics.  "Consider yourself lucky." A smile formed, servo pushing my mouth guard right back into place where it belonged. In the world of war, I outranked everyone in the room. I did not want to reveal it so soon but... It was better now than after the torture.  Considering the silence of my dismissal, I stalked back over in the direction of my ship, removing myself from the room. Overlord watched my figure disappear with a sudden glint in his optics, a hunger I failed to notice.  It seemed both Tarn and Overlord had something new of interest.

----------------

Art by - Exodus Requested by - Perth Word Count - 1,318

[liaswritesrobots]

hi! :]

i was wondering if you could write an overlord x human! reader scenario? maybe they just cuddle or smthn fluffy, thank u!!!

It's not often that you and Overlord get time alone together. Like, truly alone. Even when you two get a room to yourselves there's still other people around. Tarn. Deathsaurus. Tarantulas. If one of them isn't making some kind of deal with Overlord then some other Cons are hanging around making sure he's always busy with something.

Most of them don't realize you're there, and the ones that do don't really say anything about it. They know better. The only exceptions being Deathsaurus and Tarantulas. They have actually seen you before, and made sly remarks at Overlord, but other than that no one dares say anything about you to him.

But tonight you don't have to worry about anything distracting either of you. You two are truly alone for the first time in what feels like forever. You two are finally able to just relax without worry of a knock on the door, no having to stifle laughter or keeping the monitor turned down so that no one hears the two of you together.

You lay across Overlord's lap on your stomach as he sits on the bed reading. Your cheek is smooshed against the pillow on his thigh and your hand pressed softly against it as you watch the monitor set up in his room while he gently caresses your back with his thumb.

You gently pap your hand against his leg then rest it against him again and start brushing your thumb against it before letting out a little yawn.

"Sleepy already, love?" He purrs out.

"A little."

He lets out a low chuckle before moving his thumb up to your hair and brushes it against the back of your head, "Rest then. We have a lot of trouble to cause tomorrow." He whispers, leaning down and kissing the top of your head.

"Lay down then." You say, voice low and tired.

He looks down at you puzzled before setting his datapad down and leaning back to lie down. You pick up your pillow and crawl up to his chassis, fluffing the pillow and laying it on his chest. You lie your head on the pillow and curl against him, placing one hand on his chest.

"Ah, I see. Well, I suppose I don't need to get up for anything for the next few hours then." He chuckles again, pulling your blanket off the bed and placing it over you before gently resting a digit over your body. You can hear a mixture of soft humming from both his lips and his chest that lulls you into sleep.

It's nice to finally be alone together.

[inhan---inhan]

[djdlovebot]

Hello, Hello!! I’m so happy y’all enjoyed my Pharma fic!! I’m now delivering an Overlord fic!! I hope you all enjoy!!

“I win.” Overlord x Reader.

Overlord was always fond of you. It’s bizarre! He’s the most known organic hater and here he is, in love with you. Taking you off the Lost Light was one thing, falling in love with you was another. The rather large robot became obsessed. You did too, not sure how, but you did. At least he covered your basic needs. Overlord’s claim is: “I don’t want my human to look disgusting now, do I?” It’s not like he’s taking you anywhere. But he does have a point. Looking gross isn’t good.

“Look at you, Pumpkin! Taking on Decepticons all by yourself! I must say I’m proud of you. You may get a reward later.” The monstrous mech grinned, licking his lips. Thinking of hundreds of pleasurable fantasies. You cringed with a groan. You sat in his servo, with your arms crossed. “It was just a mini-con, Overlord. No need to get your hopes up. He was barely taller than me—it was easy—so easy!” You explained, with an annoyed huff. He noticed your displeasure and frowned. “Aw, darling. Don’t act so glum now! I’ve seen grown bots fight worse than you.” You blinked at his claim, offended. Fuck, even shocked he would say something like that. “Excuse me?!”

That got his attention loud and clear. His red optics now glaring into your eyes. Those blank, hollow, optics. “Did I tell you to raise your voice? I’m most confident I didn’t.” You went quiet after that. But that was soon ended when you shrieked.

With a flick of his wrist, he yanked you by your shirt collar. He was pleased to see you struggle. “Now, don’t fuss, sweetspark! Be thankful I didn’t drop you.” He smirked, eying the ground. That damn smirk could make you weak whenever it wanted it to. “You’re such a fuckass.” You spat, still very annoyed with him. “Such vulgar words, Y/N! Why would you call little old me such things?” He asked you like he hasn’t done anything wrong in his life. Overlord soon batted his optics at you. He soon set you down on a rock. Overlord brought you everywhere with him. No matter where he always brought you with him.

“Can we just go back now? It’s a wasteland!” You whined, with a tap of your foot. Overlord rolled his optics. “Why must you always complain? You should be grateful that I’m taking you places, Pumpkin. There’s so many sights to see.” He concluded, placing a servo on his hip.

Like what? Besides dead bodies.” You said, looking around. It was pretty true. Not much in this area. Dead bodies just about covers it. “They add to the scenery, don’t they, Y/N?” Overlord claimed, looking at his...nails? It hurt your head to wrap around these things. How the Cybertronian frame worked, languages, traditions, etc. “What? No, Overlord. They don’t. This place smells disgusting too.” You took in the flaming, burning, atrocious smell and gagged. “Everything smells disgusting to you humans.” Overlord scoffed, but then got the idea to put his pede on the rock you were standing at.

He put it at the end of it, moving it back and forth, along with the stone. You jumped in surprise with a scream. You yelled in anger when you saw him laughing. “You’re so fucking immature!”

“So?”

“What do you mean “So”?!”

“I’m doing nothing wrong, dear.”

“Nothing wrong—Oh, forget it.”

“I win.”

“Yeah, for now.”

[imababblekat]

Imagine Life After Taking In Androidformer Overlord

(A/N: Changed this up so that it better fit my androidformer au.)

~

Overlord was what one would consider a very damaged android. No android should be the way he is, modified to an extreme that disconnected him from others. He did not have the familiarity that other androids had to appeal and be approachable to humans. He was taken apart and put back together on repeat, each time with a new modification to better suit him to the cause his old leader was once so devoted to. Now that that cause was lost, did that he mean he wanted to be fixed? Of course not, so then why did he keep you around?

You were just another human, sure one that knew their way around an android and all its inner workings, but just another human nonetheless. Perhaps you’d forcibly fix some of Overlords wounds after returning from, well, you’d rather not think about what it was he’d just come from considering the amount of thirium he’d return caked in that did not belong to him. Perhaps he kept you for entertainment reasons? If so, what would those be? All you ever did, was sit around in your home now turned prison, some days feeling as though you’re wasting away, and others hopelessly staring out the attic window. It wasn’t like you couldn’t try to escape, this was your house after all, but something smart within you kept you from doing so. The hybrid, monstrosity of an android had cut any and all communication to the outside world, and had basically fortified any windows or doors to only open at his technological will. Even if you did somehow manage to find a way out, you doubt you’d be free for very long, and trying to imagine the consequences once recaptured never seemed to quite fit his horrid capabilities.

You pull your eyes from the tiny, old glass window, looking towards the wall adjacent to you and all of the scratched marks of the days you’ve been imprisoned in your own home. Hearing the sounds of heavy footsteps make their way up the stairs, your attention darted to the door, waiting with bated breath. The door opened to Overlord, the enormous android having to duck to get through the entrance. He looked to you from where he stood, the light of the hall casting a halo glow around him, like some kind of ominous entity.

“I’m leaving. Trepan will be arriving shortly to keep watch, and is also bringing you food.”, he spoke, voice slightly hinted with giddiness to whatever he would be taking care of, and his lips spread in a not so friendly smile.

Oh how much you wished you could punch those stupidly huge lips of his. Knock it right off his face and into the trash where they belonged.

Overlord kept his eyes on you, waiting for you to say something, only for you to look back out the window and pull your legs in closer for safety. His smile fell, a deep scowl taking its place, LED flashing red, and he glared into your back, no doubt the intensity of it searing right through. While thankful you had not tried to leave, though that would provide him with much amusement, your distant behavior drove him mad, and he hated it, but not for the reasons you might think. It wasn’t due to disrespect, in fact, he wished you would show some form of defiance towards him, if only to give him a good laugh. No, he hated it because he wanted you to talk to him. An aching pain would form in his thirium pump every time you looked away and said nothing, and he hated that it was there. He hated that he cared about you not interacting with him. You were nothing but a tool to have around in case he were injured, a tool that could easily be replaced. So why did your refusal to say even just an “Okay”, bother him so much?

The attic door slamming behind you resulted in a startled jump, and the release of streaming tears and choked sobs you had been trying so desperately to hold back. Stumbling up from the window sill, you hobbled over to the marked wall, etching in another tick mark.

Another day. 

Another day you wish you hadn’t had such a kind heart and taken in the damaged android from the side of the road.

~xXx~

[chrome-mind]

Can I request a scenario where MTMTE Fort Max’s Cybertronian mech s/o is being badly hurt by overlord right in front of him? Nobody has ever answered this ask before, and now that requests are open, I was kinda hoping you could....

((Clearly this is going to be pretty graphic. You’ve been warned.))

Fortess Maximus is horrified, it’s like a recurring nightmare. The replaying of his own torture at the hands of Overlord in the back of his mind. Over and over and over. The staticky shrieks coming from his conjux rattled his very spark, the rest of his body shivering with it. He had waited three years until help came for him. He had only survived that long because Overlord had wanted him to, but even then he had still wished for death. “My my, Maximus are you sobbing?” Overlord asked him in fake concern. There was screeching and twisting of metal immediately after the question, Overlord attempting to get a reaction and succeeding. “Stop…! Stop!” The former warden pleaded. The phase-sixer merely laughed in amusement before beginning to pull at his current entertainment’s servo, smiling at the sound of the snapping of wires.

[thanksjro]

Last Stand of the Wreckers, Issue #5: I Sure Hope You Didn’t Go and Get Attached to Any of These Characters…

We ended on a cliffhanger last issue, so let’s see what the lads are up to now.

Hm. That’s not great.

Overlord’s just ripped Guzzle in half for the fun of it. If you’re wondering why everyone’s outside now, it’s because he exploded the torture chamber so hard when he came in, it no longer exists. Kup doesn’t appreciate having one half of the Big Gulp duo torn in two, so he goes in for the attack. This doesn’t work out very well for him, as he has his head crushed between Guzzle’s upper and lower halves. This whole situation is a non-issue for Overlord, and barely distracts him from his goal of having Megatron show up to kick his ass. Impactor tries to have a big hero moment by shooting Overlord in the eye with his harpoon hand-attachment. Again, very little effect on Overlord; it doesn’t even seem to register on the same level as getting a little soap in your eye.

Back over with Ironfist and the Big Conundrum, Verity’s arguing that killing Impactor will kill the Wreckers- as a team, not in the literal sense. However, time’s running out, and Perceptor really doesn’t seem to be bothered by the idea of not having Impactor around.

She gets smaller every issue, I swear.

Verity makes her case to Ironfist, trying to play off of his fanboy status; the Wreckers are a symbol of hope, one that Ironfist himself created with his datalogs as Fisitron. Killing Impactor to make things easier for themselves destroys the illusion of a cohesive unit who can always be counted on when the chips are down. Too bad ol’ Ironfist knows Things™, and it’s actually Perceptor who’s swayed by her argument, which is interesting, given that he was about to vote Impactor into an early grave a minute ago.

Perceptor wasn’t always the cool, efficient sniper we see him to be in Last Stand of the Wreckers. He used to be a regular old science nerd, and a relatively talkative one at that. He wasn’t really built for a four million year war.

Then all that talking got him shot and he was left for dead.

He made some changes after that, both in body and personality.

Could his own experience with being forsaken by his peers for his flaws perhaps be influencing him here? Or am I, a reader and giant dork, just trying to justify a very quick backtracking on the narrative’s part, most likely due to page number limitations?

So they decide to fight. Then Pyro suggests they run. The “they” in this case doesn’t include himself. You remember how Optimus Prime’s big character quirk in every continuity is self-sacrifice? Yeah, we’re hitting on THAT portion of Pyro’s hero worship. It’s not exactly what he was hoping for in death, but it’s what’s got to be done at this point.

The others run off, and Pyro shoots the control to the door, bracing for one hell of a fight.

Holy shit, I forgot they had Fort Max with them! That scared the crap outta me.

There’s one last look at our hero before we go, and it…

Well, it sure is something.

Yikes. That’s a series wrap on Pyro!

Now it’s time for us to learn about what really happened on Pova. Turns out the files Ironfist had access to weren’t exactly virginal.

First things first, it was raining, and Impactor is kind of a dick. I mean, we already kind of knew that from what we’ve seen of the guy in the present day story, but this little scene really takes the cake. Springer had to basically beg him to stay with him; none of that “I’m not leaving you behind” nonsense. And the whole “shoot Springer through the midsection” idea? That was all Impactor. Springer doesn’t have a way to dampen the pain the way Impactor suggests, and doesn’t even get a moment to brace himself as he’s blasted more or less in half.

When Springer regains consciousness, he’s treated to the sight of Impactor and Prowl having a little chat. It turns out there’s a problem, and that problem’s name is bureaucracy. Pova is a protected planet, declared off-limits by the Neutrality Agreement, so any Cybertronian war business is pretty much null and void there. The fact that the Wreckers are there at all could have disastrous repercussions if the Decepticons catch wind of this and tell the Povians. They’ll have to let Squadron X go.

But it looks like Prowl forgot that Impactor’s a bad boy who doesn’t play by your daddy’s rules.

He walks into where they’re holding Squadron X, chained together into a circle on their knees, with their arms pinned behind their backs, locks the door behind himself, and executes every last one of them as Springer bangs on the door trying to get him to stop. This, obviously, puts a bit of a damper on everyone’s mood.

Even Whirl’s bummed out, and you just know that guy loves a good ‘Con-killing spree.

I guess the moral of the story here is Impactor kinda sucks.

Speaking of Impactor, Overlord’s currently stomping him to death as he holds Springer by the face. It’s honestly almost tender, the delicate placement of his fingers. It also reminds you that Overlord is literally twice the size of Springer, who, as a triple-changer, should already be on the tall side. Overlord is a big dude.

Springer’s still doing okay, because he knows that even if he doesn’t make it, the rest of his team will, and they’ll save the day and get all those Autobot prisoners off Garrus-9.

Ha. Haha. Oh, Springer, you naïve fool. You forgot that this was hell, didn’t you? Overlord already took care of the Autobot prisoners.

Someone really took their gun to that hanging guy on the left and said “fuck this dude in particular.”

Then the calvary arrives! With guns! And art tangents!

Surely things are looking up now!

Ironfist throws Springer a gun that’s about as big as he is- where did he get that?- and Springer proceeds to light Overlord the fuck up.

You don’t get the B-word pass at IDW unless you’ve already had your series truncated and the entire universe is about to get ended for a reboot. That’s just how it goes.

Of course, even the big boy gun isn’t enough to do much to Overlord outside of annoy him, and Springer gets his face ripped off for his troubles.

Now it’s just Ironfist and Verity left, and Overlord is very much looking forward to doing very bad things to both of them. Ironfist has a gambit though! That gun Springer had was actually firing deterrence chips into Overlord’s body, and now he’s just chock-full of the things. And since Ironfist has all of Aequitas in his head now- including the detonation codes- he can do this:

He blew Overlord’s lips clean off! The evil truly is defeated.

However, using this newfound power has costs- Ironfist is knocked clean out by a sudden pain in his head, eyes flaring and fizzing as he hits the ground, leaving Verity alone with Overlord’s flaming, animated endoskeleton.

Yeah no, he’s still not dead, and he’s still not fucking over Megatron, lamenting on how he just isn’t sure how he’ll fight him, now that he’s little more than robot bones. Verity has to be the one to break it to the guy that Megatron’s dead, and Overlord takes it about as well as he can.

I’m sorry Overlord, but at what friggin’ point were you promised ANYTHING from Megatron “Peace Through Tyranny” of Tarn? You were threatened, but that’s a little different than a vow to get revenge. Hell, that’s not even on the same level as as pinky-promise. What a baby.

Impactor ends the pity party by shooting Overlord with his alt-mode’s weaponry and then does a little something for Springer… by not ending Overlord. Nope, looks like the death of Springer finally let him see the error of his ways, and they’re going to bring Overlord in to stand trial, because while the guy deserves to die, Impactor doesn’t deserve to kill him. Maybe if more Transformers took this little idea to heart, they wouldn’t still be at war four million years and counting.

Impactor goes to radio for a ride, and Ironfist wakes up. It looks like everything’s going to be okay now.

Or not.

Yep, those weird brain-seeking bullets Ironfist had loaded into all the guns he brought on the trip were perfected after a disastrous prototype testing accident. THE accident, if you will. Prowl knew about this, and used it to his advantage, throwing Ironfist on the mission, with the intent that he’d be used to unlock Aequitas. Topspin, of course, caused the plan to change a bit, but it all worked out in the end.

Also, Springer isn’t dead. He’s pretty messed up, but he’s not dead. They’ve got Ratchet on it, it’ll be fine.

And thus we arrive at the debriefing, between Prowl and Ultra Magnus. Magnus is questioning just why Prowl had this mission sanctioned in the first place, if he was so very against the Aequitas trials while they were happening. The answer is simple: propaganda. If the Decepticons were to find out that the trials involved nothing but Autobot war crimes, and lots of ‘em, it would be the ultimate blow to the Autobot forces.

Ultra Magnus thinks that they should go public with the information, but Prowl disagrees. The only copy of Aequitas is left with Prowl, and while Ultra Magnus would like to trust that he wouldn’t destroy this info, the end result is left a mystery.

But you’ll have to read the sequel series to see just how that all turns out.

If Ironfist is dead, just who is writing up this narrative framing device for the issue? Why, it’s none other than Verity Carlo, using the power of the internet. I guess she has access to the Cybertronian internet now. Wonder who hooked her up with that. Probably not Ultra Magnus. Maybe Percy did her a solid as a thanks for surgically removing Overlord’s will to live.

Whether you want it to or not, I suppose.

This miniseries is a little dark, ain’t it?

Verity went to all the trouble to leave Earth and hide in the escape pods so she wouldn’t be abandoned, only to end up right where she started, with a heaping spoonful of PTSD to pair off with all the disappointment and lack of friends in her life. She watched a lot of people die on Garrus-9, and she’s in no way battle-hardened like one could argue the other surviving Wreckers are. All she has at this point is a blog she inherited from a nerd who accidentally committed a slow-burn suicide. I hope Perceptor will keep in touch with her, at least, seeing as he’s the only one who was also there and isn’t dead.

That’s the end of the miniseries proper, but not the entirety of the story. Up next, we’ll be looking at all the fun little extras Last Stand of the Wreckers came with.

[stlplaybox]

The Home Stretch

This week marks the beginning of the end. The crew that we’ve come to know and love will careen into into their final story arc. But instead of conjecturing about the mountain of questions that remain unanswered, I want to spend some time honing in on the key pieces on the elaborate chessboard that James Roberts has setup. After all, what is MTMTE/Lost Light other than the sum part of the characters it has woven together?

The question I want to explore is this: who are the key players that will shape this final story arc? If we can guess who, we have an idea of what’s at stake, what to look out for, and, most importantly, how are hearts are going to be broken. 

Like my write up of who was likely to survive the Dying of the Light, I’m going to give the odds of each character playing a big role as I expect (hope).

Naturally, before we proceed, a heavy SPOILERS reminder. If you haven’t already caught up, please don’t proceed past this point. 

The Set Pieces

Rodimus: This is Rodimus’ story. This is his quest. This is his ship. These are his friends. Lost Light has always been about the story of how the unlikeliest of bots banded together on the unlikeliest of journeys and became the unlikeliest of friends. Deep down Rodimus has always known this wasn’t about the quest. He made this concession early in the opening salvo of Dark Cybertron before Getaway or Megatron came aboard. Deep down this is all that matters to Rodimus. At it’s core, this is why Rodimus hates Getaway. Their confrontation will be brutal as Rodimus must come to terms with the damage that Getaway has inflicted. 

Odds: A Sure Bet.

Getaway: There is no Getaway without Rodimus. A bot who has lost his way and committed to his dark path, he must come colliding with the bots that he resented and displaced. We may not be certain of what fate the rest of the Lost Light has succumbed to, but Getaway’s confrontation with Rodimus and crew will be a chilling contrast to what life used to be aboard the Lost Light.

Odds: A Sure Bet.

Ratchet vs Pharma: Apart from the foreshadowing in Lost Light #1, you don’t reveal Cyberutopia as being an eerie science fiction take on euthanasia and palliative care without these two characters clashing again. Ratchet has been a big heart of this book and there’s no better way to raise the stakes than forcing a confrontation with the bot that resents him more than anything else in this universe. If you think back to Ratchet’s story arc at the start of season one, this surely comes full circle.

Odds: A Sure Bet.

Drift: One of the key players from the start, we know there has always been, pardon the pun, more than meets the eye with Drift. Issue #18’s revelations will undoubtedly have an important impact on Drift but there’s still too much about Drift that’s been left vague. On a ship of misfits who were always looking for anything else but the reality of post war life, he’s always had an angle. Now we’re going to get to find out exactly what.

Odds: A Sure Bet.

Rung: He’s been primed for this. If there was ever a moment he was going to shine, this is it. All the pieces are in play. The sparks, the blacksmith, the whole forged vs constructed cold. The Lost Light’s opening arc was a vehicle that set up Rung’s potential and there’s no way JRo is letting this one through to the keeper. Rung prime must star.

Odds: A Sure Bet.

The Grand Architect: the identity of this bot is the biggest mystery. I have a few loose theories but nothing that’s convincing but we’ll leave that for another time. I’m convinced whoever they are revealed to be, it’ll be critical to shaping the final trajectory of the our beloved crew.

Odds: A Sure Bet.

Nautica: The themes of memory, revisionism and identity have been core to MTMTE/Lost Light since the beginning. Skids was a key exponent of this and his death triggered something in Nautica. In trying to save one of her dearest friends, Nautica lost her memories of ever loving him and this is biggest note that can be sounded to tell this story. The consequences have been tragic for us the reader to watch but it does not come full circle until Nautica herself realises the price she has paid. Strap yourselves in. This is going to hurt.

Odds: 95%

Anode: Brought on at the start of Season 3, the obnoxious and brash blacksmith’s skills clearly have a key part to play. How? I’m not sure, but that the Grand Architect was responsible for sending her on the quest in Lost Light #1, means she has a large role in the coming conflict. 

Odds: 95%

The Wildcards

First Aid: If there is one character who owes so much to the Lost Light, it’s First Aid. Rescued from the dreariness that was Delphi, he found his identity and home  onboard the Lost Light. From the companionship of other minibots who he watched movies with to being anointed the Chief Medical Officer, First Aid is mortified by his role in enabling Getaway to assume control of the Lost Light. It’s personal now and I can’t see First Aid not coming back to make things right.

Odds: 90%

Megatron: Will Megatron return in the darkest hour? A la Drift and Ratchet in the Dying of the Light? I believed this with full certainty at first. But I wavered on this after a great debate with my dear friend (@SeanV2) but then my memory went back to some of Megatron’s own words: 

“Sometimes, you look back on your life - on your life’s work and you realise that it’s unsalvageable.  And if you’re brave enough - or desperate enough - you throw it all away and start again. On Luna 2, I threw it all away. And here on this ship, I started again.” 

Megatron never wanted to stay in the Functionist Universe. It was Terminus who entrapped him. For Megatron to complete his arc, he must come back. He may never atone for the atrocities he’s committed but coming back means that he’s desperate enough to salvage his second lease on life and make it count on the ship that gave it to him. 

But what about the mechanics of getting him back, you say? Let’s not forget the liberties that are afforded to a writer when said titular character carries around an inter dimensional wormhole in his gut.

James Roberts has also on the record said that he needed to move Megatron from the board to focus on the core characters. He also said that this was the last we’d seen of the Scavengers. Go figure.

Odds: 85%

Grimlock: The big bad of Autobot fandom has been simmering away in the IDW universe and this is his moment to shine. He’s been there since the beginning and we’ve watched as he’s slowly pulled himself back together with the help of the Scavengers. We’ve seen him take command of a situation already but he’s also carrying the child and I can’t see Grimlock role not having a pivotal role in all this.  

Odds: 80%

Deathsaurus: With Nickel’s role in helping him realise the bigger picture, I can’t see Deathsaurus not coming for her. And in doing so, Deathsaurus brings a disenfranchised arm of the Decepticon cause in this post war environment back to the chessboard. This is important as a core component of the MTMTE lore has been to question the black and white roles of Autobot and Decepticons. Bringing them to the fold in this finale offers an x-factor in the moral quagmire that is MTMTE/Lost Light.

Odds: 60%

The Dark Horses

Overlord: if there is something brewing in the Transformers Universe, the Galactic Council will no doubt have their eyes on this. What better way to bring a loose cannon into the fold than this? There’s an unsolved mystery here as well. The Galactic Council has been lurking in the shadows since the early days of MTMTE and I think it’s high time we got the answer to how they tamed a Phase Sixer that Megatron could barely keep in check.

Odds: 40%.

Roller: Why bring back a character who has contributed so little? Don’t get me wrong, I’ve loved his appearances in the flashbacks but there’s been nothing potent and imposing about his presence yet. I refuse to believe James brought him back purely as eye candy (and that he is!). That said, I’ve looked hard but I’m unsure how he fits in this end game so all I’m going on is that he had to be brought back for a reason.

Odds: 10%

Fortress Maximus & Red Alert: These two were pretty much there at the beginning. That they went to Necroworld where things have gone awol, will have give them a trail to follow. Realistically they maybe will have a cameo at best but I think I speak for a lot of us when I drool over the prospect of the newest Enforcer of the Tyrest Accord confronting Scorponok. 

Odds: 10% 

So there it is. My hypothesising about who would die in Dying of the Light was pretty good. Will I be as lucky this time? Let’s strap ourselves in for the final ride and see how we go this time.