#cw robogore

[room-of-lies]

You are now, as you once were: Beautiful

[synchros]

[Image ID: A vertically oriented digital painting of Megatron from the Transformers IDW 2005 comics. He is in his stealth bomber design from Spotlight: Megatron. He's standing in a pool of energon against a dark background with more energon falling from above. His right hand is in a fist, and in his left, he's brandishing a Cybertronian brain module and spinal cord. /.End ID]

FINALLY freed this guy from languishing in my WIPs

[starsh0ck]

CW: robogore, energon

Brainstorm is trying the grimace shake! I hope he likes it!

[quantumlogician]

O Primus grant me thy guidance, thy strength to continue my journey. Dye me in thy light, warm my circuitry, so that I may stay on your path.

Sunstorm chants this within, sacred words spoken by a mouth, from a mech, committing iniquitous acts. Claws rend through the soft alloy of his fallen brothers, carving into the protometal of their viscera, grabbing servofuls of tangled circuitry and alloy from the hulls. He lifted the metallic mass overhead and squeezed, allowing the energon to pour onto his glossa and feed him the forbidden ambrosia necessary to stave off the hunger.

There was plenty to pillage and much more to save for later. They were a dull lot, only good for rudimentary tactical precision, but not so free-thinking as he. The radiant Seeker felt no remorse for this.

He licked his dentae near clean, save for the film of fluid that clung to his enamel, tucking away the reserves into his subspace for later. The air shifted, paired with a seismic rumble of a ship dropping into perimeter.

It did not register onto his call-log if it were either friend or foe. He didn't have the time to check before its carried mechs were upon him. An arm raised over his optics, shielding the brightness from blinding him, but he didn't move.

" My, what do we have here? " he spoke aloud, mostly to himself.

Closed — @gladiatorspxrked

[lillified]

shapeless, formless, violent, naked, mechanical trauma

[kawareo]

The Ambulonce

[ihatebrainstorm]

[The G.R.I.M.A.C.E Shake]

I'm so sorry, but I had to make a Brainstorm joke when I heard about this

[heljay]

Finished the Glamrock gijinkas!!

They turned out super well! I'm very happy with them :'3 Freddy probably was the most difficult to design, thanks to his conflicting aesthetics (and the struggle to decide what hairstyle to give him); Chica is probably my favourite, though warning for the extreme robogore on her. My poor girl.

Roxy took the longest because I just got lazy on her shattered and ruined variants. Monty was pretty quick since I'd already put the work in on him, and because I devoted most of the big space-filling to his One Jug variant

I have the Nightmares to do and also one extra-- wish me luck on the former lmfao

[chrometheraptor]

Click for full quality, tumblr compressed it a bit!! Closeup under cut

[drill-teeth-art]

Feast On Tape

[room-of-lies]

That’s your face, but I see a weapon now

[synchros]

Figured I may as well post my original reverse big bang concept sketches because I love process stuff! (and also maybe to hold future me accountable to doing something with the two rejects)

From left to right we've got:

The one I went with, as it's an idea I've been mulling over for a long time and best fit the scope of the mini big bang: A very young miner Megs discovering his unusual spark after an accident and having to reconcile that with his cold constructed frame, perhaps being what catalyzes his political writing in the first place (inspired by the below exchange from Chaos Theory Part 1).

Pre-LSOTW Ultra Magnus gifting the power armor to Verity in a very rare moment of emotional genuineness from him at this point in his character development. We were ROBBED of Uncle Magnus and Verity bonding via misadventures in space, and I still so desperately want to see it.

Pre-Requiem of the Wreckers exploring the fucking wild "neither of us are over our not-exes" situationship Tarantulas and Overlord had that I still can't believe is kind of canon. Overlord has an apparent lack of sensation due to the ununtrium coating, and you can't tell me Tarantulas wouldn't want to get his mad scientist on to figure out how it works.

[cyber-skeletons]

Megatron the Terrible and his Lover

Original below the cut

[quantumlogician]

" I'd never dream of it. " Could never dream of it. Flight-forms like Starscream —fresh off the press— were made to scavenge the skies, carrying the spoils that were torn from these refineries, moving an obscene amount of cargo per deca-cycle. That is what they were made for, after all.

On paper, it sounds so pristine and perfect. Surely watering the intakes of pen-pushing idyllic scientists with how the Functionalist system carved out the infrastructure of their castes. Starscream, for a time, bought such rigid adherence without question because he glided in the skies where he belonged, technically.

Malcontent and all that came later. This story has been told an innumerable amount of times.

" Labor laws, " the Emperor mouths, memory receding to an image of his former lord, shadowed among the dreary cavern walls. It's the same silhouette every time: A large bot with an unfathomable height burned black into the surface his shadow casts on with two solid, narrowed optics carved in where they ought to be. It was both a strange familiar comfort, yet a stoke on the flames of his ire every time the ghost appears. " You're right, I'd hate to have another aspiring one of him running amuck, if I can help it. " He dares not say his name.

This intense feeling fades when Rodimus clasps his shoulder. A forlorn look scoring into Starscream's facial plates and for the briefest moment, he leers it at the other, but it was caught, and tucked away. He hardened his gaze into the usual pompous indifference, wings shifting up in awareness when that grip tightened near imperceptive.

" Where are you going? " he called back when the baby Prime diverts path to some other tunnel the Seeker didn't have mapped on his radar. " Hey! Rodimus, we have to go this way! " He yelled louder than the last when he didn't respond to him.

" Really? " he muttered with a servo wiping down over his face.

With a groan and a heated cycle of his vents, he tracked the other into this uncomfortable heat. He hates the heat. Atmospheric cascading heat he can muster, the sweltering warmth of a sun too close to surface is manageable, but something about this temperature buzzed something more ancient within his casing. Something he'd ignore for vorns and had no interest in remembering.

Nonetheless, he tailed the other, giving up on their pathing for now.

Then he saw it, an old corpse molded into the texture of this cave. A rusted shine over his mock-crown of a glory that no longer shined. The rest of its body this wretched twist and mangle of metal, stripped of its Prime livery and details. Zeta Prime — a relic of a bygone era.

A frown draws over Starscream's lips, forced and ceremonial. He tried so, so hard to maintain this solemn official front, but out came his laughter; high-pitched, shrill, derisive — like claws on a chalkboard, like the shattering of clear glass on stainless steel counter tops.

He swallowed half way through his mocking, sniffing to seek his composure and say: " so, this is where that old bitch ended up? How so wonderfully befitting of him! "

Ignoring the somber climate of the room, Starscream seized Rodimus by both shoulders from behind. Both using him as a prop to keep himself upright and to lovingly commerate him such a beautiful display of righteous brutality.

" My dear Roddy — this was of your doing? Oh, please tell me it is! " His laughter came in near sobs, unable to cycle his vents and endure such overwhelming, sudden elation, a sensation he has not experienced in such a long, long time. " Tell me -- did he scream? Did he cry? Did he beg for Primus? HAHAHA. "

Another sniff and a near cough, " did he choke on the fading promise of his dynasty? "

Without a war to fight, Rodimus often felt useless.

He wasn't like Optimus Prime. That much he had already come to terms with— and even if he hadn't, everyone and their mother felt entitled to remind him: broadcasts often dragged him through the mud when it came to how he wasn't as eloquent or as stoic as Optimus. How by the time he was his age Optimus had achieved this or that. How Optimus didn't need to have his speeches written for him.

He still doesn't know how the frag they found out that Drift writes his speeches.

But there is one thing Rodimus has chosen to deem an absolute truth, one thing he's better at than Optimus: manual labor. Because a hall of records archivist turned faction leader got nothing on a mech that spent every moment since he can remember being put to work, being made to earn the roof over his head and the energon cubes to fuel him. He's the mech that gets his hands dirty whenever it is needed– prime or not. And so he follows Starscream through the ruins of Nyon, all that remains of Rodimus' biggest failure. Past them, to the mines.

He snorts when Starscream calls this 'drab work'. "Try working a half-week long shift keeping the ovens burning at the Nyon energon refinery." just the memory makes Rodimus groan. "THAT was drab work."

At least when it comes to walking through long abandoned tunnels, there is a sense of mystery and adventure that encourages the Prime. He walks behind Starscream, headlights on to light the way ahead of them just in case. The last thing either of them need is to end up injured or trapped this far away from civilization. As they walk past old cables and rusty machinery —some of it looking as if it'd been in bad shape even before the city's demise—, Rodimus finds himself wondering what working here must have been like. He remembers then that Megatron used to be a miner, and it doesn't take long for him to connect the dots.

"We're going to need better labor laws for miners if we want this place to run smoothly," Rodimus says, already choosing to believe they WILL find energon there. "We know history too well to let it repeat itself."

He isn't deaf to the formality of Strarscream's tone. But it is something that he's grown used to already. Everyone treats him differently these days. Arcee, Kup, and now Starscream. Rodimus has to admit a part of him is disappointed. He had hoped Starscream would be the exception.

His optics focus on the ground and he reaches forward, grabbing Starscream by the shoulder to stop him.

Scorch marks shaped like pedals, making a path out of a smaller tunnel to their left. His headlights illuminate the entrance, revealing that on the wall at the edge of it there is yet another scorch mark: shaped like a servo. Smaller than Rodimus' are nowadays, but nonetheless HIS.

The memory of Hot Rod walking out of that tunnel floods Rodimus' processor, makes him grip Starscream's shoulder a little tighter.

"I..." he lets go of Starscream, slowly making his way into that other tunnel. His systems warning him about increasing temperature. His vents kick in. He's burned enough in these tunnels. "I've been here before."

As he suspects, the tunnel is as unfinished and short as it was the last time he set for on it. It doesn't take much walking to reach HIM.

Zeta Prime lies right where Hot Rod left him.

The wall behind him is scorched, marked by dried up energon and scratch marks, a picture of the terror and desperation that the Prime felt in his last moments, forever trapped in the tunnel where he was once unable to get away from the one who extinguishing his spark. The body is slumped against the corner, free of any rust– then again, there wasn't much of him left unburnt for rust to settle over.

Zeta's helm is tilted back, the crown-like shape of it reduced to a blob attached to the wall, his shattered optics wide– even wider than they used to be, because the socket had melted at the edges, leaving the lines of long dried metal to resemble tears, exposing fried optic wires. There is little left of the nose, it melted along with the dentals, creating a fence-like image over the mouth, which is wide open, the jaw half dislodged, held in place by those very 'bars', perfectly preserving the look of absolute terror and excruciating pain. The arms and torso are a mess, it is impossible to tell where the torso starts and the arms end. A single servo remains relatively unharmed, clutching the neck, having been shielded by the other, which is nothing but a shapeless mass of long dried metal spilling down the mech's lap and to the ground, as does most of the frame. The legs are no longer connected to the body, the softer material of the tibulens having melted over the circuits, encasing them.

Rodimus stands right where he stood back then. Where the ground once sunk under scorching pedals, and still holds their shape.

"The circuits are the last thing to burn," Rodimus speaks, knowing Starscream is not far behind. "That's why when someone burns, they feel every klik of it until the heat finally kills them– and it's not fast, the cooling system turns its efforts to keeping the spark and processor from being affected by the heat for as long as possible."

[lillified]

Very weird question but do you have anymore robot gut drawings? I'm doing my final art project in college about robots and I would love to include you as artist research for my course, if not it's completely fine I was just wondering 😊

hi!! I’m sure I have more in the archives somewhere (I’ve actually designed a charm with some gore detail that I can’t list quite yet… unfortunate timing) but off the top of my head, this unfinished comic is the only thing I can think of. oops!

this is a little old at this point, not sure if it’s something I’ll return to

[kawareo]

Day 5: Internal Injuries

If Helex tried to kill Fulcrum before Scavengers de-bombed him, i dunno, thought it'd be a fun visual if an explosion happened inside :) also i just love drawing helex

<< Day 4: Speared >> Day 6: Meat Hooks

Goretober Masterlist

If you have suggestions for who to draw, send me an ask!

no words under cut