hey I do stuff

mmmhhhh bayverse megop

oh god I’ve been so so busy lately, I promise I have some long posts in the works to post soon because I will never run out of Transformers analyses lmaooo 

in the meantime, here’s me testing out more design apps on my phone lol but of course I had a whole idea about this so here you go y’all:  

I like to think that early in Megatron’s efforts to organise his fellow workers and encourage those around him to explore subjects and areas that were believed to be off limits or impossible for them, he likely tried to set up small events for his fellow miners and any other industrial workers on site 

and because this is early days Megatron lol, 99% of these sort of fell flat, others weren’t quite as willing to listen to him yet, he wasn’t making these grand speeches after gladiatorial victories etc. 

so I imagine him creating like a handful of basic posters for events, which at the time, almost nobody attends 

but then once he DOES get popular, and that popularity starts to build and gain real traction and people start to read his work and actually engage with what he’s trying to achieve 

suddenly these little events with the university student style after class club sort of vibe start getting more attendees and bots from other nearby worksites start showing up 

and eventually, as one of the first major Decepticon events, it’s not a protest or a street rally or anything like that 

but it’s one of Megatron’s very first ideas, a literary event designed for lower class/lower caste bots who would never otherwise have the opportunity or support or encouragement to write or attempt to express themselves in a more public way 

and so once he gets enough social capital that he can get more help sorting out his literary festival, and once Kaon essentially becomes Decepticon territory with increasingly little outside influence from Iacon / the Council as they start to lose control of the lower classes, 

finally, in that sweet brief timeframe after his rise to cultural power but before his ideals became derailed and he lost his way, 

he got his dream: 

a simple concept, the very first literary event on Cybertron purely for lower class/caste bots of all designations or industries, is arranged at a larger scale than he ever imagined possible 

the poster is the same basic one he created in five minutes on a datapad given to him by Terminus so long ago 

and instead of a handful of flyers stuck on ragged mine walls, where they inevitably got ripped down or fell anyway as the wall behind it was drilled through or shaken apart during a day’s work 

suddenly every street in Kaon is covered in posters and banners encouraging writing submissions from anyone and everyone, no cost, no fee, no requirements other than wanting to speak on the common struggle 

and every worker’s canteen is hosting small stages for local poets or performers to test out their writing or material and tables are being set up down the pavement to provide free zines 

pamphlets in multiple forms of Cybertronian alongside literacy software patches are distributed, to increase the accessibility and understanding of words and expression to as many bots as possible 

books are being printed in the millions to distribute across Kaon and beyond, the words of the workers will reach the hands of anyone and everyone, even through the sheer force of volume, the amount of people speaking up for the very first time has fostered the hope and desire to change conditions for the better and let all of Cybertron know:

that in every worker, in every living bot, in every single spark, there is a collection of experiences and feelings and memories and thoughts that are deserving of expression

and they will be listened to en masse, because you cannot ignore the entire industrial region of your planet purposefully grinding to a halt in order to perform poetry, ash and dirt covered servos gripping cracked data pads and with a shaking vocaliser, they speak the truth one after another 

and suddenly those shaking vocalisers are no longer shaking as their words are met by the cheers of thousands 

no longer afraid of the heavy hand of the Council, the festival goes on interrupted, the other city-state polities of Cybertron watching underground broadcasts on secure channels across the planet

and it is the first indicator, the first time the rest of the planet truly understands the scale and nature of class struggle on Cybertron 

the Council frantically tries to shut these broadcasts down, but fails, as the communications infrastructure was almost entirely manufactured in Kaon or Tarn, and as a result, the workers are able to use their superior knowledge of these systems and equipment to thwart any censorship efforts 

all at once, the working classes achieve even greater solidarity, there is a near-tangible hope for the future, growing belief that the Council can be overthrown and the people can build a better society, a better world, where nobody lives three million years to die in a collapsed adit without ever having seen Cybertron’s moons as they rise along the curvature of the planetary atmosphere

all at once, Cybertron as a whole begins to listen, even if purely out of shock, to the voices of the oppressed many– and sympathisers begin to reconsider a great many things, questions are finally starting to be asked by those who may have greater ability to affect or influence more direct change in other polities or regions or branches of Consular government

all at once, Megatron sees his ideals coming to fruition 

and without any knowledge of what the future holds 

he finishes his speech, to overwhelming applause 

and looking to where Terminus should be seated 

where he would be seated if the world had been kind 

the glory of the festival is inevitably still tainted by a sense of pervasive bitterness and loss 

and while he remains present, engaged in the words of his people, the new collective class, the “Decepticons” 

he hopes, silently to himself, that Terminus would be proud, that Terminus would approve, that he is doing right in spearheading what has potential to become real, tangible change for the better 

and he watches the next bot take the stage, a small electrical substation worker who has written a piece on “shared electricity”, the connection between Cybertronians and the electrical impulses that keep their planet thriving, how they are one, how every alloy of a bot’s frame was forged from raw elements and materials and how life is inseparable, it is universal, we are all Of Primus 

and it is wonderful, evocative, creative, a work of art 

all the things the Council has said they cannot be and cannot do 

and with that heavy burning sensation in his spark 

he, and thousands of others, rise to applaud the author, to applaud creation and expression as acts of direct defiance, as acts of compassion for one another, as actions being taken to create a better Cybertron, finally, the crowd itself embodies a wave of revolutionary thought and progress 

and pushing his better judgement aside, sitting down as the next speaker approaches, he decides not to investigate that pang of heaviness behind his chestplate 

where it will fester for centuries, where it will corrupt and distort the beauty of his ideals 

instead, out of fear that this will somehow instantly fade, fear that the Council will find him again underground in the night and he will awaken to the sensation of thin metal dragging softly against his helm as Terminus coughs and sputters behind him and fear becomes overwhelming, doubt becomes pervasive

it is not a battle that starts the path to eventual despotism 

but rather 

it is at the first literary festival of Kaon

that fear becomes fuelled into furious righteousness

as he comes to understand that hope is a fragile thing 

and if Terminus were here 

he would explore, he would ask, he would risk feeling 

but Terminus is not here 

and for now 

Cybertron is still unkind 

and his people are still vulnerable 

and every night is still uncertain 

and he would do anything 

anything 

for nobody to feel the fear and loss

that he feels 

ever again

and it is not hatred 

or rage 

but fear 

which brings Megatron to rise

and to close the festival 

he recites from Towards Peace 

and the applause is so great that it vibrates his massive frame 

as it shakes loose the last of his self-imposed restrictions

as his thoughts are drowned out 

by cheers and shouts calling for the change that must now happen

before it is all taken away 

it is in this moment 

not in a gladiatorial competition or a battle field 

where even though he speaks of a better future

his spark is frozen in time

long ago, back in the mine

where all he can think of 

over the raucous noise

is how Terminus should be here