Oc Naja - Blog Posts

My GURL!! I luv this silly birb.

Despite being named for a snake, Naja's character design was actually based on a harpy eagle (with the exception of the very long, split tongue - that was a snake indulgence).

Harpy's are so emotive. I love their crest and the way they move it around depending on their mood. And the TALONS! I see a lot of Cons with claws, but not a lot with talons, so I wanted to sneak those in there.

Dedicated to all the curvy Megatrons out there. I spent 24 hours over 5 days making this nonsense... *deep breath* he's so damn THICC I can't!!

Anyways... hopefully you guys get some amusement out of this too. Tag a Megan fan ❤️

//♡// She has an appreciation for his curvature...

-> Enjoy this stupid thing that I made.

// indi ♡ semi-selective ♡ rp blog ft OC Naja //

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BLOG DETAILS //♡//

This is a sideblog; you will be followed back by @gutter-bot

Minors DNI - this blog will cover adult topics including but not limited to substance abuse, trauma, death, violence, sexual content, kinks, suicidal thoughts, mental health

I try to be consistent with posting/replies, but there will be periods of low activity from time to time - I will try to post updates in the event that I will be less active

My OC exists within/was created for the TF Aligned universe, but I am open to cross-continuity shipping, along with poly-shipping

I am open to shipping Naja with a variety of muses, though interactions will be based on chemistry - my DMs are open to discuss

More below the cut...

ABOUT THE MUSE //♡//

OVERVIEW

Designation: Naja (pronounced na•yuh)

Gender: Gender fluid

Pronouns: All are accurate, though typically she/her (see additional notes for further explanation)

Height: 6.5 meters/21 feet - also 7.5 meters/25 feet (see notes)

Colouration: Scarlet and maroon mainly, with multiple grey undertones and silver accents

Frametype: Dual frametype - femme and mech (see notes)

Alt mode: None currently

Occupation prior to war: Courtesan

Affiliation: Decepticon

Weapons: Arm mounted (detachable) dual blades, grappling wire, talons, retractable blades in heel struts

Strengths: Speed, flexibility, precision, close and mid range attacks

Weaknesses: Defense - heavy armor sacrificed for maneuverability, long range attacks, smaller stature - physical strength limited

Positive traits: Loyal, observant, clever, determined, adaptable, curious, flirtatious/playful

Negative traits: Self indulgent, stubborn, impulsive (at times), self-destructive/reckless, flirtatious (with enemies - she'll still try to kill them, but first she wants to see how riled she can make them)

-> A more detailed look at her background can be found here.

ADDITIONAL NOTES AND QUIRKS //♡//

All courtesans were cold forged and given a dual frametype (along with a host of other specific modifications). Naja can shift between femme and mech frametypes at will, though favors the former - a strategic choice. Her enemies don’t take her as seriously when she's smaller... the last mistake they ever make.

Naja values her beauty, but isn't vain. She was ultimately indifferent about her appearance prior to the war, but has found it a useful tool in misleading her opponents at times.

She has never taken an alt mode. Due to her function she was never expected to leave the brothel where she was created, and as such was not allowed to possess a means of transport. Now, she has concerns that any additional structures may impede her maneuverability - a key strength in her aerial/grappling fighting style. Unless Megatron orders her to choose one, she likely never will.

Her time as a courtesan provided her the unique opportunity to master the skill of observation. While she has nowhere near the monitoring network the Decepticon CSO has, her ability to read bots is uncanny. She doesn't need footage to decipher social interactions; even the most minute physical cues can give someone away. She hears the words left unspoken, piecing together motives and secret meanings, detecting lies and disingenuous behavior. It is perhaps one of her greatest strengths.

Having spent her life pre-war serving others, Naja has since become a creature of indulgence, luxuriating in every opportunity to pursue her own desires. Depending on her mood - and the company - those can range from pleasurable to downright sadistic.

She carries a lot of guilt in her, blaming herself for her lover's demise. To counter this, she will at times turn to substance abuse as a distraction. If she has nothing available to her, she will manipulate others into punishing her (misbehaving so she will receive a beating, encouraging rough interface, etc).

She is considered a hypersexual individual, though whether it has more to do with the unnatural nature of her forging or it's a type of trauma response she isn't willing to look into she isn't certain.

Music is very precious to her (it reminds her of her former lover).

She is fascinated by the flora and fauna on Earth (yes even humans), as so many of them resemble the species from back home. It is not unusual for her to attempt sneaking a 'pet' on board the Nemesis... but she always gets caught.

RULES & GUIDELINES //♡//

Please be respectful. No form of bullying will be tolerated.

Do not thread hop/self insert into an ongoing rp without discussion.

Paragraph style roleplay is my preferred method.

Please reach out through DMs to discuss/plot out rp ideas. Other interactions such as ask prompts are open to all and do not require pre planning at this point. Keep in mind some of these responses will be singular (not ongoing).

Naja is a Decepticon, and has a traumatic past, therefore role-playing with her will cover dark themes. If you are not comfortable with this, we are likely not compatible.

You DO NOT have to rp with me to exist in my space. Tagging, chatting, etc is still very welcome.

-- //♡// --

Still playing with colour options for her as I try to finish the profile... gawd I love her face though ❤️

Part 10🥀🩶

FINALLY!! Blessed day! OC origin story finished in full... now to link them all together and move on to other things...

She stared up at the gilded tower, the structure a perfect representation of their society’s upper castes. It’s shining walls hid the rot within, greed and excess, cruelty and corruption… and the laboring functions bore the brunt of it all. Hate coiled in her like the serpent she had named herself for.

Sun having set, the night offered her additional cover as she breached the outside wall and advanced on the main building. The blades in her arms – having replaced the grapnels – were equally as useful in helping her maneuver quickly and accurately. With a few well placed shots she had scaled the tower, gripping the ledge of the same window she had used to escape this place. It wasn’t necessary, but she felt there was a symbolism to entering once again through the place from which she’d left.

The room was occupied, judging from the sounds coming from within. Slowly, carefully, she pulled herself up onto the sill, optics fixed on the pair draped across the berth. Her steps were measured, soft, making hardly a sound as she closed in. She did not recognize the patron. A broad mech, though not a member of the Guard. His plating was too thin for that, more for aesthetics than actual protection. How very ideal. Nearly upon them, she struck, unsheathing the blade from her wrist and driving it into the vulnerable spot next to his back strut. The keen edge slid through him with hardly any resistance, into the cavity in his chassis where his spark was housed. He hadn’t even had time to cry out in pain, offlining almost instantly. The mech beneath him, however, shouted in alarm.

Reaching out, she clamped her servo around his chin, hushing him. He seemed to recognize her after a moment, quieting.

“Tonight you are free. Take what you can and leave this place,” she instructed him, releasing him only when he gave her a curt nod, fear still evident in his optics. She rose from the berth, wasting no time in moving on to her next target.

There was no security in the halls, nor had there been any on the perimeter of the building. The Decepticon uprising had bred an army, and with the looming threat came a rise in demand for those to stand against them. Anyone who had even minimal combat experience had been drafted, which meant places like this – places that were unlikely to be targeted for attack – were left delightfully unguarded.

None would be spared from her wrath this night.

...//♡//…

Energon painted nearly every centihic of her frame, her pedes leaving prints against the tile as she stalked across the room. A part of her had hoped she would find the piece of slag who had stolen her lover away, but he was of course absent, likely on the front lines. She sneered. His end would have been one to savor. For now, this would have to suffice.

The old mech crawled away from her as fast as he was able… which wasn’t very fast at all considering she’d removed his legs. Grand Master of the Spire, the decrepit wretch who had placed the order to dispose of her beloved Star and then chastise her for daring to grieve. The one responsible for all of their pain and suffering. She had saved the best for last.

“You won’t get away with this! You’ll be apprehended, and the High Council will throw your useless frame into a cell to rust!” he hissed at her,

She continued to close in on him, unhurried, amused, and as she drew nearer his brave facade slipped away, fear taking its place. He tried a different approach.

“This… isn’t what you were meant for. I molded you as an artist does! With painstaking care and precision!”

At this point he had backed himself against a wall, and she knelt down to address him, her smile widening into something sinister.

“Care? Come now… you never cared for us. You only cared that we made you wealthy. As soon as we were no longer of use to you, you threw us away… like scrap. That’s not how an artist treats their work.”

The blade slid slowly from its sheath, singing faintly as it did. He cringed a the sight. Realizing there was no reasoning with her, his demeanor shifted again. Perhaps he thought to hurt her one last time.

“This won’t change anything. It won’t bring her back!”

The blade was against his throat cables in an instant, her face so close to his he could feel the heat radiating from her.

“This changes everything. This is the beginning of the end for bots like you. I might not get her back, but I can do everything in my power to ensure that others like us won’t have to live in fear anymore.”

Her glossa slipped from her intake, tracing a line of energon up the side of his face.

“And besides… this is the most fun I’ve had in a long time.”

He vented sharply, optics narrowing into pinpricks. “You’re a monster.”

“Yes… I am.”

Her one servo stayed raised, blade poised at his throat to keep him from moving, and the other slid up his chassis to the Crest of his House emblazoned so proudly above his spark. Her talons flexed outward, hooking securely along the edges of the raised plate before tearing it away. He cried out as she did so, and pleasure slid through her lines at the sound. The pads of her digits pressed into the small hollow she’d just created, feeling the softer metal beneath. Again she crooked her claws, piercing, pulling. This time, the sound that escaped him was ragged and agonized, rattling in his vocalizer. She grit her denta together as she savored his pleas.

Time slipped away as she pried him open bit by bit, his feeble attempts to stop her growing weaker and weaker as she rent him apart. Once the sounds of his protesting had stopped, it was only the squelch of energon and the snap of wires that filled the space between them.

Finally, once she’d had her fill, she pulled his mangled corpse to the front gate. There, she strung him up like a puppet over one side of the door, suspended by his own fuel lines. With the little energon he had left in him, she smeared a message on the opposing slab.

Rise Up.

Stepping back, she took in the sight of him one final time before turning and making her way across the courtyard to the outer wall. There was still much work to be done.

Part 8🥀🩶

The mech beneath her groaned in a way that made her feel unwell. He was a peculiar frame type for an upper caste, squat and rather rotund, which made his mobility (both generally speaking and intimately) limited. Considering this, she was made to sit atop him, staring down with thinly veiled disgust as he writhed beneath her practiced motions. As though servicing him wasn’t bad enough, he was loud, obnoxiously so.

In the past, she’d simply slipped into the recesses of her processor, recalling pleasurable moments shared between her and her lover. Now, the memories made it worse, knowing there would be no new intimacies to be had and cherished, to be called upon in times of need.

Another groan. Her tanks twisted.

‘Shut up.’

Why couldn’t they have just taken her away when they’d found her? Scrapped her, too? Both she and her Star, together in oblivion.

“That’s so good.”

‘Shut up!’

Her facade slipped, lip components curling back to reveal her derma in a derisive snarl. The look didn’t deter him. In fact he seemed to read it as a sign of her impending overload, making an effort to lift his hips from the berth to meet her downward stroke. He all but howled at the connection.

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut Up!”

“I beg your pardon?!”

Her optics focused on his face, which was twisted up into an affronted frown. Oh… had she said that out loud?

“Why you- how dare you speak to me that way, you impertinent whore!”

Her spark stammered in her chassis, surprise not something she was used to feeling. She wasn’t usually so careless, but with everything that had happened, she had become easily distracted. A violent beating was certain at this point - she’d just been given a warning, after all.

Wait… perhaps… perhaps if her crime was egregious enough… they would have no choice but to terminate her. They could be one again, in the only way left to them. She looked away from the blustery mech – still spewing threats and indignities – to a figure carved from precious ore that sat invitingly on the table next to them. Surely… that would be heavy enough to do the job.

She reached over, wrapping her digits around the base and swiftly hitting him across the faceplate. The strike was jarring, sending vibration up her arm as it made contact. It shut him up, and sent a spray of bright blue energon across the berth next to his helm. He spluttered, wailing in alarm. No one would hear him though… not while in a private room.

“You… you’ll pay for that with your miserable existence,” the injured bot hissed.

The red femme stared at the liquid on her servo, then down at him, surprised to find she was not as averse to the sight of his fluids as she might have expected. It actually felt rather good… to put him in his place, to make him pay for the terrible treatment his lot subjected them to. She lifted her arm again, and his whole demeanor shifted, anger replaced by fear as he stared up at her.

Something in her lurched… not in disgust… in pleasure.

Pushing his flailing servos out of the way, she brought the heavy figure down against the side of his helm, denting the ornate adornments and the plating beneath. He shouted in pain. The sensation pulsed again… and again she hit him, this time across the jaw. It split his lip components, making him choke on energon as it pooled in his mouth.

She had never experienced something quite so satisfying. She thought about the countless times she and others like her had been forced into distasteful situations with bots they wanted nothing to do with, abused, humiliated, used… rage rose in her like a black tide, swelling to consume the brittle sorrow that had been plaguing her for orns now, since her lover had been stolen away.

She struck him again, and this time, when he garbled out a plea for mercy, she laughed. Such a cruel, sadistic sound… she liked it. Over and over she lashed out, not stopping when his face became an unrecognizable mess, nor when he stopped moving entirely. It wasn’t until her frame seized with an unexpected overload that she reared back, arching, crying out in bliss.

Several kliks passed as she sat there, staring up at the ceiling as she came down from her startling high. She let the statuette fall from her limp servo, slowly removing herself from the berth and stepping back to stare down at what she’d done.

‘I… I offlined him,’ she thought, shocked that she had actually succeeded.

Now, all that was left to do was wait for them to find her like this… though, that might take awhile, and she certainly didn’t want to sit here with his grotesque cadaver as it continued to leak fluids everywhere. So… she could go find them… show them. She imagined a Keeper wouldn’t be far.

Turning to the door, she strode slowly but resolutely toward it, placing her servo atop the handle… only to pause. It was as if some unseen force kept her from turning it, locking her in place as she stared down at the polished lever.

‘Is this really how it all ends? They just… scrap her… and scrap me… and that’s it? They win?’

The thought didn’t sit well with her. Despite the lingering ache that seemed to permeate every part of her, there was a spark - hot and sharp - at her core, demanding justice. A desire to see them pay for everything they had done, to see the pain they had caused visited upon them a thousand-fold. She thought about the mech who had taken her sweet little femme, about the Keeper who spoke so flippantly about it, and the Master who’d chastised her for daring to hope for something better.

“You were not made for love. You were made to serve. To please! It serves you both right, for thinking yourselves above your station!”

Echoes of his callous words rang through her processor. The hate that had taken root inside of her spark branched out, twisting, choking out the sadness. They deserved to suffer. If she perished now, no one would ensure that vengeance was meted out.

Gingerly she lifted her digits from the handle, taking one step back.

‘And who will deliver this vengeance… me?’ she asked herself, considering. ‘I’m no Megatron. No gladiator.’

Yet he had not always been a gladiator, she recalled. He had been a miner. It was sheer power of will that had helped him carve his path. A short chuckle escaped her. Though, judging from the size of him, she imagined his strength had likely helped him along. However... not every gladiator was of that same towering stature. Those who weren’t relied on other skills: speed, precision. These were things she did indeed possess, and with time, perhaps she could become more.

Her optics fell to her servos, still smeared with freshly spilt energon. Perhaps one day hers would be the servos to deliver their retribution. And if she was offlined in the process… well… at least she had made her stand.

Across the room, the lights of the city flickered through a tall window. The dark of the night whispered to her, pulling her closer. Her gaze dropped to the bustling streets below. The height was staggering, though it had never been something that bothered her. She placed a pede on the sill and stepped up, balancing herself in the narrow opening. 

"This is for us, Star of my Spark."

Without looking back, she released her grip on the frame… and let herself fall.

Part 7🥀🩶

Only 3 more to go!!

Existing without her was… excruciating. Every breem that crept by brought with it little reminders that she wasn’t here any longer, and the blade in her spark twisted anew. She wondered if there would ever come a time when it didn’t hurt anymore… and then wondered if that was something she even wanted. That would mean that she’d forgotten… healed. She didn’t quite deserve that.

She’d been under near constant surveillance since they’d found her comatose in that room, whimpering and unresponsive. It had not taken them long to figure out the cause of her state, which had prompted a long-winded lecture about following rules, along with the promise that she would be punished in the event that she acted out again.

Not that she truly needed supervision. She was all but a husk now, completing her duties listlessly, still wading through the shock and grief of her loss. She hardly registered anything, moving more out of habit than actual obedience. Tonight she was serving in the lounge again, the room yet another reminder. The last place she had seen her Shining Star.

A servo flagged her down, and she moved soundlessly to the table, filling the first cup.

“I told you he was dangerous… I told all of them! We should have sent someone to take him out during recharge… and now the whole fraggin’ planet’s in an uproar!”

“Another attack, this one in Praxus.”

“Primus… they’re getting closer all the time.”

She couldn’t help but overhear their conversation, gratification coiling through her at their obvious distress. She had never liked members of the Elite Guard before, their mannerisms and predisposition to violence making them the least enjoyable patrons… now she had even more reason to detest them. She moved around the table, filling as she went, her digits tightening around the handle of the carafe as she resisted the urge to spit in it.

“As if that wasn’t bad enough, they’ve taken full control of Kaon. Not having access to those forges is going to severely reduce our flow of resources. It’s only a matter of time before they come here. The Council needs to move fast if we have any hope of squashing this movement. We need to mobilize immediately.”

“He’s a miner… a miner! It’s embarrassing that he’s been allowed to get this far. I say we bring this fight to his doorstep and wipe out every lowly bot in that Primus-foresaken place. Throw them all into the smelting pits.”

It was strange, feeling anything other than the sorrow… in a way it was a relief. A distraction. Deep inside her aching chassis, the seeds of resentment she had once fostered for the higher castes blossomed into hate.

“Yeah, well… good luck pitching that to Alpha Trion. He’s still insistent we can resolve this through the Prime initiative. Fool. Megatron wants no part in peacekeeping. He’s out for energon.”

‘I hope he eviscerates all of you,’ she thought to herself, moving away from them and back into the corner.

Hearing word of the uprising was strange, the news filling her with a grim satisfaction while simultaneously fueling her pain. To know there truly had been a future out there for her and her lover was as infuriating as it was heartbreaking. They had been so close… what a cruel, cruel joke.

Part 6🥀🩶

Two orns now, and not a single glimpse of her. It was a long stretch to go without contact, even if that contact was as fleeting as a discrete brush when they passed in the halls. She wasn’t still with the same client? It wasn’t unheard of… but it wasn’t common for a patron to stay for such a long time.

She considered her options, how she might find a way to inquire about her lover’s location without giving anything away. Recollections of her encounter with the young mech from Vos flickered through her processor.

“I think I’d like to meet her.”

A pleased smile curved her lip components for a nano-klik before disappearing, and she made her way toward the Grand Salon, steps even and measured. Bypassing the guests and other courtesans, she maneuvered to the head of the room, where one of the Keepers stood monitoring activity.

Pausing when she reached the dias, she stood quietly until she was acknowledged. Seeing the slim mech wave a servo in her direction, she tipped into a slight bow. Head down, she inquired softly, “Greetings, Keeper Accelera. Might I have a moment?”

“What is it?”

“I have a patron who expressed interest in the femme who last performed at the Inner Theatre. When is her next available appointment?”

"That one is no longer available. Tell your client to see me and I will offer them similar alternatives.”

…

…

…

What?

Everything else fell away, her spark stuttering in her chassis at the implication in those words – said so flippantly. No longer available. The phrase used by Masters and Keepers when a courtesan was scrapped, but that wasn’t - it couldn’t… no.

No.

How?!

No! No! NO!!

From the corner of her optics, she saw the Keeper glance at her expectantly, and she forced herself to mutter a brief acknowledging response before turning away and striding from the room. She sought an empty lift, refusing to meet the gaze of any she passed. Her servos balled into tight, trembling fists behind her back, her stance wavering as she rode the pod to the upper floors. Once there, she identified a vacant room and slipped inside unnoticed, closing the door softly and pressing her forehead against the smooth metal. The rooms here were built to offer privacy, dampening almost all sound from within.

A sharp, keening wail escaped her as she sunk to the floor, helm shaking in denial.

Images of her lover’s smiling countenance as she looped her arm through that fuming guard’s own came back to her. Him. He had done this.

The anger was quickly swallowed up by guilt. She… had let it happen. She should have been the one to serve him that night. But her Star had stepped in… volunteered.

‘I never should have allowed it. This… is my doing.’

This wasn’t how it was supposed to end. They were supposed to escape this nightmarish place… find happiness together. She was a sweet, gentle spark, without an ounce of bitterness in her. She, above all others, had deserved happiness. Instead, she had met an ignoble end in this wretched place, her last moments spent alone, afraid, in pain. And they threw her away like scrap, like she was nothing.

She was everything… and now she was gone.

Her arms shook as she struggled to keep herself upright, eventually giving in, collapsing and pulling herself into a shuddering heap. Her outlook on their situation had always been far more pessimistic, but her darling lover had dispelled the darkness with her light. Tucking her chin against her chassis, she closed her optics, feeling the slim hope that had resided in her flicker out of existence.