Strika - Tumblr Posts

Hey 👋 can you please do more of Megatron treating Optimus like a sugar baby after kidnapping him please 🙏, and a funny scenario would be Megatron making a call to ultra magnes to make demands and Sentinel, jazz , jet twins being there to and Optimus is just there dieing inside 🤣🤣😂🤣

You will never believe how much I shortened this....

That said, there is an <ENTIRE FIC> below the cut here. Warnings are in the tags, everyone.

💕 Thank you💕

——— ———-—

Optimus settled right in to his new life on the Nemesis- choosing stubbornly to keep his mouth shut and optics alight in cold fury whenever Megatron dared try to speak to him. He had nothing of consequence to say anyway, and keeping himself a quiet, angry little speck in the corner of Megatron’s optic was exactly the role he’d had in mind for the little nuisance anyway. How fitting.

When one-sided conversation about the Prime’s shortcomings and foolishness had proved ineffective in getting a response, Megatron no longer bothered. He would have loved to garner some more indignant outrage on his behalf, but he could gloat all the same in Optimus’ capture without it.

So Megatron allowed him to simply exist with the unholy fear he’d kept hidden so unfailingly in the brig, all pout and refusing to talk.

“And zat is your prize- keeping him as a trophy?”

“Not nearly. He’d only be a sour reminder of all the misery he’s caused me since crashing on that pathetic planet- No. That petulant Autobot brat is Ultra Magnus’ greatest weapon.”

Strika waited with more patience than she’d exercised with Lugnut’s grabbing servos on their honeymoon for Megatron to explain. As far as she could see, this Prime was nothing more than a title. He hadn’t landed himself a place on a foreign planet while working as a repair bot by displaying any prowess in the leadership skills the name would suggest. And her lord was doing nothing to make her otherwise privy.

She did have to wonder about the timing- Was this Autobot the reason Lord Megatron had failed to reach their rendezvous overtaking the space bridge?

Megatron watched a feed on his datapad of their sparkling little prisoner, sitting curled up in his cell.

“So jou intend to barter with him? Ensure Ultra Magnus loses his most valuable piece, and his place, in this war?” All the far more kinder of fates they could bestow upon this little mech, if he was such a pain. But something told her to tread lightly.

“Strika, I will decide what use he is to me. You needn’t worry.”

She wasn’t. She was asking a simple question- as his commander and all.

She considered yanking the datapad from his hands and reminding him they would -in theory- have the Autobot Elite looking for their key player to deal with, and they’d need to be ready. If he really *was* so important.

The nagging voice in her processor wondering why she felt she even had any reason to question Megatron’s judgment kept getting louder as the days past. Something she couldn’t quite put her finger on about the stiffness in Megatron’s strut and the distance he put between anyone and the Prime who attempted to make the bot their business....

—— ———

Optimus did well enough to ignore the obnoxious afts whistling and catcalling when they came by to slosh his ration at him through the little window, spilling most of it. He’d stare at the wall as dutifully as if he was keeping guard of it. The luxury to turn his audio receptors down and wash out their hideous name calling forfeit in the event he missed some sort of vital information. Not that he believed the grunts sent to babysit him would ever be entrusted with anything as such.

And anyway, knowing at the back of his processor that he was at Megatron’s mercy was worse than the conditions of his cell- His cell with no berth and strangers 5 times his size eyeing him up on the other side of the glass. Like he was a glitch tiger caged up for their entertainment. His cell where he’d gotten poisoning from who knows *what* was in his Energon and purging it onto the floor -making for a fun spectacle for his tormentors, leaving Optimus that much more conscious of the optics always looking his way.

Another night cycle- at least his chrono wasn’t playing go fish on him- and Optimus had to relent that the dry corner closest to the glass was unfortunately the best for the recharge he desperately needed. He sank down, pulled his knees to his chest and pushed his face down into his arms.

Sometimes the passing Cons would tap on the glass, just to rile him up out of a fretful recharge. Not a few minutes in to dreamless slumber, one felt it the perfect time to strike.

The click of metal on glass above his finial was considerably more gentle then all the other times. His fins flicked upright, helm snapping up- Then felt his tanks physically lurch at the sight of Megatron righting himself, staring down at the shivering figure from above.

Optimus scrambled to make himself an eighth of the domineering sight the war frame posed. It failed, as always, as Megatron watched blankly with his mouth drawn thin.

He didn’t look particularly amused by it the way he had in the past- amused at the idea that the little Autobot was anymore a threat with a bumbling crew of rejects and a single pathetic axe for a weapon than if he were a yapping pup.

Optimus didn’t really know what this look meant, but he wouldn’t give Megatron a chance to rattle him when all his sleepless nerves were frying his circuits.

“I know you’re not letting me go, so unless you’re here to end me, let me enjoy the time I have left in my dark, dirty cell in peace. It’s an improvement when you’re not here.”

His servos clenched -a useless gesture- but he hoped looking like a feral thing while layered in scratches and stains could improve his fierce factor.

He wished desperately in his sleep addled state he’d remembered his battle mask was perfectly functional, but it was too late to hide the way his tired face twisted in less menace and more exhaustion.

The silence grew stifling as Megatron seemed to consider him. Optimus refused to crumple under his judgment, keeping his shoulders straight and fists clenched.

And then-

“Let’s go Autobot.”

He didn’t wait for Optimus’ processor to catch up. The doors to his pathetic little prison unsealed and Optimus was faced with the chance of real freedom for the first time since arriving here. It wasn’t so simple- he didn’t have a plan, no escape shuttle waiting on him, minimal to nonexistent knowledge of the ship’s modern layout.... and a vastly combat superior war machine would be at his back in nanokliks, pinning it down. Halving him with a single servo.

He waited for restraints in some form to come about his wrists or his throat. The Cons had zero qualms in the barbaric message the latter sent. Nothing ever came, though- nothing more than Megatron walking at his backstrut, close enough to warm him with his well fueled engines.

Optimus didn’t know he’d been cold down here.

“Where am I going?” He asked, as he was essentially herded like Cy-cattle through the corridors. He stumbled once trying to clear the sizable step up into the lift at the end that was made for war class pedes.

“Focus on walking.” Megatron growled.

“I know how to fragging walk-“

“You nearly collapsed trying to stand up.”

“Ugh...” Optimus was too tired to argue.

He’d rarely even had the fire in him to give Sentinel a proper fuss when he did something especially damning for him and his team these days.

He’d love to think he had all the energy left in the world to rile Megatron up at any given time -be unwavering in his resistance to his authority. The slag maker that’d caused him and the whole of Cybertronian millennia of misery.

But right now with half rations -one of them ending in a poisoning- and another sleepless cycle weighing at his processor atop of the hopelessness of finding freedom in his future, Optimus chose to follow quietly at Megatron’s guidance.

Taking turns where he was directed to and breaking his gaze away from the floor only when he was ordered to stop walking.

He hadn’t even noticed how quiet the trip here had been. That he’d purposely been kept away from any curious optics, and especially Strika’s.

“Stop here.”

Optimus looked blearily up at a very unassuming door. Which meant it was just his luck it’d have all the resources at Megatron’s disposal to execute him as fantastically as any maniacal war lord would the troublesome pain Optimus had been on the other side.

He didn’t have the processor power to be annoyed when the mech reached over him, as if he wasn’t even there, and pressed a button on the access panel, opening the door to....

“This my new cell?” He wondered aloud.

“For the time being.”

“....Until you do what with me?” Because Megatron surely wouldn’t bother moving him off to what looked downright cozy compared to the brig if he was going to kill him.

His plating prickled at a sudden thought of what a nice inviting room with a nice inviting Autobot inside of it could be used for on a ship full of Decepticons.

Megatron was unfortunately very perceptive.

“Nothing so egregious is going to happen to you here, Autobot.”

Thank the stars...

Optimus nearly ‘collapsed’, as Megatron had put it, right then and there. For whatever reason, he had a clean room with lighting and a berth. Not only that, but a berth with a *pad*. And it was so warm up here.

He didn’t even register his legs carrying him over to the berth until a servo with a cube of Energon between deft fingers was lowering over his head to his optic level.

“Drink this.” Megatron rumbled, much too close to his vulnerable backstrut again.

Where’d this come from? He couldn’t remember him carrying it up here. Regardless, a quietly grateful Optimus took it. Floundering a bit when the brim proved to be near overflowing with the viscous liquid.

A full ration, a warm room....

Optimus turned to find himself alone again with the door firmly locked. His only interest now was downing his fresh fuel and shuffling into berth.

—— ———

This was.... Odd. This was just... just... *odd*. Odder than everything he’d been put through so far.

The clean room, the full Energon rations. The trip to the washracks with Blitzwing -‘Vell, Lord Megatron decided a familiar face was better than some of the other hands available for zis task.”

Meaning, A) that Blitzwing wasn’t involved in any serious plans or Autobot headhunting for the moment. Curious, as it wasn’t like the Cons didn’t have plenty of work to do to take back Cybertron.

And B) why did Megatron care about Optimus’ finding comfort in familiarity?

Then there was C). That none of that was remotely as baffling as whatever *this* was.

A new coat of paint? For him? Megatron’s prisoner? Megatron, who Optimus had made it his life’s mission to see wallow eternally in his own failures at the hands of himself and his brave repair crew?

“You want it or not?” Optimus wasn’t given designations of the two bots buffing over his frame and waiting for his approval to continue, but he supposed names weren’t detrimental knowledge for a prisoner.

A paint job, however, was.

“I... I...”

Optimus looked over at the towering figure in the corner, optics sharp and focused on his little frame, completely unabashed to be caught staring. It wasn’t particularly unlike Megatron not to feel himself owed another, lesser mech’s privacy. At least this wasn’t anything as invasive as a trip to the medbay with his company.

“Yeah, um.... go ahead.” He held his arms away from his chassis and let the duo paint over the now freshly buffed scratches. Replacing the colorless scuffs as they turned him this way and that.

It was over in an instant, but it wasn’t so easily forgotten.

Optimus looked as clean cut as he had out of the academy -with the exception of a processor free of guilt, making him a nice clean slate. His now thoroughly extinguished lackadaisical attitude did apparently nothing to dampen his appeal, though.

He received plenty of appreciative stares on his way to his ‘cell’. Megatron thankfully unaffected in the same way as the other mechs- pointedly ignoring Optimus walking below his pedes altogether.

Then avoiding the sight of him completely and turning to leave when Optimus had finally had the good grace to at least thank him for the body work.

“Rude.” He muttered to Megatron’s retreating form.

It wasn’t necessary to thank the bigger mech, anyway, when it was clear Optimus was being taken so well care of for the purpose of bargaining him back to Ultra Magnus.

Obviously. Why else would Megatron allow him these luxuries -ones that were clearly given to few if any mechs onboard- if not to improve his chances when Ultra Magnus saw how well they were caring for his little Prime.

Well, good luck with that. Optimus couldn’t imagine Ultra Magnus forking over anything in favor of him- nothing Megatron would want. Only about what Optimus knew he was worth.

It was a bitter thought at times, but a realistic one, too. And Optimus always strangely felt better after he’d leveled with himself and found peace in it. He was probably here for the long haul.

—— ————-

So it made the absolute least sense possible when he was promoted from luxuries that’d benefit Megatron’s cause, to luxuries that benefited nobody but *him*.

Access to a library owned exclusively by Megatron, access to a deck on the middle floor -*for essentially nothing else but stargazing* purposes. Access to the mess hall to fuel himself at his leisure. All supervised of course, and always apparently Blitzwing, so long as he was available. And he was. Had Megatron made that a priority?

He decided to make good use of the library. It was apparent Blitzwing wasn’t familiar with this part of the ship. He stared in quiet awe at the assortment of datapads, possibly prewar era as Optimus would soon find out. As risky as that would be to travel with them, doomsday vessel level security or not.

Then the triple changer seemed to adhere himself to the strict orders he was likely set and moved back towards the door to keep watch of it. Hanging his helm and letting his processor wander.

Optimus was happily surprised to find the array before him was an impressive mix of tactical readings, including defensive maneuvers. He’d like to see Megatron ever take the defensive on anything in battle, headstrong heathen. The thought of him frequenting this quiet little space, of his servos holding the substantially larger than Optimus was used to datapads. The ones in his very servos now.

There was only one chair, a testament to how few mechs were allowed this privileged place at any given time. He climbed up and curled himself against an armrest, choosing of all the datafiles to immerse himself in being the seemingly only one in the collection to be about strategizing rations. An odd choice, and a boring one. Perfect for him then.

He came back to this place a few more times before Blitzwing’s company was eventually replaced by Megatron’s -particularly gleeful Optimus had actually chosen to utilize the library. He supposed there weren’t many others here who would ever want to, but surely the war lord hadn’t thought he aspired to fist fights and throwing darts at his ‘friends’ when he was bored. What else would he be doing with his time?

Curled up against his favored arm rest, Optimus’ helm popped up from the datapad when he heard pede steps considerably heavier and less cautious than Blitzwing’s approach.

Their optics met, Megatron’s looking far too amused and much like his old Earth self’s, and on instinct, Optimus unwrapped himself from the chair and the file in hand to scurry down. Trying to look busy with selecting a new pad from the shelves, so as not to have to fight over the only chair in the room.

Why else was Megatron here, but to do some silent reading? He wouldn’t very well stand in his own library.

Optimus felt his nerves prickle at the other’s optics on his back. He made sure to look interested in only the shelves he could reach to avoid floundering on tiptoes like a fool.

Megatron mercifully left him be.

The smaller mech shuffled through the organized chaos, settling into the silence. It wasn’t long before it lost its stifling edge and he was finding himself comfortably leaning against the wall as he skimmed a basic instructional guide to wing type reformations. Probably the only other oddity in his growing pile.

Or maybe he was selling Megatron short. What leader focused the entirety of the knowledge banks to attack patterns when there was a whole military to maintain. There was bound to be other benign anomalies in his collection -considering Megatron was a well versed, intuitive mech. When he wanted to be...

Optimus carefully sidled the guide in hand to start rifling through the particularly untouched section he’d found it in. Braving another stare down from the lethal war machine in the room by crossing into his line of sight.

He bit his tongue, waiting for comment on his emergence, but the silence thankfully stretched on.

He visibly relaxed -another slip up, surely- and focused on finding a new title. Lots of interesting finds in the means of their banning from Cybertronian libraries, some he’d be coming back to when it was just him and Blitzwing again.

He rifled through datapads, batting away the ones he found rather distastefully anti-peace. His finials flicking in irritation at a fun little find -‘The Repercussions of Civil Class Sympathizing’. Shockingly credited to an Anonymous writer, as Optimus would never imagine a Con taking issue with being forthright about that opinion.

“You’re like a cyber cat.”

Optimus startled, a tad disappointed he hadn’t thought to use it as an excuse to drop and shatter the datapad.

“Ex-excuse me?!” He whirled on his heel looking equal parts flabbergasted and mortified.

Megatron turned away, frowning at his lap.

“Nothing. It was just a passing thought.”

Oh, really? Was this a common occurrence of his to compare Optimus to fussing house pets? He’d been minding his business and everything- Megatron would do well to keep anymore of *that* to himself!

Optimus glowered a moment more before turning back to the shelf. Finials lying flat to his helm, pawing at the datapads a bit more roughly.

———- ——

There weren’t stranger circumstances to this change in character than Megatron’s blatant lack of punishment for Optimus’ ‘transgressions’ on Earth. Even now given the unlimited opportunities to, Megatron had seemingly forgotten about every blow they’d landed on each other in their time there. All the insults and meddling in his affairs, and Megatron hadn’t a single paralyzing penalty to bestow upon him.

It was the definition of looking a gift horse in the mouth, but Optimus absolutely wanted to understand how that had come to be overlooked.

He was ready to ask as much when the infamous war lord seemed to appear out of nowhere while he was ‘stargazing’ -and definitely not staring at one star in particular as they drifted closer and spiraling a bit into madness. Except the first words out of Megatron’s mouth as he approached were a command that Optimus see himself to the medbay for a physical.

A physical.

A *physical*.

To add to the surreality, Megatron offered him a cube of Energon before gesturing at Blitzwing, slunk off in some corner of the deck, to assist the Autobot to meet Flatline and Scalpel.

“The name is quite appropriate, but Scalpel won’t be your medic. It’s his medbay, however, so expect to see him there-“

“What *is* this?!” Optimus snapped, feeling some tether pulling in him stretched to it’s limited. His backstrut bristled up.

Megatron extended the cube uselessly, optics as careful to gloss him over as they’d ever been since his repaint. But a physical, for whatever reason, was worthy of his attention?

Optimus glared daggers up at him, looking totally unshaken by the sight of Megatron donning his Cybertronian armor, sharp and thick and impenetrable, by sheer will. There were plenty of other surrealities to worry about besides his mortal enemy standing tall in all his native glory.

Megatron finally turned his gaze on the bouncing ball of nerves before him and immediately, his eyes seemed to soften. A familiar little smirk splaying his lips- the one he wore in Optimus presence solely to mock him... But the strange look in his eye made it all appear so oddly charmed instead.

By Optimus? By his obvious rage? Great, so Megatron was taking him even less seriously now- probably because he’d accepted all this special treatment so easily.

Blitzwing was doing his best to blend in with the wall behind them.

Optimus supposed this quiet moment was his opportunity to rage on.

“Why are you doing all this?! What’s the point- what’s your game?! I don’t *want* that!” He bared his denta at the Energon in question, and Megatron subspaced it. Still perfectly undeterred by his fussing.

He watched the little Prime glimmer in his fresh paint, noting the healthy glow in his cheeks was from more than just the expensive bodywork.

He was well fueled, well rested, and free of any immediate responsibility at the moment. And Megatron was unsurprised to find he liked this look on him much more than with his battle mask up and axe at the ready. He liked the fight in this being, he liked Optimus’ determination.

But he adored it all so much more when the Autobot was left all to him without high command bigots whispering in his audial.

Without organics and repair bots to keep alive.

Without working himself through another restless recharge.

He liked Optimus at his peak performance, healthy and strong, and at the great thanks of Megatron’s pampering to see him here.

He would like to *keep* Optimus like this.

“I wouldn’t have you suffer the indignity of poor health.” He said simply, like that explained anything.

Blinking wide optics and slack jawed, Optimus murmured-

“Why?”

“Would you have it done to me if I were your prisoner?”

He could see how *much* Optimus wanted to say otherwise, but then-

“No...”

And that was exactly as much as Megatron was willing to say on the matter.

——- —————

Optimus still couldn’t understand why Megatron *didn’t* want to humiliate him to his very core. He could probably live with his indifference -one reason he was so nervous these last few cycles with Megatron’s nearly unwavering optics on him at all times. Why did he ever challenge him to look during their last fight?- but his blatant interest was even more baffling than Megatron pretending he didn’t exist.

How he’d landed himself a spot at Megatron’s side during fueling and reading was a cosmic mystery.

How he’d landed himself outsourced Energon with rust sticks and goodies that had no business being on a war ship, existing there only because Optimus did, too, was more fantastical a feat than he could have imagined.

It was painfully clear now, Megatron for whatever reason was granting him special treatment.

His tanks fluttered and flipped- nerves and worry eating away at his processor more and more as the cycles went by.

Why? Why? Megatron *hated* him, so why?!

Right? There was still a nice, thick layer of hate between them, wasn’t there?

“Don’t let these get cold.” Was Megatron’s attempt at making Optimus eat his sweets. It often worked, if only to keep his attention off of him a moment more.

Optimus was sure he made a sight with his usually confident frame tucked in, sitting on his hands on the chair at Megatron’s side. Audials dipping low. He didn’t even have the courage to reach out and obey this time, stewing in all his hard earned paranoia while he wondered what dimension he’d stepped into when Megatron’s men had thrown him into that cell on this Primus forsaken ship.

Megatron clicked off his datapad and removed it from any wandering Autobot optics before turning towards him.

Their conversations were brief and strangled. Megatron clearly had no intention of letting him go- the thought was ridiculous. And Optimus had no intention of pleading for his life- equally ridiculous. So it was mostly comprised of-

“You’re under no obligation to eat those. I suspect, though, that you simply do not know how to indulge yourself in something so harmless and enjoyable, and that won’t do. If it’s for the benefit of the mechs on this ship who aren’t spared your luxuries, consider that few of them have even earned it.”

“True. You wouldn’t reward your soldiers with these.” Which made him feel that much more juvenile for being allowed the pleasure to.

“Lugnut.”

Optimus’ fins popped upright and he practically did a double take.

“Lugnut... You mean Lugnut gets...”

“He has an affinity for sweet things. Swindle provides them, of course, as he’s one of the few trusted not to poison them as a....prank.” Megatron clearly found that word upsetting to his refined palate. Optimus easily imagined he’d meant a certain purple seeker he’d heard rumors about.

“Lugnut is offered rewards in accordance to the work he does....Though I’ll admit....”

He trailed off, Megatron snapping his helm back to his datapad and looking especially busy all at once. Optimus inched closer, hands coming up to rest on the table.

“I admit, junk fuel isn’t necessarily part of his payment for his work.”

Optimus worked it out for himself in the silence that followed. He could feel a little grin lift the corners of his mouth when he finally concluded-

“You mean you just give him little gifts... just because?”

“Don’t *ever* put words in my mouth, little Prime.” Megatron thundered, but clearly had nowhere better to be as he remained at Optimus’ side.

The little blue mech felt a knot thread and pull in his stomach, a strange sense of calm settling in beside the nervous jitters.

“Does Blitzwing get anything like that?”

“Blitzwing doesn’t deserve anything.”

—— ———-

“Can I read your work?”

Megatron looked surprisingly bothered by that request, considering he was a well written, highly controversial writer.

“I’ve no doubt you’ve read plenty in the academy.”

“Sure, but nothing recreational.”

“Do I strike you as the sort of mech that writes for ‘fun’, Autobot?”

Optimus shrugged, studying the shelves in the library.

“Blitzwing said you wrote poetry.”

Megatron turned and scowled at him like he’d just had the audacity to spit in his face.

“You know perfectly well that I do.”

“True.” Optimus grinned. Sassy thing, getting much too comfortable with his cushy life here.

“If you want something so whimsical to read, I won’t spare you a single thing of mine.”

“Why? Are you shy?”

Megatron outright laughed at his attempt to shake him. He’d seen varying shades of pink and red and even blue on Optimus’ faceplates at the single brush of their servos during fueling.

“Try self preserving. You’ll thank me, Optimus Prime. The latest subject of my musings is quite an unpredictable thing- how might you react if you were to read such damning things coming straight from my processor about him.”

Optimus stilled. He went ramrod straight and stared very carefully ahead at the wall -and anywhere in the universe, but at the Goliath grinning wickedly behind him.

It didn’t shield the glowing red creeping up his audial fins, however, and Megatron counted that as yet *another* win.

He loved winning, but he couldn’t have prepared himself to love winning over Optimus Prime of all things so much. It would be an unrewarding victory winning back Cybertron when it paled so terribly in comparison.

————— —-

“Jou haven’t made a *single attempt* to contact Ultra Magnus! Not once!”

“I am certain you are not talking to *me* in that tone, Strika.”

“Zen go see Scalpel about jour hearing. Jou’re not a young mech anymore.”

Megatron’s optic twitched, thoroughly chastised.

“Thank goodness I’m not vain....”

Strika circled him in his throne room, coming away from his side to dare and face him head on. Exactly how he liked her to when he was making questionable decisions.

“My lord, the Autobot is in excellent condition to make a valuable trade. Although I vould have taken ze route vere roughing him up to a bleeding pulp vould have been more effective at instilling the severity of this situation, and ensuring Ultra Magnus understand he act *fast* to secure him.”

“I’m sure you would have. Lucky, then, that I am sane enough to consider his reluctance to trust us if his favorite Prime is beyond repair.”

“Ve agree then, don’t ve? Now is the time to strike, while ze Prime is in perfect condition.”

“Well, not perfect...” Megatron began to worry his lower lip beneath a fang.

“He could really use another trip to maintenance-“

“He doesn’t need repainting! Vut is wrong with the work he has? It vill last eons!”

“It’s called maintenance for a reason. He has to *maintain* that glossy finish to-“

“Jou sound like Starscream!”

Oh, Primus forbid....

Megatron wiped a servo down his face and ordered Strika to schedule his first officers to be present for a briefing on negotiations. Not that they needed the reminder on how to behave, but it was crucial this call went smoothly if he was to garner Magnus’ foolish favor. He didn’t want to risk Optimus livelihood in anyway.

——- —————

Optimus felt terribly warm with Megatron’s optics raking over him so close. Considering him, calculating. Whatever was coming, it was going to be terrible...

Optimus just needed to stay alert and keep his wits about him. Something was coming to fruition now, and standing there patiently at Megatron’s side in his throne room most likely meant it’d be the sort of damning thing that’d decide his fate and future here. Whether that future was here, back on Cybertron, or pushed in a smelter.

“Relax.” Megatron finally said. It rumbled through his chest, clearly amused at the situation, though masking it perfectly. *Almost perfectly*.

“How can I relax? I’m not stupid, something big is happening. You fueled me twice this morning.”

Megatron scowled.

“You’re supposed to fuel more than once a day, Prime. You’re pitiful civil frame is substantially less acclimated to surviving long winds in between.”

“Only if I’m running myself ragged trying to keep up with you and your lot- and I’m not. I was lazing about in berth until late.... Besides your rations are much bigger here.”

Megatron shut his mouth so as not to admit that wasn’t the standard for his kin either, turning his nasal ridge up and looking every bit the confident bastard he was.

Optimus ducked his helm, wishing he could have a seat somewhere while he waited for whatever signal they were waiting for to come through.

Finally, though to his amazed terror, a femme looking ready to blast a whole through him with her optics alone came marching up to the pair. Her accent thick like Blitzwing’s.

“Lord Megatron.” She bowed, eyes narrowing Optimus’ way, and leaned forward to whisper something in her lord’s audial.

Whatever bad thing Optimus had been expecting to happen, it wasn’t Megatron looking completely poleaxed, followed by an unholy fire prickling his field against Optimus’. The smaller mech instinctually stepped away from the war lord as he stood and swiftly made his exit shouting curses. Off on a rampage, destination unknown.

“Jou stay here.” The femme crossed her servos to her chest and made herself right at home staring down at Optimus like he was some smear on her stabilizer.

“Liability.” She added mostly to herself.

Either meaning Optimus accompanying Megatron wherever he’d gone was a liability -even though Megatron had been the one to summon his company- or that his whole existence itself was a liability. Probably all that and more.

Optimus wanted to fill the silence by apologizing for somehow inconveniencing her, but he wasn’t sure it’d be well received, nor very genuine.

“Should I be escorted back to my... room?” Surely that was not the way to unravel the pinch in her brow, but he was out of ideas of how to handle this mystery femme.

“Jou just stand there quietly. Can you handle zat?” She sneered, and took a step closer. Covering him in her shadow despite being a few steps below him.

Somehow, he’d made things worse.

He nodded without another word and focused on his servos clasped together at his middle. Trying his hardest not to worry them.

Awkward silence was survivable, the femme’s scrutinizing gaze was deadly. He thought it’d be enough to crush him to death, until she -thankfully or not, he wasn’t sure- spoke. Tone all malice.

“Jou’ve been a terrible thorn in my side for some time now.”

Optimus hoped he didn’t looked as breakable as he felt then.

“Yes. I imagine so.”

He knew he was taking resources and opportunities away from somebody somewhere. It made sense that it’d be someone excruciatingly important.

It dawned on him then, much too slowly in fact, who he was speaking to.

“In truth, I was hoping to be out of here by now, Commander Strika. Megatron hasn’t made his intentions clear to me.”

Hadn’t he, though?

“Is zat so? Jou look awfully comfortable here, taking everything jou’re given.”

‘Whether you deserve it or not’ was implied.

Yeah, he definitely could have resisted a little more, and a little longer.

How far he’d fallen from the years of special training, mental and physical, to withstand the enemies’ unorthodox techniques. A little kindness targeted exclusively for him for the first time in his life cycle, and he’d forgotten Megatron once used him as a shield. For a moment anyway. Some things stayed with you.

She spoke again.

“Jou don’t address Lord Megatron appropriately, and yet jou seem to have found your manners on my account. Why is zat? Afraid, little one?”

Not exactly yes, but not exactly no. Optimus settled for,

“I’m just- I- Well, I don’t think Megatron means to kill me.”

No, no, no, that’s not what he meant to say. That wasn’t even true, of course he was going to kill him. Eventually. Right?

Luckily, she glossed over the hilarity of the implication he was worried that she might, though.

“I don’t think he means to kill me either, but I understand respect. Zey don’t teach jou Autobots about respect anymore?”

Obviously they do.

“He’s the leader of the enemy faction- ma’am. He isn’t my leader.”

*Obviously*.

Oh, slag, was this some kind of test? He’d heard plenty enough of Strika’s crimes against mech-hood and the grizzly details were rarely spared. Was he nanokliks away from being offlined while his personal guard was currently indisposed?

“But- but that’s not to say I-I don’t... *respect* his military status. Or yours, Commander Strika. I do.”

She’d talked him into a circle and a painfully contradictory one. Megatron was just Megatron. Strika was Commander Strika. And that made zero sense at all, other than Optimus would be damned to ever call Megatron ‘Lord’ of anything.

He glanced up again to start another attempt at amending the damage he’d done when he noted that Strika looked considerably less put off by his explanation. Which that couldn’t be the reason she’d relaxed her stance, he’d done an abysmal job explaining anything other than he was a threat to their beings, and a disrespectful one.

Her guard down even ever so slightly was another chance to clean things up, though.

“I’m well aware that Megatron is making sacrifices in my favor -though I admit I don’t know why. And I’m aware those sacrifices are affecting your soldiers directly-“

“Ve can live without rust sticks.”

Optimus turned a shade of crimson that was in step with the unflattering impression he’d made for himself. Strika was merciful enough to end the conversation there, and that might be the only mercy she’d ever given in the whole of history.

—— ————

The disturbing thing was that he was clearly being left out of the loop of something that so plainly revolved around him, and Megatron wasn’t around to distract him from the chaos that was creating in his helm. Megatron hadn’t been around in an entire solar cycle.

Blitzwing was a beacon of tension, wings flickering with his nerves occasionally when he thought Optimus wasn’t looking.

He spent most of his time just waiting, fueling and napping and reading datapads until he was unconsciously grinding his dental plates together- trying his damnedest not to think about where Megatron had run off to in such an uproar, never to be seen again.

Blitzwing wasn’t bad company. He rarely spoke to him, either disinterested or unsure how to acknowledge such a prominent force in his life on Earth under hostile circumstances. They’d found a rhythm for themselves long ago, and it’d stopped being awkward around the time they gave each other eyerolls at the wandering optics and rude exchanges from fellow Cons in the corridors.

Blitzwing was equally as unpopular here, and it was something to bond over.

Optimus was no coward, and so he couldn’t help risking ruining the peace he’d made among himself and the triple changer by asking the about the elephant in the room.

“What’s going on with Megatron?” He whispered into the quiet of the library.

Blitzwing’s helm popped up, keeping guard by the door, but didn’t look very perturbed to be the focus of possible controversy with nowhere to run. When did he ever? But an agitated flick of his wings signaled something particularly unpleasant about him asking- and maybe not exactly Optimus’ fault for it, whatever it was.

“If you even know, I mean. I don’t expect details, I just haven’t seen him in a while and we usually, um-“

They usually fueled together. And Megatron usually walked him to his room afterwards. And sometimes slipped him a datapad he personally liked if he knew he wouldn’t be able to accompany Optimus for a time. And watched his shining form disappear into his cozy room a little too intently. And sometimes said goodbye.

“Negotiations aren’t going as planned.”

Optimus snapped to attention at that and outright gawked. He hadn’t expected a real answer, but certainly nothing so telling.

Then Blitzwing made this face, completely indecipherable, and yet this knowing sort of look, like they were sharing some kind of inside joke. Optimus was definitely not in on whatever was happening, and he couldn’t imagine why Blitzwing would think otherwise.

He took it as an invitation to push his luck some more.

“What do you mean exactly? What...Did Megatron really think the counselors or Ultra Magnus would trade something he actually wanted for me?”

For *him*, when they had Sentinel and Rodimus Prime- both perfectly capable of following orders when given.

“Ja. And jou knew ze vouldn’t.”

Optimus’ optics blew wide open.

“Well, I, I mean- it’s me. I’m not worth a whole lot.”

And for that matter-

“Megatron’s called me a dumb little Autobot plenty of times. You can’t tell me he *didn’t* know.”

At most, he assumed Megatron would simply try his luck, and move on when his suspicions that Optimus made for a poor trade proved accurate.

Blitzwing looked completely bemused by the whole thing, and surprisingly, a little sympathetic.

“Lord Megatron hasn’t thought little of jou in a long time, not since jou vere brave enough to face him in hand to hand- and long before jou came here. Othervise he’d have left jou in a dirty cell in ze dark.”

Optimus blinked several times. Feeling perfectly numb and a little stupid for failing to process.

Blitzwing was prompted into explaining.

“Jou and jour team have done a lot of vork undoing our efforts to the cause, jou’ve proven that jou are vorthy of our consideration. Ve had to scrap a lot of plans ve’d originally made just to vork around jou and jour outstanding resourcefulness... despite jour stature and lack of skillsets. Comparatively speaking.”

“How comparatively?” Optimus whispered. Forcing his processor to pump doses of cognitive performance patches out to articulate anything more than amazed babbles.

“We have Cybertron’s lead spacebridge technician on our team.”

“Ja, jou got us zere.” Blitzwing shrugged, utterly unaffected by any of these life altering realizations.

He looked down at a gaping Prime, looking hopelessly lost, and found a smidge more of sympathy to bestow upon him.

“Megatron views jou in a different light now, a flattering one. And he’d assumed ze opinions of your leaders after watching all jour accomplishments vould change as vell. As zey should.”

Optimus hadn’t registered when he’d had to take a seat on the bare floor to ground himself.

“It’s a shame zey haven’t.” Blitzwing hummed thoughtfully.

“I hope zere’s some solace in knowing zat ve feel otherwise. Who else is zere to impress, if not jour enemies really?”

It was the first time Random had made an appearance since his coming here, even though he was replaced by Icy in an instant. The only thing Optimus took solace in was being the reason for the moment of calm they’d both needed for that to ever happen.

——— ———- -

He was thrust out of berth in the dead of the night cycle by Strika and dragged like a wayward youth by his scruff to the Decepticon command quarters.

It went by in a blur, his brain module desperately trying to peace together the layout as they walked before crumbling under the utter fascination shocking him to his core upon reaching their destination.

“W-Where are we- This is-!”

The stars looked close enough to touch up here. The glass walls stretching out against an endless expanse of space and the soft galactic lights beyond. The cold glass thinly separating him from losing himself in the inky abyss.

“The command center!” He said with all the enthusiasm of said wayward youth.

“I-I’ve *never*- It’s, I- Whoa!”

He was silenced by a familiar booming voice, the air of wonder about him instantly shifting to trepidation. And then-

“Optimus Prime! Stand at attention!”

He did on pure instinct, and a little from fear. Having to be forcibly lifted and settled back down by Strika in his endless bewilderment right in front of Megatron, standing at the center of the room and baring his fangs in a feral grin at the monitor at Optimus’ back. Strika’s servos disappearing as suddenly as they’d came.

“Here he is, just as I said, you blasted *fool*!” Megatron roared, and Optimus was almost too afraid to turn and see who was profoundly pissing him off on screen.

//Op?!//

//Holy slag....//

Optimus whipped around so fast he nearly lost his balance and had to reach out for the console below the monitor screen.

His optics almost whited out at the sight of Jazz, Sentinel, two curious helms peeking out from behind him, and a furious looking Ultra Magnus with hammer clenched in servo.

The helms popped up and twin smiles greeted Optimus without a single care for the danger they were all in.

//He’s alive!//

//Is not lie!//

//I had told you so brother.//

//Eh... I still not honor our bet-//

“Shut up.” Strika growled, apparently having conversed with them thoroughly enough at this point.

Optimus stood in shocked silence, trying to figure where his place was in all this. Should he assure Ultra Magnus he was alright? Would that undo whatever work had been accomplished here today if he downplayed the severity of the situation?

Megatron was ready for the next round of insults, though, before he could speak.

“Congratulations, you wasted everyone’s time further, *Ultra Magnus*. He’s exactly as I said he’d be. What’s your excuse *now*?”

“....We don’t negotiate with terrorists.”

The fury was instant.

“A MECH WITH HALF A PROCESSOR WOULD NEGOTIATE ANYTHING AND EVERYTHING TO HAVE THE PRIZE OF THEIR PEOPLE RETURNED!”

“Delegate.” Strika muttered dangerously from over Optimus’ helm.

Megatron attempted to, but an unusual tremor laced his tone.

“What’s worse than having your greatest asset in the hands of your enemy? What could possibly be more valuable to bargain with?”

Optimus felt a surge of courage then. He could answer that, and he could do so without sacrificing Ultra Magnus’ precarious position. He had a good idea what Megatron would be bargaining for, and it was pretty ambitious, worthy bargaining chip or not.

“The Allspark is nonnegotiable, Megatron. Nothing is more sacred, and we must protect it at all-“

“No- WE ARE THROUGH NEGOTIATING!”

Optimus took a step back.

Megatron leveled a claw at the screen, aimed at Magnus’ throat cables.

“You come here and *get him* by *any means necessary*! You will sacrifice half your military force if you must- OPTIMUS PRIME IS WORTH YOUR HEAD AND MORE, YOU ULTRA SELL-SHORT!”

“*Delegate*!”

Optimus felt the floor shift beneath him and he actually did have to brace himself on the console this time.

What....was happening?

Then finally, in a voice so tight, Ultra Magnus must be chipping his teeth together-

“I won’t risk the lives of any one of my soldiers, *Megatron*.”

“He’s *one of your soldiers*, isn’t he? He’s the *best* you could ever hope to have- WHAT WILL you risk then?! What do you even stand for? If the most precious thing in the universe exists at your disposal, you undeserving glitch, only for you to *forsake* it?!”

Optimus thought he was about to slip down the console and crumple embarrassingly on the floor like a pathetic Iump when a single strong servo wrapped around his waist, just as his pedes were shaking, and hauled him upright- over and over, and up in to-

Megatron had taken a seat, forehelm collapsing into his open palm to shield himself from the sheer stupidity of it all, pulling Optimus securely onto his thigh while he gathered himself.

Optimus was a shivering mess of raw nerves and mortification upon hearing the collective gasps and realizing where he was. Who he was with. Who he was sitting on....

He threw a hand out to steady himself against Megatron’s chest, and that was probably misconstrued, too. Though not terribly wrongly. Megatron was about the only thread he had tethering him to any kind of sanity.

The mech that had worked so viscously to protect his honor for possibly cycles and cycles now. All this time he’d been gone, in this room, doing this...

It was a lost cause, which he was probably realizing, and Optimus was oh so ready to thank him genuinely for all of this unnecessary, CONFUSING, effort on his behalf when-

“How dare you, you old fool.” Megatron said with every bit of exasperation he’d undoubtedly earned. He barely refrained from tacking on a suppressed sigh.

“I will not rest until you can never lay another servo on this mech.”

Which was infinitely profound a thing to say.

And again, confusing.

There was silence as Ultra Magnus considered the literal audacity of the war lord, leaving Optimus with another moment of courage to look up at the screen with the single ounce of bravery he had left resembling the strong mech he once was- right before he was forced into this deranged call, in fact...

Sentinel was there hiding behind a single hand, shoulders tense with repressed laughter that Optimus had come to recognize as a poor coping mechanism for horrific stress. Clearly at his breaking point and reaching for something rational to hold on to to make sense of everything.

Jazz was in a similar state- mouth open in absolute shock, failing to contain his outright amusement at the absurdity of the hours, cycles, they’d spent on this ‘negotiation’. Only for it to derail into surreal and wild claims.

And there was Jetfire, clutching Jetstorm like his pedes had stopped functioning. Megatron’s last words while Optimus Prime sat saddled in his lap like a trophy piece to help him win over his argument were enough to push the crew past their already broken point.

Ultra Magnus was the only mech looking as thoroughly put out and downright *offended* as Megatron, that was possible, in all the seriousness of the situation.

Megatron’s field prickled against Optimus’ in righteous indignation.... Indignant on his account.

Optimus wasn’t sure exactly which commander he felt he should be adhering to the judgment of. All he was unfortunately aware of -so no plausible deniability there- was that Megatron had done nothing but given Optimus the utmost faith in himself, if Blitzwing’s words were true.

Above that, he’d never felt so sure of his safety before- if Megatron didn’t want Ultra Magnus to touch him again, it was as good as gospel.

Though... why he would need saving from his own commander was a definite err in the mech’s logic center. He’d let it slide in favor of all the recharge Megatron had been missing. The brush of his thumb against his hip plate admissible, too.

//I’m ending this now.// Ultra Magnus said, lip curling.

Optimus chanced another look at the fearful faces on screen exchanging looks, and Jazz’s quiet //But, Commander...//.

“You will do no such thing, not until I have your word that Optimus Prime, your Prime, must I remind you, is your immediate priority. And that he will be spared anymore of your dispassion and bias moving forward.”

Silence. Festering, angry silence.

Optimus felt redder than his chassis upon noticing Sentinel looking pleadingly between the button to end the call and Optimus clearly at the mercy of a maniacal madman. When his terror eventually subsided, what the frag was Sentinel going to be telling the femmes that took interest in him or the rest of the populace with an open audial for gossip?

“Do it, or I take siege of your Earth outpost.” Megatron threatened, finding the energy to enforce it with a snarl.

Magnus, as unbothered by anything to do with Optimus’ Earth crew as ever, ended the call.

“My god.” Strika turned her wrath onto Megatron now. Optimus had all of second to make out the point behind their arguing being Megatron’s inability to remain impartial himself through that cycles long ordeal before he was being lifted, to his endless humiliation, with a servo under his knee joints and another under his backstrut.

He held on for the ride, narrowly ducking stares from Decepticon’s high commands as Megatron marched through them towards Optimus’ room, unbothered to be taking such a public route.

His mind remained carefully blank when protesting and fighting out of Megatron’s hold failed to occur to him.

Carefully blank of the strong servos holding him close, promising safety and care.

Carefully, carefully blank.

“I’ll send for the Constructicons- you will tell them what accommodations you need to make your room livable. I understand there are cultural differences between us, and you’ve been severely lacking the proper living arrangements. Do not refrain on their account, the demands can and will be met accordingly. And timely, might I add, so do keep your schedule free until you’ve finished your consultation.”

Optimus didn’t know where to begin. How to address the fact that he wasn’t very well going to be staying here forever.

Megatron set him down only after he’d entered his quarters and the door was shielding them away from prying optics. Blitzwing’s fascinated ones passing them by in particular.

Optimus was at a total loss. No way to articulate that that Earth outpost was completely off limits until he had Megatron’s word all of this would never reach Ratchet and Prowl’s audials. The most benign of his worries. Or at least for as long as he could realistically keep that from happening with them undoubtedly pestering Sentinel and Jazz about his whereabouts and rescue.

No way to make Megatron possibly conceive the ludicrousness of Optimus continuing to receive extra special treatment. With extra privileges now, too.

No way to thank him properly for something he should never be thanking his enemy for. Not even sure what he was thankful for exactly.

Megtaron seemed happy enough to take his silence and the privacy of his room to be his chance to collect himself before facing Strika again.

“Are- do you need to... sit?” Optimus offered, gesturing towards the berth.

Megatron shuttered his optics, servo gripping his forehelm again. He considered the tiny frame before him, wringing his hands together anxiously, field prickling with worry.

“I’m well, Autobot.” He reassured in his most calming voice. Then thought it over.

“I will be- after you get a retouch. Your gloss finish is wearing.”

It wasn’t. It definitely wasn’t.

Optimus flushed a vivid shade and tried not to nod like there was a wedge stuck in his neck. If that was what it took to sedate Megatron, alright then. He could flounder at the absurdity of another shine up -the third one in his entire lifecycle- later, and only privately to Blitzwing.

He would be doing nothing further in the future to attest his quiet gratitude for Megatron’s misguided care for him. He would do nothing to insinuate it was not appreciated. It was all extremely hard to accept, but it was very much appreciated.

“I can’t keep you here forever.” Megatron said then. An odd thing to say, because Optimus would argue that while he would love to leave this place, Megatron could absolutely do whatever he wanted, so long as it didn’t mean hurting anybody- and he could absolutely keep him here, too.

Megatron, self assured as ever, carefully reached out to slide retracted claws under Optimus’ chin and lift -making his sparkbeat spike in his chest.

“But I assure you this, Optimus Prime. That wasteful, foolish, idiot ‘leader’ of yours will not touch you again. His insufferable lack of compassion for you is poison. It’s a direct offense to me, the unstoppable mech you’ve continuously thwarted.”

Optimus didn’t feel that opinion of himself terribly egotistical. It was luck alone that he and his crew had ever stood a chance to them. Alone on a foreign planet without any of the necessary resources, it was clearly a case of the stars aligning magically in his favor each time.

Though apparently, the Earth Cons had started feeling differently about any assessment of himself selling him and his team short at some point.

Optimus hadn’t realized his optics had closed. Not until those fingers stroked up towards his cheekplates. Another violent flush coloring his facial mesh and impossible to hide from Megatron’s tender gaze.

“You won’t let his ideas of you shape you- you can’t afford that. It would be the biggest affront to our species if you allowed him, anyone, to taint you.”

“A little much.” Optimus murmured, voice rough with some untapped emotion.

Megatron grinned, shrugged, refused to let that perfect moment to end their contact before things became a bit too intimate convince him to let go, and even dared to stroke his thumb below Optimus’ optic.

The smaller mech caught his bottom lip in his teeth, feeling something give a strong tug on his spark.

“I’m fueling early,“ Megatron purred, brow creasing, enjoying the show of Optimus’ face twisting into one of contentment at his ministrations.

”I’ll return shortly. Wait for me.”

What could Optimus say to that?

He felt like melting into the floor when Megatron’s other servo reached up to mimic his cupping palm in a final stroke below his shuttering optics before pulling away and marching out the door to meet a furious Strika who’d effortlessly tracked him down.

His shoulders straight and helm high all the same- feeling particularly invincible all at once.

Optimus numbly watched him go, watched the door closing behind his broad frame, then flung himself onto his berth to hide his burning face in the padding.

He stayed like that until Megatron returned for their dinner date.

——- —-

I am.... oh my God. Thank you for giving me this opportunity, stranger💖 You looked into the void and decided I should embarrass myself as much as possible, and I’m grateful.

Thanks everyone for reading.

I’d like to post the entire thing to Ao3 at some point but people are head hunting me on there to finish my Detroit Become Human stuff and I owe about 600 people content in my messages. No one knows I live here now in transformers heck.

This was my first tfa scribbles ever, but I hated how they turned out. I know I’ll never finish them, though, so frag it. Here they are.

Context is Optimus stealing the hearts of the Decepticons after he officially becomes Megatron’s courting obsession and fully accepts his new role.

Shockwave was in this, but also stuffed into a corner, suffering Optimus’ kindness. I’ll spare you.

I made this for that thing I wrote. Pick the color you like best.

Lol I only colored one thing

It’s only a year late, Anon, but I hope you find and enjoy this, because I ✨LOVED 💖this request. I really hyperfixated on Optimus being appreciated for once (and being doted on, respectfully). Thank you for making it, you are so good and wonderful for this ask💕 (((I FORGOT TO HIT ANSWER WHEN I POSTED THIS EJWKWKKEKEME, OH MY LORD)))

As a PSA to all the readers, this got WAY out of hand and somehow ended up being monstrously long AGAIN, so-

⭕️ BEWARE THE READ MORE⭕️

(Go to my page and open it there so you aren’t stuck ruining your dashboard and can leave the fic easier)

Warnings in the tags💕

——————————————- 

On a painfully uneventful evening such as this, stuck in a room with bots old and frail enough to evaporate into thin air from the weight of their air headed blather, Megatron was looking forward to doing some private reading later- someplace far away from this mockery of a court with all its prejudice.

This was how the Autobots did things? No wonder nothing ever got done- If Decepticons took this long talking in circles, talking at all, they would have been beaten back by their enemy faction by a sly, cunning leader, too, by now.

Megatron resisted sighing outwardly.

Reading would be such a sweet consolation for having to sit through these nearsighted windbags running their mouths all cycle. If only he could be certain he could survive this with half a processor in tact.

Besides Ultra Magnus’ obsession with flight tariffs in civil frame cities driving Megatron to a powerful processor ache, there was also the matter of this proud, little idiot stood here before him- so enveloped in his own heedless jargon it was threatening to dull Megatron’s logic center, if nobody put a stop to his rambling.

This one’s ego was much too big for him, continuously having to make himself known. He, Sentinel Prime, shouldn’t even be here.

And then the other mech so abysmally out of his depths here -Optimus Prime- was only here at all, because he’d been crowned a hero for having offered these council mechs Megatron’s head on a platter some months ago. Too bad he’d left it attached to the rest of him- Megatron would make sure the Prime would come to regret it by the end of these ‘negotiations’.

If he somehow hadn’t already, constantly being tortured by Megatron instigating his dear, precious Magnus from across the court.

Judging by the exasperated glare Prime sent Megatron’s way every few arguments, and Megatron purposely ignoring his very existence, it was only a matter of time before Optimus caved and would have to excuse himself to collect the necessary patience. And Megatron would watch him go with a smirk, thinking how it was all too bad the little firetruck couldn’t be helped to finally learn his place in this big mech world -far bigger than him- and spare himself this misery.

There was much to be ungrateful for during these sessions, and yet still, probably the most enraging offense on Megatron’s person of all -even keeping company like this, with council mechs considering his rights as casually as if they were discussing the weather- was that the very same bot who’d made a fool of him and delivered him in stasis cuffs to the Auotbot’s mercy kept injecting himself into matters too important for him… on Megatron’s behalf.

Defending a (capable) nefarious warlord in front of the masses like an absolute martyr.

At least so when something truly as appalling as treatment for ground sickness in civilian spaces was disregarded as a priority, and not considered a sanity-threatening emergency, was suggested. Proving that Optimus Prime might be the first Autobot to possess a modicum of honor.

Suggestions as flippant as that quickly became few and far between, as Optimus’ constant pestering was driving everyone up the wall- every Autobot quietly disgusted by the notion of rights for war mechs, anyway. Which appeared to be the entire panel in Megatron’s only slightly biased opinion, as he was sat here before them.

Optimus paid them no mind- had started out quiet and humble, so uncertain of his place here. Appropriately so, if you asked Megatron. But Primus had he found it when Sentinel had suggested ‘docked wings’ on Decepticons who broke the new laws…

“I wasn’t talking first time offenders!” The plow tried to correct, like that wouldn’t burn a hole through Optimus all the same from the sheer, righteous indignity of it.

Optimus, who was rarely ever sat with his aft properly in his podium seat and spent much of the deliberation bouncing around on his pedes, pointing fingers and making wild gestures the more his patience thinned, met his limit then.

“We will never modify their frames in any nonconsensual way, Sentinel! Primus, what is wrong with you!?”

Megatron could answer that question for the little firetruck. These out of touch bigots were terrified of him -despite their proud, ‘fearless Autobot’ front.

They were scared of Megatron and the other war machines, and they’d be wise to hold strong to those insecurities, lest they have anymore ideas of a faction wide extermination that would ascend into yet another eternal war.

It’d be the same subject matter, at least.

Sometimes, it became exhausting keeping up with of all the atrocities that’d transpired between them over the years, and he’d rather like to keep his thumb between the pages, holding his place for when this treaty inevitably fell through and he had to pick up right where he’d left off. Somewhere around escaping prison thanks to idiot, imposter Magnuses to come skewer the real one. 

Even now that things had become slightly more progressive -given they Autobots had been forced to concede to him- there was still the odd daydream of his of striking Magnus from off of his throne. Most recently for making him sign documentation of all the war mech’s in his faction under an ominously familiar act to keep designations on close hand.

How…uncanny.

In fact, Megatron had signed it purely out of his own shock and amusement to see if Ultra Magnus would realize what it was he was resurrecting from the dark depths of their shared history by demanding such a thing.

‘To keep record of everyone entering into the new era of peace accounted for’.

Well, then. How convenient an excuse. Clearly, Megatron wasn’t the only one without a single hope for their unification.

In support of that depressing thought, Ultra Magnus had said little to protest or encourage what his council mechs were offering -pushing- other than when he was strictly needed to make great speeches to quiet Megatron’s kin of their outrage. Often just sat there staring listlessly out over the chaos of council members and Decepticon high command at Megatron’s back, ranting and raving over one another. Looking more and more forlorn, more and more distant.

He must have walked into this as sure as the Earth’s sun that this would be a lost cause. He’d only bothered placating any of this, because the other option was simply to concede and die…

Megatron, to be contrary -despite his own doubts in this movement- was becoming more irritated that Magnus expected him to be such a lost cause. These talks of merging their species a chore and an impossible one…

That Optimus was spurred on all the more by Ultra Magnus’ silence, trying to take the reigns in an effort to lead the others with his boundless, pitiful optimism towards the notion that there was any value to them fighting for this forsaken, ideological future was perhaps a tiny bit comforting. It was, after all, Megatron’s only real source of entertainment during these talks, as Strika had insisted on presenting herself seriously, unwilling to make small talk while Autobot bureaucrats were speaking.

Useless. This was all wasted time, Megatron was sure of it… As sure as Magnus…

Somehow still, he managed to weather an entire cycle more of this undignified dressing down of his rights and quickly stood, eager to push his way out of the chambers first before he could be tethered to another post council scourge where the Autobots fought amongst themselves to push their own opinions upon an absent Decepticon faction. Too self-indulged to realize the underhandedness of such a thing.

Perhaps he should reconsider killing them during another of Magnus’ speeches instead. For the sake of dramatics and some much needed entertainment.

On this particular exhausting cycle, though, Optimus Prime -absolutely fuming- seemed to have the same idea as him about being the first one out of the Council’s logic leeching vacuum. That he was the main cause of said scourging amongst his leaders and peers -and Sentinel, the instigator- allowed Megatron a moment of calm to slow his steps some ways behind him and enjoy the sight of one puffed up Prime getting exactly what he deserved for bringing Megatron onto this cursed planet with a functioning sparkbeat.

He looked ready to kick Sentinel’s podium on the way out, if he were the type of mech to lose his temper Lin such a way.

Megatron remembered the trip back to Cybertron being not at all how he’d imagined it. Beaten, torn to pieces, and struggling to vent, Megatron had seen a fair glimpse of the kind of mech Optimus Prime really was when battle and desperation weren’t marring his processor. 

He couldn’t say he was impressed with a bot with such… he was just so… Optimus was so…

The only way Megatron could describe the humiliating -though enlightening- encounter without sacrificing his ego was to simply say that he hadn’t the opportunity to meet an Autobot Elite as unexpectedly humble and sincere as Optimus Prime before.

How embarrassing to have been beaten by such a bleeding spark…

The little mech cared about… everything. And he cared too much.

Unfortunately, the effort he put into it was quite misplaced. If he could only have the foresight to see who his genuine nature was being expended upon, who was taking advantage of it, he’d have turned to the Decepticon’s for guidance and a purpose.

Not that Megatron wanted him there.

Megatron gave a huff and removed himself from those thoughts, lest he provoke the unfortunate memories that’d came with them -stuck at the mercy of what he’d just discovered at the time to be a Primus forsaken maintenance bot, serving him back his own aft like he’d been doing it for centuries prior.

The discovery had been too humiliating too bare…

His little consolation for everything the Prime had put him through on Earth was that he was still a nobody here. He was spoken over, talked down to by Ultra Magnus on occasion, and largely ignored. Which is what Megatron intended to do himself for the rest of this pretend peace he was forced to serve under.

Pretend Optimus Prime was a bot without an ounce of worth behind his false title, something to be forgotten in the history of Megatron’s millions of years of fortitude and success.

And as he looked down at his retreating figure, hustling towards the doors to rid himself the indignity of todays events, Megatron knew in his spark that this would be the most he’d ever spare in acknowledging the Prime- only enough to delight in his suffering.

He could survive these sessions with that in mind, if it could only have stayed true.

“They don’t seem to know what’s good for them.” The Decepticon, a jet, said blithely. He was standing guard by the entrance on the Decepticon’s floor. That Optimus didn’t bother with his faction’s floor in a means to get out of there sooner was another odd consolation for Megatron against the withering glares from the council mech’s at the tiny fool’s backstrut.

Optimus didn’t seem to pay this mech any mind either.

“No, they don’t.” He snapped back at him, without a single glance at the jet. And yet, there was something there in his tone Megatron couldn’t quite place when he heard it -nor cared to- as he lazily followed behind him.

In the split second the jet had to respond before Optimus was good and gone, stomping and storming off as fearsomely as any ‘Con about triple his size, the guard tilted his helm his way to try and extend the last few moments they had.

“Don’t be so hard on yourself, Prime.”

To Megatron’s confusion, Optimus stopped. His shoulders losing some of their tension as his helm fell back on a sigh.

“Sorry… I’ll try... And Thanks.”

The jet smiled at him, and from this angle, Megatron could just make out the corner of Optimus’ lip plates tilting upward, returning it.

‘Familiarity’… That’s what it was.

———————————————-

Boredom was about Megatron’s only motivator to look into the odd spectacle he’d witnessed. Waiting for the council room to fill and the doors to close, preparing for another arduous cycle of negotiations, Megatron leant back in his chair, hardly built for his massive size as it was, and hissed nasally into Strika’s audial.

“Who is that?” He cut his optics over at the chipper looking jet.

How dare he not be sharing in Megatron’s crushing despair for having to be here.

“Jou know who jour mechs are.” Strika answered back.

Megatron considered the mech a moment. He was silver and rather tall for a jet. A sleek frame with black indentations up the underside of each wings- one of his more noticeable features. One a Decepticon might think attractive with its cutting edges and sharp angles.

Megatron certainly did know him, granted he’d gone through several reformations since joining the cause.

He tried to remember why.

This jet proved significantly more capable of handling injuries than most other winged mechs of his slender, shorter stature. He’d seen some extensive upgrades, and if Megatron was correct, had managed to deserve each and every one of them under his field commander’s favor.

Oh, right- and Starscream hated him. Pretty to look at, easy to grab, obedient and a good listener, as well as a good fighter. Of course Megatron would have agreed to special treatment like reformations for a mech like that, so long as he was sure Starscream would wind up jealous and bitter about it.

Considering his near civil mech size, this one was a powerhouse -and a good choice for their chamber room guard post then. Not that Megatron could believe a room full of even the most capable Autobot warriors could subdue him without the jet‘s aid.

But that image conjured up another one- the memory of this jet streaking across a scarlet sky with Energon dripping from his wingtips. A splash of it falling down and momentarily blinding Megatron’s opponent before he’d decapitated them.

Saberswipe, Megatron finally recalled. A winged mech who dissected enemies using a unique blend of speed and force. How fitting then.

Megatron didn’t like him…

“He vants to frag Prime.” Said Strika, then. Unnecessarily.

Megatron cuts his optics at her next.

“Maybe he wouldn’t be such an unbearable pain then.” He said rather stuffily.

“Optimus Prime has too much time on his servos to be as meddlesome as he is. He needs a hobby.”

“Like fragging a flighty, pint sized jet?”

“Like fragging himself, more like.” Megatron scoffed, then surveyed the platforms opposite him, looking for said nuisance to come and claim his seat soon, and the pestering to begin.

“Vatch your mouth.” Strika snarled into his audial, immediately drawing Megatron’s attention back.

He looked at her, slack jawed and optic ridge pinched. Completely offended by her outburst. She didn’t look the least bit repentant.

In fact, as war frames often did with one another, she stared him right back in the optics, challenging him. Her permanent frown somehow impressively deepening.

Megatron’s processor slowed to a tick.

“What was that, General?” He ground out, finally grasping that one of his subordinates had just had the gall to openly disrespect him in such a way.

The tank leaned into him, drawing a curious glance from the old and foolish Trion who frequently attempted to keep tabs on the Decepticon board from across the way. Looking terribly unsubtle about it, too.

“Vatch what jou say about Prime.” Strika rumbled.“He does not deserve jour ridicule, too.”

Nearly lost for words in one debilitating moment of insanity, Megatron needed time for his processor to climb back up to a functional rhythm.

Strika’s gaze did not waver, shockingly. Staring him down with all the confidence and reassertion she only ever expended defending the honor of her delusional mate, Lugnut.

Which this was….. odd…

“He deserves every ounce of it.” Megatron said slowly, gobsmacked. Because had Strika forgotten how they’d gotten themselves here?

Had she forgotten how her suddenly precious little Prime had gotten him here?

“He is the reason we are being forced to kneel to the Autobot’s.”

“He is za reason we may all have a chance at peace, finally. He is za reason zese negotiations have gone on for as long as zhey have vithout falling through.”

“Because he won’t stop inserting himself-“

“Which is the reason we’ve had a voice for ourselves on that half of the chamber.”

Megatron felt a very childish rebuttal coming up any second now.

“We are strong enough to be our own voices!”

They’d had to be for lifetimes now.

Where had it gotten them, though?

“They von’t listen to us.” Strika said simply. Obviously.

They both already knew, despite how much it pained Megatron to think he was worth so little respect from even Ultra Magnus these days as to be heard, when he had gone and conquered worlds. Had posed as the single most monstrous threat to Autobot society for generations.

“Prime is making zem listen.” Strika reinforced, a tad more gentler. Which was worse than her disrespect.

Megatron felt the tension in his shoulder joints loosen, defeated yet again by Strika’s superior logic unit. One reason she made such a brilliant general, and did just a good enough job to help him remember his own place in things.

Help him remember his undoubtable greatness and value as a warrior and intelligent mind still weren’t enough to sway the narrow minds and bigoted forces of the Autobot Commonwealth. She was just objective enough to understand her loyalty for her master wouldn’t translate for some- for many. And she was right -had probably saved these negotiations countless times without him even knowing- to help him see that for himself.

He’d be feeding her her spike for it later.

“It shouldn’t be that way…” He huffed, all but pouting like the 14 million year old warlord he was for anyone tracking the conversation in the room to see.

“I agree- and he doesn’t zink so, either.“ Strika said, turning back to face the finally full room with her optics settling over the little Prime, entranced in his own tireless note taking.

“How fortunate are we, zhen to have a such a find listener? Zhat isn’t a question, by ze way. Now shut up and vatch.”

The session began as it always did- with the little red Bumblebee lookalike announcing the designations of all parties present and then the article of debate. In today’s case, it was about the mythical Decepticon housing distribution problem.

Optimus’ finials pricked up in interest, readying himself to take a stand.

Megatron turned away.

“You hate peace, Strika.” He said mournfully. His servos crossed over his chest, as he stared over at Saberswipe diligently standing guard. His optics also settled heavily over the brightly colored Prime. But he was only safe place in the room at the moment for Megatron to rest his optics.

Megatron was always happiest with his processor busy plotting, and he had much to think about when he set his optics on the tall, agile jet.

—————————

Despite feeling like a part time prisoner still, which was somewhat true, Megatron was glad to spend a cycle outside of that court of self-aggrandizing windbags, and in the beautiful plated streets of the lovely Iacon City for a change. Standing in the place he’d once stood millennia ago, screaming at the top of his voice box until his synthesizer was stripped raw for the helm of the mech who’d signed the miner outpost off and left him and his kin an empty future.

He remembered his fellow war mech’s at his back, looking to him -the bravest of the lot- to get them answers. To take it from the first senator to get down off his high podium and face them all. Having finally reached a point in his life where he was willing to throw his life away, if that was what it would take to be heard.

Civil frames avoided him, splitting perfectly down the middle as they went, trying to avoid him. Dodging eye contact, apologizing for having to pass by him at all- those who didn’t cross the street entirely.

One such mech was not so cowed by his domineering, gravely presence on their clean, shiny streets.

“Hiya, Megatron. You’re needed in the chambers today.”

Megatron looked the large, green swat van over. Twice. Wondering when and where he had gotten the audacity.

“Are you an errand boy, now?” He jabbed, looking for a weak spot in Optimus’ most even tempered, well adjusted ex-crew mate.

“Nope. Just doin’ Prime a favor. He, uh, wanted to discuss the housing issue some more the other day, but Ultra Magnus said it’d need to be done in an official setting. You’re the other faction leader, sooo… y’know.”

So one of Optimus’ post meeting scourges had pushed enough frayed nerves to get itself a platform.

Megatron was not about to subject himself to Optimus -an Autobot- openly condemning Megatron’s -an actual Decepticon- insistence that Decepticons did not need the ‘frivolities’ that civil types did in their hypothetical habsuites, and that he was ‘thinking like a pampered little civil frame’ when he had insisted each Decepticon be given a balcony and sky view for easy take off.

Optimus did not know what Decepticons needed, Megatron -a Decepticon- obviously did. Why hadn’t he left it alone? Why did he always have to go behind his backstrut?

Because he knew having one less oppressive opinion of Optimus’ place there in the room would be enough to force himself to be heard?

And if he was as great as Strika (confusingly, peculiarly, horrifically) had said, then he would know they ‘needed’ an open, more communal space for their habitats. Once, when he’d cared to hear it, Megatron had recalled somebot saying that seekers didn’t do so well when separated, and seekers made up a large part of his flyers.

Which speaking of-

“That is why Starscream exists.” Megatron glowered at Bulkhead.

Yes, Starscream was here as his no good, useless second in command. It’d been torture having to reinstate that rank at the start of this jumbled negotiation mess.

Bulkhead only shrugged.

“She didn’t show up.”

Megatron sighed, palm coming up to cover his forehelm.

He did love his cycles away from the council room, as their newest instrument of torture -them opening their mouths- too much for his poor, weathered spark.

But today was not his day to indulge.

He turned away and left Bulkhead standing there, shrugging off the taller mech’s awful attitude -used to Prowl’s and Bumblebee’s- and marched himself away from the council chambers. He took flight in the middle of a crowded city of startled grounders and off towards the Nemesis’ docking bay, stationed in the vacant hollow of the once prosperous Kaon, where it was sat idly. His poor ship.

On a day like this, where Starscream had been summoned to preform and had unsurprisingly failed again to do so, the useless seeker would no doubt be hiding away in the command quarters, rather than out enjoying the city skylights from the shuttle ports. Lazing about precarious platforms and swinging a pede over an edge into the open air, enjoying herself.

She’d be smart enough to know with that alarming sixth sense of her that Megatron would be out looking for her today. Looking to tear off some wingstruts.

Decepticons cleared the way as their thunderous leader landed and stomped his way up the deck, much like the civil frames had in the Iacon Plaza.

Megatron was marginally saddened to find Starscream hadn’t taken the opportunity of his absence to claim ownership of his throne and do all her sulking there, as he always felt it was a bit instigative of him to shred the seeker to pieces when she hadn’t gone and stupidly earned it.

When he finally found her huddled in on herself in a bulkhead, he had to forced his claws to retract.

She stood there, facing away from the quiet commotion of the bridge with her servos crossed, staring at the floor with a scowl. Processor deep in conniving thought.

Some threatening on Megatron’s part was still in order, at least.

“Get… your scrap metal wings… your lazy skidplate… down to the council chambers!” Megatron roared, startling the seeker out of her trance, as she spun around to access the danger she was in.

Megatron stood before her, towering and menacing, impossible to make out the expression of in the lightless war ship. Though she did catch the distinct glint of fanged denta baring themselves from the glow of monitor stations.

“Now.” Megatron rasped, pointing for target enhanced optics to see at the vague location of the Autobot Council Chambers. Miles and miles away.

After a moment looking him over, frown stuck to her faceplates, Starscream immediately assumed her usual dramatics, ‘scrap metal wings’ challenging Megatron in a high arch.

“Never,” She hissed back, baring her own sharp denta. Already protesting against his authority and he’d only just gotten there.

Megatron, finally having been able to get some fresh air in his vents away from the horrid hell hole Prime was trying to shove him back into, was able to find the strength to summon his ire over his exhaustion.

His optics glowed dangerously as his plating ruffled. Making his already impressive frame seem somehow bigger.

“Starscream. Go. At. Once.”

Starscream still was not cowed. Curiously. Worryingly.

She brought her claws out to her sides, extending them, readying for the first strike.

“No…”

Megatron was only slightly surprised to see how affected his selfish, self-absorbed seeker was by attending the lengthy meetings of Autobot jargon that did little, if anything, to center themselves around her haughty presence there. Because of course she wouldn’t want to whittle her time away there, it was never about her.

It was always about Megatron and his great presence and incredible intellect. His ability to have every last one of the sniveling Autobots wiped clean as a species, should they cross him. Starscream could never stand being overshadowed by his-

“I’m not going back there!” She screeched at him.

Megatron reached for a sheathed sword he wore in purposeful protest of Magnus’ law forbidding war frame’s of dawning weapons in the presence of civil mechs, as it hadn’t yet been set into motion.

But then her words suddenly clicked.

“What do you mean, ‘go back there’? You’ve been excluded from sessions while in my company… Because I barred you.”

Lord, had he.

“I barred myself, when you wouldn’t stop gloating about ridiculous, ancient, irrelevant history!” Starscream countered, giving Megatron a sudden and strange feeling that reason was a fallacy.

“Nobody cares how you handled the pre-faction Destrons- or how ‘great you are’ at leading a washed out, embarrassment of an ex-faction! It doesn’t make you a good leader, it doesn’t mean you deserve anyone’s respect! Especially not mine!”

Megatron’s optic twitched.

AllSpark, give him strength.

“Your presence has not been requested or necessary for a decacycle, Starscream. I’ve been handling everything- this was my one cycle away from their pointless rambling-“

“That’s what you think!” Starscream said snidel. Igniting equal parts worry and confusion in Megatron’s fuel tank.

Because she had better not been stepping a single heeled thruster into that fucking joke of a council of theirs, or else he’d-

“You don’t care about the needs of streamlined frames, you know! I have to be there!”

Megatron blinked his confusion, but he made sense of things rather quickly.

“You mean you and your clones?”

“Yes!” Starscream instantly recognized which insufferable tone Megatron was using on her.

“Obviously, you old fool!”

“Starscream-!”

“I have a skeletal scaffold to pick with them, too, you know!” Starscream flittered her wings in agitation, ignoring whatever danger she was in and rambling over him.

“You may not have the spacial awareness to see it for yourself, but I’m in there plenty! You never think to address the feuling crisis for streamlined frames! The clone seekers have varying needs, we aren’t genetically identical, or have you somehow overlooked Skywarp’s built in warpdrive?! What about Thundercracker’s sonic boom?!”

Thundercracker’s what…?

Oh, Primus.

“They are seekers of my own making,” Starscream screeched so loud, the nearest star outside the viewport flickered, hearing her call.

“They’re not… not thoughtfulness productions and weapons!”

Megatron’s lip curled.

“Your missing spark is an enigma. Who would bother learning every special delicate need your radiated, mutated miscreants require in order to find their shoddy, miserable existence in this world like the rest of us?”

“Optimus Prime would.” Starscream muttered more to herself, rolling her optics.

Megatron’s look of disgust was quickly wiped from his faceplate. Confusion and -oddly- betrayal took its place, as he searched Starscream’s frowning face for answers he dared not ask for.

Starscream looked conflicted as well- beneath the prevalent, thick layer of spite, anyway- and conceded to an explanation.

“He’s working to reduce the classification the clone seekers are subjected to- the Auotbots think they function like workerbots…” Starscream’s derma twisted up at the thought of those nameless mechs, existing without identities, being compared to her wild, wayward clone brothers.

Megatron very consciously chose not to feel anything when he noticed those bots slinking around, doing typical maintenance work and looking unnervingly devoid of a processor.

“That little Earth Prime,” Starscream’s wing flicked.

“He’s taking note of my seekers, what they each need to survive here, how much they need. He isn’t just throwing them together and hoping the new laws and resources sort them all out- that’d be like throwing me and Bonecrusher into a blind conjunxing so you could be done with me.” She shivered violently at the thought.

“He knows the clones aren’t inherently compatible with one another… we’re… that we’re… different people. You know?”

Starscream pulled a face.

“Maybe you don’t know... It’s all a wasted effort anyway. Like you, no one seems to care long enough to learn even the most basic needs of our individual maintenance.”

Starscream shuttered her optics and balled her servos up.

“No one cares to know. Starscream will slip her way out of any mess, but what happens when the mess is about to become your only option to a better future? It’s this or live with nothing in a stockade underground somewhere…”

Starscream was sounding eerily alike she was trying to stave off a watery edge to her vocalizer. Looking away to hide her despair.

Megatron would admit he hadn’t been aware of the existence of this issue -stood there dumbstruck into silence- but it made some molecule of sense to him.

Shockwave had said something about environments and Energon sources as being large factors in issues with accurate cloning. The crazed and unethical servos of their scientist inventors didn’t help with that either, Megatron imagined.

….As they had seen all of such with Toxitron and Nemesis.

Despite Optimus’ stilted, but eventually genuine welcome of the two newest Decepticons into his existentially horrified life, they were both problems for another day. And thankfully, too, ones Optimus was willing to tackle. Seemingly feeling responsible for their creation in some nonsensical way.

Which was also good for him, as Megatron did not want to have to deal with another argument about his inexcusable, abhorrent lack of ethics from Ultra Magnus after what he himself had approved to have happen to the young, susceptible jet twins.

But for now, he was far too tired to deal with anymore insufferable self-doubt, and waved a single servo towards the exit while his other clutched at his aching helm.

“Just go, Starscream. You are needed- do your one and only job.”

“Didn’t you hear me?” She shrieked, energy boundless.

“I’m not going back!”

Megatron tried to ignore the terrified mechs typing away at their monitor stations, fields all buzzing with nerves at their two temperamental commanders’ increasingly passionate spat.

Then the sharp edge of Starscream’s wings spreading out wide at her back brought his attention to the suddenly conflicted looking faceplate of his dear SIC once more.

“They want to silence him!” She continued, failing suddenly to mask the indifference in her voice.

“That idiot with the hammer told him to stop pressing the matter!”

Starscream’s attempt at dressing down the Magnus was a frail one. Desperation was muddling her clever tongue and making her optics blur (to Megatron’s mounting horror).

“Then that, that… useless garbage plow told him it ‘didn’t matter’! He said it wasn’t important! Can you- you believe that?!”

Megatron stood in frozen terror as her vocalizer caught. Watching helplessly as she waved about, fighting back a very real danger to cry.

Blitzwing, formerly a seeker, appeared to be the only bot left in the room not glued faceplate first into his monitor. Wings pricking in interest.

He seemed oddly invested in the whole thing, in Megatron’s opinion. Megatron, who tried not to believe in such things as dwelling on one’s former self. He’d thought Blitzwing wouldn’t worry about something like that either, but… maybe there was something more there he wasn’t seeing.

“And that stupid, little fool…” Starscream hadn’t enough sheer willpower to keep her opinions to herself and avoid the threat of finally crying her optics out in the most un-Decepticon like fashion, in front of a room full of them…

“He told Prime to ‘be quiet’.”

Like Optimus asking for these powerful mechs to hear the voices of others was some ‘annoying inconvenience’.

Or more like Optimus was some annoying inconvenience to them.

They’d certainly done nothing to welcome him there since these negotiations had began, trying to talk over him. Trying to silence him. Trying to bully him.

He’d done more than any of them had in reuniting their peoples with next to nothing to do it with.

And that may only be because he was the only one who wanted to so badly…

The coolant evaporated from the corners of Starscream’s optics in an instant -a god delivered blessing. Instead, it was outrage taking it’s hold and possessing her.

Megatron’s self-perseveration protocols surged to life.

“I’m going to gut them for talking like that,” Megatron’s sparkbeat began to pulse rapidly, knowing that look in her optic then.

“I’m going to pull out his glossa and feed it to Skullcruncher- I’m going to do it right now, in fact! I’m going to the council-“

It was that fearless look where vengeance blinded her and became more important to Starscream than basic logic- of shabby promises of truces.

And Megatron of all mechs was about to be the one to save a board full of outdated models from the wrath of the pit itself, despite knowing they deserved it.

He reached out and caught her by her sensitive wings, unnerved by the way she didn’t so much as flinch in pain from it. This was that mad- mad, that ‘you’ve disrespected a self-appointed Decepticon Prince’ mad.

“No, Starscream. That will undo everything we’ve accomplished-“

“What have we accomplished?!”

“It will undo everything I’ve had to waste my time sitting through, then. Starscream- Starscream-!”

The seeker twisted out of his grasp and, before she could attempt to take flight and race over to the senate to claim herself a pretty, new neck piece, Megatron caught her about the waist and struggled against her sheer force of selfish will to keep her thrusters grounded. Possibly the first time the foolish creature had ever posed such a real and bothersome threat to him.

She attempted lift off again anyway, squashing Megatron’s face into her cockpit as she scratched and clawed and fought for freedom. Mechs typing away at their terminals, desperately trying to ignore the chaos behind them, were inches away from breaking their far less bendable struts than the average civil mech’s by crouching so far down into their stations, some of the mechs with kibble were scraping against raw protoform.

Hiding from emotional conflict like true Decepticons.

Megatron hadn’t been met with this level of danger from the seeker in years. He was afraid he was about to meet his match when, finally, another pair of servos circled her about the waist from the other side, and she was brought back down between Megatron and her other captor.

She didn’t struggle, preserving some ounce of dignity after that extremely unbecoming display.

But the mournful look in her optic was back, and the hitch in her vocalizer was fresh, as she hiccuped an aborted sniff. Muted only by the grind of her denta in a valiant effort to compose herself.

“He was jus- t… trying to help me… No one’s…” She steadied herself.

“No one’s ever done that before…”

Megatron stared, unable to think of a single thing to say to break the uncomfortable spell cast over them, as he looked at his normally carefully distant Second. So careful not to be vulnerable- and never in front of Megatron, for Primus’ sake.

What had these negotiations done to them?

His fearless warriors…

Perhaps he could say to her that Optimus Prime was just one mech, and a young, inexperienced one. No more a crucial factor in her getting the representation Megatron was hard pressed to say her obedient clones didn’t actually deserve, even if she herself did not. But then, Optimus was apparently also the only one pushing this issue that Megatron hadn’t even been made aware of- because the admittedly accurate assumption of Starscream’s was that he hadn’t cared to be.

What he was mortifyingly close to understanding now, though, was that Optimus Prime was important to Starscream’s cause, and far from worthy of the routine mistreatment he received from of his own people.

Unless, of course, Megatron thought that his people secretly deserved such mistreatment themselves- the kind Optimus was tirelessly fighting against, though somehow failing to establish for himself. Like, if Megatron didn’t explicitly know better, Optimus was attempting to put the needs of a few Decepticons, the deserving ones, before his own… Like their proper treatment was at least worth fighting for…

He could say instead that Starscream was letting her behavior consume her and was looking a pitiful mess for it, and as vain as she was, that’d be devastating enough to hear that she might drop the issue. She had only recently established a change in the designation of her pronouns without receiving a reformation with it, garnering plenty of odd looks and outright rejection from the sleek and well-defined frames of civil types and those identifying similarly. The way they’d rejected Strika and Blackarachnia for not fitting certain standards.

It’d left Starscream feeling more fragile about her appearance and reputation lately, and such a thing would be shattering to have to acknowledge when her anger finally subsided and the weight of it all settled upon her.

But goading Starscream for something Megatron himself was constantly struggling against felt undeservedly hateful- the fight to be accepted and respected as well, as a Cybertronian with rights.

Though he couldn’t believe that Starscream didn’t seem deserving of a perfectly effective punishment he could inflict upon her.

“Thundercracker helps jou all ze time.” Said Blitziwng then, finally breaking the overwhelming tension of the moment. His grip still carefully settling her in her place.

Megatron blinked himself out of his stupor, out of his embarrassing lull of feeling guilt and concern for the seeker, and loosened his grip on her then.

Starscream took the opportunity to push both their arms from off her frame and sulk away with her wings indeed held pitifully low. They watched her go, and cords unwinding and struts re-straightening could be heard across the bridge in unison.

“Seekers are moody.” Blitzwing suggested, after a look over his unusually beaten master.

As evidenced by said former seeker’s split personalities, Megatron would agree with that assessment, and spun around in a hasty retreat from anymore emotional confrontations.

————————————

He didn’t allow himself to miss any deliberations after that, lest Starscream subject him to anymore of that guilt still weighing heavy in his spark with another pent up tirade about discrimination in her own faction some ways down the line.

This, watching Motormaster -a recent addition to high command and a poor one- barter for ‘derby rights’, however, wasn’t much better…

“Street racing is illegal.” Optimus said simply- something he’d picked up from Fanzone that had interestingly never been applicable to a race of sentiment, self-driving vehicles before.

Motormaster and his Stunticons were a… different breed, however. One which demanded a new definition for what qualified as ‘safe and legal driving’.

“You mean it’s illegal for war types ta’do it.” Motormaster growled back at him.

Plenty of other Decepticons here today would agree with that false assumption, simply for the sake of being contradictory. Flight frames included.

These talks hadn’t really done a thing to change the relationships between their peoples. They were all still viewing one another as an enemy threat, which, while true, would do nothing to help their goal of changing that viewpoint later on for their futures together.

Megatron wasn’t sure he wanted that to happen, though.

“Why in spark is this bolt head here?” Sentinel said loudly then, turning to Optimus. The only other mech there brave enough to speak over the terrifying Stunticon leader.

Interestingly enough, Sentimel Prime wasn’t particularly frightened to speak his mind at the insubordinate bastard either.

Megatron made a note of it for future blackmailings. He couldn’t send someone the airheaded Prime wasn’t afraid of to do his manipulating.

“Motormaster is Polyhex's defence garrison.” Optimus sighed, having a rare moment of sharing in Sentinel’s distress during one of these meetings.

“Uh-huh. Which you should be the one voicing all the complaints of.” Sentinel said, pointing at the Polyhexian governor, Straxus. Who Megatron had been embarrassingly forced to welcome into the senate, as his mostly made up position also came with lots of mostly made up authorities and responsibilities.

Then Starxus had the audacity -in front of Megatron- to speak.

“Well, yes… I suppose so. Would you… like me, too?”

Strika whipped her helm back to send Megatron a withering look of disgust- which he could share the sentiment of.

Straxus, never soft spoken and never one to acknowledge when he was speaking out of turn and not worth the hot air he was blowing out of his pincered mouth, had been using that tone in regards to Sentinel every time he spoke to the other mech for several weeks now.

Alpha Trion had, again, not so subtlety raised curious optics towards the display. Making his own list of alarming mental notes that Megatron would rather him not be keeping on even his most useless of subordinates.

“Our needs are individual.” Straxus said simply to the court at large.

“Burning excess energy is not a staple of my function, as it is a Stunticons. I’m a big mech. I need to conserve Energon, you know. Might I say, a very big mech…”

Straxus finished by staring pointedly at Sentinel again. Optimus watched from the corner of his optic, extremely invested in his colleague’s reaction- which was only to shuffle his datapads in front of his obnoxious face to hide it, like his notes were more important than addressing the issue he himself had caused by challenging the High Governor himself.

It was a rare moment the plow had been effectively silence.

“Alright then…” Optimus began slowly, clearly disappointed there wasn’t anything more to that interaction.

“Motormaster, war frames are obviously built with fewer limitations than civil frames. Releasing all your frustrations out on the public will result in injuries… To say the least.”

“So we’re just s’posed to fly over to Polyhex anytime we want to spin our wheels!? Get our exercise in?! It’s our right, y’know!”

“No, there are city destinations specifically designed for war frame inhabitants.” Optimus countered, much too calm in Megatron’s foul-tempered opinion. He’d like to see Motormaster verbally whipped to pieces in one of Optimus’ scathing sass-attacks from having lost his patience.

“Where are they?” Motormaster asked smugly, knowing the little Prime had just set himself up for another bout of endless bickering over the inadequacies of care the prejudiced Autobots were bleeding them of.

Which, true, but-

“They haven’t been built yet,” Shockwave -the biggest slight on the company of the proceeding council of any Decepticon mech here- answered on Optimus’ behalf. Though his presence had been won through the stipulation of Megatron agreeing to sign Magnus’ Decepticon Registration Act Part ll, he regretted nothing for the sake of the joy his place on the council had brought him.

“They are scheduled to be completed in less than another decacycle.” Shockwave leant over to stare at Motormaster.

“You can wait a little longer to run your tires to bare threads, can’t you?”

There was an air of irritation about the secular mech. Megatron eyed him several seat podiums down. Sitting as far away from the Magnus as Shockwave could be put.

Shockwave didn’t wait for the other mech’s answer, of course.

“Optimus Prime has personally seen to the construction and collection of the resources needed to make it so. He’s single-handedly enlisted the help of the specialists needed to build these destinations, no less. Much of whom, surprisingly, are volunteers.”

Megatron tried…… VERY HARD…… not to think about the lowly Prime’s status as a former maintenance bot at that.

And yet, the searing reminder kept persisting -as it always did- because Megatron could only imagine with a reputation of such casual dislike amongst a good many of his peers these negotiations had garnered Optimus, there were only so many ‘specialist builders’ he could think of who were going to volunteer the first hand construction of Decepticon resources. And one of them had been severely -possibly permanently- hospitalized because of him in the heat of their final Earth battle before his capture…

“Optimus Prime this, Optimus Prime that.” Said Hook suddenly from a seat behind Megatron.

Hook, the studious, current chief Decepticon medic -after Scalpel had proved both morally unstable (Megatron’s favorite thing about him) and unwilling to subject himself to negotiating with Autobots. He was happy preforming horrible medical services inside his medbay in or out of an everlasting war either way, so it was up to the newly integrated member of Scrapper and Mixmaster’s gestalt to appear before them all today.

Megatron turned his helm to see the insufferable mech speaking his mind -also out of turn, as was his mech’s habit- and caught a worrying glimpse of Strika at his side, looking murderous and ready to stand and punch a new hole in the Constructicon’s head.

Thankfully, it didn’t come to that.

“When exactly is Optimus Prime going to get a seat in the center of the court, so he can delegate all these matters for you?” Hook said, speaking as a whole to the Autobot chairmen across the room. Likely just upset still that he’d been denied special medical privileges to Autobot hospitals.

Probably for questionable access to the resources and records.

But the offhanded comment struck a devastating chord with the audience it’d been addressed to. Megatron watched curiously as facial plates twisted in disbelief and some in outrage.

“Preferably where jou are sitting, Magnus.” Said Strika then, and hardly in jest. Significantly adding to the problem.

Megatron’s field flared beside her in quiet despair for her to silence her vocalizer. His processor spinning with the implications that he had just become the sole protector of the Autobot High Command by trying to keep his mechs civil long enough to give this peace an honest try.

Optimus, constantly challenging the council mechs himself, certainly wasn’t there to do it.

What were these negotiations doing to them?

“I second that.” Said a voice from out of the blue.

It drifted in over the polished floor from afar. Indeed, far, far beneath the deliberators’ notice.

All the way to where Saberswipe was stood guarding his respective door at full attention.

He was relatively young for a war machine and stupidly charismatic, thinking both were enough to buy him some leeway in to injecting his opinion on matters 30 sectors above his ranking. Megatron bit back an almighty need to show him which level he was on with his fusion canon then.

“You are not to speak!” Said Sentinel Prime, having recovered from Straxus’ unwavering optic-ogling assault across the way.

“Agreed,” said Alpha Trion. Not one to allow nonsense of even this caliber. Though Megatron suspected he enjoyed a lower form of it in these drawn out meetings when the mood allowed for it.

“Leave at once, guardsmen. There is no a place for you here.”

“I’ll see him out!” Said Optimus suddenly. Standing and, without anyone’s permission, making his way down the platforms and over the length of the cavernous room to greet a happily surprised looking Saberswipe.

Megatron watched with furrowed optical ridge as the taller jet’s charming smile convinced a timid smile out of the shorter mech, before they awkwardly shuffled towards the door.

“This conference will proceed without you, Optimus Prime.” Came Ultra Magnus’ first articulate sentence of the exhausting cycle, as he watched the little truck with tired optics.

“Are you sure you wish to conclude for the remainder of it?”

Optimus had stopped walking with a far too close Saberswipe at his side to address his leader then.

“I’m causing you all too much trouble.” He said as way of shoddy explanation, barely suppressing an amused smile at the Decepticon portion of the room.

“Pheh. That’s everyday.” Senator Botanica seemed to say rather warmly as the little firetruck went on his way. She was possibly one of the few who were steadily becoming too fond of the brash little mech to think badly of his efforts.

Megatron sat, watchful optics taking it all in as the two retreating mechs came even closer together as they exited the door to the chambers, centimeters apart. And feeling somewhat… disappointed all at once.

While this wasn’t an issue Optimus needed to be present for or press anymore, as hopefully the council wouldn’t deign to change subjects of debate and infringe on anybot’s rights while he wasn’t around, his presence was still…. Necessary.

To Megatron’s gargantuan surprise, Optimus Prime, creating a steady pace of good deeds and commendable civil works for even some of Megatron’s more undeserving of mechs, was, in fact, necessary.

Of all the things Megatron expected to hear during the proceeding conversation in Optimus’ absence, Shockwave leaning forward to jab a talon at Motormaster and hissing, “You just ran him off! The only sensible Autobot here!” Was not one of them.

A Decepticon as unfeeling as a slab of dead durasteel tissue, and thinking favorably about a nobody little Autobot?

Not at all…

Apparently that irritation he was sensing off Shockwave from earlier was on behalf of the little Prime’s shockingly genuine efforts for the Decepticon Cause, and not because Prime kept inserting himself into issues.

It was worrying to think the ‘Decepticon Cause’, though, had somehow shifted to a cause centered on finding themselves a place on this planet. A semi-peaceful one. One that didn’t speak of domination and death.

But even that was not more worrying than thinking his arguably lost monstrously devoid mechs would be so supportive of one little Autobot’s attempts to make that so.

————————————

It was only a matter of time until someone was going to snap. Tensions between their two peoples were too high, and Prime just had to keeping shoving his olfactory into places it didn’t belong.

Megatron was contacted almost immediately after a team of medics were by a suspiciously blocked frequency. Meaning whoever they were, they may have been involved- which didn’t narrow down who that could possibly be with so many bots on both sides making questionable choices all throughout this merging.

What he was certain of, was that Rippersnapper had seemed to have wandered too far from the other Terrorcons and was doing his damnedest to make a mess for everyone.

Which meant Megatron was now looking for a mecha sized shark-former with a thousand tonnes too many to be laying his hands on a little, overly assertive Prime- most likely having been there ordering him to leave the civilian gallery for his foul, reckless behavior. Stepping on the crystalline garden dividers and biting at the air below where terrified civilians scurried out of range to keep their helms in tact.

Megatron was beyond furious to be reduced to playing dog catcher, but with peace as precarious as it was, this was too severe an offense to go beneath him. Being their faction wide leader, Megatron was already out of his berth from a restless recharge and bounding out the docking bay to put a stop to it.

Knowing his Terrorcons (about to be the newly dubbed ‘Torn-to-pieces-Cons’ once he got ahold of him) Rippersnapper would have steadily become more and more deranged in the time Megatron had taken to fly there. Which would have been sooner, if he’d just agreed to temporary housing in the city limit already.

And Prime for his part would have surely been an overwhelming nuisance who’d deserved what Rippersnapper had served to him, no doubt. Standing up to an entire war machine and telling him that he should literally watch his mouth and learn to act like a decent mech- even if he wouldn’t have been in the wrong for it…

Megatron’s men knew what was expected of them now- what was expected of them even more so at the moment, while they hoped to outlast the final phase of these negotiations until citizenships were finally trusted to be granted to them.

And while he couldn’t fault any of them for feeling disrespected and belittled by a mech from a faction that’d had them all disgraced from their own home planet in the first place, Megatron had had to do the unthinkable to make this union work and set aside all personal grudges for the sake of his people. He’d had to let go.

At least, he had to look like he had, and so they did, too.

And now he was going to be forced to make an example out of one of them… just to prove how seriously he was going to take his massive warriors acting out in public. Just to assure the Civilian Council that he could be trusted to conduct himself professionally enough for them to take a gamble on attempting a trial of peace with him.

Beyond the fury he felt at realizing now how desperate he actually was to see this union succeed, Megatron was carefully calculating all the ways to tortuously take out his frustrations on the Terrorcon for having forced him essentially to defend the Prime who he hated most in the infinite universe.

Megatron reached the city limit and prepared to land soon.

He was going to grab Rippersnapper by the sensitive dorsal fin and pull his mechanical gills out- make him choke around Megatron’s strangling servo stuffing itself down his intake. Help him to understand, and any present to witness it, that this was intolerable, and that their master would be eating the sparks of any wretch foolish enough to do such a thing in the future.

Jeopardizing all the humiliating work Megatron had put into sitting through those brain numbing Council calls at heinous hours of the cycle in an increasingly more unordered fashion (which was somewhat bound to be the case, since they had Decepticons keeping chairs in the chambers)….

And he was in danger of losing l all of that, because one shark shifter had the split second insanity to put their hands on one of Primus’ precious chosen ones. Even a disgraced nobody Prime who was only important in title.

When Megatron arrived at the open gallery with the anonymous coordinates he’d been sent, he soon realized that none of his fantasies about brutalizing Rippersnapper would even be necessary.

To his amazement, the commended portion of Optimus Prime’s reputation as a burgeoning enthusiast for cross-faction equality had reached far and wide in the Decepticon’s ranks, and while Megatron wasn’t sure what he’d done to elicit the favor of the brilliant Combaticon leader, Onslaught, Megatron now suddenly found himself rather desperate to know.

Just how far out of the loop was he? How lost had he been to all the mountainous changes in his mechs while he was allowing his mind to focus on Magnus and the stale moving parts of the senate that’s he’d missed this?

The wondrous world he was only catching the tail-end glimpses of that Optimus Prime was hand building?

At this point, Megatron had to wonder if in the event this all did fall through, if whether it would even be a real loss, now that they had such a widely liked, capable mech like Optimus Prime so openly advocating for them.

What it would matter, though, purely beyond sentiment, amounted to very little, and their people were not attached to ideas such as that.

Megatron blinked himself back to the present so that he could assess the damage, as crowds of traumatized civil bots, watching with their backs flat to the surrounding buildings as Brawl beat a hole into the opposite side of Rippersnapper’s sternum. Missing his spark by an inch, blessedly preferring his victims to live long enough to remember the lessons he enforced. Megatron would rather not have his mechs be publicly broadcasting an infighting casualty.

Vortex was cheering Brawl on from over his shoulder, hovering too close again, about to receive another accidental, friendly-fire medbay visit.

Megatron was starting to see the necessity in Sentinel pushing for divided recreational sects in the cities, despite Optimus’ best intentions to see everyone coexist and treat one another with the proper respect.

The average civil mech didn’t possess a quarter of the foul tempered, carnal aggression a Decepticon gestalt did. Feeding off one another and causing a ruckus, encouraged further by the other supportive members of the group, aiding in some way to the destruction.

Megatron debated which position to take then.

Whether to do damage control and hoist the heavy mechs up and away from the near lifeless body, Energon puddling up beneath its cold frame, or to focus on calling for someone of Autobot authority to come separate and treat the horrified civilians present for the mental strain of what they’d just witnessed. Were still witnessing.

He’d finally had the processor to deduce that the mechs on the scene at the time that somebot had called for the ‘authorities’ must have been of Decepticon descent themselves- and they had naturally missed the point of calling for authorities entirely by calling upon a mech they assumed would allow them to finish the job first. And while he was certain now whoever they were they’d had some kind of part in all this, Megatron would admit that their assessment that he would rejoice in his warrior’s hardy bloodbath first would have been an accurate assumption in any other setting. In one where he was not currently issuing for the position of a willing protector of Cybertron.

As the Decepticon medics that’d been alerted were being painfully slow to respond to the anonymous caller -and would not have had the understanding to do so themselves- someone was going to have to tell Ultra Magnus about this…

Out of time since one breem ago, however; Megatron would have to deal with this before anyone actually useful to Prime could arrive.

His optics tracked back over to the incredibly damning sight he’d been subconsciously avoiding since he’d glanced optics over it.

Optimus was there being cradled like a broken doll against Onslaughts’ massive chestplate. Being held higher than any horrified Autobot’s brave enough to collect their mess of a Prime could reach.

There were evidently no takers around at the moment, though, which caused something odd to shift in Megatron’s core beliefs, as he considered for himself the notion that acts of blind bravery would predominantly be their jobs soon- war machines. As it had been once before the divide of their peoples.

It was the only exchange he could offer the Auotbots for the new age of peace- to protect. To fulfill once more their shackling roles as the guardians of weak, ungrateful, prejudiced little civil mechs, and face the atrocities lurking in the cosmos in lieu of the pampered, privileged, sheltered little things doing it themselves.

Oh, how these things had a way of repeating themselves. It’d left a bitter taste in his mouth… at first.

But now… seeing how easily Onslaught had resumed control of the situation so abysmally out of the little ones’ depths, undoubtedly the one to thank for saving the Prime’s life as he had…

Civilians weren’t entirely useless to their species by any means, but a Decepticon easily outweighing them in strength size and ferocity were only the start of their problems in a galaxy much, much bigger than them.

As bad as it was, this could have been far worse.

Megatron looked twice and noticed that Swindle had materialized out of thin air at some point, possibly having been there the whole time, expertly sneaking about his brother with his shorter stature. Busy trying to talk Onslaught into purchasing a cushion to elevate Prime’s dripping helm, as Onslaught wasn’t capable of much in the way of a delicate touch.

Pink dribbled down the Combaticon’s torso as he shifted the body in his servos.

Megatron did a quick sweep next to locate the only brother missing, Blast Off, and decided whatever his involvement, it was not detrimental to him securing the crisis finally.

Megatron chose action over dissertation, leaving the innocent bystanders to console themselves -thankfully a rather hardier lot than Megatron had come to realize he’d given them credit for. Some of them shaking themselves from their stupor at the sight of him and doing what the others present had neglected in their shock by calling the Autobot forces.

There, now Magnus knew…

With that decided, Megatron marched over to the supervising Combaticon leader to work towards fixing the most pressing problem at the moment.

Fixing Prime.

Onslaught’s visor dipped in his direction, as Swindle used the magic of monkey business to all but disappear again.

“Let me have this.” Megatron said as he took the Prime away.

There was no quarrel as he was unceremoniously dumped into Megatron’s single servo, as Onslaught watched their leader whisk him away to someplace unknown.

Despite having had his servos around Prime’s waist once before, hefting him up as weightlessly as a cube of Energon, he felt even lighter now.

Worried he’d lost his grip on him, Megatron stole a look down at a peek of white denta behind full lips. The badly bruised Prime slack jawed and unmoving, beyond his helm as it was lifted and supported by Megatron’s servo.

He thankfully didn’t get very far toting a battered Prime off before a pair of civilian medics arrived well ahead of his disgracefully arrogant ones.

Protocols hadn’t been set in the event of something like this. And he was considering forgiving everyone who’d done well enough to become involved for treating the situation as casually and non-life threateningly as it actually was. Few would have the foresight and understanding that walking away from a mauling like this wasn’t nearly as common a shift-end activity as it was for Decepticons.

He could have Shockwave conduct a thorough lecture on the matter later and instill in them the severity of situations like this.

He allowed the civilian medics to carry the unconscious trucker away, decidedly too awake now to attempt sleep again.

He wandered a bit, deep in thought about the behavior he’d witnessed from the fearsome, calculative, rather far removed from even the appeal to sentiment itself, Onslaught. Holding the husk of a Prime, shielding him carefully from any potential threats- essentially anybot that wasn’t himself or a mech of higher rank than him.

And he considered how easily Onslaught could protect him- any civilian. How easily they could protect these hapless, idiot things that went well out of their jurisdiction as maintenance bots to tip the world upon its head and demand it show them respect.

How fitting their new role on Cybertron felt all at once.

How wasteful it felt to think that their natural abilities would have easily been provided and cherished and appreciated by all if they had had a mech like Optimus around to fight ruthlessly for their chance to be. They’d been missing respect and loyalty, not a proper calling.

That thought struck him to the core, and he quickly dismissed it. The Cause he’d given the Decepticons was founded in spark-deep, honest conviction. They had thrived and conquered for millennia, even from the shadows, by standing proudly in their beliefs that they had been onlined with the natural born rights to.

He couldn’t… let himself… forget that. Be manipulated so carelessly astray.

Megatron noticed yet another Decepticon gestalt in the form of the ever expanding, newly banded Constructicons, moseying their way down the street to go put Rippersnapper back together again.

At their heights, it was easy for them to spot one another and salute him. And then he noticed some of their optics catching on his chest plates.

Once they had moved on to finally fulfill their roles here -leaving Megatron to wonder when Constructicons had been given the title of ‘acting medics’, beyond the carefully appointed Hook- he looked down to where they’d been staring at the single, Energon soaked palm print one little Autobot had left there.

———————-

END PART ONE, YOU’RE SAFE NOW. I split this thing up cuz HOO damn, I am just unstable when I made this. Even now there’s like two other parts, I can’t stop talking about thiiiis

For all of you that read this far, you deserved a better proofread then what you got. I know there are lots of mistakes, but if I had proofread this even twice after indulging myself as deeply as I had with all this fluff, I would have died.

Appreciation AU will be the connecting tag I use to the other parts