shiani25

[shiani25]

Pet human meets Arachnid for the first time.

Arachnid : Does it do tricks?

Starascream looking at the girl : Can you do any tricks?

Girl : I don't know can I?

Starscream : No, I'm sorry this one is too stupid to make any tricks.

Girl : Hey!!!

But she was kind of grateful she didn't have to make any tricks in front of this weird new Decepticon.

[shiani25]

Prompt : Megatron had surrendered, and Optimus needs to make a hard decision.

Strap yourselves, this one is an emotional ride. But with a more or less positive ending. So... Enjoy.

"My last choice"

It all happened way too quickly for anyone to process what had actually happened.

Megatron had surrendered.

Not in the heat of battle, not dragged down in chains, not beaten into submission by the Autobots' might. No, he had walked onto their warship, unarmed, his head held high, and he had spoken only two words.

"I surrender."

The Autobots had no idea what to do with him. Was this some kind of trap? Decepticon's sick game?

He was thrown into a reinforced cell, his weapons stripped, his movement restricted. But nothing about him was desperate. He had not fought back. He had not spoken a word of resistance. It was as if he had walked into his own grave and closed the casket himself.

And they all wanted him dead.

Every Autobot, every soldier who had lost friends, homes, lives—every survivor of his war wanted Optimus to put an end to him.

But Optimus couldn't.

So he came to Megatron's cell every day. Trying to figure out if there is something worth saving or everyone is correct and this needs to end here.

—

"I don't understand," Optimus said, standing outside the energy barrier, his voice edged with something that was not quite anger, not quite sadness. "Why did you surrender?"

Megatron sat on the cold bench in the center of the cell, his optics dim. He did not look like a warlord. He did not even look like a soldier. He looked like a ruin of a mech, something that had once been towering and terrible, now left to crumble under the weight of time and wrong choices.

"I grew bored," Megatron said flatly. "The war had lost its entertainment."

Optimus' jaw tightened. "Do not mock me."

"Would you rather I tell you I saw the error of my ways? That I regret every death? That I wish to repent?" Megatron let out a hollow chuckle, optics gleaming faintly. "You know me better than that, Prime."

Optimus stared at him, searching for something—anything—that could make sense of this.

The silence stretched.

Then, Megatron sneered.

"You should kill me."

Optimus stiffened.

"That is what they want, isn't it?" Megatron leaned back, relaxed in a way that made Optimus' plating bristle. "The great Optimus Prime, slayer of Megatron, hero of Cybertron. Wouldn't that be a fine story?"

"I don't want to kill you."

Megatron's expression darkened. "Then what do you want?"

Optimus took a step closer, his voice quieter now. "I want to understand why you did this."

"Perhaps," Megatron mused, "I was simply tired of Starscream's whining."

Optimus exhaled sharply, his fists clenching. "This isn't a joke, Megatron. I have stood here, day after day, trying to find some reason—some logic—behind your surrender. You, who have fought for so long, who have refused to kneel even when the entire universe turned against you. And yet now, when you still had forces, when you still had options, you threw it all away. Why?"

Megatron's optics flickered, unreadable. Then, slowly, he smirked.

"Because I won, Optimus."

Optimus' vents hitched. "...What?"

Megatron leaned forward, his presence suddenly suffocating even from behind the barrier. "I took everything from you. Your home. Your people. Your peace. You have spent millennia fighting a war you never wanted, drowning in the destruction I brought upon you." His voice was low, insidious, curling around Optimus like a noose. "And now, even with my hands bound, even locked in this cell, I am still winning—because I am making you hesitate."

Optimus' field crackled. "You—"

"You should kill me." Megatron's voice was almost gentle now. "It would be so easy, wouldn't it? Just one shot. One strike. No more Megatron. No more war."

Optimus' hands trembled at his sides.

"Come now," Megatron continued, tone almost coaxing. "You know, now when I think about it, I do regret something. That I couldn't kill more of your precious Autobots."

The air between them was thick with something electric.

And then, in one sudden movement, Optimus lunged. The electric barrier that stood between them broke.

The world snapped into motion.

Optimus slammed Megatron into the wall, the force rattling the very foundations of the prison. His fist connected with Megatron’s jaw, sending the warlord’s helm snapping to the side. Megatron laughed, optics flashing with something that could almost be called relief.

"That's it." Megatron breathed and spat some energon to the side.

Optimus grabbed his throat, vents heaving. "Why aren't you fighting back?"

Megatron only smirked, his arms limp at his sides. But he didn't answer.

Optimus' grip tightened. His optics widened. Then suddenly he understood.

"Primus…" Optimus whispered, stepping back as if burned. "You want me to kill you."

Megatron exhaled, something flickering in his gaze. Then he chuckled darkly. "Maybe."

Optimus shook his head, as if denying the very reality before him. "Why?"

Megatron’s voice was quiet now. "Because I cannot do it myself."

The admission fell like a stone into deep water.

Megatron let his helm rest against the wall, optics half-lidded. "I tried," he murmured. "Many times. There are so many easy ways to die in war. One moment of carelessness. One failed strategy. One slip of the hand. And yet, every time, I survived."

Optimus swallowed.

"It would be so easy," Megatron continued. "To let Starscream take his shot. To let one of my enemies finish me. But I refuse to give them that satisfaction." His optics locked onto Optimus'. "I refuse to let them be the ones who end me."

Optimus felt a heavy weight settle in his chassis.

"And then I realized," Megatron murmured. "There is only one mech I would allow to strike me down. Only one death I would accept." His voice was barely above a whisper now. "And that is by your hands, Orion Pax."

The cell was silent.

Optimus looked down at his hands—his shaking, trembling hands. The same hands that had held weapons, that had delivered justice, that had fought to protect. Hands that, right now, could end this war forever.

He clenched them into fists.

Then, he looked back at Megatron.

And he made his choice.

"No."

Megatron's optics narrowed. "...No?"

"If you want to die," Optimus said, his voice firm, "then that means there is still something left inside of you that knows this war was wrong."

Megatron scoffed. "You think I regret—"

"If you truly believed in your cause, in your actions, in your war, then you would fight until your last breath." Optimus stepped closer, his voice unwavering. "But you surrendered. You want an ending." His optics softened. "That means there is still hope for you, Megatron."

Megatron’s mouth twisted into a sneer. "Hope?"

"I will fight for all those who still have hope," Optimus said. "And that includes you."

Megatron stared at him, expression unreadable.

Then, ever so slowly, his optics dimmed.

Optimus turned, leaving the cell behind.

Megatron sat in the silence, staring at the place where Optimus had stood.

He was still alive.

And, despite everything… a part of him still didn’t know whether to be grateful or to hate him for it.

[shiani25]

Prompt : Starscream tries to make a poison to finally kill Megatron, but makes a love potion instead.

"No self preservation"

Starscream hunched over his makeshift lab, cackling as he mixed a bubbling, ominously glowing concoction. This was it. His greatest poison yet. No more miscalculations. No more half-failures. No more Megatron surviving out of sheer spite.

"At last," Starscream whispered, watching the mixture swirl into a deep, menacing shade of—

Pink.

"...What?"

The chemical let out a tiny, cheerful poof of pink smoke, smelling vaguely like candies.

Starscream's processor went completely blank.

He grabbed a scanner, quickly running a composition check. The results appeared on the screen:

TOXICITY: 0%

EFFECT: Romantic attachment, intense infatuation, emotional vulnerability.

Starscream’s wings flared in horror. "A love potion?!" He screeched so loudly that three Vehicons outside the lab spontaneously quit their jobs.

"No, no, no! I was trying to make death, not date night!" He flailed, pacing back and forth. He had to get rid of this before something stupid happened.

But just as he turned to dispose of it, the door slammed open.

Megatron stomped in, looking exactly as furious as usual.

Starscream yelped and hid the flask behind his back. "M-Mighty Megatron! What brings you here to my totally innocent and not at all treacherous laboratory?"

Megatron squinted at him. He immediately spotted the very suspiciously colored liquid.

Megatron sneered. "Another poison, Starscream?"

Starscream's entire frame went stiff. "WHAT? NO! Of course not! Why would you—"

Without warning, Megatron snatched the flask from Starscream’s servos.

"Megatron, DON’T—"

Megatron, dead inside, and with no self-preservation lifted the bottle and chugged it like a shot of cheap high-grade.

Starscream shrieked. "MEGATRON, YOU ABSOLUTE IMBECILE!"

Megatron wiped his mouth, unimpressed. "Please, Starscream. You’ve poisoned me so many times I don’t even pretend to care anymore."

Starscream grabbed his own head. "YES, BUT—"

Megatron crossed his arms. "What? What’s the problem this time? You wanted to administer it yourself in some diabolical plan of overthrowing me? I spared you time and effort. You should thank me."

Starscream took a deep breath, staring him directly in the optics. "That wasn’t poison."

Megatron raised a brow. "Then what was it?"

Starscream winced. "A love potion."

Silence.

Then Megatron scoffed. "There’s no such thing as a love potion. Love isn’t a chemical reaction you can bottle up, Starscream, that’s ridiculous."

Starscream threw his arms in the air. "TELL THAT TO THE MAGIC PINK JUICE YOU JUST WATERFALLED INTO YOUR FACE."

Megatron rolled his optics. "I am leaving. Try harder next time, Starscream."

—

Few hours later.

Megatron’s systems groggily rebooted.

Something felt… wrong. For one thing, he was comfortable, way to comfortable. Which was a bad sign.

His arms were wrapped around something warm. Something with wings.

He became aware of soft, rhythmic venting. A quiet, peaceful hum.

Something was pressed against him.

Something was snuggling.

Megatron’s optics slowly flickered online.

He was in his quarters. On his berth. Holding Starscream in a tight embrace.

—And that’s when Megatron, warlord of the Decepticons, commander of a mighty army, shrieks like a malfunctioning alarm system.

[shiani25]

Prompt : There is a little girl in the Decepticon's base. No one knows what to do.

"Decepticon's new pet"

The rain poured in thick sheets, drumming against the rocky cliffs and metal plating of the Decepticon warship, Nemesis. Thunder rolled across the sky, deep and growling like some ancient beast, while the occasional crack of lightning illuminated the barren landscape below. It was a night that kept most creatures huddled away in their burrows, seeking warmth and safety.

But she had nowhere to go.

The girl was soaked to the bone, her thin clothes clinging to her trembling frame. She had run for so long, her legs burning, her lungs aching, but she hadn’t stopped. Not until she found herself at the gates of what looked like a military base, a dark and imposing structure that loomed over the landscape like a sleeping giant. She knew she shouldn’t be here, but she was too tired to care. If someone caught her and threw her out—or worse—then so be it. At least she wouldn’t have to run anymore.

Pushing past the pain in her limbs, she staggered forward and slipped inside through an open hatch, seeking nothing more than shelter from the storm. The air inside was cold and metallic, smelling of oil and something foreign, something she couldn’t quite place. Her bare feet barely made a sound against the smooth floor as she wandered deeper into the dimly lit corridors. She expected alarms, shouting, someone to drag her out by the collar—

Instead, there was silence.

Then came the sound of metal shifting.

She turned a corner and nearly walked straight into something massive.

Towering over her, gleaming silver and crimson, was a being that should not exist. The air around him was thick with static, as if his very presence disrupted reality itself. He was all sharp angles and talon-like fingers, his wings slightly flared in what she could only assume was surprise. His piercing red optics locked onto her, analyzing, calculating, disbelieving.

Starscream, Air Commander of the Decepticon army, was at a complete loss for words.

A human.

A tiny, insignificant fleshling had somehow wandered into their base—completely undetected. It was absurd. Impossible. This was a highly secured warship, not some rundown Earth bunker where any organic could just waltz in like they owned the place. Yet here she was, standing before him, soaked and shivering, but oddly… unafraid.

Most humans would be screaming by now, running in terror, begging for their pathetic lives. But this one? She just stared up at him with dull, exhausted eyes, the kind that had seen too much, endured too much, and had simply stopped caring.

He knew that look.

He had worn it himself, more times than he cared to admit.

For a fleeting moment, something unspoken passed between them—an understanding neither of them expected to find in the other. Then, just as quickly, Starscream scoffed, turned on his heel, and walked away.

Days passed. Then a week.

No one threw her out. No one cared. No other humans tried to search for her.

At first, the Vehicons hesitated, unsure of what to do. But when their superior officer had walked away without a word, they took it as permission to do the same. If Starscream didn’t acknowledge the problem, then it wasn’t a problem.

And so, the girl remained, slipping through the corridors like a ghost.

Breakdown was the first to take notice of her, really notice her. He found her curled up in a storage room one evening, trying to sleep on the cold metal floor. With a deep sigh, he disappeared for a moment and returned with a blanket—one far too large for her. He tossed it over her without a word.

The next day, he brought her food.

“Like feeding a stray cat,” Knockout muttered in disgust when he caught his partner leaving out a plate of human food in a secluded corner.

“Eh, what’s the harm?” Breakdown shrugged. “She’s not causing trouble.”

“She’ll get attached.”

“She barely even talks.”

Knockout rolled his optics but didn’t push the issue further. If she didn’t interfere with his work, he supposed he could tolerate her presence.

And so, the Decepticons adapted.

They didn’t talk to her much, but some of them—usually the Vehicons—would wordlessly leave food where she could find it. Someone, probably Breakdown, found an old storage crate and placed cushions inside, turning it into something resembling a bed. When she sat in the hangar watching them train, no one shooed her away. Some of them, like Knockout, still found it bizarre, but others seemed to treat her like an odd little pet, something harmless and quiet that had simply become part of the ship.

Even Soundwave, who saw everything, said nothing. The girl was small, weak and posed no threat to the Decepticon's cause.

A month later, Megatron finally noticed.

The warlord stood in the command center, optics narrowing as he observed the tiny creature sitting on a crate in the corner, idly kicking her feet.

For a long moment, no one dared to speak.

Then his deep, growling voice shattered the silence.

“Why,” Megatron demanded, “is there a fleshling in my base?”

Knockout, of all mechs, was the first to answer, arms crossed in amusement.

“She showed up one day. No one threw her out. And, well… the crew got attached.”

Silence.

Megatron’s expression remained unreadable as he slowly turned his gaze back to the girl. She met his stare without flinching. There was no fear in her, no trembling, no pathetic pleas for mercy. Just the same exhausted acceptance, the same quiet endurance that had settled into her like a permanent weight.

Interesting.

Starscream held his breath, fully expecting Megatron to crush the girl on the spot, to call her a nuisance, a security risk, to demand her immediate removal—

Instead, the warlord exhaled slowly and rumbled, “Trying to remove her now would be more trouble than it’s worth.”

And that was that.

The girl remained.

Megatron never acknowledged her again, but neither did he demand her departure. She was quiet, unobtrusive, and most importantly, she was not Starscream, which meant he tolerated her existence far more than he tolerated his own second-in-command.

Starscream couldn’t decide if he was annoyed or impressed.

Either way, it seemed that the Decepticons had officially adopted a pet.

[shiani25]

I really love the stories and artwork here. I'm curious, could you write a story with Starscream getting a new pair job just to piss off Megatron, but not "Oh I don't like it" but more "WHY ARE YOU NEON PINK"? Everyone knows it's revenge to piss of Megatron and even Knockout was surprised he would go that far, especially knowing how hard neon colors are.

"The Neon Menace"

Starscream had had it.

This was unacceptable.

It had been three days.

Three!

And Megatron had not noticed his new paint job.

Starscream had been subtle about it at first.

A tiny shift in the hue of his plating. A bit of polish. A slight enhancement to make himself look sleek and refined—like the second-in-command of the mighty Decepticon army should.

And Megatron?

Hadn’t even looked at him.

It was his job to notice!

That was what mates were for. To complement him. To admire. To worship his beauty!

And yet!

Nothing.

Not even a glance.

So Starscream did what any reasonable bot would do.

He doubled down.

The next day, he went bolder.

Polished his wings to super shiny, if the light was in a right position he could blind someone with them. Added a subtle (but very expensive) shimmer to his finish. Enhanced the red tones to really pop against the silver.

And still.

Nothing.

"Fine!" Starscream seethed. "If he doesn’t notice this time—"

A wild, desperate thought entered his mind.

Something Megatron couldn’t possibly ignore.

The next time he strutted into the Nemesis’s war room, he was a blazing neon pink.

A color so unnatural, so obnoxiously bright, it made Knockout wince.

And that was saying something.

"Starscream," Megatron’s voice was strained. "What in pit… have you done?"

Starscream smirked, crossing his arms. "Oh? So you did notice? How fascinating—considering you were blind to my previous changes."

Megatron just stared.

Not in awe. Not in admiration.

Not in any sort of reaction that Starscream had wanted.

Just… blank, horrified silence.

And then—

"Fix it."

Starscream scoffed. "Oh? You don’t like it?"

Megatron pinched the bridge of his nose. "Starscream. You look like a fragging target."

"I look fabulous," Starscream corrected, flipping a wing dramatically. "This is style, Megatron. Something you clearly wouldn’t—"

"You are a neon beacon," Megatron snarled. "You might as well paint a bullseye on your wings and scream ‘shoot me!�� to the Autobots!"

Starscream froze.

The battlefield.

His perfectly streamlined colors had always been useful in the air, blending him in with Cybertron’s skies or Earth’s storms.

But this?

This was…

A death sentence.

Slag!

Starscream clenched his fists. "Well, I—" He straightened. "I don’t need your approval, Megatron! I can be both stylish and deadly!"

Megatron was already waving him off. "Go fix it before I have you shot down myself."

Starscream bolted to Knockout.

Knockout, who had already heard the entire fiasco through the ship’s comms, was barely containing his laughter.

"I have to say, Screamer," Knockout smirked, giving him a slow, dramatic once-over. "This is… a bold look for you."

"Enough!" Starscream hissed. "Fix it."

Knockout sighed theatrically. "Oh, now you want me to fix it? You seemed so proud of it earlier."

"Knockout!"

"Fine, fine," Knockout snickered, grabbing his equipment. "Let’s see what we’re working with—"

And then—

He froze.

"Uh… Starscream."

Starscream’s wings twitched. "What?"

Knockout tapped a finger against his plating. "What… exactly did you use to repaint yourself?"

Starscream frowned. "Some extra supplies from storage. Why?"

Knockout was quiet for a long moment.

Then he exhaled.

"You used permanent industrial-grade coating. It’s embedded into your plating."

Starscream froze.

"…What."*

"It’s… deep," Knockout hummed, inspecting further. "It’s embedded into your plating. If I try to paint over it, it’s just going to bleed through."

Starscream felt his vents stutter.

"No..."

Knockout patted his wing. "Yes."

"No, no, no—this cannot be happening!" Starscream screeched. "Knockout, you have to fix it! You must—"

Knockout laughed. "Oh, now it’s a problem? But it was so fabulous a moment ago."

"KNOCKOUT!"

[shiani25]

"A self indulgent story"

Shiani sat on the couch, her arms wrapped around a pillow as she stared blankly at the television. The screen flickered with a movie she wasn’t really watching, the voices blending into meaningless noise. Her mind was still trapped in the last few weeks—the stress, the humiliation, the exhaustion. She had finally done it. She had quit. Walked out. Left behind the toxic mess that had been her workplace. But instead of relief, all she felt was... empty.

Her boss had been a nightmare—condescending, manipulative, always making her feel like she wasn’t good enough. The worst part was that she had started to believe it. The idea of quitting had terrified her, but now that she had... what came next?

A soft whirr of transformation filled the air, and a shadow passed over her.

"Human, why do you look like you've lost a battle you should be celebrating?" Starscream's voice cut through her haze. The Seeker crouched beside her, his crimson optics scanning her face with what could almost be described as concern.

"Because it doesn't feel like a victory," she muttered. "It feels like I just... The end."

A heavier set of footsteps approached. Megatron stood behind the couch, arms crossed, optics narrowed. "You should be celebrating," he rumbled. "You rid yourself of a parasite. You are strong! You broke the shackles that binded you."

Shiani huffed. "If you think I feel strong right now, you��re wrong."

Starscream scoffed, flicking one of his wings back. "That’s the mistake you’re making, fleshling. You are strong. Do you know how many mechs would stay under an abusive leader out of fear? A lot. I’ve seen it." He paused for dramatic effect. "Experienced it, too."

Megatron shot him a glare. "You lack discipline, that is not the same."

Starscream waved a dismissive hand. "That’s not the point. The point is, she left. She knew her worth and walked away. That is strength."

Shiani exhaled, some of the tension easing from her shoulders. Maybe they had a point.

Megatron shifted, stepping around the couch so he could see her better. "You are wasting time wallowing. That wretch of a boss? They no longer control you. You are free." He gestured at her. "But instead of reveling in your newfound autonomy, you are sulking."

"I don't know what to do next," she admitted. "I feel lost."

Starscream smirked. "Then you take advantage of your freedom. You have no obligations to a fool who undervalued you. You can do anything. Go anywhere." His wings twitched with excitement. "Rebuild yourself better than before."

Shiani hesitated, but she could feel the shift in her mindset. Maybe quitting wasn’t an end—it was an opportunity.

Megatron nodded approvingly. "Your next decision must be made with purpose. You will find another path, but only if you stop lingering on what is already dead and buried."

She blinked up at them, finally managing a small smile.

"Who would know that you guys are this good at pep talks."

[shiani25]

💙🩵💛Shiani 💞 Starscream 💛🩵💙

[shiani25]

The stories you write are amazing and I aspire to be as good a writer as you one day. Love you Shianis <3

It feels like the transformers never did anything with Starscream's scientific past. Mentioned not once, not twice, but thrice (G1, Aligned continuity novels, AND in Transformers Prime), may I request Starscream having that side of him resurface briefly, with Megatron indulging in him (Megatron only knowing he was a scientist, and not how deep his passion was?)?

Ohhh thank you so much, you are so kind. 🥰

Actually this motive is in some of my stories already. I can give you links to them if you want. 😊

I really like the idea that Starecream was a scientist. But now he usually just uses his knowledge to prepare new ways to assassinate Megatron xD

"Quarantine Madness"

Starscream was not handling quarantine well.

At first, he thought he could endure it. After all, he had been in tight situations before—both metaphorically and literally.

But this?

Being locked inside his own quarters, with no audience, no one to berate, and worst of all—nothing to do?

It was hell.

“This is ridiculous!” Starscream screeched, pacing back and forth. “I am perfectly functional! There is no need to confine me like some filthy Autobot prisoner!”

Knockout, safely behind the sealed doors, crossed his arms. “Oh, really? Because according to this,”—he waved his medical scanner—“your systems are running at dangerously unstable energy levels, and also your left optic is flickering like you are trying to send me a love message in Morse code.”

Starscream scoffed. “This is nothing! Besides maybe I'm trying to send you a message. About how incompetent as a medic you are! You cannot keep me in here!”

“Actually, I can,” Knockout said smugly. “Doctor’s orders.”

Starscream’s wings flared. “This is mutiny!”

Knockout smirked. “No, this is protocol. Enjoy your alone time.”

Starscream lunged at the door just as it slammed shut.

“KNOCKOUT, YOU TREACHEROUS—”

Starscream lay sprawled across his berth, optics dim.

He had paced so much he swore the floor panels were going to wear down.

He had yelled at the walls until his own echo started mocking him.

He had reorganized his collection of rare alloys twice.

And now… now the walls were closing in.

The high ceilings that once made his quarters feel spacious now felt oppressive. The walls seemed to be pressing inward, suffocating him.

He twitched. “I… I must escape.”

Then he heard it—the sound of the quarantine doors unlocking.

He shot up, optics blazing. “FREEDOM—”

Only to freeze as Megatron walked in.

Carrying something strange.

Starscream eyed the odd-looking alien device Megatron placed on his table. It was sleek, humming faintly with unknown energy, and covered in intricate symbols he didn’t recognize.

“What… is this?” he asked suspiciously.

Megatron crossed his arms. “Something to occupy your processor.”

Starscream blinked. “You brought me alien technology?”

“You tinker when you’re restless,” Megatron said, looking entirely too nonchalant. “If it stops you from clawing at the walls, then so be it.”

Starscream grimaced at being so predictable but then looked back at the device, wings perking up despite himself.

“…Well.” He scoffed. “I suppose I could examine it.”

Megatron smirked slightly. “Good.” Then he turned and walked out.

As soon as the door locked again, Starscream pounced on the device, optics gleaming with curiosity.

“Ohhh… what are you?”

Knockout wasn’t sure what was worse—Starscream complaining about being bored or Starscream quietly working on something.

Because the latter meant he was up to something.

When Megatron called Knockout for a status update, the medic decided to air his concerns.

“So… Lord Megatron.” Knockout cleared his throat. “You do realize that whatever Starscream figures out about that alien tech, he’s probably going to use in another attempt to kill you, right?”

Megatron, who had been sipping energon, barely glanced up. “Naturally.”

Knockout blinked. “And you’re okay with that?”

Megatron smirked. “As long as it keeps him occupied.”

Knockout stared. “So… you don’t care that he might be engineering your demise?”

Megatron shrugged. “He does that regularly. If I worried about it, I’d never get anything done around here.”

A long pause.

Then, from within Starscream’s quarantine room, came a manic burst of laughter.

Knockout looked toward the sound, then back at Megatron. “…You do hear that, right?”

Megatron took another sip of his energon. “Like I said—occupied.”

[shiani25]

If you are taking requests then my only request is something sweet :). Maybe sweet in a messed up Decepticon kinda way but sweet still lol!

Megatron was not the kind of mech one would call "romantic." Or "affectionate." Or "not a psychotic warlord with a severe case of rage issues." But that didn't mean he didn’t love his mate. On his own twisted way, at least. It just meant that his methods of showing affection were... well, let’s say "unconventional."

It was a quiet day on the Nemesis—by Decepticon standards, meaning only two explosions in the last hour and Knockout was still screaming about someone scratching his finish. Megatron had been pondering ways to surprise his mate, but unfortunately, when a mech like him put effort into being romantic, things tended to go sideways.

He had tried the traditional route once. A candlelit dinner. It ended with the table being flipped, three Vehicons in the medbay, and the ship’s power grid shorting out because he had punched the energon dispenser too hard for being "so fragging slow." Lesson learned: subtlety was not in his skill set.

But today, today was different.

Megatron had decided to do something truly meaningful for his beloved second-in-command. Something thoughtful. Something personal. Something only a warlord in love would do.l

So, naturally, he kidnapped an Autobot.

It was a grand, romantic gesture! At least, it was in his mind. Nothing said I love you like dragging a tied-up Autobot to your mate’s quarters and dramatically declaring, “I have brought this especially for you!"

Unfortunately, the recipient of this "gift" did not share the sentiment.

Starscream stared at the struggling Autobot—who was alternating between swearing and trying to chew through the restraints—then looked at Megatron with a mix of horror and exasperation. "What. The. Frag. Is this?"

Megatron beamed (which, considering his face, looked more like he was planning to commit a murder). "A present! I went out myself and hunted for this wretch. He should be most entertaining for you! I know how much you like science. You can dissect him if you want."

"...You you kidnapped someone?!"

"Yes!" Megatron crossed his arms, looking smug. "Because I care!"

The Autobot stopped struggling long enough to give them a deadpan look. "So, uh… you’re dating that guy? The one who screams about conquest every five seconds?"

"...Unfortunately." Starscream sights.

"Why do you sound displeased?" Megatron frowned. "I am an excellent mate!"

"Last week, you threw me over your shoulder and declared that you were ‘taking me back to our lair’ while the entire Nemesis watched!"

"Yes! A display of strength! To ward off potential rivals!"

"You don’t have rivals, Megatron! No one else wants to date me because they’re terrified of you!"

"Exactly!" Megatron huffed, completely missing the point. "My love is unrivaled!"

At this point, the Autobot had started trying to wriggle away, clearly realizing he was trapped in some kind of domestic dispute. "Uh, guys? I’d like to be untied now?"

Megatron shot him a glare that could melt steel. "Silence, Autobot! I am in the middle of a romantic moment!"

"...This is the least romantic thing I have ever seen."

Starscream pinched the bridge of their nose, trying to summon the patience not to throw himselve into the nearest engine core. "Megatron, for the allspark, kidnapping mechs isn't a love language!"

Megatron pouted. "But then how will you know I cherish you?"

"I don’t know, maybe do something normal? Like flowers?"

"...Flowers?"

"Yes. They’re harmless. No explosions. No kidnappings. Just. Flowers."

Megatron scoffed. "That is ridiculous. I would never—"

The Nemesis was now home to the most horrifying bouquet Cybertron had ever seen. Megatron, in his determination to prove himself a good mate, had personally gathered "flowers" from various alien worlds.

Some were actively trying to eat some Vehicons. One had already latched onto Knockout, who was currently shrieking in the background. Another released a pollen cloud so toxic that Soundwave had to activate a quarantine field before half the ship passed out.

And in the middle of it all, Megatron stood, arms wide, beaming with pride. "Behold, my love! A gift that does not involve kidnapping!"

Starscream stared at the death bouquet in exhausted silence.

"...You know what? It’s progress. I’ll take it."

[shiani25]

💙🩵💛Write me a message!💛🩵💙

💙🩵💛Requests : OPEN!💛🩵💙

[shiani25]

If anyone haven't seen this pilot yet, then what are you waiting for?!?!

It is absolutely AMAZING!

Great depiction of Starscream, silver tongue devil.

I totally can see how this Starscream can be a perfect manipulator.

Even if you know he/she is just playing you, you still want to see him/her smile.

And surprisingly, Starscream as a woman... I'm totally buying this!

[shiani25]

If you're still taking them, I would humbly request a spot of jealous Megatron! Sure Starscream is difficult, but no one can deny how pretty he is. He must have 'cons (and even 'bots, who knows!) coming on to him all the time. And I think it should make Megatron territorial :3c

Ohh this one is good! Nothing better to spice things up than a little bit of possessiveness from Megatron. 💕

"How Not to Die on the Nemesis"

On the Nemesis, there were a few golden rules that every Decepticon—whether a battle-hardened warrior or a fresh-faced recruit—needed to know in order to survive.

1. Do not touch Soundwave’s screens. Ever.

2. Knockout’s finish is more important than your life. Accept it.

3. Never—under any circumstances—wake Megatron up from recharge.

But the most important rule?

4. Look, but DO NOT touch Starscream!

Why?

Because Starscream, the glorious, the sleek, the stunningly aerodynamic, was Megatron’s.

And Megatron was possessive.

Everyone on the Nemesis knew that Starscream was gorgeous.

He knew it, too.

His wings always gleamed, his plating was polished to perfection, and the way he moved—with such grace and confidence—made him impossible to ignore.

Decepticons admired him from afar, whispering about his beauty, his alluring presence, his—

But no one touched.

Because the last mech who tried?

Megatron threw him off the ship.

Through the wall.

Without a shuttle.

But Starscream, being the chaotic menace that he was, loved to make things difficult.

He thrived on teasing.

A lingering touch here, a sultry glance there, a suggestive flick of his wings—and suddenly, some poor fool thought they had a chance.

Spoiler alert: They didn’t.

Because Starscream wasn’t flirting for fun.

He was playing a dangerous game.

A game called: ‘Revenge on Megatron for whatever he did wrong today’.

---

Now, every seasoned Decepticon knew to stay far away from Starscream’s little mind games.

But today?

Today, a new recruit had joined the ranks.

And he hadn’t heard the horror stories yet.

Meet Deadmeat.

Okay, that wasn’t his real designation, but it might as well have been.

Deadmeat was young, naïve, and—unfortunately for him—very, very stupid.

So when Starscream started giving him attention, Deadmeat didn’t question it.

He didn’t stop to think, Wait, why is someone as glorious as Starscream interested in me?

No.

Instead, he thought, By Primus, I must be the luckiest Decepticon in history!

Oh, Deadmeat.

You sweet, sweet fool.

---

Starscream, as always, was in peak form.

He leaned just a little too close to Deadmeat during weapons inspection, his claws tracing along the new recruit’s arm.

“My, my,” Starscream purred, his voice as smooth as the finest Energon. “You’re quite impressive for a recruit.”

Deadmeat’s cooling fans whirred.

“Oh! Uh—thank you, Commander!”

Starscream smirked.

Across the room, Breakdown winced.

Soundwave recorded.

Knockout muttered, “Oh, this poor, poor scraplet.”

Because they all knew what was coming.

Starscream continued his performance, sighing dramatically. “It’s just so refreshing to have someone who appreciates me.”

Deadmeat nodded enthusiastically, completely oblivious to the death sentence he was signing. “Of course, sir! You’re amazing!”

Starscream beamed, but behind that charming smile?

Oh, he was plotting.

Because Megatron—his mate, his lord, his supposedly devoted partner—had ignored him all fragging day.

And Starscream?

Starscream was not the type to suffer in silence.

If Megatron thought he could neglect him, then fine.

He’d make sure his dear warlord noticed him.

And what better way than to provoke his legendary jealousy?

Starscream leaned in, optics half-lidded. “Tell me, soldier… have you ever been desired by someone in power?”

Deadmeat blinked. “Uhh…”

Across the room, everyone took a step back.

Knockout hid behind Breakdown.

Soundwave silently replayed the audio of Megatron’s past executions.

Because they all felt the shift in the air.

The sheer fury rolling off Megatron was palpable.

And when Megatron got possessive?

Oh.

Things got messy.

---

Before Deadmeat could even process what was happening—

BOOM.

Megatron slammed into the room, optics glowing with barely contained rage.

The ground shook.

Decepticons scattered.

And Deadmeat?

Deadmeat was frozen in place. Like a mecha-deer in the headlights.

“M-Mighty Megatron, I—”

That was as far as he got.

Megatron’s fist obliterated Deadmeat’s helm in one punch.

One.

Just one.

The recruit collapsed, utterly and completely offline.

The room went silent.

Starscream, still lounging with a self-satisfied smirk, let out a delighted purr.

“Oh, Megatron,” he sighed dramatically. “I was so worried you didn’t notice me anymore.”

Megatron glared at him, still seething with anger. “Starscream, you are impossible to ignore.”

[shiani25]

Starscream giving tiered Megatron a massage. But not romantic, calm and quiet one ,no, the harsh sport massage he personally likes, the one where you can hear hiss inner organs move, the one where you hear the human equivalent of bones cracking. He learned it back on Cybertron and it was good except it's painful during and 10 minutes after massage. It feels good after but It's painful for Megatron since he's old and Starscream likes listening to Megatron's "bones" cracking and his struggle not to cry. (It would be funny if it's prime since he has pointy elbows)

"Megatron vs. The Train"

There were few things in the universe more awe-inspiring than the mighty Lord Megatron in the heat of battle.

The Autobots had learned this lesson many times.

And today?

Oh, today was no different.

The fight had been fierce—blaster fire lighting up the sky, Energon staining the battlefield—but Megatron had grown bored.

So, naturally, he did what any warlord would do.

He picked up an entire train and hurled it at the Autobots.

Why? Because he could.

And it was glorious.

The Autobots scrambled. The train crashed down in a spectacular display of destruction. Smoke and debris filled the air, and Megatron allowed himself a satisfied smirk.

“Flawless.”

Then he took a step forward.

And immediately regretted it.

Pain shot through his back strut, straight up his spinal relays. His entire frame locked up.

The great and mighty Megatron, conqueror of Cybertron, flinched.

And that was when he knew.

He had made a grave mistake.

---

"Knockout’s Expert Medical Advice (a.k.a. ‘Suffer, My Liege’)"

Back on the Nemesis, Megatron sat on his throne, vents hissing as he tried to find a comfortable position.

He failed.

Knockout, the ever-enthusiastic Royal Medic Who Really Should Be Fired, stood beside him with a datapad, not looking as concerned as he should be.

“You threw a whole train, my lord.”

Megatron glared. “Your medical expertise astounds me, Knockout. Fix it.”

Knockout hummed, scanning him. “Mmm. Yeah. Looks like you strained something.”

Megatron’s optic twitched. “That much I know even without you!”

Knockout smirked. “Oh, I wasn’t sure. You’re usually more graceful with your train-throwing.”

Megatron growled. “Fix. It.”

Knockout sighed dramatically. “Alright, alright. Here.”

He casually handed Megatron a container of painkillers.

Megatron frowned. “…That’s it?”

Knockout shrugged. “Eh. You’ll live.”

And with that, Knockout left.

Megatron stared after him, betrayed.

---

"Starscream’s Hopes and Dreams (a.k.a. ‘Is He Finally Dying?’)"

For hours, Megatron suffered in silence.

Well.

Mostly silence.

Every few minutes, a low grunt or pained ex-vent would escape him.

And, naturally, Starscream noticed.

The seeker had been lurking around the throne room all day, listening to Megatron’s suffering with a growing sense of hope.

By the third pained grunt, Starscream was positively gleeful.

Finally. Finally. Was this it? Was one of his poisons finally working? Had he actually managed to do what no Autobot ever could?

His wings twitched in excitement.

But after several hours, it became clear that Megatron was not dying.

Just… suffering from back pain.

Starscream’s disappointment was immeasurable.

Still, the constant grunting was getting annoying.

So, with a long-suffering sigh, Starscream stepped forward. “Oh, for the love of—Do you have to suffer so loudly?”

Megatron shot him a deadly glare. “My patience is already thin, Starscream.”

Starscream smirked. “Yes, yes, I can see that. And hear it.”

Megatron growled. “Leave me.”

But Starscream had another idea.

“Oh no, my lord. I insist on helping.”

Megatron narrowed his optics. “You? Help?”

Starscream’s smirk grew. “You do know I have excellent servo control, don’t you? Precision movements, light touch…” His optics gleamed. “A massage, if you will.”

Megatron stared at him.

Everything in his very soul told him this was a trap.

But his back strut hurt.

And he was getting desperate.

“…Fine.”

Starscream beamed. “Oh, I will enjoy it so much.”

Megatron instantly regretted everything.

---

"Massage (a.k.a. This is most definitely not a trap’)"

Starscream’s claws pressed into Megatron’s back plates.

Megatron flinched.

Oh no.

Starscream worked with military precision, his servos moving in strategic patterns. His control was impressive. His technique was flawless.

But there was one, minor problem.

Starscream was all sharp angles.

It was like being massaged with knives.

Megatron bit down on his denta, resisting the urge to yell.

“This… is not pleasant.”

Starscream scoffed. “Oh, relax, lord Megatron. You’re so dramatic. It isn’t even an assassination attempt. This time.”

Megatron made a sound that was definitely not a pained yelp.

Starscream pressed harder.

Megatron seized up.

“This is agony,” he hissed.

Starscream grinned. “Good! That means it’s working.”

Megatron suffered. For twenty agonizing minutes, he endured Starscream’s precision torture.

By the end, he was this close to throwing Starscream off the ship.

When Starscream finally stepped back, he dusted off his claws, looking very pleased with himself.

“There. You’re welcome.”

Megatron took a very long, very deep ex-vent.

“…I will have my revenge for this.”

Starscream smirked. “Ohh sure you will.”

Megatron glared.

Then—POP.

His back strut suddenly shifted back into place.

The pain vanished.

Megatron froze.

“…Wait.”

Starscream tilted his helm. “Huh.”

Megatron shifted his shoulders. His optics widened.

“…It actually worked!”

[shiani25]

REQUESTS : OPEN!

Do you want to see a story about Decepticons? Write me a message!

And here is cute Starscream for you!

Don't let him fool you, he is plotting to kill Megatron... Again!

This is his plotting face. I'm sure of it.

[shiani25]

Two touch starved idiots. 💕

Mutually beneficial setup

[shiani25]

If you're okay then maybe you could write Starscream wearing his crown, roleplaying as a King and Megatron as his knight? Chaos ensues over the Decepticons as they continue to play and act like this for the whole day. Sfw, could be any form of art please.

"The Nemesis Theatre Disaster"

Morale on the Nemesis was at an all-time low.

The Decepticons had suffered setback after setback, Autobots ruining their plans at every turn. The troops were sluggish, unmotivated, and even the usual entertainments—like fighting matches in the training room or gambling on who would get punched by Megatron first—had lost their charm.

Knockout, ever the perfectionist, hated this.

“Low morale leads to low productivity, Lord Megatron!” he argued, arms crossed. “And low productivity leads to poor results! Do you want your forces to perform at half capacity?”

Megatron, who had just suffered through an exceptionally sloppy battle, ex-vented through his denta. “…No.”

Knockout smirked victoriously. “Exactly! So, we need a solution.”

As second-in-command Starscream immediately took this as his chance to shine.

“Clearly, what we need is art,” he declared dramatically, wings flaring. “A distraction to lift spirits and remind our troops that the Decepticons are more than just warriors—we are thinkers, creatives, visionaries—”

“I am going to regret asking this,” Megatron muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose, “but what are you suggesting?”

Starscream grinned.

“We shall host a play!”

Megatron’s spark sank. He had already made a mistake.

---

Knockout, not surprisingly, loved the idea.

“Oh, brilliant! We’ll make it grand! A true spectacle! And I shall be the director, of course.”

Starscream scoffed. “Obviously. Who else could handle such an important task? Vehicons? I don't think so.”

With that settled, the disaster spiraled quickly.

Starscream, as the most gifted with words (his own assessment), was put in charge of writing the script.

Breakdown and Soundwave were tasked with handling props, stage construction, and lighting. Soundwave, with his usual eerie efficiency, had it all set up within hours, while Breakdown spent most of the time wondering how he’d been dragged into this.

The casting process was… interesting.

“You, Lord Megatron, shall play the part of my loyal knight!” Starscream announced, puffing his chestplate with pride.

Megatron immediately hated this. “No.”

Starscream waved dismissively. “Too late! The script is already written. You swore an oath of fealty to my character—King Starflare the Magnificent—and I expect you to act accordingly.”

Megatron turned to Knockout. “You will regret this.”

Knockout, adjusting his director’s cap, just grinned. “Oh, I already do. But I’m enjoying the chaos too much to stop now.”

---

Opening Night.

The entire crew gathered in the Nemesis’ cargo bay-turned-theatre. Seats had been arranged, a stage had been built, and Soundwave had somehow rigged up an actual lighting system.

The play began.

And it was an utter disaster.

Starscream’s script was atrocious.

The story followed the noble and glorious King Starflare (played by Starscream) as he ruled his kingdom with unmatched wisdom, beauty, and grace. His loyal knight, Sir Mediumtron (played by a very unamused Megatron), was his fiercest defender, sworn to protect him at all costs.

The problem?

The dialogue was awful.

Megatron read from the script with the enthusiasm of a mech contemplating self-destruction. “Oh, my most radiant lord, my sword and spark are ever at your service. I shall smite thine enemies with the fury of a thousand sunrises. —” He paused. Looked at the next word. “... Mediumtron looked at his king with admiration because he secretly loved him.”

"Those are stage directions you should not read that part!!"

Starscream, standing dramatically on a fake throne, waved a dismissive hand. “Besides, you must sell it, Megatron. The people need to believe in your love and devotion to your king!”

Megatron’s fist clenched. “I am going to kill you.”

The troops in the audience were barely holding in their laughter.

Things only got worse.

Breakdown had built the worst props possible, including a cardboard dragon that was supposed to be the grand final battle but looked more like a sickly Turbofox with wings.

Knockout, being Knockout, had focused entirely on style, giving everyone elaborate capes that got tangled in their movements.

Soundwave had rigged the lighting too well, and at one point, a dramatic spotlight hit Starscream so hard he tripped on his own cape and faceplanted off the stage.

That was honestly Megatron's favourite part.

The audience erupted into laughter.

Starscream shot up, flustered and furious. “Silence, peasants! You dare mock your king?!”

That only made them laugh harder.

Megatron, suffering through one of his worst cycles yet, rubbed his optics and sighed. “Starscream, end this madness.”

Starscream huffed. “The finale has yet to—”

That was when the cardboard dragon collapsed mid-scene, knocking over an entire set piece. Breakdown cursed as props went flying. The whole stage fell apart, leaving Starscream standing awkwardly in the wreckage.

Silence.

Then—

Thunderous applause.

The troops loved it.

They cheered, whistled, and shouted for more. They weren’t laughing at Starscream—they were genuinely entertained. For the first time in weeks, the Decepticons were actually happy.

Starscream was taking in all that applause and pretended all was according to his plan.

Knockout smirked, leaning against Megatron. “Well, Lord Megatron? Morale’s never been higher.”

Megatron groaned. His dignity was in tatters, but…

If the troops were happy, then maybe it was worth it.

…Still, he would make Starscream and Knockout suffer for this later.

[shiani25]

@creepysmlile

"Oh have you try the seekers claustrophobia? I love all the lore the fandom created for the seekers"

"Caged Sky"

The pirate vessel never stood a chance.

Megatron had ripped through it like a storm, scattering its pathetic crew to the void. The Decepticons had moved with precision, cutting down every mercenary that dared raise a weapon against them. It had been an execution, not a battle.

Because no one—absolutely no one—stole from him.

And Starscream?

They found him in a dimly lit cargo hold, curled into himself, optics dim, frame battered. He hadn’t spoken much when they pulled him out—just muttered something weakly sarcastic about Megatron taking his time. But even that had lacked its usual venom.

Megatron hadn’t dwelled on it at the time.

They had won. The Seeker was back. Everything should have gone back to normal.

Except it hadn’t.

---

Starscream refused to leave the landing pad.

At first, it had been easy to dismiss. Maybe he was just sulking, milking the situation for sympathy or attention. It was Starscream, after all.

But then a cycle passed.

Then another.

And he was still there.

Sitting on the edge, wings twitching, staring out into space.

Megatron had ignored it as long as he could.

Now, he had had enough.

---

The Nemesis was a warship, not a Seeker’s personal perch. Megatron stormed onto the landing pad, optics burning with frustration.

“Starscream,” he growled. “This ends now.”

Starscream barely turned. “Oh? What ends?”

Megatron’s patience frayed. “Your pathetic stalling. Get back inside the ship.”

Starscream shifted, still not looking at him. “I will, Megatron. I just need a little more time. The—ah—the atmospheric recalibration is—”

Megatron’s optic twitched. “Enough.”

He grabbed Starscream’s arm.

And then—

Starscream panicked.

The Seeker shrieked, thrusters kicking in as he fought, wings flaring wildly. His talons scrambled for purchase, yanking his arm away with a desperation Megatron never expected.

“Let go!” Starscream’s voice was sharp, nearly frantic.

Megatron did.

Starscream stumbled back, vents heaving, optics wide—too wide. His claws gripped his own arms, shoulders hunched. His wings trembled, betraying tension, fear.

Megatron frowned. “What is this?”

Starscream ex-vented sharply. “Nothing.”

Megatron narrowed his optics. “You—”

“I just need more time,” Starscream snapped, though his voice wavered. “That’s all.”

Megatron studied him.

The way he avoided looking at the entrance.

The way his frame coiled like a cornered animal.

The way his optics flickered—not at Megatron, but at the walls of the ship.

Understanding dawned.

“…The pirates,” Megatron said slowly, testing his theory. “They confined you.”

Starscream stiffened.

He didn’t answer.

He didn’t need to.

---

Megatron dragged the truth out in fragments, each one like shattered metal pried from a wound.

The pirates had beaten him, sure. That was expected. But they hadn’t known what to do with him. He was valuable—too valuable to kill outright.

So they had caged him.

Not a brig, not a cell.

A crate.

A shipping crate, small, cold, dark.

They had folded his wings to shove him inside, forced him down, locked him in. No room to stand. No room to move. Just metal walls pressing in on all sides.

He had screamed—at first. Kicked, cursed, threatened. But no one had answered.

The air had grown stale.

His vents had struggled against the thick, unmoving atmosphere.

And for the first time in a long, long time—Starscream had believed he was going to die.

Alone. In the dark. Crushed in a box.

No sky. No escape.

Just metal, choking the life out of him.

And now?

Even Nemesis’ walls felt like a cage.

---

Megatron listened.

He said nothing.

When Starscream finished—when he finally ran out of words, voice tight and fragile—there was silence.

Then—

“…If I could,” Megatron said, voice low, dangerous, “I would kill those wretched parasites again.”

Starscream’s optics flickered toward him.

Megatron’s gaze burned.

“But this time, it would be slow. Painful.” His claws curled into a fist. “I would ensure they felt every agonizing second of their pitiful existence slipping away.”

Starscream stared at him.

Megatron met his gaze evenly.

A long moment passed.

Then, softly—softer than Megatron had ever heard from him—Starscream ex-vented.

“…I would like that.”

Megatron nodded once.

Then he turned toward the ship.

“Come,” he said, without demand or force.

For a moment, Starscream hesitated.

Then, slowly, he stepped forward.

And, step by step, he followed Megatron inside.