#strika

quick drawing of strika!

In my TFA age swap au, everyone keeps their original personality and role! They change in accordance to their age and what they’ve experienced in the au of course. Also you guys have so many funny thoughts and ideas for this au I love reading through them!! Making the Decepticons a bunch of goofy, evil powerhouses was a decision I don’t regret lol.

Lugnut here is still extremely loyal to Megatron, he was one of his first supporters before Megs killed the previous Deception leader. His loyalty made him one of Megatron’s closest allies, something Starscream bullies him over. Right now he’s newly conjuxed to Strika, they make for a destructively cute couple.

heres to the married/canon couples (wow arcee how come you get two wives)

Meeting the family

Part 1: killer, sparklings and a ghost

Briefly about the AU: Optimus (unintentionally) hurt Megatron’s pride so badly during peace talks that now the infamous Decepticon leader is trying to prove to Prime that he’s the worthy (best) choice for a conjunx. Everyone else is just collateral damage.

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3

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It must be admitted that despite all of Metroplex’s inadequacy, the view eastward Hadin was magnificent from the height of the observation platforms in the negotiation hall. The inky void of space was lit by a distant star and traced red lines along the horizon, giving Cybertron’s sky a magical ominousness.

This view was worth all the suffering and struggle. Megatron folded his servos behind his back, straightened up, and for a moment squinted with satisfaction as the star’s glow touched his faceplate.

Today promised to be full of events and headaches, not to mention hysterics (mostly from that damned Magnus) and new machinations. Megatron’s teeth clenched from anticipation. 

As it turned out, many of the old buckets in the Autobot Council cared mainly about their own wallets and status, not about Cybertronian society. And, as it turned out, the little Prime was truly a terrifying threat. Somehow, he had managed to study and imprint into his charming helmet nearly all the laws, statutes, and precedents that had any relevance to their current situation. And he used that knowledge, metaphorically stepping on the throats of all the loud officials, cutting off any possible intrigue or scheme.

Megatron had to invite him to one of the strategy games. Oh, that would be much more interesting than the boring consumption of energon in some horribly cluttered, overcrowded café far too small for a military frame. Unfortunately, it was still too early for a dinner prepared by a personal chef somewhere on a charming balcony adorned with techno-ivy overlooking Iacon. But not for long. Speaking of the object of his thoughts. He was just arriving at the main entrance to the Metroplex. 

Truly a wonderful morning.

With one swift motion, Megatron jumped over the railing and, without even transforming, landed right in front of the entrance. 

Oh, it seemed his knees weren’t happy about it. Nor was his back. Suppressing a painful grimace, he watched as his dear Thorn transformed. Ah, that wonderful expression of absolute disdain, which could even dry energon. It was even more charming in Hadin’s morning light.

Megatron was just about to speak when, from somewhere behind, came an absolute cacophony of sounds and words in which Megatron recognized Earth language. More precisely, that pitiful phenomenon they called music: 

Singing with Satan and her churchy twists 

I’ve spoken all my life just to tell about her 

But how she argued and how she screamed! 

How she got upset! How she came! 

It seemed the tiny Prime didn’t like it either, judging by his slightly pressed swollen lips. 

The warlord looked in the direction the vile sound was coming from and saw a bot, apparently a speedster by frame type, transforming. Allspark have mercy, everything about him screamed “hippie.” 

“Optimus!” the hippie shouted joyfully and ran up to Prime, waving his hand. “You forgot… Whoa! you’re fast… Forgot your lunch,” the speedster held out a blue container painted in various colors. “Here!” 

Optimus’s audio fins fluttered energetically, his shoulders straightened slightly, and he took the container from the speedster’s hands. A smile appeared on his faceplate. And to him, Megatron, he only smiled like that when trying to smash his head with a hammer. 

“Thank you, Drift.”

Ah, so this freak had a name. Wait! Shockwave’s voice immediately rang out in his processor: it has been observed that he has close relations with two others — Arcee and Drift — thus a potential candidate for the family list of his future conjunx. 

Well then, useful. Megatron should make a good first impression, but then Shockwave’s voice rang out again in his processor: a defector known among the Decepticons as Deadlock. 

Frag, right. Deadlock. 

A sadistic killer, without a drop of remorse, who staged massacres when he got bored. And who disappeared after one such massacre — no one knew where or with whom. Megatron tensed. He looked again, now carefully, at the newcomer. Speedster build, nothing like a military helicopter, no katanas, no blasters. Not even the fangs and claws Deadlock was known for. Height-wise, he was almost the same as the tiny Prime.

Maybe, this time Shockwave was wrong. This hippie couldn’t possibly be one of his hellhounds. 

“But you shouldn’t have,” Prime’s voice pulled him out of his thoughts, “especially chasing me across nearly all of Iacon.” 

“Oh, it’s nothing,” the speedster waved dismissively and smiled brightly. “You know I sit at home most of the time, I need at least some exercise. Otherwise I’ll rust or go crazy from loneliness.” The last part was said far too cheerfully. 

No, this couldn’t be Deadlock. That one was his peer, and this bot looked like he’d only just graduated from the academy. Ha, and the good doctor questioned his morality. Loudly, and with words that in a cultured, civilized society aren’t even thought. And he? A cradle robber! And that teacher is no better. Imagine tearing the wings off a defenseless Seeker.

“You don’t have to stay at home all the time,” this was said in a tone as if Prime were protesting against capital punishment. “You know, with your talents and skills…”

He was interrupted by a pat on the helmet. Megatron was already ready to say something like “take your hand away, idiot, he might bite it off,” but to his surprise, the little threat just stood calmly and stoically endured the mockery.

Definitely not Deadlock. He would never do anything like that. Megatron had seen him once kick a defenseless cyber-puppy.

“Hey, if no one’s home, you’ll all starve to death,” the freak gently patted Prime on the cheek. “Or die of poisoning. By the way, I made your favorite.”

“Thank you,” Prime replied in a tone that nearly melted Megatron’s fuel tank.

“Eat it all!” Drift said in a mock-strict tone and even wagged his finger.

“Of course!” Prime replied enthusiastically. “How could I not eat the dishes prepared by the best chef in the Galaxy?”

“Oh, come on, best chef. Compared to what you’ve all been eating these last cycles, even Ratchet’s cooking would seem like a gift from the Allspark.”

Both Autobots grimaced and shook their heads as if trying to chase away some horrible thoughts.

Note for the future: don’t eat the medic’s food.

Definitely not Deadlock. That one had a cast-iron fuel tank and could devour any trash. Megatron himself had personally seen that psycho eat a pack of rusty sticks on a dare—sticks that had been lying in a barrel of radioactive waste for who knows how long.

“Ahem,” since no threat was detected, Megatron decided to remind them of his presence, for which he was rewarded with a look from those sapphire optics that clearly said go smash yourself against a wall. “Would you, my dear Prime, care to introduce me to your…”

Megatron remained meaningfully silent. It was necessary to verify exactly whether this oddball could be listed as a potential family member, let alone a guardian. He didn’t want to end up looking like a complete fool, especially in a situation like this. Surprisingly, the tiny thorn looked at the speedster with slight confusion, as if not quite sure what to say. 

The speedster himself was smiling the dumbest smile Megatron had ever seen. And he had worked with Starscream and Blitzwing. So trust him on this. And of course, the hippie was enthusiastically nodding, folding his servos behind his back, and rocking on his heels.

“Oh, I’m nobody,” the hippie said cheerfully (wonder if he’s on something?) while shaking his head. “For now,” and gave a meaningful wink.

Megatron scowled. Of course! Nobody chases across all of Iacon just to deliver lunch, nobody even makes lunches, let alone “your absolute favorite.”

The Lord of the Decepticons was about to speak again, but was interrupted by the sound of a bell. At the top of Metroplex, a special chrono-mechanism had been installed to signal the start of a new microcycle (hour).

“Oh, I need to prepare for meetings,” the little Prime hugged the speedster and quickly walked past Megatron (didn’t even look!) into the building. “Thanks for the lunch!”

“Eat it all!” the hippie shouted after him, and as if remembering something, added, “Sari and Bumblebee are coming to you tonight!”

“I remember!”

And the little threat disappeared around the corner.

Megatron had already started moving, but was stopped by a servo on his forearm. The warlord turned around with disdain. Oh right, this “nobody.” 

Adopting his most gallant and charming facial expression, he was ready to enchant this fool. His processor had clearly been disturbed by a welding torch, at the very least. Someone like that would be easy to win over. 

But as soon as he lowered his gaze to the speedster’s faceplate, he immediately knew — no. Shockwave doesn’t make mistakes. Red optics, filled with primal rage and an unquenchable hunger for energon, stared straight into his spark. The white racer smiled at him with a very familiar smile. Usually, he gave that smile to his victims in the final kliks of their functioning.

“Lord Megatron.” Yes, no mistake possible. The frame was different, but the spark was the same. Standing before him was one of his hellhounds, pride and terror of the Decepticon army, a ruthless and unprincipled… 

“Deadlock.” 

“Nice when the boss remembers you.”

“You’re hard to forget,” almost impossible, the Decepticon Lord reluctantly admitted.

 “No doubt,” the former (?) killer replied with disdain. “But let’s get to the point.”

“We have no business with each other,” Megatron snarled in response, leaning slightly forward to loom over his interlocutor. “But you do with Tarn…”

Deadlock, seemingly unfazed by the threat, was thoughtfully examining his servos.

“Actually, we do,” he replied while still inspecting his servos. “I heard about your fiasco during one of the meetings.”

Fiasco? Who dared? That wasn’t a fiasco, it was just a minor mishap due to lack of information. And now Megatron was working hard to fix it! As soon as he finds out who blabbed, he’ll…

“Optimus described that whole sword mess in great detail…”

…give him a new sword, not that scrap metal one. 

“…and after that, you started chasing him.”

WHAT? That’s not chasing, that’s damn courtship!

“You even sent one of your lackeys to infiltrate our residence, for unknown reasons. Probably to get revenge on Optimus.”

Nothing of the sort! Megatron began to smoke from outrage. How dare those idiots think he would stoop to something like that. Sure, he was a bit petty but not that petty! 

“So, just so you know, milord,” Deadlock finally got bored of inspecting his own servos and once again burned into Megatron’s spark with his gaze, “if you harm Optimus in any way, if you so much as mess up these damn negotiations, I will track you down even in another galaxy and make you suffer so much that Haidon will feel like a vacation. I won’t let anyone close to me suffer again! Do you understand, Milord?” 

Despite his indignation and the overwhelming desire to crush his former subordinate, Megatron had to give him credit. Not everyone had bearings strong enough to threaten HIM. And in the name of loved ones, no less. 

But Megatron pulled himself together. He needed to clarify the situation before anyone imagined even worse scenarios. He had already opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted again. This time by the tiny thorn, who had already arrived at the meeting hall and stepped out onto the balcony. 

He was shouting for Megatron to come to the hall immediately, as he was the only one being waited on. This time, the Lord of the Decepticons had to ignore him and focus on the current problem but the current problem shot him a murderous look, then sweetly smiled at the little Prime, transformed, and sped away.

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"Today I suggest we conclude our meeting" oh what wonderful words "the protocols will be sent to you no later than the beginning of the dark phase of the cycle. Farewell, esteemed colleagues"

Most Honorable Alpha Trion was the first to rise after he finished speaking. All the others rose after him and nearly ran to the exit of the hall. Even the unbearable Magnus didn’t say a single extra word.

Megatron stretched his back while simultaneously checking if Prime had already fled. He had. Megatron quickly moved after him through the corridors of Metroplex. It had to be admitted that even with all its grandeur, this structure was better suited for civilian frames, especially some of the corridors.

How many times he’d entered a room hitting his head on a doorframe that was too low couldn’t be counted. Luckily, the only witnesses to such fiascos were the deaf and blind walls. Of course, if anyone alive had been present, they definitely wouldn’t have dared to blab.

From around the corner came the displeased voice of the object of his search.

“What did I tell you about Earth music?”

Oh, it seemed he was scolding someone. Interesting. Megatron looked around for a mirror or at least some reflective surface, but finding nothing, he took one of his swords and looked at his reflection. Everything was perfect, though the paint on his faceplate had dulled a bit. But that was nothing. A good recharge would fix it. Making his faceplate as neutral as possible, he sheathed the sword and headed toward the voice. 

The tiny threat was standing outside the entrance, hands on hips, scolding four bots. Three and one semi-organic, to be precise. 

“But you yourself said we need to culturally develop Cybertronian society,” the yellow annoying bug, despite Prime’s stern appearance, was cheerfully rocking on his heels. 

The two flying frames, according to Shockwave, results of Perceptor’s and the science division’s experiments, were nodding like bobblehead toys. Identical toothy grins stretched across their faceplates.

The semi-organic daughter of Professor Sumdac, with her whole demeanor expressed absolute non-involvement and innocence, no matter what Prime was accusing them of. If not for her mischievous smile, she could have fooled even some inexperienced Decepticons.

“Yes, but I asked for something more… not like this. Drift drives around Iacon playing rather indecent songs loudly. You’re all lucky he and the others don’t know the meaning of most of the words.” 

One hand rose to his faceplate. Since Megatron could only see the back of his spiky frame, he couldn’t be sure what he was doing, but he was ready to swear he was rubbing his faceplate with all his might. Megatron hoped he wouldn’t leave any dents. The existing cracks he refused to repair were already enough.

Just think. Even now, the little threat reminded him of his old sins at every step. So what if he’d tried to rip off his head and nearly crushed him? It was during battle, and ages ago at that. Of course, the warlord had to admit that those cracks made Prime even more attractive, but they were a constant walking reminder of his defeat. Prime truly was a vindictive beast.

“Exactly,” the flying frames said in unison, “that makes it even funnier. Ouch!” 

The little bug smacked both of them on the back of the head.

“When Ratchet finds out about this…” the little threat left the rest unsaid with meaningful silence. The four younger ones immediately straightened up. 

Megatron had to give Prime credit — using the foul temper and reputation cyber-hound of the old medic  for educational purposes was quite something. 

The semi-organic jumped toward Prime, and he instantly caught her in his arms. From the back, it looked like he pressed her to his chest. A current ran through Megatron’s spark. He wondered what a little Prime with a small flying frame in his arms would look like. Yes, a small frame, the perfect blend of civilian and military design. Gray with blue and red accents. Pressed against Prime’s chest. An unusually warm feeling spread through almost all of Megatron’s frame. 

“Come on, Optimus!” the tiny one said loudly and enthusiastically. “You promised you’d fly with us!”

“Yes, boss-bot!” The two flying frames grabbed onto Prime’s shoulders and hung from him. The unexpected weight made him stagger slightly, and Megatron already twitched to catch him, but he didn’t fall. 

“You promised! Promised! Promised!” 

The little bug climbed onto Prime’s back and joined the shouting. 

“Alright,” Prime managed to shout over them, “I promised.” 

“Yes!” 

“But we’ll still talk about the music.” 

“No!” 

“Transform!” 

Prime activated his jetpack.  Megatron squinted. It looked like he’d made some changes to the design? Yes, new wings. Rather familiar wings. 

“And let’s fly!”

The twins transformed, while the bug remained on Prime’s back. The semi-organic was still in his servo. Together they rose into the sky, higher and higher. In a moment, they were no more than silhouettes in the glow of Hadin. 

Megatron watched the spectacle in enchantment. It reminded him so much of moments buried deep in time. Before the war, before the oppression. When he and others like him had at least some semblance of life here on their home planet. Adult flying frames taught them, the sparklings, to fly, and as they grew older, they spent much time in the skies, forming close bonds between wards and their guardians. 

He wondered what it would be like to feel something similar with his own sparklings. To teach them to fly, to drift through the endless sky where there was no one but them. Soon, very soon, it would be possible. Not just for him, but for all his people. Megatron’s spark clenched painfully. 

Probably enough for today. Time to rest. 

The warlord was just about to leave when something pricked unpleasantly at the back of his head. He drew his swords and turned around. 

What he saw left him stunned. Before him stood or rather hovered a rather familiar cyber-ninja. A cyber-ninja who was supposed to be dead. And judging by his appearance, he was. His frame wasn’t the golden-black of life, nor the lifeless gray, but a translucent blue.

He hovered in the air with a straight posture, arms crossed over his chest, and glared sternly at the Decepticon leader. Megatron wasn’t sure if his tired processor was playing tricks on him or if the cyber-ninja had truly returned from the Allspark and his ghost now stood before him.

Megatron didn’t even have time to properly process this new turn of events when the frame before him began to glow, and within a nanoklik his optics were blinded by a bright flash, and his audio receptors were deafened by a powerful shout: “I OBJECT!”. 

When Megatron was finally able to see clearly again, he was alone. No one was nearby. His helmet rang, and glowing spots still lingered in his optics.

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Addendum

Megatron: Strika! 

Strika: Yes, my lord?

Megatron: Do you know any exorcists? 

Strika: ... 

Megatron: Or at least a psychic? 

Strika: My lord, with all due respect, WHAT THE FRAG!?

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A question for those who’ve read the earlier parts: Do you like that the story is told from Megatron’s pov?