Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The battlefield of Cybertron raged with the clash of Autobot and Decepticon forces, laser fire lighting up the sky as Optimus Prime and Megatron locked optics in their eternal struggle.

"Starscream! Flank the Autobots from the left! Soundwave, jam their communications! ALL DECEPTICONS, PRESS THE ATTACK!"

Starscream, hovering nearby, rolled his optics. "Yes, oh glorious leader," he muttered under his breath. As Megatron continued his tirade, an idea—sparked by centuries of petty resentment—flashed through Starscream’s processor.

A sudden, violent gust of superheated exhaust erupted from Starscream’s thrusters, blasting upward with pinpoint precision. The force was just enough to flip Megatron’s sleek black skirtplates upward revealing to the horror of every bot on the battlefield, a pair of pink panties with tiny white hearts.

A stunned silence fell over the battlefield.

Decepticons gasped. Autobots paused mid-swing. Even Optimus Prime blinked in disbelief.

Megatron’s optics burned with pure, unadulterated rage as he whirled around—unknowingly giving the entire battlefield a full view of the heart-adorned rear. He slammed his skirtplates down with one hand and shook his other fist at the sky.

"STARSCREAM, YOU IMBECILE!!!"

Starscream, already rocketing away, cackled madly.

But the damage was done. The Decepticons, stunned by their leader’s embarrassing reveal, hesitated—just long enough for the Autobots to capitalize.

"Now, Autobots!" Optimus Prime commanded.

The Decepticon lines crumbled under the sudden assault. Megatron, still fuming, tried to regain control—but his troops were too busy laughing or fleeing.

Chapter Text

The Decepticons’ retreat was anything but orderly—scattered and demoralized, their usual ruthless efficiency replaced by nervous glances and stifled snickers. Megatron’s once-unshakable aura of terror had been cracked and the fissures were spreading.

Back at the Decepticon warship Nemesis, Megatron stormed through the corridors, his heavy footfalls echoing like thunder. The whispers followed him—murmurs of "white hearts" and "Megatron's frilly secret"—just loud enough to make his audials burn with humiliation. Even Soundwave, ever-loyal Soundwave, had hesitated before responding to his commands.

Meanwhile, Starscream—ever the opportunist—had already begun sowing dissent.

"Pathetic," he sneered to a gathering of Seekers and lower-ranking officers. "Our mighty leader can’t even keep his own armor in place, much less command an army. How long before the Autobots exploit this weakness? How long before we are the laughingstock of Cybertron?"

The Decepticon ranks were fracturing.

His authority was crumbling. His soldiers’ faith was slipping. And worst of all—Starscream was right.

Megatron had hoped to reassert his dominance, to crush the Autobots so thoroughly that no bot would dare mention the… incident. But the moment he strode onto the battlefield, Jazz’s voice rang out.

"Hey, Sissy-Bot! Forget your battle panties today?"

Megatron’s fusion cannon discharged wildly in Jazz’s direction, but the saboteur had already ducked behind cover, his laughter echoing.

Megatron and Optimus Prime clashed once more, their servos locked in a brutal test of strength. Normally, they were perfectly matched—two titans straining against each other, neither giving ground. But this time… something was off.

Optimus didn’t speak. He didn’t need to.

There was just… a look. A flicker in those blue optics—Disappointment? Amusement? Pity?

Megatron’s paranoia screamed.

"He knows. They ALL know."

His grip faltered. His arms trembled. And for the first time in centuries…

Optimus Prime pushed him back. Megatron gave ground.

Megatron stumbled, his pedes skidding against the ruined ground. Around him, his forces were crumbling—not just under Autobot firepower, but under the weight of their own wavering faith.

"RETREAT!" Megatron bellowed, his voice cracking with desperation.

But the Decepticons didn’t question it. They fled, some with relief, some with sneers.

Optimus watched the fleeing Decepticons, baffled. "…That was premature."

Back on the Nemesis, Frenzy and Rumble, lurking in the shadows, couldn’t resist.

"Heard he’s got a whole collection," Frenzy snickered.

"Nah, just the one pair," Rumble shot back, grinning. "White hearts. Pink frills. Real delicate stuff."

And then… there was Ballpoint.

The tiny, ink-spewing traitor had made the mistake of giggling as Megatron passed.

Now, he would make the perfect example.

"YOU."

Ballpoint froze, his mirth evaporating instantly.

Megatron loomed over him, his shadow swallowing the insignificant little pen. "You think this is funny?"

Ballpoint stammered, "N-no, Lord Megatron, I—"

"OUT."

Chapter Text

The Decepticon war effort had become a joke.

Every battle was now a humiliating spectacle, each defeat more absurd than the last. Megatron, once the most feared warlord on Cybertron, was now a walking punchline—and the Autobots were more than happy to deliver the blows.

The battlefield was chaos—laser fire, explosions, the usual. Megatron stood tall, rallying his troops with a snarl.

"DECEPTICONS! CRUSH THEM!"

Unbeknownst to Megatron, Ballpoint—before his sudden and unfortunate ejection—had left one last act of petty revenge. In tiny, precise script, right above Megatron’s aft plating:

"KICK HERE ↓"

Brawn didn’t hesitate.

With a mighty battle cry, he charged forward and delivered a punt directly to Megatron’s aft.

THWACK!

The impact sent Megatron flying, arms flailing as he soared clear over the battlefield in a graceful, unintended arc.

"RRRRREEEEEAAAAATTTTT—!" Megatron’s drawn-out cry echoed as he crashed face-first into a pile of scrap metal.

A stunned silence fell.

Then, the Autobots erupted in laughter.

The Decepticons, once again, fled in disgrace.

The next battle went even worse.

Megatron, desperate to prove his might, charged headlong into combat—only to be blindsided by a well-placed shot from Ironhide. His systems flickered, his legs gave out, and before he could hit the ground

Soundwave, ever the loyal lieutenant, acted fast. He couldn’t let Megatron be captured. But in his haste, he chose the worst possible method of extraction.

Megatron’s optics burned with horror as he realized—he was being carried off the battlefield in Soundwave’s arms.

His head lolled back. His limbs dangled limply. The image of Megatron—utterly defeated, cradled like a damsel in distress—was not the look of a conqueror.

Decepticons froze in horror. Autobots howled with laughter.

"UNHAND ME, SOUNDWAVE!" Megatron bellowed, legs kicking uselessly.

Soundwave, ever emotionless, replied, "Negative. Leader’s safety: prioritized."

Ignoring Megatron’s furious protests, Soundwave carried him to safety—right in front of both armies.

Back on the Nemesis, Megatron seethed in his throne room, optics burning with barely contained rage. The ship was eerily quiet—too quiet.

Then, the doors slid open.

Starscream stood there, arms crossed, flanked by half the Decepticon high command.

"Megatron," he purred, smirking. "We’ve been discussing your recent… performance issues."

Megatron’s fusion cannon hummed to life. "You treacherous—"

"Ah-ah!" Starscream wagged a finger. "Before you do something rash, perhaps you should check your fuel levels."

Megatron’s optics flickered in panic. His HUD flashed a warning—fuel levels rapidly declining.

Then—his systems betrayed him.

A sudden, mortifying pressure built in his waste tank. Before he could react—

His systems spasmed. His waste tank voided itself involuntarily, a thin stream of tainted energon leaking down his leg.

Starscream’s smirk widened. "Oh dear. It seems leadership has… leaked out of you."

Megatron’s faceplates burned with shame as he desperately rushed to the washracks, leaving a trail of humiliation behind him.

Chapter Text

The battlefield had become a stage for Megatron’s disgrace. His once-mighty Decepticons were now a scattered, laughingstock of an army, their morale shattered by their leader’s endless string of humiliations.

Megatron, face-down in the dirt with his aft in the air, groaned as he pushed himself up. His armor was scuffed, his pride in tatters. Just as he regained his footing—

A jet of bright blue ink splattered directly into Megatron’s optics.

"I CAN’T SEE A THING!" Megatron bellowed, arms flailing as he stumbled blindly.

Ballpoint cackled. "He’s all yours, Optimus Prime!"

Optimus Prime balled his fist. "Thanks for the ASSIST."

Then—THOOM!

Optimus’ fist connected with Megatron’s faceplate with earth-shattering force, sending the Decepticon warlord hurtling backward.

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO—!" Megatron’s desperate cry trailed off as he crashed hard onto a heap of his own battered troops, who groaned beneath his weight.

Half-buried in the pile of his own defeated army, dazed and defeated, Megatron weakly raised a trembling finger.

"Decepticons… retreat… RETREAT!!!"

The remaining Decepticons didn’t need to be told twice. They fled, some limping, some dragging their wounded, all desperate to escape the sheer embarrassment of serving under a leader who had been reduced to a joke.

Back aboard the Nemesis, Megatron stormed through the halls. Frenzy and Rumble, lurking in the shadows, couldn’t contain their giggles.

"SHUT IT!" Megatron bellowed, his voice cracking with impotent fury.

The two cassettes fell silent—but only until Megatron turned away, unknowingly presenting his aft to the entire command deck.

There, scrawled in delicate cursive across Megatron’s aft plating, were the words:

"Property of Optimus Prime."

The tiny mechs clapped their hands over their mouths, shaking with silent laughter as Megatron stomped off, oblivious.

The Autobots had won. Not through sheer firepower, not through grand strategy—but because of Starscream’s petty revenge, Ballpoint’s tiny defiance, and Megatron’s utter, humiliating incompetence.

Starscream’s prank had set off a chain reaction of humiliation. Ballpoint had sealed the deal. And Megatron’s incompetence had made the Decepticons a laughingstock.

Megatron had not only lost the war—he had lost any chance of the Decepticons rising again. Once the most feared tyrant in the galaxy, he was now nothing more than a punchline, his authority shattered, his dignity obliterated.

Cybertron was free.

And Megatron?

He was a joke.

A failure.

A broken warlord who had been publicly emasculated in front of both armies, reduced to a punchline by his own subordinates.

The mighty had fallen.

And he would never live it down.