Chapter Text
Scrapper hummed as he went over his design at his drafting table. It was a rough draft of Megatron's latest super weapon to use against the Autobots. This time, he'd commissioned something involving a giant tower with various floors Autobots had to traverse that would turn them into scrap. At the base, he added a version of a human carwash, only this one would add blades to the brushes.
At least this time it wasn't as bad as the Giant Purple Griffin, he mused as he added more floors. That was an unholy creation born out of an overcharged engex binge that will never be repeated. What kind of simple airship looks like a creature from some Earth legend or one of those human holiday parade floats?!
To make matters worse, Megatron, in all his drunken wisdom, insisted it be bright Decepticon purple. Hardly conspicuous. Even so, Scrapper was never lazy in his work and built it to the exact specification, adding fuel efficiency, head missiles, and destrous tendrils to snag prey for its main. Abomination it may be, but Unicron be damned if anything he made came out subpar with shoddy workmanship. After that plan inevitably failed, it was immediately scrapped and tossed down the pit of 'never again' designs.
He can't believe he'd made that abomination. It was an insult to his pride as an architect! Even Blitzwing's giant maze that got them all stuck trying to figure a way out was a better design than that disappointment. It had trashed more Autobots than that thing ever did. All in all, one of their better works despite Scrapper not knowing what the ever-loving Pit a pigskin was or what throwing Earth swine had to do with zone defense. But, he'd never admit this to that bolts-for-brains Triple Changer that thought he could cut them out of their business deal. Scrapper, however, wondered about how he could further improve on that particular design.
He'd probably need to rework it to account for aerial interference, and of course, he would have to implement a mapping system to keep his Gesalt from getting lost in it again. But that improvement project was on the back burner for now, as it was placed in their best builds pile right next to the Solar Energy Converter they made with those Autobot builders and the Alloygator they made from Optimus Prime's limbs.
Scrapper chuckled; he still got a real kick out of that one! It wasn't every day you got premium building materials in the form of a disassembled Prime, after all! That one was one of their better Prime-inspired builds, especially compared to that creepy clone Lord Megatron had stashed away.
But he had to return his focus to the current project. He was busy sketching up all the features of this new Mall of Doom, as Lord Megatron dubbed it. He furiously sketched over the blueprints. It was a multi-tiered structure meant to snag various Autobots and drag them through various floors. Each floor had its own 'gimmick,' if you will. Scrapper was never one to shy away from taking creative liberties. One of which was modeled after a human car wash. But rather than solvent, a sticky sealant would spray on the trapped bots, rendering them immobile and unable to escape, not unlike a certain Autobot inventor's machine they stole previously.
It had irked Scrapper and his entire Gestalt when their newest proposed super weapon plans were passed over by Megatron in favor of stealing an Autobot's work. But no matter. 'The Constructicons would make a far superior version!' Scrapper determined as he added the final touches. They would not be one-upped by an Autobot of all mecha, especially not that walking Code Violation Wheeljack!
Though Scrapper had to admit not all Autobots were annoying. He certainly wasn't. The beautiful and ruthless Autobot Second-in-Command had a brilliantly beautiful processor to match. Now, typically, he wouldn't give an autobot any second thought, but there was just something about the calculating second that drew him in. His brilliant processor, for one thing, could map out a battle strategy in seconds, taking care to account for every variable like a perfectly optimized blueprint.
He wasn't sure when this admiration started, only that it had occurred around the time Megatron managed to brainwash the Autobots as their evil plan for the week. While under Decepticon control, Prowl's battle computer was put to excellent use, coordinating the Autobots with a precision Scrapper admired. But of course, like most of their plans since coming to this rock, the plan didn't last.
The Autobots ended up being freed from the mind control by the end of the day as the plan inevitably went sideways. But it was nice while it lasted. Scrapper and his Gestalt had gotten a nice, long optic full of that eye candy. Even if he was an enemy Autobot, they could appreciate a smoking hot frame when they saw it.
Things only grew from there when they stayed on the Ark that one time the Autobots took control of Devastator. Now, most would assume that the Constructicons didn't remember their time with the Autobots, but they remembered it vividly. Optimus had surprisingly been nothing but accommodating. He had shown them to a temporary room large enough for their frames and where their skills could be put to best use. He actually let them indulge in their non-building skills! Scrapper had to admit, as far as Primes went, he wasn't so bad. He could see why Megatron was obsessed with him.
As the head architect and inventor, Scrapper was paired with the Autobot scientists when they weren't Devastator or helping with building projects, namely Wheeljack. He had to go over blueprints with that crackpot and had to explain, in simple Wheeljack terms, why adding this piece or removing this one would cause an explosion. Scrapper hated cutting corners, and Wheeljack was the king of them! But occasionally, he'd be called in by Prowl for tactical consultation regarding sabotaging Megatron's future plans, of which they had the blueprints for. Now that was something Scrapper hadn't complained about.
He relished any time to get away from that kooky inventor. Seriously, the mech was crazier than Shockwave on some days! But the consult also meant he'd be close to the object of the Gestalt's growing affection. He could only watch in wonder as Prowl simulated simulation, running countless battles in his head as he tried to incorporate Devastator and the knowledge he'd gained from Scrapper about holes in Megatron's defenses. The Praxian was ruthless in his efficiency in a way Scrapper could only admire. He was absolutely brilliant! This caused Scrapper to want to learn everything about him. Everything that made that voluptuous Praxian frame and intelligent mind tick.
Oh, how he had wanted to bathe in that brilliancy for himself. The bond hummed in agreement. Hook had been on medbay duty and had to help their terrifying CMO Ratchet the Hatchet wrangle the SIC in for his check-ups. In that time, he'd mapped every seam and crevice of that beautiful frame. Hook appreciated fine-tuned attention to detail. He had quickly memorized the Praxian's tech specs and condition. Every part was perfect except for one thing. Hook had lamented how the Praxian's self-maintenance was atrocious. Oh, how he wanted to scour every inch of that pretty frame with his maintenance tools, clearing gristle out of every crevice and polishing and pampering his beautiful black and white frame till it shone.
That was also when Mixmaster learned about the Praxian's more workaholic tendencies. Usually, Scrapper could appreciate a good work ethic, and he certainly appreciated Prowl's, but the Gestalt was also dismayed at how poorly their pretty Praxian Autobot attended to his other needs. He'd skip meals until the Autobot TIC and Spymaster Jazz forced him to refuel, as he'd learned from that talkative sniper their Prowl was so fond of. Scrapper had been glad that at least someone was there to take care of the Dastun if they couldn't.
Apparently, Prowl's habit of skipping breaks and fuelings was nothing new, so Jazz had placed himself on Prowl duty as his Amica. Still, this habit should never have started in the first place! Mixmaster wanted to stuff that pretty frame full with his own creations until Prowl's fuel levels never went below 80%. He'd make sure their Prowl would never go without any more meals again if they had their way. His sleep schedule would need to be fixed, too, as Prowl was notorious for pulling all-nighters in his office. If they had the chance, they would cater to his every need and want. They shower him in luxury and prove they could provide for him for the rest of his life.
'Like giving him shiny things!' Scavenger eagerly exclaimed. He had chatted with the youngest Praxian as he scouted with the others and found out how much Praxians loved crystals and soft things. He squeezed every bit of information about Praxian culture from the motormouth, especially their courting customs involving crystals and the Praxian habit of nesting. He'd find only the best gifts to present to him; their Prowl deserved no less. They may not have been genuine Praxian crystals growing on Earth, but the best jewels Earth could offer would be the next best thing! Especially those 'Crown Jewels,' those uppity humans in the guady clothes seemed to love so much. Only the best for 'Bae,' as the Earth creatures say nowadays. Long Haul had picked up quite a hit of Earth lingo from his shows, and it had infected the Gestalt like a scraplet swarm.
All the Decepticons had picked up some Earth slang to use during their long decades here on, even if no self-respecting Con will admit it. The dump truck had gotten quite hooked on Earth media lately, specifically the romance genre. Scrapper found them a tad too predictable personally, but was glad the truck had found a hobby to keep him from complaining about being the Decepticon's go-to material transporter, and admittedly, they did have some good ideas.
Long Haul's thoughts in the bond drifted to a fantasy involving them carrying Prowl off princess-style like that one movie about the Princess and those seven short humans called Dwarves that resembled minicons. Prowl was decked out in an Earth fabric called a wedding dress, just like the femme from that one with the giant gourd. If they had their way, they'd ride off into the sunset with "Just Bonded' hanging from their rear bumpers. The whole Gestalt sighed and melted like liquid metal in the bond, infatuated by the pretty picture.
Prowl would look just stunning in that so-called wedding dress. Maybe they'd add a few Praxian crystal embellishments here and there on it and craft a wire headpiece to highlight his chevron. He'd wear it on their conjunxing day, the best gift they could ever receive. It'd be an absolute privilege to unwrap him. The Praxian's lovely frame only added to his perfection; every plate and transformation seam down to the last minute detail was made and maintained to perfection from that bright red chevron, to that ample bumper, to those plump thighs and fluttering door wings. Bonecrusher couldn't help staring whenever he'd start a brawl with those frontliners just to get scolded by him. The first time that happened wasn't on purpose, but the times after? Well, let's just say the Gestalt seethed with jealousy over the show Bonecrusher had been treated to. Prowl was so cute when he was angry! Bonecrusher could get yelled at by him all day. The bond rumbled with Bonecrusher's revs.
But in the end, they'd gone back to the Nemesis, but not without a new sense of appreciation for Praxian workmanship. Every encounter after they'd sneak peeks of the Praxian when he was needed on the field instead of the command post. So close but just a nanometer out of reach. They couldn't do much from afar to distance themselves from him, but they did their best. Bonecrusher and Long Haul had started to pull their punches a bit around him. Scavenger would leave little trinkets behind for Prowl as gifts when they retreated. Hook would complement his perfect form when they met in combat.
Mixmaster would giggle and try to tease at his doorwings when he was able to get close enough, much to the rest of the Gestalt's jealousy. He received a swift kick in retaliation from an alarmed Praxian right after, but it had been so worth it. Whenever they'd build a new weapon, Scrapper would wax poetic and send subtle flirtations when they clashed, implying how strong they could be on the same side. Oh, he knew the mech would never go for it. Prowl was too smart for this faction. But hey, a mech could dream, couldn't he? So they continued to admire from afar when they could during each magical close encounter with the Autobots.
This made Scrapper recall the time he'd been part of the throne he built for himself during the Triple Changer's failed coup. He cursed; he should have paid more attention back then! But past Scrapper had no idea of the beauty in that crushed frame as he'd welded the defeated Autobots to form his throne and soak in victory for all of twenty minutes before they were rescued by that flying red showboat Powerglide. If he could go back, Present Scrapper would smack Past Scrapper and remake the throne. Only instead, a certain tactician would be in his arms on his lap this time, and not acting as the back of it. The beautiful Praxian was meant to be treated like the Queen he was.
The Gestalt stirred at this, and Long Haul supplied them with yet another fantasy. They'd whisk off their potential mate and do just that once the war was over. Their Prowl, chassis rounded with their sparkling, would rest on a nest of only the softest material in the safety of the Gestalt's new home. The bond vibrated with sheer lust and want. He'd be such a perfect carrier. Just look at how well he'd raised that talkative sniper! Of course, it'd remain a fantasy so long as the war continued. But once they won, they'd get to work on wooing their Praxian beau.
I mean, sure, he'd probably be a High-Profile prisoner of war for being Autobot SIC, but Scrapper was sure that once Megatron had the Prime, he wouldn't care about what happened to the rest of the Autobots. Perhaps they'd take him on a date to Crystal City once they'd rebuilt it. Alas, for now, that would remain a mere fantasy. So they made do with smuggled pictures from Swindle that he'd paid the Reflector trio and Soundwave's little menaces to capture when they infiltrated the Ark. Seriously, why those bots still hadn't installed a door yet was beyond Scrapper. But he could hardly complain when he got pictures of Prowl's bounteous bumper.
The con-mech had made a mint running an underground exchange ring of candid pictures of Autobots. A mech could get a picture of any bot they wanted for a price. It was quite popular too. Deadlock of all people was one of his best customers. The hardened assassin was purchasing every new image capture he could get of that terrifying CMO. Scrapper wasn't sure what that mech saw in the infamous Doctor of Doom and his flying wrenches, but hey, you do you, mech. Starscream even still frequented for captures of that shuttle traitor, though he forever denied it. Pits, rumor had it that even Megatron himself was a frequent customer. Not that anyone could confirm that without risk of getting blasted in the face, though.
They'd even shared dreams of the little tactician. Like this one dream they all had after the last truce attempt involving them taking Prowl on a candlelit date and romancing him before making love all night. Scrapper wistfully sighed. Too bad that had all been just a high-grade-induced hallucination from one of those binges when Swindle broke out the engex from the illegal engex stills Megatron didn't know he had. Scrapper still had no clue how he'd manage to bribe Soundwave into keeping quiet, especially after a drunk Skywarp had teleported himself into the walls between the washracks and the Command Deck.
Never mind the fact that they all woke up with nothing but sore processors and regret the following morning. The sad and cold reality of waking up short one warm and cute dastun curled up in the middle of them with an engine contentedly purring like a sated turbo kitten was more painful than the resulting hangover and soreness. It had felt so real, from his cute moans to his door wings fluttering in the tangle of limbs and the phantom warmth of his spark. They wanted more than anything to make that dream a reality.
But Scrapper needed to get his mind back on track and out of the gutter. So he begrudgingly shook his head out of the mist of Prowl-related thoughts and looked back over his completed design draft. He added a few more touches to the top floor, making it nice and spacious for a, nes-uh one of those human rides with spinning equinids. He kept working until he was a few drafts in and had optimized the design, then got up to consult Hook and Mixmaster about the material needed for the sticky sealant on the 30th floor.
Scrapper had almost forgotten the little Prowl doodle he'd absent-mindedly drawn in the margins. It was a doodle of Prowl in an originally designed wedding dress. His eyes widened, staring at the doodle with awe before he hastily ripped that part of the blueprints out and subspaced it for later. It was almost time for them to devastate the enemy... 'and hopefully catch a glimpse of those fluttering doorwings again,' a voice muttered through the bond, though he didn't know whose.