Constructicon Creators
Rated: T for now
Pairing: Grapplex??, mentions of ConstructiconsxOmega
Disclaimer: Hasbro still refuses to give them up.
Summary: Grapple's horrible day takes a turn for the strange when he's abducted from a battlefield by his creators, who are determined to find him a "real" mech.
This was a story I started last year for the kink meme. Then the bunny died and I sort of forgot about it. Now the thing's come back to life and is nibbling incessently. The first few parts are already on the old meme, I'm simply posting the revised versions here. Once they are all up then I'll post the new stuff.
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“Autobots, roll out!” Grapple sighed miserably, transforming along with the others. Once again, his masterpiece was in danger of being turned into nothing but rubble, as Megatron had decided that he wanted it. The Replicator, as Hoist had named it, was able to use a confined beam of radiation to covert grass into a very low grade of energon. It was no wonder the Deceptifreaks were after it. At this point though, the little crane could hardly bring himself to care. Megatron could destroy it, and he wouldn’t even flinch. He wanted nothing to do with anything that had involved Hoist, and that included their latest work of genius.
So caught up in his depressing thoughts he didn’t notice that they had arrived. Optimus and Megatron exchanged their usual greetings and insults, while the others took up battle stances, ready to fight. Grapple hung back, disinterested as the charade carried on. The battle began as it usually did, with the seekers taking pot shots at mechs, Soundwave’s little monsters causing havoc wherever they could, and... well, that was new.
The Constructicons had formed Devastator early, and were punting Cliffjumper around the battlefield like a human foot ball. Hoist, traitor that he was, immediately ran to protect his new lover from the towering menace. Watching his ex, a feeling stirred deep down in Grapple’s spark. It swelled up, overriding his depression at the betrayal, temporarily, at least. Anger. Anger at the Decepticons, at himself, and at Hoist. Well, couldn’t do anything about the second one for now, but damned if he was going to stand by and do nothing, now that he was filled with rage. Striding heedlessly towards the Replicator, he decided the best course of action would be to destroy it. The Decepticons wouldn’t get his masterpiece, and he could get rid of his last tie to his ex-lover. He ignored the niggling little voice in his head saying he could never destroy one of his own creations.
Pulling out his blaster, he took aim at the machine, but hesitated to pull the trigger. He...couldn’t...
‘No, I must! For the good of the Autobots!’ And for my peace of mind that horrid little voice added. Fortifying his resolve, he took aim once again, and fired. The device exploded, showering sparks and shrapnel down on those unfortunate enough to be close to the machine. Megatron’s fury rang out across the battlefield as he called for a retreat. Ignoring the disbelieving looks from his fellow Autobots, he retreated back behind the lines. Moment of vindication over, he felt depression creep over him once again. Not even the look on Hoist’s face could make him feel better, although the look of horror was rather funny. Until, that is, the shadow fell across him. Halting, he slowly turned, looking up into the face of the mech towering over him. Devastator’s face showed an uncharacteristic compassion, even as he lifted his fist.
“Goodnight, Sparklet.” And Grapple knew no more.
Grapple groaned as his systems rebooted. He came online slowly, trying to puzzle out what had happened. There had been a battle, he had destroyed his tower, and he could remember Hoist looking at him in fear. At the thought of Hoist, depression immediately settled in again. It was becoming a constant state for him. Well, more so than usual. Albeit, he had a right to it, he thought. After all, he had walked in on his ex-lover and the minibot going at it in his berth. And they hadn’t even felt remotely guilty about it. Hoist had casually brushed him off, saying that he had “meant to tell him” but “hadn’t gotten around to it”. What had happened to change his jovial, kind friend into the slagger he was now, Grapple didn’t know. Nor did he particularly care. He just wanted to curl up and hide.
Deciding to get out of the med bay as fast as possible, he onlined his optics, preparing to argue with Ratchet about whether or not he was ok to leave. Instead of the familiar orange of the Ark he was met with a deep purple color. Bolting upright, although his head throbbed in protest to the movement, he glanced around desperately. Obviously he was not home. Terror steadily growing, he could think of only one place he could possibly be: The Nemesis. How? Why? What had...oh. Right. Devastator. He looked around, taking in the fact that he appeared to be in someone’s private quarters. That scared him more than he thought was possible. Swinging his legs over the edge of the birth he stood and began to search for a way out. At least the room was empty. Trying to keep his thoughts semi-coherent, and not focused on his dire situations he reviewed the events of the day.
‘Let’s see, I walked in on my lover in bed with Cliffjumper, was sent into battle and ended up destroying my creation, was knocked out by Devastator, and kidnapped by Decepticons. Can my life get any worse?’ Ironically, at that moment the door slid open, revealing the Constructicon Scrapper. ‘Why yes, yes it can.’ The Constructicon foreman looked at him for a moment, optics softer than he thought a Decepticon’s could be.
“I am glad to see that you are awake, Sparklet. We did not mean to knock you out for such a long period of time. Please, come with me.” There was that name again.
‘Why do they keep calling me that?’
Grapple followed Scrapper warily. So far he had said nothing, leaving the crane on edge. He was trapped in the Decepticon base, unrestrained, with a mech who kept calling a youngling. Grapple was scared, and more than a little confused. Trying to distract himself (and look for a way out) he noticed that he was being led into what appeared to be a shared living space of some kind. There were five other doors, presumably leading off into the other members’ rooms, and an energon disperser was in the far corner. To his right there was a large door that likely led into the rest of the base.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Grapple jumped. He looked back at Scrapper, who vaguely gestured towards the various chairs spread out around the room. “We are just waiting the others to join us. It shouldn’t be too much longer. Would you like something to drink?” Wordlessly, Grapple shook his head. ‘What the slag is going on?’
They sat in silence for a few moments, with Scrapper going over blueprints and Grapple trying not to look interested. From what he could see the machine was a complex one, but... it didn’t matter. After destroying the Replicator, he didn’t think that he even deserved to build even a matchstick tower. After all, he had done it for selfish reasons. Grapple sighed. Everything came back to Hoist. He had been such a central part of the young mech’s life, older, kind and everything that Grapple had wanted in a partner. Before he could sink into his typical depressed state the main door slid open revealing Scavenger. The Constructicon flung himself across the room, tackling the stunned Autobot.
“Grapple! You’re awake! Are you ok? Well, of course you are or Scrapper wouldn’t have let you up! Oh, it’s so good to see you again!” The excited Decepticon probably would have continued, but Bonecrusher wrapped an arm around his gestalt mate and jerked him off of Grapple.
“Calm down Scavy, you’ll scar him for life.” Looking at Grapple he smirked and said, “Welcome home kid.”
“Home?” Grapple’s voice was faint.
“Did you not tell him, Scrapper?” Hook’s cultured voice spoke, a hint of impatience buried beneath the nonchalance. “No wonder the poor youngling is traumatized by this.” Scrapper shrugged. It crossed his mind to feel offended at being called a youngling, but he was too overwhelmed to really hold onto it.
“I thought it would be best to wait for you five to get off shift.”
“W-w-well, w-we should t-t-tell him now, be-fo-fore his processors cr-cr-crash. He’s lo-oking unsteady.” Indeed, Grapple looked as though he was about to fall out of his seat. They were treating him like, well, like one of them. Sure, he had worked with them once in the past, but that hardly meant that they thought of him as part of the team. He had thought that they’d used him. But, if he thought about it more closely, he realized that almost every time he created something, the Constructicons had shown up. He was rarely on the battlefield, but he was never seriously injured if Devastator was there. Sometimes he was knocked out due to what he thought was a lucky shot that knocked him out of harm’s way. Other times he was taken out of the fight early with minor, but incapacitating injuries, like torn rotor joints. A nagging suspicion began to grow in the back of his processor, but he ignored it. It couldn’t be true.
“Helloooo?” Longhaul’s rough voice cut into his reverie. Turning to his mates the dump truck said, “I think we broke him. I suppose that means that flat out telling him won’t do any harm now.”
“No! We will explain this to him rationally, lest we risk alienating him!” Hook’s voice was sharp.
“Um, explain what?” Having six pairs of eyes whip around to stare at you was unnerving, but Grapple didn’t flinch. He was sick and tired of everything and wanted answers. Gently, Scrapper asked,
“How much did Omega Supreme tell you?”
“Tell me about what? Was there something he should have? That would be difficult, because I’ve never actually spoken to him.” Brief flashes of outrage flashed across five faces, but Scrapper only said,
“That’s not surprising, given the circumstances. Tell me, Grapple, have you ever noticed that, while you are a construction vehicle, you bear Omega’s colours?” Grapple, having already been suspicious of this, did not take long to figure out the implication behind the statement. Without a word, he slipped from the chair, unconscious.
“Well, that went well,” Hook’s tone was dry. Looking at their creation, slumped over on the floor, Bonecrusher shrugged.
“Meh, could have been worse."
Chapter 2
Pairing: Grapplex??, mentions of ConstructiconsxOmega
Disclaimer: Hasbro still refuses to give them up.
Summary: Grapple's horrible day takes a turn for the strange when he's abducted from a battlefield by his creators, who are determined to find him a "real" mech.
This was a story I started last year for the kink meme. Then the bunny died and I sort of forgot about it. Now the thing's come back to life and is nibbling incessently. The first few parts are already on the old meme, I'm simply posting the revised versions here. Once they are all up then I'll post the new stuff.
----------
“Autobots, roll out!” Grapple sighed miserably, transforming along with the others. Once again, his masterpiece was in danger of being turned into nothing but rubble, as Megatron had decided that he wanted it. The Replicator, as Hoist had named it, was able to use a confined beam of radiation to covert grass into a very low grade of energon. It was no wonder the Deceptifreaks were after it. At this point though, the little crane could hardly bring himself to care. Megatron could destroy it, and he wouldn’t even flinch. He wanted nothing to do with anything that had involved Hoist, and that included their latest work of genius.
So caught up in his depressing thoughts he didn’t notice that they had arrived. Optimus and Megatron exchanged their usual greetings and insults, while the others took up battle stances, ready to fight. Grapple hung back, disinterested as the charade carried on. The battle began as it usually did, with the seekers taking pot shots at mechs, Soundwave’s little monsters causing havoc wherever they could, and... well, that was new.
The Constructicons had formed Devastator early, and were punting Cliffjumper around the battlefield like a human foot ball. Hoist, traitor that he was, immediately ran to protect his new lover from the towering menace. Watching his ex, a feeling stirred deep down in Grapple’s spark. It swelled up, overriding his depression at the betrayal, temporarily, at least. Anger. Anger at the Decepticons, at himself, and at Hoist. Well, couldn’t do anything about the second one for now, but damned if he was going to stand by and do nothing, now that he was filled with rage. Striding heedlessly towards the Replicator, he decided the best course of action would be to destroy it. The Decepticons wouldn’t get his masterpiece, and he could get rid of his last tie to his ex-lover. He ignored the niggling little voice in his head saying he could never destroy one of his own creations.
Pulling out his blaster, he took aim at the machine, but hesitated to pull the trigger. He...couldn’t...
‘No, I must! For the good of the Autobots!’ And for my peace of mind that horrid little voice added. Fortifying his resolve, he took aim once again, and fired. The device exploded, showering sparks and shrapnel down on those unfortunate enough to be close to the machine. Megatron’s fury rang out across the battlefield as he called for a retreat. Ignoring the disbelieving looks from his fellow Autobots, he retreated back behind the lines. Moment of vindication over, he felt depression creep over him once again. Not even the look on Hoist’s face could make him feel better, although the look of horror was rather funny. Until, that is, the shadow fell across him. Halting, he slowly turned, looking up into the face of the mech towering over him. Devastator’s face showed an uncharacteristic compassion, even as he lifted his fist.
“Goodnight, Sparklet.” And Grapple knew no more.
Grapple groaned as his systems rebooted. He came online slowly, trying to puzzle out what had happened. There had been a battle, he had destroyed his tower, and he could remember Hoist looking at him in fear. At the thought of Hoist, depression immediately settled in again. It was becoming a constant state for him. Well, more so than usual. Albeit, he had a right to it, he thought. After all, he had walked in on his ex-lover and the minibot going at it in his berth. And they hadn’t even felt remotely guilty about it. Hoist had casually brushed him off, saying that he had “meant to tell him” but “hadn’t gotten around to it”. What had happened to change his jovial, kind friend into the slagger he was now, Grapple didn’t know. Nor did he particularly care. He just wanted to curl up and hide.
Deciding to get out of the med bay as fast as possible, he onlined his optics, preparing to argue with Ratchet about whether or not he was ok to leave. Instead of the familiar orange of the Ark he was met with a deep purple color. Bolting upright, although his head throbbed in protest to the movement, he glanced around desperately. Obviously he was not home. Terror steadily growing, he could think of only one place he could possibly be: The Nemesis. How? Why? What had...oh. Right. Devastator. He looked around, taking in the fact that he appeared to be in someone’s private quarters. That scared him more than he thought was possible. Swinging his legs over the edge of the birth he stood and began to search for a way out. At least the room was empty. Trying to keep his thoughts semi-coherent, and not focused on his dire situations he reviewed the events of the day.
‘Let’s see, I walked in on my lover in bed with Cliffjumper, was sent into battle and ended up destroying my creation, was knocked out by Devastator, and kidnapped by Decepticons. Can my life get any worse?’ Ironically, at that moment the door slid open, revealing the Constructicon Scrapper. ‘Why yes, yes it can.’ The Constructicon foreman looked at him for a moment, optics softer than he thought a Decepticon’s could be.
“I am glad to see that you are awake, Sparklet. We did not mean to knock you out for such a long period of time. Please, come with me.” There was that name again.
‘Why do they keep calling me that?’
Grapple followed Scrapper warily. So far he had said nothing, leaving the crane on edge. He was trapped in the Decepticon base, unrestrained, with a mech who kept calling a youngling. Grapple was scared, and more than a little confused. Trying to distract himself (and look for a way out) he noticed that he was being led into what appeared to be a shared living space of some kind. There were five other doors, presumably leading off into the other members’ rooms, and an energon disperser was in the far corner. To his right there was a large door that likely led into the rest of the base.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.” Grapple jumped. He looked back at Scrapper, who vaguely gestured towards the various chairs spread out around the room. “We are just waiting the others to join us. It shouldn’t be too much longer. Would you like something to drink?” Wordlessly, Grapple shook his head. ‘What the slag is going on?’
They sat in silence for a few moments, with Scrapper going over blueprints and Grapple trying not to look interested. From what he could see the machine was a complex one, but... it didn’t matter. After destroying the Replicator, he didn’t think that he even deserved to build even a matchstick tower. After all, he had done it for selfish reasons. Grapple sighed. Everything came back to Hoist. He had been such a central part of the young mech’s life, older, kind and everything that Grapple had wanted in a partner. Before he could sink into his typical depressed state the main door slid open revealing Scavenger. The Constructicon flung himself across the room, tackling the stunned Autobot.
“Grapple! You’re awake! Are you ok? Well, of course you are or Scrapper wouldn’t have let you up! Oh, it’s so good to see you again!” The excited Decepticon probably would have continued, but Bonecrusher wrapped an arm around his gestalt mate and jerked him off of Grapple.
“Calm down Scavy, you’ll scar him for life.” Looking at Grapple he smirked and said, “Welcome home kid.”
“Home?” Grapple’s voice was faint.
“Did you not tell him, Scrapper?” Hook’s cultured voice spoke, a hint of impatience buried beneath the nonchalance. “No wonder the poor youngling is traumatized by this.” Scrapper shrugged. It crossed his mind to feel offended at being called a youngling, but he was too overwhelmed to really hold onto it.
“I thought it would be best to wait for you five to get off shift.”
“W-w-well, w-we should t-t-tell him now, be-fo-fore his processors cr-cr-crash. He’s lo-oking unsteady.” Indeed, Grapple looked as though he was about to fall out of his seat. They were treating him like, well, like one of them. Sure, he had worked with them once in the past, but that hardly meant that they thought of him as part of the team. He had thought that they’d used him. But, if he thought about it more closely, he realized that almost every time he created something, the Constructicons had shown up. He was rarely on the battlefield, but he was never seriously injured if Devastator was there. Sometimes he was knocked out due to what he thought was a lucky shot that knocked him out of harm’s way. Other times he was taken out of the fight early with minor, but incapacitating injuries, like torn rotor joints. A nagging suspicion began to grow in the back of his processor, but he ignored it. It couldn’t be true.
“Helloooo?” Longhaul’s rough voice cut into his reverie. Turning to his mates the dump truck said, “I think we broke him. I suppose that means that flat out telling him won’t do any harm now.”
“No! We will explain this to him rationally, lest we risk alienating him!” Hook’s voice was sharp.
“Um, explain what?” Having six pairs of eyes whip around to stare at you was unnerving, but Grapple didn’t flinch. He was sick and tired of everything and wanted answers. Gently, Scrapper asked,
“How much did Omega Supreme tell you?”
“Tell me about what? Was there something he should have? That would be difficult, because I’ve never actually spoken to him.” Brief flashes of outrage flashed across five faces, but Scrapper only said,
“That’s not surprising, given the circumstances. Tell me, Grapple, have you ever noticed that, while you are a construction vehicle, you bear Omega’s colours?” Grapple, having already been suspicious of this, did not take long to figure out the implication behind the statement. Without a word, he slipped from the chair, unconscious.
“Well, that went well,” Hook’s tone was dry. Looking at their creation, slumped over on the floor, Bonecrusher shrugged.
“Meh, could have been worse."
Chapter 2