This is just here so that I can support the people here on tumblr! And for clarification, I am 18 and older. If I reblog something as such, it should be tagged appropriately
Xenoethnography was so brilliant, I loved reading it just as much as your writing!! Do you know any other good tf fics you would recommend?
DO I?!?!?! (YES)
Therrae is royalty as far as I’m concerned, I will never be over it
Trying to keep these in the general sort of theme here because otherwise I’m gonna end up recommending about half of AO3. These aren’t all platonic in nature, so be sure and check the tags to make sure it’s something you’re interested in!
Linking authors rather than specific fics because a lot have written multiple works that are great. This is just a small sampling tbh.
•ShySpider
•ASimpleArchivist
•Sroloc Elbisivni
•Authorticity
•General gt
•devilangelsol
•cassette(CrescentBlues)
•MlleMusketeer
•CallsignRelic
•blurrito
•This fic by MonsterParade because it’s Whirl
•The mecha AU started by Keferon
Also, not a x reader fic at all, but for my Rung enjoyers, this is a fantastic story in the style of The Bright Sessions podcast.
You’ve never been this sick before. You’ve had tonsillitis as a kid, typical flus and colds, a memorable bout or three with bronchitis and, of fucking course, came down with covid a couple times. None of those illnesses were like this. Something has gotten inside your head.
You make a quiet noise of complaint as what feels like cold metal surrounds you, painful against your hot skin, even through the blanket wrapped around you. You feel so cold, but you’re sweaty and dizzy. The world isn’t right. Everything’s too big and bright and moving wrong. Your head’s stuffed full of cotton and you’re not thinking right. And there’s a voice you don’t know, rich and deep, with a strange modulation to it you can’t place.
Sorry, little one, but your internal temperature is creeping past the danger zone for your species with no signs of stopping. Much higher and you’re risking processor damage. Don’t be afraid, we’re going to help you.
A machine sort of noise and rush of air, with a very quiet addition you don’t quite catch. I hope.
You are too sick to do much of anything except feel horribly confused, weak, and cold. You flinch away from the light, its brightness like ice picks into your head. There’s another voice snapping something about photosensitivity, dim the slagging lights. The brightness fades, but even in the dim twilight you don’t really want to open your eyes. Everything hurts. You just want to go home.
There’s a hushed argument, and then something very large moves over you. In your delirium it registers as if you’re swimming deep underwater, and a pod of whales has come to say hello.
‘S illegal. Getting me in trouble…caught. You’re mumbling to the whales. You’re not ever supposed to approach wildlife. Even if you always dreamed of meeting them.
That rumbling voice sounds so tired, so sad, that you feel bad for it.
Are they conscious? Are they trying to communicate with us?
A pause. The other voice speaks. There’s a sense of something big hovering directly over you. You can feel it somehow, even with your eyes closed, like feeling a current in the ocean.
No, I don’t think so. Their brain activity is alarming compared to baseline. But who in the Pit knows? Organic processors are a mess to begin with, let alone one infected with something this species has never encountered before.
A big blue whale-song, mournful. We never should have come here. What have we done, Ratchet?
The other, more gruff voice. Also sounding tired. We couldn’t have known that the debris brought a contagion planetside until it happened. Don’t panic just yet, Prime. So far, they’re the only one directly exposed. We got them in quarantine as soon as Nurse Darby realized something was wrong beyond the usual illnesses. It was just bad luck they happened to come across the contamination before we could clean it all up. There’s no reason to believe it can jump from human to human yet.
There’s a pause, and the first voice is even quieter.
Will they live?
There’s more motion. Beeping noises. You must be in a hospital. Yes, you remember that much. Going into the ER late one night after the Tylenol wouldn’t touch your fever, which had come on suddenly.
I can’t make promises, you know that. I don’t know much about this contagion. I didn’t even know it could behave this way in organics when it’s harmless to us.
He sounds frustrated.
But I was fine, the groggy thought drifts up from the depths of your mind. Everything is slow and dark and cold, a thousand fathoms deep.
I was fine, I went out doing my volunteer work. And then I got sick.
You don’t remember meeting your doctors. There might have been an ambulance…you think? Flashing lights, sirens. A woman’s worried voice, low, as she adjusted the IV in your arm. It’s what is making you feel so cold, you decide, and with all your frail strength begin trying to grab and wrench it out.
An immediate shuffle around you, and the grumpy whale reaches out and stops you. You push weakly at its rubbery flipper. It’s a whale, a humpback whale you think. You have about as much chance of moving it as you do lifting an ambulance.
Eh-eh-eh! None of that, now. You pull that out and neither of us will enjoy me trying to put it back in. Optimus, hand me the - yes, thank you.
You whimper softly and cry out as you find you can’t move. There’s things touching you - seaweed, wires, tangling you. Everything’s cold.
There. Sorry, human, but we can’t have you hurting yourself. …why am I even talking to them, they’re not going to remember any of this.
You huff and decide very hard to remember this just because you were told you wouldn’t. You forget a minute later what it was you were trying to remember, and start thrashing around against the seaweed. The beeping gets louder, more painful.
Can’t ever make anything easy, can you?
What are you doing?
I’m going to use the medication June left to sedate them.
But didn’t she say that could -
Yes, but - well, look at them!
Look at who? You wonder, as you fight off the tangling seaweed. You should find the surface. You need to breathe. You’re starting to feel scared. You can’t breathe.
The humpback whale is distressed. Somehow you can feel it, you know it. If they were a mech I could put them in stasis, keep them from suffering like this. This is cruel, Optimus. I - I don’t know.
He sounds defeated, angry. So tired. You reach out past the seaweed to try and pet him, because if the whales are going to insist on hanging out, you might as well earn that huge fine for touching the wildlife. Your sensitive palm makes contact with cold, hard skin, almost like it’s absorbed all the ice in the ocean. There’s a feeling of surprise, and silence, and then something crashes like a wave in the distance. There are big booming sounds. Those waves slamming into rocky, echoing caverns.
Watch them a moment. I’m going to consult with June. Do not let them tear that IV out. Comm me if their breathing gets worse.
The big blue whale is back, filling in the absence of the humpback. It catches your hand in its massive flipper, then brushes your wet hair out of your face. You had always heard whales were impossibly gentle despite their enormous size. You hadn’t quite imagined they could be this dexterous, though.
I’m sorry this happened to you. You did nothing wrong. You and so many other innocents, harmed because of us.
You squeeze his flipper, you think, but things are getting very hazy.
Please live. There is so much more to the universe that you deserve to get to see. I don’t know if you can hear me, but don’t give up.
His voice, even full of pain deep as the bottom of the sea, is comforting. You don’t want him to be so sad. But that’s what whalesong always is, isn’t it?
The humpback comes back. He’s doing something with the IV. You had no idea whales knew how to do that. You didn’t know they could be white and red, either. Don’t tell Ahab.
June says to increase the dosage and keep giving fluids. The tests she’s running show this formulation should drive out the infection, but…
But?
…but not without…impacts.
What kind of impacts? …Ratchet?
We can’t be sure. This is all highly experimental, Prime, we’re working off of practically nothing. June thinks it’s doing something to their central nervous system. We don’t know what, yet. It’s going to be a race to see what gives in first: the infection, or their vital systems.
A rumble, contemplative. At least they seem to have calmed. Their heart rate is down to almost normal.
For now. A pause. If they recover, we can’t keep this one. Fowler can find somewhere to stash them, I’m sure.
Silence.
Oh, for - Optimus! We’re not running a xeno-zoo!
Let us wait and see if that is even a conversation we will need to have, old friend.
Disgruntled feelings like poprocks in your mind.
…fine. Oh.
Oh?
Their fever has come down two-tenths of a point. That’s a start in the right direction. Let’s get that oxygen mask on and see if it helps. Of all the gasses to breathe, they had to pick one of the most flammable. Who even designed this fragging species? I want a word with them.
The whales are singing, and you decide it’s not so scary down here, after all. It reminds you of that song. You wheeze out a few words.
Beyond th’ sea, somewhere…waiting…
Hush. Rest, now. Big blue, biggest animal ever on earth. And for some reason, it cares about you.
You fall asleep under a blanket of seaweed, and eventually the ocean doesn’t feel so cold. You’re part of a pod, swimming slowly compared to them, but swimming all the same. And at least you’re not alone down in the dark. Maybe when you wake, you’ll get to see them breach the surface, leaping into the warmth of the sun. Maybe you’ll get to leap with them.
An au where the cybertronians aren’t the first extraterrestrial visitors. You can imagine it with any well known aliens, but I’m fixated on the idea of the autobots arriving on earth during A Quiet Place.
Like imagine some human survivors cautiously making their way to the ark crash site, seeing the dead death angels that attempted to attack the bots, and just breaking down crying because *the monsters can be killed*. Optimus would promptly adopt them.
Or maybe the death angels resist cybertronian weaponry the same way they do human’s, and now there’s another addition to the long list of things the bots need to worry about.
Idk I’ve just had this thought stuck in my brain and I needed to get it out
That is a KILLER premise. Seriously, one of my favorite tropes is that somebody came and fucked up Earth REAL bad and the arrival of the Cybertronians saves the day and gives the survivors another chance. Post-Apocalypse scenario where they come looking for energon and get a lot more than they expected.
Imagine getting saved from the monsters by this giant terrifying being who, you have no idea is friendly. Your life hasn’t had a lot of friendliness in it for a long while. And you’ve gotten used to running and hiding, perhaps haven’t even seen another human in so long. So when you realize you’re getting hunted by the huge metal being, you end up playing cat and mouse.
You have no idea what it wants with you. But you aren’t inclined to think it’s anything good! Because since when do you get a break?!
Meanwhile Optimus is pretty sure you’re the cutest and most pathetic thing he’s ever seen. And he needs your help to figure out what the hell happened here. (Maybe this is one planet where it’s not their fault, one planet where they can actually help.)
He is going to treat you like a feral kitten. You’re gonna get burrito’d and re-socialized against your will.
Your skin is too small for how big you feel inside. The world is too loud. Every horn honk from the traffic going by your workplace, every shuffle of paper from your coworker is like sandpaper against your senses. The phone rings. Your email inbox dings. The caffeine isn't helping. You berate yourself for even drinking it today, when you knew you were already overwhelmed. You've been trying so hard not to snap at anyone. They don't deserve your short temper because you're fitting at odd angles to the rest of the world, again.
It gets like this sometimes. You feel as if you could walk out of the door and into the nearest ocean, and never come back. Grow gills. Make some remora friends up close and personal. It would be quiet, or at least quieter. The soft blue wobbles of ever-changing filtered light would embrace you the way LEDs never will, in their everlasting and un-relatable constancy.
Maybe the slamming of a drawer is the last straw, or maybe you have had a Gävle goat's worth of last straws and are ready to light a match. I'm going for a walk, you say in desperation, grabbing your bag and hurrying out the door before anyone can stop you.
Setting foot outside helps a little. Having a broad, cloudy sky above you and fresh air in your lungs helps, too. It unravels a few of the thready stitches that feel like they're holding shut some vital part of you that yearns to spring into the sky.
You walk and walk until you reach the park. It's only a little one, with rundown swing sets without any seats and the kind of hot metal slides that scream "tetanus jab." There's never anyone here, and that's why it's the perfect place for you to have a little breakdown. So when you round the corner and see a car parked by the hoopless basketball court, you light the damn match. Tears of frustration well up. You furiously wipe them away and stride angrily past the car, which doesn't have any tags and no driver in sight. In the moment you hate that car like it owes you money, like it ruined your nonexistent wedding photos and called your cat ugly. You want to be alone. You are going to go, you don't know, punch a tree or something - !
Are you all right? Your aura looks dreadful.
You curse and trip on an uneven bit of sidewalk, stumbling right onto the hood of the fancy white and red sports car (which you despise). Up close it's almost too fancy, as if it wasn't ever meant to be touched by human hands. It's too crisp, too clean, like it just rolled off a factory floor on Coruscant or something. You feel like you're sullying it just by your already very wrong, cattycorner presence. This is not helping literally anything. There's also the small matter of it having just spoken to you.
You push yourself off in a hurry and stumble backwards, only to cry out when you trip over the same damn chunk of busted concrete in reverse this time. Your ankle gives way in a flare of pain. You wobble and flail around like a wacky waving inflatable tube man, and resign yourself to eating playground dirt. But you never hit the ground. There's a sound like a blender pretending to be an old dialup modem, and something impossibly strong, impossibly fast, just - impossible all around, catches you.
You look up into the face of a giant metal being, surrounded by a halo of grey clouds that make its white coloration look even more unnaturally perfect. Pareidolia, your mind ever-so-helpfully suggests. Humans have a way of seeing faces where faces aren't, a side effect of having survived as a species only through empathizing with the Other. Seeing the Other as One Of Us. Making you apologize to the coat rack you accidentally bumped into. Or something like that.
This ain't a damn coat rack, and it's not some trick of psychology or the light or even your over-caffeinated nerves. That's a person writ in metal, their face a novel of concern, their hand bigger than your body with room to spare. Cupping you, not closing around you. Supporting, not grasping.
The strength of it is like nothing you've ever experienced. It's not like another human lifting you with effort, with the strain of tendons and muscle. It's a little like floating in an ocean, but steadier and warmer. You're a feather drifting on the waves at best.
I frightened you, they say, sounding genuinely remorseful. They shift around a little to kneel. It's like being in an MRI scanner: powerful pieces of machinery twisting and moving around you, brought to life by a mysterious power that you can name but can't explain. You flinch as their noticeably five-fingered hand reaches down toward you. Is there a word for seeing human hands in things that aren't human hands?
Their blue eyes go a bit wider. Their hand stops, and they open the palm as if that makes them any less dangerous or threatening. The hand you're lying on does not move an inch. Easy, human. I only want to help. Please, let me make up for causing you more pain? You were suffering enough as it was.
You don't know what to make of any of this. Who are you? What are you?
You're lying nearly flat on your back with his fingers curled protectively around you, after he caught you like some fainting romance novel heroine. He could crush you and drop you to the ground like one of the countless cigarette butts that litter the park. But his earnest plea tells you he would never. You meet his eyes, searching for truth, and the moment becomes unbearably vulnerable. You get the feeling he sees a lot more of you, than you do of him. Considering how god damned over-sensitive and anxious you are about literally every aspect of life, that's quite a feat.
You look away first.
My designation is Drift. What I am is not important. May I help you up?
You nod, but still hold your breath as he gently tilts you upright and back onto your feet. You grit your teeth and gingerly test your ankle, only to hiss a breath and grab onto Drift's fingers for balance.
Drift, I'm getting your finish dirty. You're as white as an albino polar bear in a blizzard, and I'm - You hiccup a choked sob. Have you noticed you're a, a giant robot?
He smiles, showing sharp teeth. What does a robot need teeth for?
You're the color of a storm over a turbulent sea, he concludes for you. A bruised spark. Lightning looking for a cloud. I could feel you from a block away. That's unusual for an organic. But I can't say if it's unusual for humans in general. I've only been on your planet for a few - weeks, I believe you call them. I've never been so close to one of you. You're quite an experience, little one.
You take that in. You're an alien. And I'm a storm over a turbulent sea.
He nods seriously. I am a mech, yes, from another planet far away and very much unlike yours. I've never seen a place so full of life.
He tilts his head, that intense but gentle look returning. With your out-of-sorts-ness still on full overdrive, you can feel his attention like a pressure, but it doesn't hurt. Doesn't push.
Your aura is ...I could tell you were deeply distressed. And then I brought fear and pain into the mix. I ask your forgiveness. He actually bows his head before you.
This guy talks like - like freaking Aragorn or something. A knight of the round table. You'd ask if he's about to try and sell you essential oils from his Facebook page, but you don't want to hurt his feelings.
You're forgiven, Drift. And I was just having a bad day. Don't worry about me. You try and brush it off, put the wrong shape back into the right hole in the world that's supposed to be you. Could you help me over to the bench? I don't think my ankle's broken, just twinged. It happens. If I can rest it a while, it should be fine.
He does, letting you lean on him rather than trying to lift you. When you sit on the bench, he turns and sits beside you. He has to draw his knees up to squeeze under the tree branches, but he's sitting with you, looking out on the same world as you are, if from a different angle. You get the feeling he's done this on purpose.
Thank you. For allowing me to help, and for the gift of your presence. As I said, I haven't had much opportunity to speak to any of your kind. I've been watching, learning.
He does what seems for all the world like a deep, cleansing breath, looking out over the terribly unimpressive park. I understand I am a being far beyond your experience. But know that we are both equal in the ways that matter. You humans must have sparks as much as we Cybertronians do, or you wouldn't burn so brightly. Or be such a vast storm, he adds, glancing down at you.
I was thinking the same thing about you, you confess. You explain your thoughts about pareidolia, hold out your hands and compare them to his. He extends one in the same way you hold yours outstretched, and for a long, quiet moment, you both just exist together in a universe where two beings could be so different and so similar. You look up at the same time he looks down, and your smiles meet like the edges of the ocean and the sky.
So auras are a real thing, huh? You don't have any evidence of this, but he's a giant alien mech. If anyone's going to know about something like auras, it would be Drift.
Yes. Though I understand it's about as rare for your people to be able to see them, as it is for mine.
But you can see them.
I learned, he says, simply. He waits for your question. He already knows you're going to ask him. But it says something about him that he gives you space to say it. And it's that more than anything that gives you the courage to speak.
Could you teach me? If you're going to be on Earth a while?
He looks, in a word, delighted. Like he hadn't actually dared to hope...
You deeply regret ever hating him, even briefly, when he was just a car. You kind of love him right then and there. The Other, as One Of Us. Or maybe just Ours.
I would be honored to have you as my student. I believe you would be the first not of my own species I have ever known to learn the lessons of spectralism.
Something else occurs to you then and you sit up with a frown of concern of your own. Drift, do you have a place to go?
He's a little cagey at first. I have many places to go. ...But if you mean, do I have a base of operations, no. I'm somewhat stranded here. At the moment, my ship is out of communication range. I thought discretion the better part of valor, given I'm an uninvited visitor to your planet, so I've been moving around.
Drifting? you suggest, with a quirk of your mouth, a raised eyebrow. He chuckles. Now you're getting it. You're a fast learner.
You feel a need to offer something else in return for his kindness. I could, um. Give you a..car...wash? You probably don't need to treat him like an amphibian who will desiccate from your skin oils, but you still feel wrong about greasing him up.
He smiles, as if he understands the things you're trying to say no matter how badly you're saying them.
There is…one thing. If I may ask it of you. But it is hard to explain in words. I have to ask another way.
And then something in him reaches out to something in you. It's new, different, but not frightening. You clumsily reach back with hands that aren't hands, but are very, very human. It's alien but instinctive: to look for faces where faces aren't. And you feel.
You feel held. Cherished. Lifted up and wrapped in light. The few clumsy stitches cut loose, the lightning reaching for the cloud. You want to be closer, and so does he. His friends are so far away, and this planet is strange.
You open your arms in invitation. He scoops you up and holds you close to his chest. Two feathers on the waves of a universe that's so much bigger than either of you.
What color am I now? you murmur to him. You'd bet in the moment that he's a golden glow. You can't see it, yet, but you can feel it. He strokes down your back with the tip of a massive finger, contemplatively.
You're a storm over a turbulent sea, he says. With light coming through the clouds.
Heyo! I just recently discovered your blog and I’m very much enjoying it ❤️
I was just thinking, it seems pretty obvious that some ‘bots have cuteness aggression for humans, right? How can they resist something so small, cute and squishy?
But imagine if like… interacting with humans was *good* for Cybertronians? In the same way that interactions with cats and dogs have mental and physical health benefits for us? But maybe better.
Take it a step further with your First Contact AU, where Bots and Cons come to realize this - that having a human companion has very real physiological benefits. Now those Cybertronians with cuteness aggression have an even more legit reason to find themselves a squishy …
Hi!! I’m happy to hear you enjoy my blog, thank you so much :D
To answer your question, that’s such an adorable concept!!! I could totally see that being a thing! That makes the friendships between bots and humans so much more wholesome, to think that just being near each other benefits the both of you :)
In terms of the First Contact AU though… oh man I could imagine the first way most bots find out about humans being that they’re told they’re “good for your health” HAHAHA. Some poor, confused human is snatched up from their home by the hands of an overeager mech, swept up in the idea that having a human will make their life suddenly so much better. Plus, these little fleshies are cute too, what’s the harm in keeping one? Meanwhile the human is just completely dumbfounded as they’re whisked away to a completely alien world HAHAHA
Inspired by @zenxenophilia , Swindle would actually make deal with cooperative humans, maybe people with actually therapist license, to make a human hosts club, like those japanese cat cafe, but this is a human cafe.
Swindle provides a boarding house, food, and salary for the humans, while the mechs rain him for humans that don't scream and run upon lying those organic optics at them for the first time, and they even cuddle and play! Maybe a little waxing service for extra payment of course.
This idea took hold of me and I had to write a dumb little thing....
“You’re a what now??”
Your best friend was looking at you like you had grown a second head or something. Honestly you couldn’t blame her for being so incredulous. You had been doing your new job for a while now and you still couldn’t believe it sometimes. “I’m a therapy human,” you repeated, “For ‘Bots.”
“’Bots’?? As in those huge robot alien things??”
Sightings and encounters with the ‘Transformers’ as people were starting to call them were not uncommon. Although public opinion was mixed on whether the massive extraterrestrials were benign or not, almost everyone agreed they were terrifying. And dangerous due to their sheer size.
You had been more curious than afraid during your first encounter though.
“Uh. Yeh. It’s like a cat café, except the Bots come to hang out with us humans.”
She stared at you for several moments, trying to process what you were saying. She finally settled on a very loud ‘WHAT.’ that sounded more like an accusation than an actual question.
“It’s pretty cool actually,” you defended, “You’d be surprised how much fun it is to be picked up and carried around.”
“Yeah, but isn’t that dangerous? What if they drop you? What if they step on you??”
Admittedly you had been a little concerned about that at first, but experience had proven otherwise. “Nah, we stay up on a big platform and they’re pretty careful. Sometimes you do get one that likes to poke – I think they like how soft we are compared to them. But they’re not really trying to hurt us.”
Your bestie was still giving you a concerned look, but you could tell she was starting to become interested. “So… You just let a bunch of robots pick you up and -- poke you?” she pressed. “And you get paid for it? How does that even work?”
“Yea, kinda? There’s a Bot in charge of the whole thing, we call him Swindle. We can’t really understand him, but he seems to get us. He pays us. Some of the other therapy humans stay with him full time, and apparently, he’s pretty good to them?” You shrugged helplessly. It had become so normal for you that you had long ago stopped trying to make sense of it. It had become so routine for you that it was hard to explain, but you tried anyway. “There’s about a dozen of us. When it’s time to start work, Swindle takes us somewhere and we basically just hang out in this huge, robot-sized bar. And the Bots come in and we just… let them pick us up and whatever?”
“Most of them just seem curious. They show up one time, pick a couple of us up and poke us a few times, and then they leave. But there are a few regulars. Those guys are the fun ones! There’s this big blue guy – he’s my favorite – he likes to have me sit on his shoulder while he walks around. He always comes in with this other Bot, a really fancy-looking red one. I’ve gotten to where I can jump off Blue and Red will catch me. It’s great! I’m so close to being able to say their names.”
She wouldn’t have been your best friend if she wasn’t down for or at least used to your crazy ideas. Anyone else would have been calling the nearest mental hospital to have you checked in. But not your bestie. She was actually starting to smirk, amused by your enthusiasm. “What do you mean? What happens when you can say their names?”
“You get adopted!”
“WHAT.”
You weren’t bothered by the outburst this time. “Yeah! That’s the deal we make with Swinde. If you can say a ‘Bot’s name, you get to stay with them. We call it the ‘human distribution system’.”
“And you want that?”
“Wouldn’t you?? Think about it! You never have to work again; you never have to pay rent or bills. You get to live in space, with a giant fuck off robot alien that carries you around everywhere!” Now your volume was going up, but you couldn’t help it. You were so excited about the idea, imagining life with your favorite ‘Bots. “They take care of everything! And all you have to do is just… hang out with them!”
The look on your best friend’s was equal parts skeptical and thoughtful. After a few moments she wondered out loud, “… So like, how do you apply to be a therapy human?”
It's brilliant! lemme get some more out of my mind again
------------------------------
The little creature has been filling up Bumblebee's processor for a while now.
Swerve had been talking non-stop about them, and he had seen the (sparkwrenchingly) adorable visuals about them, from the shy ones that wave tiny, itty-bitty organic servos to the mech that was recording them, to the boldest ones that managed to jump from mech to mech, putting their war-trained system into a tamer use.
Sunstreaker said he doesn't care about 'the little slaggers' but Rewind has recordings of him going back and forth that bar with an un-Sunstreaker grin and super-detailed finish. Smokescreen has openly shown off the visuals of him engaging with some of the 'humans', and Ironhide is telling anyone who's willing to listen that he swears to Primus Prowl is collecting those visuals too. Everybody knows Swerve is trying to adopt one, but apparently, he's having a communication problem?
Not like Bee had been digging that deep into the mech's business, but when half of your friends (and some Cons!) are talking about it all the time, his scout coding urges him to investigate like a warning notification about low energon.
Swerve was beyond ecstatic when Bee expressed his intention to know more about these 'humans', and in no time, they landed on an organic planet he had never seen before.
"I thought it was a bar?" Bee asked as he tried to ignore all the new data of this alien world assaulting his sensors. Swerve had already transformed into his alt mode and Bee followed suit, processor still spinning from the 'birds', 'trees', 'oxygen', 'mineral', and every other bit.
"It's a bar on Earth," Swerve commed as they changed into their alt mode, with Swerve leading the way and Bee concentrating on focusing on the road, "The humans need to breath and organic matter to survive, so it's gonna be while until Swindle opens on Cybertron, I think."
Yes, Bumblebee knew Swindle is the owner of this business. He has heard hundreds of stories of the mech's deception and opportunistic nature, and so far, this 'human bar' in the tamest one he had ever heard. And soon, he'd be able to see what kind of dark seduction this mech is about to set loose in the world.
A few kliks later, Bee revised his hypothesis. This is so much, much worse.
Lying on the floor, Bumblebee, the most trusted Autobot scout, one of the fastest grounder Cybertron ever forged, is helpless and unable to fight back. He has to hold his own digit and servos as tiny organic servos pat his armor, stroke his helmet, while their ridiculously microscopic faces peer up at him from all directions.
Distinctly, he can hear Swerve repeating his designation to someone, probably one of the humans, cooing and trilling them.
One of the humans now sits next to his audial, knocking softly at his finials, cooing organic, alien noises. Bee cracked a plating as he prevented himself from sweeping one of the tiny aliens and simply buried his faceplate onto their soft bellies.
How can a mech be trusted with such a weapon?? Soon Swindle will be the wealthiest mech on Cybertron, and no one can stop him! If they attack, he'd just release the humans upon them, and both factions would be too busy chasing the humans to fight Swindle!
"You can do whatever you want, you know that, right?" Swerve called from somewhere behind him, "We paid for this. Just make sure to be gentle and no sudden movement."
His processor didn't register the last part, but Bee managed to get up and have one of the humans willingly step onto his open palm. Bee brought that one to his faceplate, wanting to see those organic features closer, and immediately melts as the humans stroke the inner seams of his helmet.
Those pamphlets were wrong; the humans would not be good for your health; they're going to hypnotize you and make your processor all gooey when they coo at you in their organic callings.
Heyo! I just recently discovered your blog and I’m very much enjoying it ❤️
I was just thinking, it seems pretty obvious that some ‘bots have cuteness aggression for humans, right? How can they resist something so small, cute and squishy?
But imagine if like… interacting with humans was *good* for Cybertronians? In the same way that interactions with cats and dogs have mental and physical health benefits for us? But maybe better.
Take it a step further with your First Contact AU, where Bots and Cons come to realize this - that having a human companion has very real physiological benefits. Now those Cybertronians with cuteness aggression have an even more legit reason to find themselves a squishy …
Hi!! I’m happy to hear you enjoy my blog, thank you so much :D
To answer your question, that’s such an adorable concept!!! I could totally see that being a thing! That makes the friendships between bots and humans so much more wholesome, to think that just being near each other benefits the both of you :)
In terms of the First Contact AU though… oh man I could imagine the first way most bots find out about humans being that they’re told they’re “good for your health” HAHAHA. Some poor, confused human is snatched up from their home by the hands of an overeager mech, swept up in the idea that having a human will make their life suddenly so much better. Plus, these little fleshies are cute too, what’s the harm in keeping one? Meanwhile the human is just completely dumbfounded as they’re whisked away to a completely alien world HAHAHA
Inspired by @zenxenophilia , Swindle would actually make deal with cooperative humans, maybe people with actually therapist license, to make a human hosts club, like those japanese cat cafe, but this is a human cafe.
Swindle provides a boarding house, food, and salary for the humans, while the mechs rain him for humans that don't scream and run upon lying those organic optics at them for the first time, and they even cuddle and play! Maybe a little waxing service for extra payment of course.
This idea took hold of me and I had to write a dumb little thing....
“You’re a what now??”
Your best friend was looking at you like you had grown a second head or something. Honestly you couldn’t blame her for being so incredulous. You had been doing your new job for a while now and you still couldn’t believe it sometimes. “I’m a therapy human,” you repeated, “For ‘Bots.”
“’Bots’?? As in those huge robot alien things??”
Sightings and encounters with the ‘Transformers’ as people were starting to call them were not uncommon. Although public opinion was mixed on whether the massive extraterrestrials were benign or not, almost everyone agreed they were terrifying. And dangerous due to their sheer size.
You had been more curious than afraid during your first encounter though.
“Uh. Yeh. It’s like a cat café, except the Bots come to hang out with us humans.”
She stared at you for several moments, trying to process what you were saying. She finally settled on a very loud ‘WHAT.’ that sounded more like an accusation than an actual question.
“It’s pretty cool actually,” you defended, “You’d be surprised how much fun it is to be picked up and carried around.”
“Yeah, but isn’t that dangerous? What if they drop you? What if they step on you??”
Admittedly you had been a little concerned about that at first, but experience had proven otherwise. “Nah, we stay up on a big platform and they’re pretty careful. Sometimes you do get one that likes to poke – I think they like how soft we are compared to them. But they’re not really trying to hurt us.”
Your bestie was still giving you a concerned look, but you could tell she was starting to become interested. “So… You just let a bunch of robots pick you up and -- poke you?” she pressed. “And you get paid for it? How does that even work?”
“Yea, kinda? There’s a Bot in charge of the whole thing, we call him Swindle. We can’t really understand him, but he seems to get us. He pays us. Some of the other therapy humans stay with him full time, and apparently, he’s pretty good to them?” You shrugged helplessly. It had become so normal for you that you had long ago stopped trying to make sense of it. It had become so routine for you that it was hard to explain, but you tried anyway. “There’s about a dozen of us. When it’s time to start work, Swindle takes us somewhere and we basically just hang out in this huge, robot-sized bar. And the Bots come in and we just… let them pick us up and whatever?”
“Most of them just seem curious. They show up one time, pick a couple of us up and poke us a few times, and then they leave. But there are a few regulars. Those guys are the fun ones! There’s this big blue guy – he’s my favorite – he likes to have me sit on his shoulder while he walks around. He always comes in with this other Bot, a really fancy-looking red one. I’ve gotten to where I can jump off Blue and Red will catch me. It’s great! I’m so close to being able to say their names.”
She wouldn’t have been your best friend if she wasn’t down for or at least used to your crazy ideas. Anyone else would have been calling the nearest mental hospital to have you checked in. But not your bestie. She was actually starting to smirk, amused by your enthusiasm. “What do you mean? What happens when you can say their names?”
“You get adopted!”
“WHAT.”
You weren’t bothered by the outburst this time. “Yeah! That’s the deal we make with Swinde. If you can say a ‘Bot’s name, you get to stay with them. We call it the ‘human distribution system’.”
“And you want that?”
“Wouldn’t you?? Think about it! You never have to work again; you never have to pay rent or bills. You get to live in space, with a giant fuck off robot alien that carries you around everywhere!” Now your volume was going up, but you couldn’t help it. You were so excited about the idea, imagining life with your favorite ‘Bots. “They take care of everything! And all you have to do is just… hang out with them!”
The look on your best friend’s was equal parts skeptical and thoughtful. After a few moments she wondered out loud, “… So like, how do you apply to be a therapy human?”
It's brilliant! lemme get some more out of my mind again
------------------------------
The little creature has been filling up Bumblebee's processor for a while now.
Swerve had been talking non-stop about them, and he had seen the (sparkwrenchingly) adorable visuals about them, from the shy ones that wave tiny, itty-bitty organic servos to the mech that was recording them, to the boldest ones that managed to jump from mech to mech, putting their war-trained system into a tamer use.
Sunstreaker said he doesn't care about 'the little slaggers' but Rewind has recordings of him going back and forth that bar with an un-Sunstreaker grin and super-detailed finish. Smokescreen has openly shown off the visuals of him engaging with some of the 'humans', and Ironhide is telling anyone who's willing to listen that he swears to Primus Prowl is collecting those visuals too. Everybody knows Swerve is trying to adopt one, but apparently, he's having a communication problem?
Not like Bee had been digging that deep into the mech's business, but when half of your friends (and some Cons!) are talking about it all the time, his scout coding urges him to investigate like a warning notification about low energon.
Swerve was beyond ecstatic when Bee expressed his intention to know more about these 'humans', and in no time, they landed on an organic planet he had never seen before.
"I thought it was a bar?" Bee asked as he tried to ignore all the new data of this alien world assaulting his sensors. Swerve had already transformed into his alt mode and Bee followed suit, processor still spinning from the 'birds', 'trees', 'oxygen', 'mineral', and every other bit.
"It's a bar on Earth," Swerve commed as they changed into their alt mode, with Swerve leading the way and Bee concentrating on focusing on the road, "The humans need to breath and organic matter to survive, so it's gonna be while until Swindle opens on Cybertron, I think."
Yes, Bumblebee knew Swindle is the owner of this business. He has heard hundreds of stories of the mech's deception and opportunistic nature, and so far, this 'human bar' in the tamest one he had ever heard. And soon, he'd be able to see what kind of dark seduction this mech is about to set loose in the world.
A few kliks later, Bee revised his hypothesis. This is so much, much worse.
Lying on the floor, Bumblebee, the most trusted Autobot scout, one of the fastest grounder Cybertron ever forged, is helpless and unable to fight back. He has to hold his own digit and servos as tiny organic servos pat his armor, stroke his helmet, while their ridiculously microscopic faces peer up at him from all directions.
Distinctly, he can hear Swerve repeating his designation to someone, probably one of the humans, cooing and trilling them.
One of the humans now sits next to his audial, knocking softly at his finials, cooing organic, alien noises. Bee cracked a plating as he prevented himself from sweeping one of the tiny aliens and simply buried his faceplate onto their soft bellies.
How can a mech be trusted with such a weapon?? Soon Swindle will be the wealthiest mech on Cybertron, and no one can stop him! If they attack, he'd just release the humans upon them, and both factions would be too busy chasing the humans to fight Swindle!
"You can do whatever you want, you know that, right?" Swerve called from somewhere behind him, "We paid for this. Just make sure to be gentle and no sudden movement."
His processor didn't register the last part, but Bee managed to get up and have one of the humans willingly step onto his open palm. Bee brought that one to his faceplate, wanting to see those organic features closer, and immediately melts as the humans stroke the inner seams of his helmet.
Those pamphlets were wrong; the humans would not be good for your health; they're going to hypnotize you and make your processor all gooey when they coo at you in their organic callings.
Mech: a lot of the animals have this thing called a tapetum lucidum. It’s a a layer of tissue in their organic optics that gives off that reflective glow when light hits it just right. Works as a retroreflector, helps ‘em see in the dark.
Mech 2: uh, yeah? We’ve all seen those four-legged things crossing the road out on patrol. Hound gets real upset when he finds one dead.
Mech: …have you noticed the humans don’t have one?
Mech 2: course I did! Humans can’t see for scrap in the dark, it was in Ratchet’s briefing. One of ‘em, anyway.
Mech: so humans can’t really see in the dark because they don’t have a tapetum lucidum
Mech: …but without a tapetum lucidum, they don’t have that optic glow to give away their position. Not only do they still roam around in the dark mostly blind, but they don’t want anyone knowing they’re there while they do it.
Mech 2: …huh
Mech: they evolved to be like this on a planet full of things that could eat them. It makes you wonder
Mech 2:
Mech: what kind of creature evolves to prioritize stealth in darkness, over being able to see? what kind of creature evolves the ability to detect and hunt organics in the dark based on their optic glow, while not possessing that glow, themselves?
Mech: a lot of the animals have this thing called a tapetum lucidum. It’s a a layer of tissue in their organic optics that gives off that reflective glow when light hits it just right. Works as a retroreflector, helps ‘em see in the dark.
Mech 2: uh, yeah? We’ve all seen those four-legged things crossing the road out on patrol. Hound gets real upset when he finds one dead.
Mech: …have you noticed the humans don’t have one?
Mech 2: course I did! Humans can’t see for scrap in the dark, it was in Ratchet’s briefing. One of ‘em, anyway.
Mech: so humans can’t really see in the dark because they don’t have a tapetum lucidum
Mech: …but without a tapetum lucidum, they don’t have that optic glow to give away their position. Not only do they still roam around in the dark mostly blind, but they don’t want anyone knowing they’re there while they do it.
Mech 2: …huh
Mech: they evolved to be like this on a planet full of things that could eat them. It makes you wonder
Mech 2:
Mech: what kind of creature evolves to prioritize stealth in darkness, over being able to see? what kind of creature evolves the ability to detect and hunt organics in the dark based on their optic glow, while not possessing that glow, themselves?
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