Stay Tuned, Sinners!

• Hissing as he circles Bombshell, Shrapnel hunches slightly as his plating flares in warning. Wanting to tear into the other mech. Make him admit that he knows you’re not a threat. Because he doesn’t understand any of this. Insecticons aren’t meant for this. To socialize outside the hive and make friends with food. And you’re other. Not one of them, so you have to be food. Except he doesn’t like that thought anymore and it confuses him. Makes him angry. “Not one of us, us,” he snarls, lashing out. Settling the argument the only way he knows. With force.

• “They’re ours,” Bombshell hisses as he slams into Shrapnel and the two go rolling. Circling and chirping, Kickback’s clawed servos flex with the excitement and need to get in on the fight even though he knows he’ll end up taking the brunt of it if he does. Watching as they bite and tear at each other to fill the air with the sweet tang of energon, he considers Bombshell’s claim. That you’re theirs even though you’re not one of them. Not food. Nervously swiping his claws against an antenna as Bombshell’s mask retracts to sink his denta into Shrapnel’s side, the other mech claws free, hissing.

• Energon dripping down his chin onto his chassis, Bombshell watches Shrapnel grimace as he touches his side. “They’re ours, ours,” Shrapnel finally mutters, tone sullen with defeat. Licking energon off his servos, Bombshell rumbles softly. Understands Shrapnel’s frustration, though. If you’re not food, what are you? Soft and warm. Helpless. Where do you fit in the hive hierarchy? Growling, his battle mask clicks back into place. Barely pays attention to the other Cybertronians, but he’s heard them talking about conjunxes. About human conjunxes. And you’ve been courting them as foolish as it is.

• Startling awake, for a moment you have no idea what woke you up but then you hear the tapping again. Sliding out of bed, you stare at the shadowy shapes moving outside your balcony. Skin crawling, you ease closer and relax when you realize it’s your mechs in their giant, bug altmodes. Just chilling on the side of the building, crawling around. What are they doing? And then one of them chirps before all three start making a sibilant, creaking cacophony that has your skin crawling because it’s like cicadas screaming dialed up to one hundred. Shoulders hunching as you stare at their shapes moving around on the glass, claws tapping, you back up toward your bed as you hear your neighbor screaming profanity.

• Looking up at a soft growl, Bombshell is striding toward you, the other two following. Maybe they don’t like your new coveralls? You weren’t sure if they’d find them cute or a bit insulting, but you’re guessing it’s the latter. “Hi,” you say, hand lifting to wave and they’re circling you, rumbling. ‘Like a soft Insecticon,’ Kickback croons, reaching to touch one of the antenna on your hood. “Is it okay?” You ask, unable to tell what he thinks from his tone. And Shrapnel is plucking at your sleeve, venting on a growl.

• “No claws or fangs, still,” Shrapnel sneers, carefully hooking a servo under your arm to lift it before reaching for your chin and you back up a step, frowning slightly. “Not much of an Insecticon, Insecticon,” he adds, head tilting as he crouches slightly. Those are their colors, though. Like you’re demanding to be included, trying to claim a place in their hive. ‘Still ours, though,’ Bombshell murmurs, a servo brushing your arm to make you turn his way.

• “I can change if it bothers you,” you’re saying and Kickback chirps, spinning you his way as his wings lift. ‘Ours?’ He repeats, bemused as he reaches to hook a servo in the neck of your covering and tug you closer and your smile is uncertain. Hesitant. ‘Why would you want to change?’ He asks, brushing a servo against your fake antenna. You’re no true Insecticon. Not even close, but he likes how you look dressed like that. Like you’re theirs. Like you’re not ashamed to be associated with Insecticons.

• Tugging Shrapnel along in your wake, you can hear him softly hissing. But he’s not snatching his hand back. Letting you show him and the others around. Maybe he secretly likes being included? You’ve noticed the other aliens pretty much avoid your assigned mechs like the plague, but you can’t figure out why. Unless it’s the smell? They don’t stink as bad now that they’re grudgingly letting you wash them, though. Maybe it’s the weird noises they make then. Or the prickly tempers.

• Rumbling a low warning when Shrapnel mimes opening his jaws wide and leaning down to bite your head off, Bombshell shakes his head and his brother growls, head tipping dramatically up toward the sky. You’re not food. Isn’t exactly sure what you are, but he understands the urge. It’s not like he hasn’t fantasized about devouring you, how you’d taste, the sounds you’d make as you struggled and eventually stilled. And this isn’t something he entirely understands. But if they eat you, he’ll never see you smile again, never hear you laugh. He’ll get a meal and lose something more.

• Chirping indignantly when Bombshell cuffs him for stealing human food, Kickback’s still hungry. Always hungry. Eyeing you, he clears his vents. There’s not much to a human, barely a mouthful, but it’s still tastier than these alien plants. Except as soon as he thinks that, something uncomfortably squirms through him. Hunting prey is one thing, but you’re another thing entirely. A new thing. Not an insecticon. Not part of the hive, but not really other, either. Not when you leave your scent clinging to them and their scent lingers on you after you wash them.

• Servos flexing when you abruptly let go of his servo, Shrapnel has to resist the urge to hook a claw in your coverings and tug you back to him. Missing that soft, trusting hand hanging onto him as irrational as it is. “I ordered some new wax I think you guys might like. I think it’s cherry scented,” you’re saying as you look up at him. “Want to try it tomorrow?” You ask, neck craning as he steps closer to loom over you. ‘Tomorrow, little snack, snack,’ he growls, a clawed servo reaching, the side of his servo brushing under your chin against your soft throat before he steps back.

Previous

• Watching you lean an arm against the top of the container to rest your cheek on, you’re smiling indulgently down at them as Bombshell clears his vents. And you’d provided a feast for them. Isn’t sure what to make of you. Your attempts to court them, your lack of survival instincts, or that you’re taking care of them. Meeting your eyes, he waits for your demands, because nothing is ever truly free. You’d fed them, but you’ll want something in exchange. “What is it you want?” He growls, aware that his kind are only catered to when they’re useful.

• Looking up as he licks his clawed servos clean, Shrapnel glances between you and Bombshell. Before kicking Kickback awake to make the other Insecticon hiss, wings lifting aggressively. “Right now? To give you guys a bath. You’re kind of… messy,” you say, nose wrinkling and you’d hesitated before landing on messy to make him wonder what you’d wanted to say instead. Disgusting? It’s not like he hasn’t been called that before. ‘Unnecessary, unnecessary,’ he growls, glossa sliding against his palm to make you shudder. As lovely as your hands feel on him, you want to wash them with sweet smelling soaps far more often than is probably healthy.

• Muddled, Kickback’s not sure he’s ever been this close to actually being full before. Hunger just a normal part of his existence. Chirping as he slides into Bombshell when the container tips, Bombshell shoves him into Shrapnel. Making him remember the thing they’re in had wheels as you start rolling it. “I have this cherry blossom bubble bath at the dorm and you guys are going to love it,” you say as he braces his palms against the wall of the container, crouching slightly. Full and uninterested in a bath. Wants to recharge. Preferably in the sun.

• Hurrying as Kickback tenses, wings flicking, you’re tempted to accidentally jostle the bin. Make him lose his balance before he can try to jump out. Because you really don’t want to touch any of them after they’ve been dumpster diving in food waste. Can’t make yourself do it, though and you startle when he launches himself out of the bin and you hear Shrapnel chewing a hole in the side of the container. Realizing you’re about to have to wrangle sticky, gross alien bugs. “I have bon bons at the dorm,” you blurt as Kickback studies you while keeping out of reach. “It’s candy. Food? It was an early Valentine’s present,” you add and the food part at least has their attention, though how they can still be hungry is beyond you. “You can have some after a bath.” And Bombshell rumbles, head tipping. ‘Bribery?’ He asks and you flush, smiling hopefully. “Candy. Everyone loves candy.”

• Smiling when a second sparkling drawn by the promise of food crawls over and grabs onto you to drag himself up, he stares up at you and opens his mouth with a chirped demand, his visor brightening slightly. Like an adorable little bird as you smile and watch him do an impatient little dance on his peds. “Don’t let him con you, he’s already ate,” someone says. Looking up, you smile at the other caretaker, watching them bend to pick up their sparkling as he whines a protest. Offering the Insecticon sparkling another bite when he warbles, you see the other sparkling’s parent press a kiss against their little one’s helm.

• “So, thought about having one of your own?” They ask and your shoulders hunch. Because you have. More often than you’d like to admit. Adjusting the sparkling in your lap, tiny blue servos fist in your shirt, his head turning to stare at the container of energon goodies with an impatient little whine. Brushing your fingers against one of his little antennas, you sigh. Unsure how to explain the stilted conversations you’ve had with your partner. Trying to feel them out on the subject.

• Because the impression you’d gotten? He has his doubts. And you understand that. Know bits and pieces of his past and you can get why he’s hesitant. “It’s a big decision,” you mumble, chest tight. Keep telling yourself that you’re happy with helping with the sparklings. That holding and caring for other people’s kids is enough. But you can’t help but feel bitter about it sometimes. “He’s not ready, yet.” Might never be.

• Struggling to get loose as you adjust him against your hip, Shrapnel hisses. Almost doesn’t even care if you’re poisoned, because he’s so angry at being carted around like a sparkling. “You will release us or suffer the consequences, consequences,” he snarls as you turn backward to use your shoulders to push open a door, waiting to let Bomshell in before you’re backing inside. “Human, you have no clue who you’re messing-” Venting, the scent of human food has his head turning as his words taper off.

• Chirping as he registers food, Kickback’s head turns to stare at the humans working in the building you’ve carried them into. Antenna lifting, he leans toward the smell, rumbling. “Hey,” You’re calling out to the other humans. “You guys have any food scraps from meal prep?” And those strangers just stare at you before one reluctantly says yes while staring at him to make him hiss and bare his denta. Watching the human retreat into the back, you’re lowering him and Shrapnel to their peds.

• Growling as a human rolls out a huge plastic can, Bombshell resists the urge to stretch up to try and see better. Because that smells like food. A bin full of it. Hates this. Being small and helpless, but unlike the other two, he sees the wisdom in sticking close to you for safety. And you’re thanking the other human before Kickback crouches and launches himself at the bin, peds scrabbling against the side before he pitches himself inside with a chirp. And you’re bending to pick up Shrapnel to help him into the bin, too. Head tipping up as you reach for him, he wonders why you’re doing this. Being kind when kindness is weakness.

• Yeah, you thought they’d enjoy this. Smiling as the three go to town on the scraps, you catch the other person staring at you uncertainly. But the Insecticons are helping out with cleanup. Happily going to town on potato peels, meat trimmings, and scraps. The 30 gallon drum rocking slightly as they chirp, hiss, and snarl at each other. Always hungry. “Do you have any more?” you ask. “They’re not picky eaters.” You’re pretty sure that just like actual bugs, they’ll eat almost anything. Leaning your arms on the top of the bin, you watch Kickback hissing at Bombshell over a chicken bone while Shrapnel devours a banana peel. They’re kind of cute this size. Still gross, but also cute. Ish.

• “We’re not self sufficient by any means, but gardening is pretty fun and we can cook with what we grow,” you add, turning over leaves until you find a ripe strawberry before pulling it loose, you offer it to him. Chirping softly as he looks from you to the berry, he finally opens his mouth and his sharp denta always surprise you. Reminding you that they’re predators. Pressing the strawberry into his mouth, you’re aware of the other two watching curiously as his lips close on it. “Have you ever had a strawberry before?”

• Moving closer as Kickback chews slowly, his antenna flicking, before crouching and clawing through the greenery for more strawberries, Bombshell grabs him by a wing and yanks when you make a dismayed sound. “If you damage the plants, we won’t have more strawberries,” you say, reaching to touch Kickback’s arm as the other mech hisses. ‘I want more,’ Kickback growls, but Kickback relents when his head lifts to meet Bombshell’s stare. Venting when you bend to find another, you’re offering it to him, another held out to Shrapnel. Feeding them from your hand. Or trying to.

• Hissing as you offer him food, Shrapnel stalks away and paces. And you’re just smiling sweetly. Like you really don’t understand how dangerous they are. That you’re food. Looking away when Bombshell retracts his mask to let you hand feed him, Shrapnel glances at Kickback. Watching his fellow Insecticon shrug. Not knowing what to make of you anymore than he does apparently. You tend to them, feed and wash them while trying to court them. Trust them. But you’re still only human. Weak.

• “I like sweets if he doesn’t,” Kickback chirps. Moving closer and grabbing your wrist, he tugs your hand to himself ignoring Bombshell’s warning growl. Mouth opening to eat the berry meant for Shrapnel, he meets those alien eyes. Trying to understand your lack of fear. Stupidity or bravery? They’ve never wanted or needed anyone but themselves. Relied only on themselves and used everyone else to further their goals. Glossa sliding against your palm to taste you, your smile goes strained as you tug your hand free and wipe it on the leg of your coveralls. ‘We have some blueberries, too, but they’re not that healthy,’ you say, grabbing Shrapnel’s servo and tugging as the mech tenses. And you’re continuing your tour, talking animatedly and gesturing with your free hand. Trying to include them even though they don’t really care. Shouldn’t care. Hissing softly, he tries to ignore the unfamiliar warmth in his spark.

Previous

• “Too visible,” Bombshell counters tiredly. Which should be obvious if Kickback just stopped and actually thought about anything besides food. Understands the urge to chase and devour, though. Especially with so many humans clustered together, screaming and hysterical. What’s gotten them so worked up? Did one die? Using his bulk to force his way closer and send humans scattering, he’s aware of other Cybertronians watching the chaos, but not interfering. Some sort of ritual then?

• “What is that thing, thing?” Shrapnel hisses, watching several humans with long handled tools of some sort poking and raking at a long, legless creature that keeps rearing up and striking to send them scrambling back. How is that little thing sending them all into hysterics? Half the organics screaming encouragement or advice and several up on the low concrete wall watching. That little thing is hardly intimidating or threatening. Venting on a hiss he glances at another mech watching and realizes it’s Megatron, the warlord looking unamused.

• “Leave the poor baby alone, you bullies,” you snap, shoving forward and pushing a guard back. “He’s just scared.” It’s not even a venomous snake. Bending, you pick it up by the back of the head so you don’t get bit, feeling it frantically coil around your arm, writhing to escape. “I know, honey. You’re just a little nope rope not a danger noodle.” And people scatter as you straighten with it, cooing reassurances as you walk past to release it outside the walls. Don’t they realize he’s just scared?

• Moving through the base, Kickback hisses at a couple of humans walking by, bending low and then snarling with a startled chirp when Bombshell grabs him by an antenna. “I know you can scent who’s on that human,” Bombshell murmurs and Kickback shoots him a sullen look. So what if the tasty morsel scents of Megatron? It’s not like the warlord actually cares what happens to one tiny human. And he’s hungry.

• Exasperated as Kickback hisses at him, completely unrepentant, Bombshell glares at him. Knows very well that it’s hard to control the ever present hunger, what it’s like to want to let loose. Devour everything. But he also knows that with a little planning, they can have everything they want. With a little patience even if it’s not their strong suit. ‘I’m tired of going hungry,’ Kickback snarls. “A little hunger now and a feast later,” Bombshell counters as Shrapnel chuckles, snapping his denta at a human to make them run.

• “Hi, guys!” Head turning, Shrapnel clears his vents. Because there you are, waving energetically as you jog over to them. ‘Hello, little snack, snack,’ he mutters as you beam up at them. How do you keep finding them? “Are you guys exploring the base? I could give you a tour.” You suggest and he scowls at Bombshell. Because they could have already eaten you and been done with it, but now the thought almost bothers him and he hates it. That he doesn’t really want to devour you anymore. You’re nothing. Just some yappy, excited little organic. That trusts them implicitly when no one ever does.

• Maybe they’re lonely? You don’t think you’ve ever seen them hanging out with other Cybertronians, now that you think of it. They must be really lonely. Poor guys. You should probably give them more time. It’s not like you have anything better to do. “Have you seen the dorms?” You ask, reaching up a hand and Kickback clears his vents, staring hard at Bombshell before bending down and offering you a servo. Grabbing on, you tug him after you. “They’re pretty nice. We have a garden, too.”

Previous

• Swearing in snarls and clicks, Bombshell grabs Shrapnel by an arm. And has to immediately grab Kickback by a wing when he tries to charge you. “Stop and think,” he snarls even as his optics flick to you behind his visor. Shuddering, he struggles to hold them both back. Feeling himself start to drool as the heady scent of blood sinks into him. Wanting the same thing they do. To devour. So hungry. He’s always hungry, never satisfied no matter how much he eats. ‘Just a little bite. A taste,’ Kickback groans. ‘I’m starving.’ So is he, but you’re also just smiling at them, looking slightly confused.

• Are they wrestling? Sometimes you’ve seen Bombshell smack the other two and they start hissing at each other. You guess it’s some sort of hierarchy thing and that’s how he keeps the other two in line. They definitely seem to roughhouse and snarl a lot. “Are you guys hungry?” You call out and Kickback hisses, clawed servos digging into the concrete as he tries to pull away from Bombshell and drag himself toward you. “I brought you steaks,” You add as they click and hiss at each other in their awful sounding language. Hope they’re not about to fight. If they do, you might not get to do your job and wash them.

• “Do you want to die? We don’t know if it’s poisoned,” Bombshell snarls and Kickback whines, strings of saliva dripping down his chin. Knows you might be a threat sent to take them out, but you smell delicious right now. More so than normal. You’re bleeding. Wounded and he can’t stand it. Maybe you are poisoned but right now he can’t really care. “Cut it out, both of you. We’re not eating it.” Groaning, Kickback’s head thumps against the ground, lying on his front like a sparkling throwing a tantrum and fully aware of that, but unable to care. ‘One bite. Just to check if it’s poisoned, poisoned,’ Shrapnel whines.

• Ignoring as Bombshell swears at him, Shrapnel can feel the other mech shuddering. Knows Bombshell’s as close to snapping and going after you as he is. And you’re humming as you unload trays with steaks. Completely oblivious to the threat they pose. Or just not caring. But if your purpose is to draw them in and get them to eat you so you poison them, you wouldn’t care, would you? “Come here little morsel, morsel,” he croons in your language and you come to him even as Bombshell drags him and Kickback away. ‘No, bad human. Stay back,’ Bombshell snarls and you stumble to a stop looking puzzled. ‘Back.’

• Rearing back when you hold up a scrap from last night’s dinner pinched between your fingers, Kickback stares at you, antenna flicking back. And he glances at Shrapnel when the other mech laughs. Still can’t understand how you have no survival instincts whatsoever, but it’s cute in a pathetic way. And he can’t deny that those soft hands feel lovely on him. Running his glossa over his sharp denta, he bends and lifts the lid on the tray. “Burned meat,” he mutters, glancing at you from the corner of an optic as you drop the scrap. ‘It’s rare,’ you say and he clears his vents, grabbing a piece and devouring it, snarling when Shrapnel shoves him out of the way.

• Shouldering in to make Kickback hiss, wings trembling, Shrapnel grabs one of the hunks of bloody meat and tears into it. “How can you guys always be so hungry?” You ask as Bombshell growls and shoves him. Blood running down his chin as he chews, Shrapnel watches you turn away to mix up soap. ‘Not as satisfying as hunting living prey, prey,’ he mutters and you glance at him. “What is it you guys hunt? Deer?” You ask and he chuckles. ‘All things, things,’ he hisses, tearing another chunk of meat free and chewing.

• Eyeing Shrapnel in warning, Bombshell smacks him in the back of the head before grabbing some of the ruined meat you keep insisting on bringing them. “You guys should be careful outside the base,” you say, dropping a sponge in the bucket of soapy water. “Have you heard one of the guards is missing?’ You ask and he clears his vents as Kickbacks starts laughing. Reaching out, he lays a hand on top of your head. ‘Are they now?’ He replies while chewing.

• “Scary, huh?” You ask, nose wrinkling as you reach up to touch your hair. Did he just get meat grease on you? Yep, he did. How can they be so messy? “It’s at least distracted everyone from what the General did. I don’t know how he can be so mean,” you say, bending to squeeze your sponge and straightening. ‘Mean to you?’ Bombshell asks, staring down at you as you slide the sponge against his chassis. “Well, to everyone. He’s kind of a jerk,” you say, shrugging and he growls something at the other two in their weird language. ‘And which flesh bag is this general?’ Bombshell croons, reaching to hook a servo under your chin to tip your face up. Because you’re theirs. No one gets to bully you. Except them. Really isn’t sure how exactly you’ve survived this long.

Previous

• “Don’t,” Bombshell tiredly snarls in warning when Shrapnel’s jaws open wide, head lowering to try to bite into the back of your exposed neck. And his brother reels back when your head comes up. ‘Sorry?’ You ask to make him clear his vents. What is wrong with you? Because something obviously is, you’re just smiling confusedly at him before finding the sponge and turning toward Shrapnel as his brother growls, head turning away. Even the dumb prey animals of this world have more survival instinct than you do. How have you survived this long?

• Going up on tiptoe to start washing as high up as you can reach on your giant charge, Shrapnel flinches away and transforms into a big, metal bug. Which looks much easier to wash. “Oh, thanks. You guys are really tall.” And he’s shuffling sideways with a hiss to avoid you as you try to wash him. Playing? Do aliens play? You keep following and the other one, Bombshell snarls something at him in their awful language that has Shrapnel dropping to the ground on his belly, limbs drawn up against himself.

• Glaring over at Shrapnel getting washed, Kickback keeps trying to rub your clinging scent off of himself. And maybe you are a trap, because eventually Shrapnel stops hissing warnings at you and starts rumbling irritably, leaning into your touch as you wash him. Catching Bombshell’s attention, he clicks his sharp denta together. “I say we take our chances with it being poisoned,” he mutters in their own language. Lifting his arm, he vents and growls when your scent is still obvious under the soap. Because it’s all over him. Like you’d claimed him as yours.

• Leaning into your touch as you scrub him, getting into seams and around joints, you’re humming. Everything about this irritating, even if it feels good. But if you’re off limits, there’s plenty more tasty organics about. And there’s a nearby town. “It’s singing to me, me,” he growls in Cybertronian at Bombshell, unsure how he feels about it. Or that you’re so at ease among them. “Are we keeping it, it?” As a conjunx, a queen? Surely not. You’re obviously prey. Feels your softness brush against him as you move further down his frame. Still humming cheerfully and he wonders who’s been protecting you before you sought them out. Someone has to have been, you’re too innocent to be left unsupervised. Too trusting.

Previous

• How can they be so nasty? Caked dirt and bits of hair wedged in this one’s seams. You wonder what they normally eat, because the hair seems to be animal even if there has been some longer strands in it, too. Had thought all the aliens only consumed energon, but now you’re wondering if they all eat other stuff or if it’s just these guys. Bombshell, Kickback, and Shrapnel, you remind yourself. “I can get you some veggies to go with your steak tomorrow if you’d like,” you say, scrubbing.

• “We don’t eat plants, little snack, snack,” Shrapnel grumbles, tearing into his second steak, the tiny portions disappointing even if you’d brought them several each to go with the energon. You’d called the meat rare and it’s bloody enough to at least be somewhat satisfying, but it’s hard when there’s fresh meat right there chattering away at them. It’s absolutely maddening that Bombshell had told them to not eat you. That you might be a trap of some sort. And you start humming again, apparently completely at ease among them and it’s wrong. Disturbing. Venting, he reaches to grab you in a big hand, pulling you to him as Kickback hisses. “We hunt prey, devour it alive, alive.”

• “Don’t,” Bombshell snarls as Shrapnel’s jaws open. Hissing a warning as you just blink up at his brother, that absolute absence of survival instincts putting him on edge. ‘What do you guys hunt? Deer?’ You ask and Shrapnel’s lip lifts to flash sharp denta as you just stare innocently up at him. “Leave it, there’s something wrong with it,” he snarls in their own language, and Shrapnel lets you go, watching you move to dunk your sponge in the bucket. Humming again as you resume tending to Kickback.

• You’re guessing it’s been a while, possibly forever since they’ve had a good bath. Don’t they need to worry about rust? Maybe alien, living metal doesn’t rust? Two of them are hissing at each other in their angry sounding language as you wash the third and when you start on his lower back, he makes a funny, rumbling purr of mechanical noise that makes the other two both turn and stare at you both. And Kickback stiffens realizing they’re staring at him, hissing in your face abruptly and stalking away before you’re done. Did you do something wrong?

Previous

• Oh, look. A snack. Hissing softly, Bombshell crouches to lunge when you run and you spin around, staring up at him with wide eyes. And his mask retracts, sharp denta bared as saliva runs down his chin. Blinking, you bend and pop the lid on a bottle from your bag and holding it up. “Personally, I think the cherry smells best, the banana smells too fake,” you say cheerfully and he hears Shrapnel start laughing behind him. Watches your head turn to find his two brothers crouched in their altmodes on the wall and you’re still smiling. Why are you smiling? “Oh, I didn’t know there were three of you. Are you going first, sir?”

• Wheezing laughing as Bombshell stares at you then just looks at them, Kickback lets go of the wall and transforms. Because there’s obviously something very wrong with this human. Why aren’t you screaming and running? And Bombshell’s plating ruffles up slightly. “Little morsel. Snack,” his brother snarls, clawed servos fisting in the front of your shirt to haul you off your feet. “Hardly even a bite,” Bombshell adds and you just stare at him as his jaws open wide. Have to realize now. You’ll scream now. ‘Oh, you’re hungry. I brought you energon if you prefer to eat before your bath,’ you say and Kickback clears his vents, laughing again.

• Hissing as he transforms and lands beside Bombshell, Shrapnel snarls. “Maybe we prefer meat, meat,” he growls slavering and you just blink at him. ‘You guys don’t just drink energon? I can ask the mess hall to make you some steaks,’ you say and Shrapnel catches Bombshell’s expression. Obviously, something’s wrong with this human. Maybe you were given to them in the hopes that they’d eat you. Maybe you’re poisonous? Or you’re just too stupid to live. But your smile is putting him on edge, making him jittery like there’s a threat he’s not seeing.

• “Do you want to smell the banana one to see if you like it?” You ask and the one holding you abruptly drops you to send you stumbling as his big buddy with the weird shoulder horns hisses something in their own language at him. And you turn when the third one touches your hair. Smiling, you hold up the open cherry soap and its antenna flick back before it leans down to vent. “Nice, huh? I have some really soft microfiber cloths, too.” Definitely weren’t expecting giant bugs, but even though there’s three of them, they don’t look like they’d be too terrible to wash. They’re still metal, after all. “So, you want me to see about some steaks?”