#robot dicks

I sure can!🤩

Regardless if it is safe or not, people are still going to try to bang the gaint metal robot, but at least now you shall be prepared!

For safety, here is the spike safely rating key

So whats our big bot packing? 👀🪵

IDK WHY WE ARE YELLING BUT OK :D Tfp Shockwave is in the chart but because I haven't checked me asks for a long while (sorry about that) here's his spike stats;

The exact formula is a secret 🤫😆 (ok not but also yes)

Well, I had to use the closest thing in anatomy to cybertrionians, which would be humans.

I'm not proud to say that this could be used to calculate what someone is packing 👀.

The difference between the results and reality is only 0.5 -1.5 cm, which is the main reason I don't outright say the exact formula (this is both a mad impressive chad lad and creepy how the fuck you know that energy).

But to answer your question!

It took me a couple days to be able to come up with a fairly accurate formula to follow, but since there's not much info on transformers aside from their heights (even then that changes with the continuity). Whatever formula I used had to take into consideration the a characters height, or there would be no way it could be an accurate estimate.

That's why each character has multiple results due to their different hieghts across the continuities.

But the big question is how did I get to that point?

I had to base the formula off people because at this point in time there's no large robots with large robot dicks out there to get some measurements off of.

The actual research took longer than calculating all the characters in the sheets, as you could imagine getting the information such as length circumference from a large pool of guys might take a while. Lucky for me, there have been studies done on subjects similar (not many), so I could use info from that as well as the info I gathered myself.

*Note: These results will vary depending on how much research someone puts into it, I am confident enough to say they are close to canon accurate as possible. Then again, there technically isn't a Canon/real example of a gaint robot dick 😆 so they can only classed as estimates... for now 👀*

As I used both online and in person data I had a large pool to get my averages from, those being hieght, length, circumference & diameter. Once I had those, it was as simple as multiplying by the scale.

The only time this has changed was when I did Unicrons measurements as he was way too big to do in cm and so had to adjust to calculate his in km.

I hoped that answered your question 😀 I do hope that sometime in the near future I can make a simple chart/calculator/Excel sheet for everyone to be able to access and source the necessary spike relates info 😀

18/02/25

write something about the first time faulkner fucks emmett. it can be just before - or during - or after; and it can be from either faulkner's perspective or jacob's. ROBOT VERSE

*

Faulkner had never been one to let things escalate.

For as long as Jacob remembered, even before he’d been chosen and remade, the Mayor had ruled with a firm hand and a professional smile. A smile like a knife, sharp as his mind and tongue and eyes. An iron fist, hard and unforgiving as his gaze. And for as long as Jacob remembered, Faulkner had always been measured. Always in control. Suave and smart and likeable. Until one got in his way. Admirable, really, if not for the bodies he made Jacob leave in his wake.

Faulkner always watched and always listened, and the riots in the slums of the outer rim aside, he acted before things could ever *escalate*.

The Mayor wasn’t afraid of getting his own hands dirty, and Jacob had *seen* it, time and time again. Had felt it, too, all too often, in his own body and soul. But ever since Jacob had taken his place at Faulkner’s side - undisputed heir and prince royal, lapdog and bloodhound, bodyguard and son - he didn’t have to anymore. Jacob was the man for the dirty work now. And soon, it seemed, he wouldn’t be alone. Whether that was comfort or threat, he didn’t know.

No, Faulkner had never been one to let things escalate.

So whatever was happening with Reid – but who the fuck was he fucking kidding? it was *recruitment*, and even if none of them had said it aloud, it was clear as day – whatever was happening with Reid, it wasn’t *escalation*.

But there were signs. And Jacob had been around for long enough to see them.

A buildup.

Of orders. Of tension. Of anticipation.

By now, there was no hesitation anymore when Faulkner told the other machine to strip and kneel and bow and lick his fucking shoes. *The eradication of ego, the elimination of self and pride and defiance to do what was necessary. A sacrifice for a greater good.* A lesson in itself, Faulkner had called it, a long time ago.

By now, Jacob knew every inch of his body, watching from the sidelines, observant and silent, as if he hadn’t explored it all before, as if he hadn’t already tasted it, felt it, crushed it.

And even that, this gruesome act of brutality and violence, had been meticulous and calculated, before the Mayor had changed his mind and found a different approach. Not even the vicious frenzy he’d found himself in, heightened by treats and praise and drugs, had been an escalation.

Neither was this. The buildup. Silent, but obvious.

No, Faulkner wasn’t subtle. He didn’t try to be. He didn’t *have* to be.

Reid had been fatally wrong about that.

And maybe that had always been the worst part. To *know* what was happening while it was happening. And to be once again powerless, choiceless, and made accomplice in his own destruction, his own rebirth, his own enslavement.

Yes, by now, Jacob could read the signs.

Because he, too, was always watching, always listening. One of Faulkner’s lessons, and ironically, that meant he’d learnt to read the Mayor in return. Trusted right hand. Dog on a leash. It didn’t really matter anymore, when Jacob returned home with blood on his hands, detached from remorse or shame or guilt.

And today was the day.

Faulkner had become more purposeful with his commands ever since that day he’d told Reid to strip, leading to one ultimate goal. He’d been working up Jacob, as well. And ever since Reid’s unfortunate arrival, he’d been more generous. With rewards. With touches. Praise.

Until it had stopped, two days ago.

A disruption of routine.

The quiet before the storm.

None of this came as a surprise.

To see the Mayor swallow his own set of pills just as he’d entered this morning’s briefing, though, *did*. A rare glimpse of the old man behind the tailored suits and tailored smiles, of the human being behind the impenetrable façade. A glimpse of age and something like weakness behind still youthful eyes. All of this serving a certain purpose, all of this deliberate, without a doubt, because this was still Faulkner.

But that was something to contemplate another day, something to maybe even ask the Mayor about once the smoke would clear after today. In the end, it would turn out to be another fucking lesson or moment  of grand symbolism. At least *that*, Jacob was sure of.

It was, at least, remarkable. Maybe a sign of trust. Maybe yet another fucked up initiation rite. Maybe a reminder. Either way, Faulkner would tell him.

Right now, the question at hand was what to do with that knowledge, with this strange, heavy feeling deep inside Jacob’s gut. Familiar, but disturbing and uncomfortable.

Right now, the question at hand was whether he should warn the prisoner who would soon become his responsibility, his equal or, worse, his replacement?

Of course there was nothing to straighten about Reid‘s fucking tie. It was infuriatingly perfect, like the rest of this pretentious asshole. There was nothing to correct, nothing to adjust, nothing to fix.

Jacob did it anyway, simply a quick touch to the knot that was entirely in order, resting the flat of his hand over Reid‘s chest for just a second before letting go.

A small gesture of comfort, in a place that knew none.

No, Reid wasn’t what Jacob had been. He was no virgin, *and Jacob would know*, was no inexperienced, easily impressed kid robbed from his life and world and transplanted into another, struggling with overwhelming new feelings, hormones and excruciating phantom pain as his tongue and heart and soul were cut out bit by bit with every day passing with terrifying precision.

No, Reid wasn’t a scared teenage boy bent over a desk. But he was just as powerless here. Just as choiceless. Just as imprisoned and castrated.

And *that*, Jacob understood.

Maybe he pitied himself more than Reid. Despite the glory and power and the world at his feet. Despite the rewards and riches, and his role as Faulkner’s successor. Undisputed heir to the throne. Prince and advisor and bloodhound.

And yet, sometimes he mourned the boy he’d buried. And the man he would never become. Without the metal and wires, without the circuits and circumstances.

Maybe it wasn’t Reid he pitied.

Because that fucking man definitely didn’t need pity. He’d bend over without any damage to his body or ego. He’d take it like a man, like Jacob, but with overwhelming control and dignity.

Reid didn’t need Jacob to *feel* for him.

And yet.

With a sigh, he reached into the pocket of his jacket. Black, like Faulkner preferred it. Because in the end, he was just as powerless, just as choiceless, wasn’t he? Despite the power. Despite the glory. He took out the flask with the infuriatingly bland engravement, warm from body heat, but not as warm as it should be. Not as warm as it would be, if he were still human.

And before they entered the office again, this place of dreams and nightmares, he took a sip, small as it was, and handed the flask over before straightening out his own suit. A suit that needed as much straightening as Reid’s tie needed fixing. Faulkner was meticulous, after all.

„Word of advice.”

But who was he kidding? This wasn’t advice. It was a warning.

And Reid already knew what was coming. It had only ever been a question of *when*.

robo-dick wilhelm sexytimes is something I didn't realize I wanted but I am SO HAPPY IT EXISTS