I like to imagine his horn finial things move 😌 this is a second part to my hc post that Soundwave wears makeup like Frenzy under there 👍 i figure ES Soundwave at the least tends to take things to heart 😌 atleast from what I’ve seen he’s more expressive so I’ll go with that
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Prowl making you sign an actual consent contract before you are intimate for the first time. Paper and digital copies.
"Initial here."
"Are you serious?"
"Absolutely. And here-"
-
Prowl also making you verbally consent every time you frag thereafter. He may or may not be keeping those audio files somewhere in his hardware. Or was it his software? You never really knew.
"For the sixth damn time-"
"-no need to curse, y/n-"
"-I hereby consent to Prowl doing literally whatever he wants to me until I very explicitly tell him to stop-"
"-hold on. 'Whatever he wants?' Is that what you said-?"
Transformers smelling vapor rub. Optimus Prime leaning down bc a human wants to show him a medicine they use, bc someone else has a cold, and he’s so curious because its base is petroleum. He’s not really sure what that is, but petrol from the gas station tastes like the stuff at the cheap bars in Iacon, so it must be similar!
He takes a deep pull of air, and the second the smell hits his sensory suite he bucks backwards like he’s been punched and lets out all of the air in a giant WOOOSH of vents as his horn BLARES in alarm.
Though unpleasant at first, the smell is actually quite nice. Cold, in an odd way that settles in his vents and makes him feel a little more energized (if only for a few moments before his engine ticks over and he warms right back up)
The reasons Elita-1 isn't in Transformers Prime is;
She passed of course
If she was present, the Deception army are most likely screwed from the beginning and without at least Megatron, they would not dare lay a finger on Optimus or the rest of the autobots. Starscream might be stupid enough to do so.
It can also be the vice versa, that if Elita gets hurt, Optimus will snap and show his true nature.
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Ah heck it, since im allready getting into the niche of "wierd metapyshical stuff using transformers fanfiction". Heres an concept/ HC/ half-baked au for ya.
Set within a much more magical universe: Human souls vs Sparks. In my mind the two share certain overlaps yet exist in two completely different states of matter.
Sparks serves as much as a physical organ as a manifestation of spirit, its quite literally a transformers lifeforce. Due to its structure including a stable housing of the spark chamber it has the benefit of being able to carry a lot of vitality right out of the bat, lending to a cybertronians long lifespan along the mechanical aspects (if you look at real life machines its clear that metal and eletronic parts never lasts forever). As well serving as a reliable power source for everything regarding their complicated bodies to abilities. The downside here is that a spark cannot last outside its protective container, and existing on the physical plane lends to certain limitations.
Human souls on the other hand, are completely inmaterial. They exist on a seperate plane of reality, that if viewed from the outside would look like a vauge flowing 'shape' overlapping the person in question. The relationship between body and soul are much more ambigious than frame and spark. The body can perfectly survive without a soul, but usually results in a certain lifelessnes, autopilot, e.c.t. in reverse the soul stays stable enough seperated from body, but will lack the grounding a body brings, often operating more on instincts and emotion. While initially a soul may seem weaker than a spark, lacking that lifeforce boost and exposed nature. What the soul does have is potential, its flowing state gives it flexibility and the inmaterialness paradoxially protects it in the way the sparks physicalness does not. A soul can grow vastly outside its inital state and reach out to higher planes of existance, constantly in a state of change, all while the human stays alive. And for those who know how to use this, may even start bending reality around them..in the form of magic.
Tdlr: transformers sparks (souls) high power–low skill ceiling and growth potential vs human souls, low power–high skill ceiling and growth potentially.
an alchemy of ore & eu de parfum : how i imagine cybertronians react to human perfume (afab!reader) (nsfw!)
most of the lost light crew only knew about it in passing. rumor was that before the war, the wealthy would import organic plants from off-worlds to extract their oils: steam distillation, boiling, maceration. of course, it wasn't very popular when the planet's atmosphere lacked the proper gases. without volatile elements in the air like oxygen, the exotic scents hardly smelled like anything. it didn't stick against their armors the way it clings onto organic skin. so it became a short-lived experiment that barely dented the surface of the planet's long history of achievements. mechs, trying to replicate organic perfume. it sounded ridiculous.
until perceptor caught a whiff of it: phantom light, brushing against his olfactory sensors. he lifted his helm, finally compelled to tear his optics away from the datapad to look at the human liaison. he inhaled experimentally, failing to be discreet. embarrassed, you tell him it's the new bottle of body wash you've tried: a mixture of wild violets and pink hibiscus. do you like it? he thinks of strange fragile flowers, drifting under the wind. perceptor nearly missed the question, slowly nodding as you leaned closer in worry. it took the mech a lot of self-restraint to not pull you flush against him when the new, alien fragrance hits him square in the chassis like a bullet.
minimus drags his human's wrist across his intake, peppering light kisses along the skin. it was where the sweet, smoky odor was strongest, luring him closer. with you sprawled across his lap: trembling, laughing at the ticklish sensation, minimus couldn't contain the small, helpless groan that escaped him. shamelessly tipping your chin down to press your lips against his. the fragrance of mandarin and jasmine, crowding the space between your bodies.
the scientist hovered above your shoulders, mouthguard grazing the junction where your neck meets your jaw. brainstorm tightened his grip against your wrists, pining it above your head. he wants to melt into you, to drown in the overwhelming scent of amber. tyrax, benzoin; he knows they're just a cluster of chemical reactions coming to life along the curve of your collarbones. bonds breaking and fracturing to release something tangy, saccharine. but you're telling him that bulgarian rose, sandalwood — foreign, outlandish names of floras he'd never heard about before was making you smell celestial ? he was the universe's biggest heathen, but primus, save him. you were wiggling underneath his frame, back flat against the pristine table. he says he wants to run a few experiments, noticing how your pupils respond by widening, skin prickling with excitement.
he's trying to be gentle, servos encasing your hip to lower you down his spike. megatron watches as you take him, inch by inch. with your back pressed against his chest plate, he could feel the thrum of his spark against the line of your spine as it bows and curves in pleasure. as you spread your legs further to sink further, he rewards you with a kiss — brushing your hair aside to press his intake against the pulse point beneath your ear. and he tastes it, or rather, breathes it in. he didn't need to, but when your sweat mixes itself with the perfume you always wore: bergamot and peony, he inhales and loses himself even more.
the habsuite reeked of sex, and it crowded the air: humid and heavy, whirl's optic nearly offlined at how obscenely wet you were around his spike. already drunk on your pheromones. so when he lifted both your legs higher — up to his shoulders — to fit himself up to the hilt, whirl didn't expect to catch a whiff of your perfume around your ankles. you whined, a high-pitched, desperate sound, when he stopped thrusting to press his enstril against your achilles heel. that was enough for him to snap. he hoisted you up into a mating press, driving into you with a new kind of vigor.
'you did this on purpose', he emphasized by roughly grabbing your ass to push further into your already trembling cunt. causing you to moan into the dark. 'you knew we'd end up here. like this. filthy, little —'
sicilian mandarin and citrus musk. you made a mental note to yourself to wear the combination around your lover more often.
a/n : for @robot-horde because you're brilliant and left a comment on the tags of this post and it just inspired me to make more.
