#and started writing bot

[two-calicos-in-a-trenchcoat]

Almost got tripped up on a question made to trick bots

Rip

[r3m-ster]

let’s all start writing all of our posts in haikus for the haiku bot

[s1lv3rp4w3dc4t]

shout out object shows with canon queer ships. I'm talking on screen kiss or even just verbal confirmation. all things considered it's a bit strange you don't really see them that much when you think about how gay everyone here is. I love you ii but c2bc did what you didn't and I think that's actually really nice.

[vixen-tech]

So obligatory apologies for my on going hiatus (I love being a student) However! I have recently finished A Psalm For The Wild-Built and as a robot enthusiast I cannot recommend it enough. It's such a cozy solar-punk story and a fairly short read by my standards (just under 150 pages).

It's a pretty thoughtful commentary on self-worth and purpose, and our resident robot, Splendid Speckled Mosscap, is just the most lovable, curious sweetheart ever.

If you can get your hands on a copy I think it's well worth your time!

[whatwooshkai]

1!!!! 1!!!!! 1!!!!!!!!! PLEASEEEEE

Heatwave sees it in the corner of his vision, and doesn't bother to let the mirth flow out of his field as he stops walking and crosses his arms. Kade won't feel it anyways.

He hasn't seemed to notice Heatwave has stopped following him, still ranting about whatever person had insulted him that he's still butthurt about.

And a one, two, three-!

Kade trips and eats shit on the pavement.

Heatwave doesn't bother to hold back, throwing back his head with laughter. "Oh, Primus," he mumbles. "That never gets old."

Kade turns to glare at him, but oh, he wouldn't know.

[sevikasenby]

explain how a neural network works. y'all never know about AI and trash it, form your own opinions! ai has the potential (and does) to further research and save SO many lives. it's ridiculous how uneducated y'all can be.

im sorry the universe never told you to shut the fuck up a day in your life.

"form your own opinions" FUCK ai and FUCK you to 🖕

[asydicsydney]

Oh, I haven't stopped thinking about them since I made that first post

For those unaware, this is my Steam Powered Giraffe fanbot, Pluto! Their design is inspired from the Rococo fashion from when I was in Cinderella, the painting Starry Night, and the aroace flag. If you want the whole story you can read that over here

Cut has close up pictures, the sketch, and the Minecraft skin I made a bit ago that finalized their design

[charmvinyl]

gonna remake my two art bots since there’s no chance they’ll ever show up ugh. i know interactions are not. a big deal but having to lose those makes me sad :(

[hornydilfsinyourarea]

guys, I watched a horror movie because I was bored and saw Men (2022), and thought it looked interesting...WHY THE FUCK DID i WITNESS 4 BIRTHS BACK TO BACK, HOW DID THE MAN SUDDENLY GET A VAGINA, A MAN BABY CRAWLING OUT, THEN GIVING BIRTH THROUGH HIS FUCKING BELLY BUTTON... AND THEN THE MAN WHO CAME OUT GAVE FUCKING BIRTH THROUGH HIS BACK, A VAGINA SUDDENLY THERE TOO AND THEN THE MAN WHO CAME OUT THERE GAVE BIRTH TROUGH HIS MOUTH, I AM NOT OKAY Also, off topic... the vicar (priest) was kinda bad ngl... the way he got on his knees and groaned and panted like that... jesus christ...making me think unspeakable things

[stupid-and-cute-are-enough]

for the past 4 days, i've descended into madness over the anon getting turned into an animatronic. behold. 2.6k words @get-rammed i've gone insane

as always, i spew BTS lore in the tags

“Alright, that’s everything,” his Handler announces, finishing the paint on his last claw. They give his hand a satisfied pat. Monty watches as they turn away and begin packing up their things, making idle chatter as they do, offhandedly mentioning that they hope it isn’t too late by the time they actually get to head home. They told him earlier that they’ve got a meeting with the higher-ups once they’re done tonight, and it’s been weighing on him all day.

“I don’t think you should go to that meeting,” he says because he can’t take it any longer.

They pause. “What do you mean?”

“I just… I don’t think you should go.” Monty clenches his fists in his lap. It doesn’t feel right. If it was any other lame meeting announced in a staff email, sure, but this isn’t one of those. They were approached in person. No documents, nothing written; just pulled them aside this morning and told them something about enhancing the Handler experience. All of the other Handlers have gone home already, too, and there’s nothing that they could want just his for that meant anything good.

They huff fondly. “I don’t really have a choice, Monty.”

They keep getting ready, a sinking feeling forming in Monty. He tries again to explain that it’s a bad idea again but is gently shut down. His Handler hugs his head on their way out, an act he’d usually eat up and crave more of, but tonight, he feels like rejecting it. It just feels so wrong.

“Sweets, please, don’t go.” He grabs onto their sleeve. “I got a bad feeling about this.”

Their face softens. “I hear you, Monty, but I have to. I’ll probably get fired if I don’t.” They laugh a little. “I’m sure everything will be fine. Worst-case scenario, they dump a mountain of work on me. Everything’ll be okay. I’ll see you tomorrow, big guy.”

—

They announced a new animatronic the very next day.

The announcement made Monty raise a brow because even with his debut as a Glamrock, as rushed as it was, Fazzbear Entertainment still took their time to milk it for all its worth. Surely, with a brand-new animatronic, they’d pull out all of the theatrics. But, no, management had just called everyone backstage (Monty was grabbed by Chica’s Handler because his still wasn’t here, and it worried him. They always tell him if they’re going to be late) and spilled the news.

It’s another gator, which, geez, thanks, corporate. It’s dressed in actual clothes, unlike the rest of them. It’s a little smaller than Monty, with a sleeker design. Monty eyes the new thing up and down. There’s something… wrong with it. Monty feels it. So does the rest of the band. It stands across from them, eyes too wide, taking in too much yet too little information at the same time. Its hands are clutched together, held tightly to its chest. It’s a shambling mess, really. Barely finished and definitely not ready for crowds. The thing really needs a Handler, which only reminds Monty of the empty space by his side.

It’s different from them. It doesn’t fill its body like it’s supposed to. A feeling of uneasiness washes over the room. Even the other Handlers look a little disturbed.

After the incredibly lackluster introduction, dampened by the uneasiness of everyone in the room, management gives up on pleasantries and snaps at everyone to prepare for opening time. They leave without further explanation, not even telling everyone what the newcomer is supposed to be doing. Everyone takes the chance to leave as fast as possible, abandoning the barely functional animatronic where it stands.

Something in Monty tells him to linger, as disturbed as he is. The sinking feeling he had last night returns tenfold.

It looks too familiar. Cautiously, Monty approaches the thing, eyeing the uniform it wears. He dares not to peek at the nametag displayed proudly on its chest. The animatronic tilts its head up at him slightly, or at least it tries. Monty can hear the inner mechanics going, but it remains frozen. He stands uncomfortably in front of it, unsure of what to do. Everything about it feels wrong. Everything about this feels wrong.

He peeks at the nametag, and his world comes crashing down. Surely not. They couldn’t have shoved a whole person, a full consciousness, inside of an animatronic, could they? That technology doesn’t exist, right? Right?

Monty reaches out a shaking hand, staring into the bot’s blank, red eyes. It can’t be. Fazzbear has done some fucked up, shady stuff, but they wouldn’t do this, would they? This has to be too far. It has to. His hand touches their forearm, feeling the all-too-familiar fabric of the Handler uniforms under his finger pads. He meets their eyes, registering the terror behind their blank stare.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Hey, it’s... I, uh-”

“M-” Their voice fries out, and their jaw moves unnaturally. But it’s enough for Monty. That’s their voice. That’s their voice. Monty feels something vile fester inside of him. If he could get sick, he would. That’s them. That’s them in there. They’re in there. That’s his Handler, who he saw just last night, in there.

Their stare is so blank. Their hands are clutched together so tightly. That’s them.

“Oh, sweets…”

His hands slide down their arms to take their hands, snagging his thumb on the cuff of their uniform as he goes. Something there catches his eyes, though, something a human eye would miss, but something he’s been trained to notice. A tiny speckle of blood stained into the fabric. Their blood.

Monty sucks in a breath, his grip on their hands tightening. They were hurt when this was done to them. They bled.

“Let’s go to my green room,” he says. He keeps his voice gentle, but there’s also no room to argue. He doesn’t think they could, anyway. They don’t respond to him or make any kind of movement, so Monty moves for them. Slowly, painfully, he guides them up to his green room, keeping a gentle set of hands on them the entire way. They stumble and would’ve fallen without Monty to catch them. Their tail drags limply behind them. They probably don’t know how to use it for balance yet. The word yet makes Monty’s heart hurt.

He ensures the door stays open as they shuffle into his room, hovering over them until they’ve been cautiously guided to sit on the couch. They don’t need to struggle to stand anymore. Monty doesn’t think he could handle seeing it.

“Everything’s gonna be okay,” he says. It’s a lie. It’s an awful, horrible lie, but what else is he supposed to say?

They try to speak again, but their voice fries into something that sounds like a quiet cry. Their body begins to tremble, their hands clenching around each other even harder. All tell-tale signs that they’re crying, but they don’t have tears anymore. Instead, their eyes just stare into the wall, unresponsive.

“I’m so sorry, sweets,” he says as they weep. He sits beside them on the couch, cautiously wrapping his body around theirs. He doesn’t know if the different sensations will upset them even further, but he also doesn’t know what else to do.

“H-” A billow of steam rolls out of their jaw, rattling their whole system. The sudden movement startles Monty, making him pull away.

“Hey, sweets, you-” Monty glances into their eyes, wide, sightless, terrified, with a slack jaw pouring steam, “you need to calm down. I know it seems like I’m askin’ the impossible of ya, but you’ll overheat yourself, and I dunno how to fix that.”

Their body shudders, unresponsive to their mind. Monty doesn’t know what to do. He doesn’t know how to help. He remembers what they did when he first came online and when he was given his new body. They surrounded him with familiar, comforting things, but his Handler doesn’t live here like he does. At least they didn’t. Their greatest comforts are probably far out of Monty’s reach. He searches around his green room, trying to find anything he knows helps them relax.

He spots a fidget they used to love playing with during his noon charging sessions. It should be simple enough; it just needs a pushing and pulling motion. Nothing complicated. But his Handler’s hands don’t react, even as he pries them apart and presses the fidget into their palm. Their fingers remain tense, not even twitching.

“Okay, something easier. I got it. I’ve got you.”

Monty reaches and grabs one of the oversized plushies lying beside the two of them on the couch. It’s big enough for him to comfortably interact with, so it should be good enough for them, too, right? He places the weighted plush in their lap, tucking its arms in so his Handler doesn’t have to do it themself. It looks like they try to wrap their arms around the plush, but the thing just ends up getting knocked to the floor. The failure to get their arms to work only serves to upset his Handler more as their hands begin trembling, the metal of the digits clinking together. 

Monty looks up at them, scared for them. Scared with them. If they can’t function, they’re going to be decommissioned– not fired, not still alive, decommissioned and dead. Gone forever. Their head has turned slightly, staring intensely at something, so Monty follows their line of sight. His gaze lands on their jacket that they accidentally left last night, draped across a chair. Now a little shaky himself, Monty gets up and retrieves it for them.

He realizes once he gets back that it doesn’t fit them anymore. It used to be so big on them, but it doesn’t fit now. Their favorite jacket, the one they wore every day, doesn’t fit anymore. He drapes it over their shoulders, bringing it around them tightly. Their shoulders are bigger under his hands. Wider. Their body is like his own now and so very, very different from what it used to be.

He retakes their hands, kneeling in front of them. He meets their eyes, which stare deep into whatever kind of soul he has.

“Look at me, Chere,” he says, squeezing their hands, trying to ground them. He’d tell them to breathe with him, but they can’t anymore, and he doesn’t know if that’ll help or upset them. “I’ve got you. I promise. I won’t ever, ever let anything else happen to you. I promise.”

Their hands squeeze his own, and Monty lets out his own version of a sigh of relief. The shaking in their limbs begins to die down, the steam eventually coming to an end. He smiles at them, keeping his hold on their hands solid. He praises them softly, rubbing their knuckles.

Their eyes meet his properly, and Monty can see the hurt and the fear in their eyes. They shift, jaw moving experimentally.

“I… can’t breathe,” they say.

Monty’s heart breaks for them. They try to shift, try to grab onto their jacket and pull it tighter around them, but their limbs won’t cooperate, and the metal of their fingers slips against the satin material.

“Here, you gotta… you gotta grip with the pads of your fingers. Like this,” Monty says, taking hold of their hands and guiding their fingers to do so. A shudder runs through their system, getting their hands to tighten and pull, if only slightly.

Monty steps back to take another look at the design of their new body. A gator, like him. Their hair is soft and synthetic, with a little product to keep it sleek, so at least that wasn’t taken from them. In a bitter-sweet kind of way, Monty can imagine helping them style their hair in the morning when the dust settles. But Monty still has trouble adjusting to his mohawk, so he can’t imagine what it’s like for them right now. How long it’ll take for that dust to settle. They’re smaller than him. Sleeker. A little more compact and able to fit into tighter spaces. Probably equipped with the same processing power Monty has, and he prays to whatever is out there, none of the guardrails. Overall, they’re… built to work. They were hurt, maybe even killed, their body broken, disposed of, and shoved into this body to work. To work! They never get to go home again; they never get to have a life outside of the Pizzaplex ever again, all so Fazzbear Entertainment could have another obedient little worker.

Monty shoves down his anger. They don’t need that right now. Instead, he turns his energy to muster up the best smile he can, affirming the correct motions with their hands.

“There you go, you’ve got it.” His smile wavers a little at their silence. 

They stare at their hands, their new, robotic, alien hands. Hands that don’t listen when they tell them to move. A body that doesn’t listen. They grip around the fabric of their jacket, feeling, in a way, the mechanics whirr in their arms. But they don’t feel the silky fabric anywhere but their finger pads. They feel the warmth of Monty in front of them, holding onto them, but only in broad strokes. It’s not like skin. It’ll never be like skin. There’s no more blood, only coolant (they feel so cold), no nerves, no organs. No lungs. Those things are still there, in a way, in a robotic sense.

All of the essential bits keeping their body moving are still there. But it’s not their body. Flashes of blood and mutilation streak across their vision the longer they stare. They have claws now. And a snout. And a tail. They always thought it’d be kind of cool to have a tail, who doesn’t, but not like this. They don’t want this. They want to go home and lay in bed and fall asleep and hope that this is some god-awful dream. They want to fight with their ID at the stupid maintenance tunnel exit, and drive home tired, and wake up five hours later to come to work and do it all over again. 

“... sweets?”

They look up to Monty, sight still a little unclear. He looks worried. He looks scared. They don’t think they’ve ever seen him scared. He tentatively takes their hands, prying the fabric away before they rip something.

They stay there, Monty kneeling, Handler sitting, staring at each other. Lost, scared, confused. Neither quite sure what to say.

“I wanna go home,” they eventually settle on. They can see the resolve in Monty crack.

“I know, sweets.” He rubs their knuckles again. They’re disturbed by how little they can feel of it. “I’m so sorry they did this to you.”

They want to tell him that it wasn’t his fault, that he has nothing to be sorry for, but the words don’t come to them. So, instead, they sit in silence. Awful, dreadful silence.

Eventually, Monty stands, still holding their hands in his. “You’ve gotta be getting… tired,” he murmurs. “Here, I’ll show you how to get charged.”

His Handler know how. They’ve helped Monty settle in to get charged a million times. But it’s different now. They need to charge. Their battery isn’t running low, they don’t think anyway, but the emotional drain is enough for them to take the carefully offered out. Monty gets them set up, gently explaining things as he goes, like what it’s going to feel like at first and how entering standby will kind of feel like sleeping (at least, what he’s pretty sure sleeping feels like). When everything is said and done, and Monty is sure they’ll be out for a while, he turns to eye the big door that separates his room from the rest of the Pizzaplex.

His curtains are closed, and he’s going to make sure it stays that way. For a long time.

[jacqcrisis]

I feel like this post here misses the fucking point entirely about why fanfic authors don't want people making new endings for their unfinished fics with fucking chatgpt but thankfully the replies sum it up well:

Fanfic is and always has been the middle child of fandom creativity that people often forget takes work and soul, just as much as other aspects of fandom.

It's generally completely free by virtue of the beast, a labor of love from the author, and dozens to hundreds of hours are spent on something a handful of people might kudos on. If you don't have a following of any kind, it can be a thankless, lonely hobby you probably can't tell irl people about because there's a longstanding stigma to writing fanfic outside of the fandom world. But at the same time, it's so damn rewarding to see people enjoy and get something out of your work and your imagination and your creativity while also growing your craft and being a part of your chosen fandom as a whole, which is why we keep doing it.

The idea someone would see that, read your work you spent hours of time and energy on, that you put more effort and heart into than you'd like to admit, and decide all of that was worth as much as something a plagiarism program could spew out in five seconds is disrespectful and insulting at best. Fanfic authors aren't asking you to not feed the machine out of some altruistic anti-AI high ground; they're asking you to give their creativity, their work, and their hobby that entertains you and extends the longevity of the fandom you're in the barest amount of fucking respect by not reducing it to a copy-paste maneuver into a chatbot.

[quibbs126]

Another brain thought: I think I’ve heard that in Armada, Unicron has some alter ego or avatar or something? Someone who’s secretly Unicron while everyone thinks they’re normal bot. I’m not going to confirm this at this point, because I already have limbs in three Transformers shows at this time, and I cannot start a new one until I finish at least one of them

But anyways, my brain’s decided to run with what it thinks it gathers of the situation, and I think it sounds pretty cool. Like okay, there’s some new recruit to the Decepticons, possibly one of a few if we want to keep suspicion even lower, but unbeknownst to everyone, they’re actually either a servant of Unicron, or Unicron himself taking a mortal avatar (possibly the corpse of some random bot), who’s true intentions lie in reviving Unicron or something similar, and probably making the Decepticons into servants of Unicron. This would also be unbeknownst to the audience up until some season finale where this is all revealed. Like we’d know this guy is shady, but not that he was robot Satan in mortal form

I imagine he’d spend however long until the reveal slowly working his way up the Decepticon ranks, gaining more and more of an influence and becoming a closer voice in Megatron’s ear. Maybe when we first meet him, he seems fairly normal, maybe even a bit too much to be working under Megatron himself, but as time goes on he becomes more sinister, up until the reveal when we find out he’s on a whole other level compared to everyone else

And this isn’t just a shock to the audience or the Autobots, this is a shock to the Decepticons and especially Megatron himself. Like they’re probably not the most moral, but they’re not gonna serve Unicron of all people, the mortal enemy of their creator god. And with Megatron, it’s a shock to him because he was under the impression this bot was under his control, like Starscream (who’s probably been replaced by this point, or is dead), only to find out that he was very wrong, and they weren’t even playing in the same league

I don’t know how properly to describe all I’m thinking, but it’s really cool in my head and I need it in a show. Armada might have me covered on this front, but again, I don’t know at this time

Oh wait, maybe this better describes what I’m thinking. So sort of like Lady Bone Demon in from Monkie Kid? When she’s serving the Spider Queen I mean. But also unlike LBD, we have no clue this character’s deal or how powerful they are until the reveal. There might be stirs of Unicron being a future presence, but nothing to the level it actually is

Also a bit of Transformers Prime’s dynamic between Megatron and Unicron. For that matter, how the Decepticons feel about Unicron in that show too

[khepiari]

Do others also feel slight paranoia now when their email notifications are full of a profile liking your fics at one go on Fanfiction dot net?

Like, hello, are you an AI bot scraping my writing?

Or what is with your reading speed that makes you like everything in one go?

[hereissomething]

just finished watching all of the 90s Ruby Spears Mega Man show with the wife and im so sad there isnt more. i love these doofy robots, esp Gutsman and Cutman who are totally married and Protoman and Dr. Wily bc Scott McNiel is hilarious

[drkineildwicks]

BH6 Month Snippets - 2/16/2025

I have half a page left for the day but since 5 1/2 of those pages were for Young Bots and Boy Geniuses I feel comfortable posting tonight:

One last diagnostics check, turn it on, hands clasped in front of her mouth as she watched everything, eyeing the data scrolling along— Light blinked on within the optic, slowly growing to fill the whole lens, a cheery sky blue—lifted, focused on her. “Very good,” she said, still squeezing her hands—not out of the woods just yet.  “I’m Dr. Granville, you remember us talking.”  Optic twitched, like it was struggling to process everything.  “You remember us discussing the next step in your development being moving from a simple screen to a chassis—you now have a camera and a microphone.  Can you say something?”  Glance at the screen, at the data reading out—maybe something had gone wrong, felt that might be the case when the first noise it made was a static hum— “Hello, mother.” Look back at it, at the optic focused on her...relaxed slightly as she realized that yes, it had made the transfer intact.  “Hello.  It’s good to hear from you.” Shutters slightly closed over the optic, opened again, optic twitching around as it looked about, movement slowly smoothing as she sat down next to her keyboard and notes.  “What do you think?” “It’s very....” the project noised, staring at the blank wall. She looked at it as well.  “Beige?” “I don’t know what that is.” “Beige is a color—I suppose, prior to this, you had no need to know what colors were,” she said, looking at it. “No.”  Optic shifted, chassis turning slightly so it could better focus on her.  “Does that mean I get to learn?” “I suppose that’s on the docket,” she said, jotting down that note and a few other observations.

For context this is early on in Kicho's development so he doesn't know what anything is.

[tf-warbound]

I am peak interested, have you started writing things about your continuity yet? Like a masterlist? If so I have some questions to ask:

How is the main cast going to look like?

What about the relationships of each characters?

So far the main cast consists of:

The Autobots, with Optimus, Prowl, Jazz, Ratchet, First Aid and the Protectobots, Red Alert, Ironhide, Wheeljack, Bumblebee, Cliffjumper, Arcee, Sunstreaker, Sideswipe, Smokescreen, Bulkhead, Hot Rod, the Dinobots, Jetfire, Perceptor, Blaster, and Ultra Magnus

and the Decepticons, with Megatron, Starscream, Soundwave and his cassettes, Shockwave, Knockout, Thundercracker, Skywarp, Thrust, Dirge, Ramjet, the Rainmakers, the Constructicons, the Combaticons, the Stunticons, and the Vehicons.

There are a few neutral mechs, made up of former Decepticons. The insecticons, Predaking, Darksteel, Skylynx, Ripclaw, and the HWD + Lightwave are all considered neutral/unaligned

Gonna put the relationship talk under the cut bc there is a lot going on with these guys :]

MegOp is canon. They once cared about each other, but not as much while the war is going on. Optimus is sad, and doesn’t have a whole lot of hope that he’ll ever see the mech that he knew again, and has been focusing on his adoptive sons, Bumblebee and Cliffjumper to try and take his mind off of the relationship he and Megatron once had. Megatron is consumed by rage and paranoia. He’s not in a very good headspace, and has been prolonging the war just to try and be petty and prove to Optimus that he’s the better mech. Meg’s arc is majorly tied to getting him to retire.

Soundwave and Starscream’s relationship with Megatron is complex to say the least. Starscream does not like Megatron. He does not think Megatron is fit to lead at all, and that he’s a bloodthirsty maniac who deserves to be put down. Soundwave, on the other hand, is a hypocrite. He’s loyal to Megatron. He wouldn’t be a very good Amica otherwise. He defends Megatron’s actions with tooth and nail, always excusing them with “it’s for the cause” while calling out Autobots on shitty things they did. Starscream thinks that Soundwave is a suck up.

Soundwave and Shockwave are conjunxes, but their relationship has become a bit strained. Shockwave is not the biggest fan of Megatron, and sees that, logically, there should be someone else in charge of the Decepticons. Maybe not Starscream, but anyone other than Megatron who isn’t outright stupid would be better. The cassettes (and Lightwave) are their delinquent kids.

Starscream and Skyfire were lovers once. Not fully conjunxes, but they almost were. Their relationship started falling apart as the war went on, with Skyfire really not enjoying being part of the ‘cons. Sadly, the Decepticons landing on Earth was Sky’s breaking point. He didn’t want to participate in the destruction of Earth, so he left the ‘cons and became an Autobot. He misses Starscream a lot, and has yet to encounter the seeker on any patrols or missions.

Thundercracker and Skywarp are just trying to be good brothers to Starscream while he processes the divorce.

Knockout and Breakdown are absolutely conjunxes no one can tell me otherwise.

I view the relationship between the Constructicons and the Combaticons differently. The Constructicons are siblings. They treat each other like annoying younger siblings even though they’re all the same age. The Combaticons, however, are like a group of besties. They didn’t really know each other that well before the war, but once the war started and they were put into the Gestalt program together, they hit it off. Blast Off is absolutely trying (and failing) to court Onslaught, while Vortex has some freaky shit going on with First Aid.

Bumblebee, Arcee, and Hot Rod are besties and no one can change my mind

Prowl and Jazz are two smart mechs who become absolute dumbasses around each other. Add Smokescreen into the mix as Prowl’s little brother and you’ve got absolute chaos. Things are on fire and Ratchet and Ironhide are having an aneurism over how crazy they are when working together.

Edit: Astrotrain and Blitzwing are part of the main Decepticon cast too