If Autobots Actually Ate Food, What Would They Eat?
So like @coupdemain asked the question: “if autobots actuaaaallyyyyy ate food, what would they eat? go ask Optimus Prime pleeeeeeease :)”
Fair question.
Important question, even.
Because if you have spent your whole life thinking Autobots just stand around politely sipping energon like it is robot orange juice, then I regret to inform you that the menu is far stranger, far less healthy, and much more entertaining than that.
Naturally, I did what any responsible journalist would do.
I went and asked Optimus Prime.
He was very patient about it too, which is nice of him considering he is usually a bit busy saving civilizations, lecturing Bumblebee, and cleaning up whatever emotional mess Megatron has caused this week.
Prime explained, in that deep solemn voice of his, that Autobots do indeed eat all kinds of things. Some of it is fuel. Some of it is texture. Some of it is nostalgia. Some of it, frankly, seems to be for the laugh.
Grimlock, for example, likes to eat petro rabbits.
Do not ask what a petro rabbit is.
You do not want to know.
It sounds like the sort of thing that would explode if you looked at it wrong, and I suspect Grimlock likes that part best.
Jazz, on the other hand, apparently likes to eat undefined records, which feels correct on every level. Of course Jazz would dine on vinyl like it was a five-star meal. You just know he would tilt his visor, nod thoughtfully, and say something like, “This 1956 pressing has a real buttery finish.”
Prime himself enjoys the odd pie and coke, which is wonderfully wholesome and slightly confusing. I did ask what kind of pie. He looked at me as if I had insulted Cybertron itself and said, “All pie is worthy if consumed with honor.” So there you go. Optimus Prime is either very diplomatic or he has eaten so many pies over the centuries that distinctions no longer matter.
Now, if you are wondering whether Autobots need actual food the way humans do, the answer is probably no, not in the technical nutritional sense. But that is not really the point. The point is that Autobots are weird old alien machine people with hobbies, preferences, cravings, and highly questionable snack habits. If one of them wants to gnaw on a hubcap while listening to synth-pop, who are we to judge?
I pressed Prime further on the matter.
This was not easy.
He does that thing where he goes quiet and stares nobly into the middle distance, as if every question contains the fate of freedom itself. Eventually he admitted that many Autobots do develop tastes based on their alternate modes and personalities.
Which makes sense.
Bumblebee, I am told, likes sweet things. Not because he needs them, but because he enjoys the chaos they cause. Give Bumblebee a bag of jellybeans and he becomes the mechanical equivalent of a toddler at a wedding.
Ratchet pretends not to snack at all, but apparently chews on old fuses the way a stressed doctor chews pens. Ironhide was said to be partial to burnt toast, scrap metal, and anything that looked like it might once have belonged to the enemy. Sideswipe probably only eats things if they are flashy and ridiculous, like flaming hot chrome strips served on a spinning platter.
Mirage, and I am only speculating here, seems like the kind of bot who would claim to enjoy imported French engine oil served room temperature in a crystal glass. Whether he actually likes it or just wants everybody to think he does is another matter entirely.
There is also the question of social eating.
Humans eat for hunger, yes, but also for ritual, for comfort, for boredom, for celebration, for grief, and because someone else ordered fries and now the fries are there and the fries are impossible to ignore. Autobots, having spent so much time around humanity, have almost certainly picked up the same habits.
You cannot tell me Wheeljack has never spent a whole evening in the garage absent-mindedly nibbling on battery casings while trying to explain an insane invention to a completely unconvinced audience.
You cannot tell me Bulkhead has never stress-eaten an entire crate of lug nuts.
And you absolutely cannot tell me that Hound would not sit around a campfire, roasting mysterious metallic cubes and insisting they taste better outdoors.
Prime also told me on the quiet that the Decepticons have rather less charming tastes.
Megatron, according to Optimus, eats kittens.
Starscream eats puppies.
Soundwave eats puppies with kitten sauce.
I should note that this may not be literally true, though with Decepticons one never likes to rule anything out. It may also just be Optimus Prime engaging in some old-fashioned enemy slander, which frankly he has earned the right to do. If you have fought the same silver lunatic for millions of years, you are allowed to tell people he snacks on evil.
Still, it does raise an interesting point. If Autobots eat like jazz musicians, mechanics, truckers, and weird uncles at a barbecue, then Decepticons probably eat like their personalities too.
Megatron would absolutely want his food to scream.
Starscream would only eat something if someone more important wanted it first.
Shockwave probably consumes nutrient paste measured to the molecule, then stares at anyone who enjoys flavour as if they are a failed experiment.
And Soundwave, if he eats at all, likely inserts a cube of compressed mystery matter into some hidden slot and carries on with no visible pleasure whatsoever.
That is the real divide between Autobots and Decepticons, when you think about it.
Not just freedom versus tyranny.
Not just compassion versus domination.
It is also the difference between sharing pie and silently eating nightmare cubes in the dark.
One feels healthier.
Spiritually, at least.
Another thing Prime mentioned is that Autobots on Earth sometimes eat for camouflage. If everybody else at the picnic is chewing on something, then the giant sentient robot also wants something in hand so as not to look weird. This is flawed logic, because a twelve-foot-tall alien robot is already bringing a lot to the visual field, but I appreciate the effort.
Picture Optimus at a family barbecue trying very hard to blend in with a paper plate balanced delicately on one enormous finger, nodding gravely while someone’s uncle explains propane to him. That is not just comedy. That is culture. That is diplomacy. That is an Autobot meeting humanity where it lives, beside overcooked sausages and folding chairs.
And honestly, it tracks. These are beings who transform into cars, trucks, boomboxes, microscopes, and whatever else the toy line required that week. Why should their diets make sense when nothing else does?
So what do Autobots eat?
Energon, probably.
Yes.
But also pies. Coke. Records. Petro rabbits. The occasional crunchy bolt. Maybe moonlight if they are feeling poetic. Maybe old road signs if they are feeling nostalgic. Maybe a whole tray of cassette tapes if they are Soundwave and you enjoy dining like a filing cabinet with malice.
In short, Autobots eat exactly what you would expect immortal transforming alien weirdos to eat.
Everything.
Anything.
And probably your lunch as well if you leave it unattended in the Ark.
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