elistransformersthoughts

[elistransformersthoughts]

have you ever wanted to read Transformers: Exodus but needed an audio accompaniment?

well, now you can! thanks to the diligent efforts of myself and @notsoalex, there is now a complete audiobook of the first book in the aligned trilogy! this is my first attempt at recording a book like this, so hopefully it works alright for you guys! if there are any technical issues drop me a DM.

google drive folder HERE

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Reposting this bc of something my friend told me! heres the whole of transformers: exodus because it took me forever to find a digital copy and convert it to an easy to share format

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i hate non-human characters getting humanized because most of the time its just like

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ah .. the doomed lovers .. </3

alt eyes for optimus below

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and they were rivals (and they were rivals)

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tis the seasoning!

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the prowlerrrr

@keferon mecha au (I'm not sure if I should keep tagging for credit, sorry if not!)

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i love @keferon's mecha pilot jazz au sm,,

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learning to fly(t)

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outfit concepts for Spike, I want the human characters to keep consistent colors but consistently change outfits between plots.

Spike usally dresses pretty practically, so his outfits were pretty easy to design. I imagine any further outfit design for him would be pretty similar to these.

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Honestly…..? Blurr. Blurr in @keferon ‘s design.

The mech ? 10/10

The man inside the mech ? 10/10

I love to think about some propaganda posters or video where Blurr’s mech is like

"Hi, I’m destroying Kaijus, wanna join me ? wink wink"

Also I was thinking about the eternal sassy look of Blurr’s mech (with the shape of his ‘eye’) this is how he continued to look even after being fucking destroyed…..he was still watching everything burning (his pilot included) with that damn mischievous look.

Also also I was so in pain at the end of Blurr’s chapter, I coped by fixing him like I could….

TW : BURN SCAR AND OTHER SCARS (in general, Blurr not being very fixed but it’s better than being lobotomised by Shockwave LMAO)

I have a looot of headcanons with these scars etc…and in my drawing (YES) i assumed these were already old scars. If you are interested in seeing the *i just been under a collapsed building and mech in fire* one tell me and I’ll draw mummy!blurr

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"Cybertron. It's been so long. So long since I saw it as it should be seen... "

"Yes, well, um... drink it in, I guess."

[elistransformersthoughts]

Hi, I'm pretty sure this ask was eaten last time but I got a playlist for the mecha au flavored TexAid, its not much but I had to make one the special interest weasels inspired me

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLys7iqXMTndnI5HJMMVve_5HeSujqxj4A&si=Gn8-HDnynw0HUWAd

oh my gOD. Anon. Lemme hold your face in my hans Anon. This is perfect. It fits SO well. I love it. I'm gonna listen in on repeat. Kfkkfkgkgm₩ir

[elistransformersthoughts]

Hi, I'm pretty sure this ask was eaten last time but I got a playlist for the mecha au flavored TexAid, its not much but I had to make one the special interest weasels inspired me

https://youtube.com/playlist?list=PLys7iqXMTndnI5HJMMVve_5HeSujqxj4A&si=Gn8-HDnynw0HUWAd

oh my gOD. Anon. Lemme hold your face in my hans Anon. This is perfect. It fits SO well. I love it. I'm gonna listen in on repeat. Kfkkfkgkgm₩ir

[elistransformersthoughts]

Eh okay so. My brain is absolutely cooked so you will probably just have to ignore the linguistic fuckups

Jazz and Prowl learning to communicate because language barrier is a thing >:D

Previous part

Jazz sometimes thinks that somewhere along his career path he lost the bar separating normal from...well...everything else.

After all he's seen, heard about, and done, he's not sure exactly how to measure what's weird and what's normal. He has..the general idea.

His own. And it's so convoluted and fucked up that he'd rather jump into a volcano than try to explain it to anyone else. Jazz thinks the little colorful aliens around him are weird as hell. He thinks they sound weird, he thinks they look weird, and he thinks he must be going crazy.

And then this big black and white robot catches his eye and Jazz's first thought is not "what the fuck??"

His first thought is

"Thank God! Someone's normal!"

Whoever this guy is, he sounds like he knows what he's doing. And most importantly, he looks just like Jazz. Well, not exactly. But close enough. After all, Jazz knows that his organization wasn't the only mech maker on the entire planet. Other countries were making Mechs too, and Jazz hadn't seen even half of them.

But he can recognize a giant robot when he sees one, okay?

The thought that another mech could be an alien doesn't even enter his mind.

So used to the constant presence of huge piloted robots around him, he looks at this one and clings to its appearance as something familiar and easily explainable. His brain says, we know how this works. There's a robot and inside the robot there's another person. It's the way it's always been. The sky is blue, the grass is green and the robots are human-piloted. It's that simple.

The guy takes him to the far corner of the room and says something. Jazz…doesn't understand..

The mech's face contorts in a surprisingly believable display of concentration. How...who built this robot? How could they make it frown?

He hears something else being said to him but again can't understand a word. Why won't this pilot get out of the mech to talk to him? Jazz doesn't have his communication frequency but surely they could at least shake hands. There must be some reason. Maybe something wrong with the air? Is it dangerous to be outside? This guy should know better, he's been here longer than Jazz, it seems.

(Damn it, whose idea was it to make a mech with a face, it's so distracting)

He rushes to activate the external speakers, because he and this guy obviously speak different languages, but it never hurts to try, right?

"So uh, I don't think you can understand English?"

Mech frowns again, trying to pick up on something familiar in a language that's apparently new to him. But finds nothing. Jazz lowers his horns sadly.

Oh well. Fuck. As if being stuck in an unknown place with unknown creatures wasn't enough, he can't even talk to anyone! How is he supposed to get out of here? Which way should he even go?

The mech waves his hand to get his attention and then pulls out a tablet and a stylus from..where ?

Jazz somehow manages to overlook the fact that the tablet is made to fit the mech's size. His head is still feels a bit…off..after that portal thingie.

"Charades it is then."

____________________

An hour and a half later, Jazz finds himself staring intensely at the screen in front of him with a surprisingly neatly drawn chart on it.

"So uh. Motion."

The other guy nods and starts drawing a walking mech. Then something that looks like a very unusual car. Then a submarine. Jazz gets a little lost looking at how skillful he is with the stylus.

Honestly, he's a good artist!

The guy points to the sketch of a walking mech and says

" Motion."

Then points to the drawing of a car driving and the columns of the chart.

"Motion-rotation" he points to the car again.

That must mean "driving" huh? Jazz nods understandingly.

Mech moves his finger to the submarine.

"Motion-Water."

Ah, it must mean swimming. Jazz nods once more, feeling like a wind-up dummy repeating the same motion a dozen times.

The mech makes a quiet humming noise and then points to the chart

"Motion. Sky."

And then gives Jazz the stylus?

Uh, what is he... Oh, he wants Jazz to figure out what it means.

"Motion" and "sky," right?

Jazz takes the stylus? Pencil? Thingie.. and very carefully draws out a crooked scribble of something only remotely resembling an airplane. The mech arches an eyebrow and looks like he wants to laugh.

Jazz shrugs awkwardly and tries to add windows to the airplane, but ends up making it look more like a severely fucked up caterpillar.

Mech snorts.

Jazz kicks him in the leg.

The airplane begs for a merciful death.

Jazz didn't really expect to get into a language class but he has to admit that whatever language he's learning now is a surprisingly easy one. It only took the other dude half an hour to show him the basic concept and from there it became a game of associations.

There were simple definitions. Like size, quantity, speed, emotion and so on.

There were signs that automatically turned the whole sentence into a question or a statement.

There were modifiers that Jazz defined in his head as positive and negative.

Positive speed - fast.

Positive size - large.

Positive direction - forward.

Positive time - future.

There were also basic words for senses, emotions and whatnot, also with modifiers.

Mouth-positive - to speak

Brain-positive - to think, but negative-brain-do-positive - to learn.

Huh.

And it's so neatly organized that Jazz wondered if this language was designed specifically to be easy to learn.

Let's see....

Mouth - positive, effort - negative.

"Easy to speak."

The guy nods contentedly and starts talking back, while pointing to the appropriate columns of the chart to make it easier for Jazz to understand.

"Creation-positive. Purpose. Person-negative-knowledge. memory-positive-effort-negative."

Jazz frowns, concentrating on his finger.

Oh. Created. For those who don't know it. Easy to learn.

He was right. The whole thing is waaaay too awkward to write poetry but learning it is a delight.

Jazz leans over the chart.

All right, well, let's see.

“Name. You. Question?”

The other guy smiles and pokes at the chart

"Me.Motion-sound-negative.Negative-eyes-positive-someone."

Walk quietly. searching?… Sneaking?

Oh, it's not "to sneak" it's "to prowl"

"Prowl" nods affirmatively. Jazz smiles at him and looks at the chart again. Okay. How to say “music”?..

“word-knowledge-negative.”

He stops to make a gesture with his hands, as if playing an invisible piano while humming a tune.

Prowl nods

“Sound-positive-positive-hearing.”

Jazz chuckles

“A whole two positives eh? Okay then. Uh. You don't look like you listen to jazz....so..”

“Me. Name. Sound-positive-positive-listening.”

Prowl raises his eyebrows. (Jazz is jealous, he wishes he had eyebrows too.)

“You're a musician?"

Jazz quickly shakes his head while simultaneously muting the outside speakers to a barely audible level and turning on one of the songs on his playlist.

Prowl twitches in surprise when he hears the melody.

Jazz waits for the intro to finish playing and then points to himself

“Creation-negative..uh..Sound-positive-positive-hearing. Jazz. This...”

He pats himself lightly on the chest.

"..is me. Jazz."

Prowl straightens up slightly

“Oh, you're not a musician, you're the music.”

Jazz nods cheerfully

“Yes yes!”

“Jaaz?”

“No no. Jazz.”

“Ah. Jazz?”

“That's right.”

Prowl draws a portal on the screen.

“You teleported here. What happened?”

Jazz hangs back, trying to construct an answer in his head. Good thing Prowl seems to have infinite patience

“So, I uh. What was 'fight'? Movement-pain-positive? I fought these things...”

He takes the tablet from Prowl and draws a crooked blot with a bunch of tentacles on it. Then thinks for a bit and adds big teeth and a lot of eyes. He's not really sure how to draw those eyes properly, so he just scatters them randomly around the monster area.

Prowl doesn't seem to be that amused by Jazz's drawings anymore, in fact, he suddenly becomes very somber.

“Quintessons.”

He pokes at the monster

“Name-Quintessons. Number-question.”

How many?

Jazz scratches the back of his head

“So uh...a lot?....number-positive-positive-positive-positive-positi...you get the idea.”

To be convincing, he dramatically spreads his arms out to the sides depicting something very large.

Prowl looks alarmed.

And unconvinced.

“How did you survive?”

Jazz laughs pretentiously

“Ask them how they survived.”

Prowl makes the “you can't be serious” face. Jazz isn't quite sure what exactly is confusing him. Mechs are designed to kill Quintessons, aren't they? Judging by his movements, this pilot must be damn good at controlling his mech, and that kind of guys usually fight on the front lines.

He decides to put that thought aside for later. There are more important things right now, like...oh shit, where is he even going??

Jazz leans over the chart again

“Uh. Right. Question-we-move-up-place” Man, how to specify... “Knowledge-negative?”

Prowl, linguistic gods bless him, understands him and starts gesturing over the chart in response

Okay. Ah. I-move-up. Planet-creation-positive.

'I'm heading home' or 'my home planet'.”

Jazz instantly perks up.

“Oh that's great, I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to go there too.”

Prowl is speaking in a language he's unfamiliar with, so he's definitely from another country, but hey, who cares as long as it's on Earth, right? He just needs to get there and he'll find his own way from there.

He watches the space debris flicker by outside the window. Even the stars are unfamiliar, Jazz can't find any constellations he knows.

One of the little purple creatures says something and Prowl steps aside to chat with them. Jazz leans back and settles into a more or less stable position. Then does the same thing, but with his real, human body. Hell, his head still feels really fucking weird after that teleportation.

He opens the comm channel and just listens to the static for a couple minutes in the faint hope that the engineering department will find a way to contact him.

Nothing.

He sighs.

“1061 on the com. In case there's any way you can hear me...ah shit. You guys won't believe what happened...”

[elistransformersthoughts]

vortex in that tf mecha universe fic was so!!!! imagine the base firstaid is stationed on gets attacked and he has to decide between trying to escape alone or piloting vortex, knowing what happens to everyone who dose.

Thank you! It was fun to write, typed at near midnight in a feverish haze, Vortex is very.... Vortex, the plot kind of jumped out at me.

And funny you should ask about that very specific scenario.

Continuing @keferon 's mecha universe for haunted mecha TexAid! From Firstaid's perceptive this time!

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The bleach splashed against the stain that he wasn’t thinking too hard about and started fizzing, probably shouldn't be doing that but Firstaid just squinted his eyes against the fumes and kept at scrubbing. How did he get these jobs? Why was it him constantly stuck with the clean up jobs and the scut work, when he was supposed to be a nurse and actually healing pilots? Not scrubbing up their remains from the inside of a cursed mech that killed everyone?

Firstaid sat back on his heels and coughed into his elbow, the fumes were burning his throat and it sucked. Brighter side was he didn’t have to go for that karaoke night anymore.

He knew why he kept getting these jobs.

“You steal one organ one time.” He muttered, grabbing his brush again. “Ugh, how do you get this filthy?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, why would he? It was just him and the haunted mech… again. No one wanted to be near it, the pilots, the engineers, the cleaning staff. Which meant that when a joint needed oiling or a blood stain needed scrubbed away so the higher up’s could shove another poor soul of a pilot in here to get crunched into pieces or driven insane until Firstaid was sent to peel them out again…

Or scape them up. He could still hear that scream Johnston let out as he fell.

Ever since, when Firstaid came into the haunted mech it felt like there were eyes on him, probably a security program the engineers had installed. Cameras were looking at him constantly now, on and off base, even if there was no proof he’d had anything to do with that death. It was just… the cameras in the cockpit here felt… different.

“All in your head Aid. All in your head.”

He kept telling himself it wasn’t guilt he’d adopted the nickname fully. It wasn’t guil-

A deep *thoom* rocked the base, the vibrations causing the loose machines in the cockpit with Firstaid to rattle. Another *thoom* shook the metal grating under his feet and the alarm for a monster attack started to blare through the hanger outside the mech, the red emergency lights flashing. The next *thoom* was hard enough to knock over Firstaids bucket of watered down bleach and kick his ass into gear.

Okay monster attack, he needed to be in the medbay for incoming unless the attack was close enough for evacuation which it might be because that sounded really really close in which case he should be in the underground shelter-

The door to the cockpit shut in his face. The heavy pneumatics and locking pins shunting into place and effectively sealing him inside.

Another *thoom* shook the floor.

“Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shitshitshitshitshitshit-SHIT~” Firstaid spun around, and then spun around again to slap the door controls uselessly, he spun around again.

Where was that emergency exit!

The radio crackled to life, the harried voice of tower control carrying through.

“Firstaid- Felix! What are you still doing in that cursed mech? Get outa there! Monster’s three kliks out!”

“I can’t!” He yelled back. “The door shut! Controls not responding!”

“What?!... Hang on- Firstai- Felix get outa there and get your ass to the shelter! You’re on your own! I’m coming! Pilots to your me-”

The radio channel cut out with a static blat, voice yelling the background cutting out as well. Firstiad would have been freaking out more about being abandoned to his fate but he was staring at the screen and the text in the middle of the blank screen.

[Pilot the mech]

“…What?” He croaked. “I can’t- I’m a medic not a pi-”

The base shook and the text changed.

[Yes you can] [Pilot the mech]

This was feeling surreal. Firstiad found himself drifting to the center of the cockpit, right by the pilots cradle, where they controlled the mech. He knew this spot very well, he’d pulled multiple broken pilots out of it, scrubbed blood and viscera and other biological hazards out of it.

Another impact, this one so loud and so close that the sound of crumbling concrete and metal bending could be heard.

The text changed.

[Pilot me Firstaid] [What the hell?]

He swallowed the lump in his throat as he read the last line.

[You’re going to die otherwise]

His hands trembled as they gripped the control sticks, and it must have been his imagination that they leaned into his touch. The harness closed gently around him and Firstiad swore actual human hands were buckling him in. The helmet descended from the top of the cockpit, cables trailing along the floor, one pressed against his leg and another draped over his arm. If his eyes weren’t forced wide open from the panic beating in his chest, Firstaid could almost imagine a body leaning on him, arm slung over his shoulder, chest pressed against him, a smile and a voice whispering in his ear.

The display in front of him lit up and the sounds of the mech that everyone said was haunted powering up rattled and chilled Firstaid to the bone. He’d heard mechs power up before, not this though, it didn’t sound normal. Not normal at all.

Something rattle behind that sounded like a laugh, the radio crackled to life. Claws also appeared prying open the hanger doors.

“Firstaid! What are you doing! Power down your mech!” Tower control sounded panicked.

“I…I don’t think I can.”

He was moving towards the doors, a huge sword swinging from his- the mechs hand. It stabbed the monster in the face and the shriek of pain shook the ceiling. Another face replaced it and it got stabbed too, the sword sinking into the synthetic flesh of the monsters eyes.

Firstaid looked at the fluid dripping from the sword and felt… something curl around him.

“Oh Felix baby~” A whispery voice coiled in his ear. “You made the right choice~”

He did?

The doors were being pried open again.

The hole was wide enough a mech would fit through it.

Firstaid couldn’t tell if it was him or the mech that raised an arm and a sword, the flight systems were powering up, like he was going to charge forward, the whole frame trembling like it was excited.

“We’re going to have so much fun~”

[elistransformersthoughts]

This is definitely not what I had plans to write and finish in 2 days, but @keferon’s mecha pilot jazz au infected my brain and I had to shake this thing loose.