#keferon

[cosmique-oddity]

Phew, my last weeks of work are now complete >:)

I loved Dratchet and Ratchlock since the very beginning of my attachment towards Transformers, first TFP Ratchet…..but yeah….two of my favorites character….plus Keferon’s Mech AU…..I had to make my own thing about it.

A story….no…an illustration ! I couldn’t choose. So I did both :}

—————————————————

That was not the first time Ratchet came back to his private lab angry, but this time, yelling at his superiors, and at the system, and basically at evverything that could be yelled at except the pilotd while leaving the manufacture, was certainly the last. He quit. That was enough,

you don’t win a war with feelings they said

well yes,

exactly,

but you win a war with soldier, and frying their mind before they have their first fight because you want them to be more perfectionned ? That was a little counter productive.

So he gave up. They are on their own now.

The lightly humming of his car was barely enough to keep him awake, it have been a long time since he last returned home, usually, he stayed at his work place, to have more time to sleep, but then, he was sleeping even less. An endless vicious circle, things were often like that.

But all of that was over for him.

He granted these young greenhorn with his experience, and what did they do ? Ignored his advices. Sending pilots to death. So now, he had himself out of the infernal machinery. This mindless waste of human life, even where this is what they tried to save was absurd.

In the middle of his quiet and late ride, he heard a noise. Rumbling, was it the engine ? As he stopped the car backroad to check, the noise wasnt stopping. Came from the sky, military patrol ? He raised his two tired eyes on the sky and saw a shining rail approaching his forest, falling fast. Not quintesson shaped, and with the gaze of an experimented biomechanist, Ratchet identified a mech.

At this moment, its violently crashed on the ground, behind the trees at maybe three or four miles away. No matter how hard he argued with the scientist sooner this day or how bad he wanted to say fuck to all of this death industry who killed young soldiers, he could do something for the one trapped inside the mech....maybe.... the man regained his car as fast as possible and urgently headed for the crash area.

Deafened sound of tires on the damaged road. Ratchet was already projecting, mentally stocktaking the tools he took with him, and lucky enough for the poor pilot, he quit with almost all of his material, and even if it was mainly mechs repairing material, he also bought some instruments which were used for the subtle neuromedicine between human and mech. Could adapt some of it and stabilize the pilot....then he may have the time to go home and grab proper materials. If there was life there was hope.

" bold of him to crash himself just the day i insulted all of his hierachy".

He frowned. Almost there.

The trees nearby were crushed and uprooted. A flickering pink light catched his gaze.

Almost immediately, the Ratchet analyzed the mech. It was different. He didnt know in wich country it was made but that almost looks alien. The curves and shapes, busted and burned on several places were demonstrating an incredible display of genius ingeniery he could just admiring. But time was not for being amazed on plating.

Someone was trapped there.

He stopped and parked his car in front of a fallen tree, rushing to the car's trunk, taking few indispensable objets, including some of them to help a safe disconnection between pilot/mech. In case he wasnt out already. And a crowbar, the cockpit might be stuck, seeing all the damages the mech has taken...

The sound of slightly wet grass under his feet was covered by a frenetic noise of aeration. Ratchet listened to it, while cautiously approaching the unknown mech. It almost sounded like a breath, but was certainly a depressurisation issue. The mech had fallen from so high on the sky....

The damaged plating were hot, probably from atmosphere friction. He raised his crowbar and his eyes followed the curves of the chestplates, searching for a familiar shape, that could lead him to the injured pilot inside. His gaze stopped on a deep wound, that might have cut through the cockpit.

The engineer stepped on the hot metal, his thick boots preventing him from feeling the heat, and he started searching for a hint....anything that could be a mechanism, anything that could open this damn mech !

Ratchet considered the damaged chest plate he noticed earlier. The surroundings of the wound were leaking bright pink, a very unusual color for fuel. Another of these definitively strange things about the mech. Again....not the time for that. Maybe if he could widen the gap, then he would be able to have an idea of what was going on under this armor.

He tapped the plate, -it was starting to cool down- with one of his finger. It was a very little tap, but the whole mech startled. A hiss of pain, recognisible easily by an emerite engineer-but-i-fix-people-too, it had come from the head of the mecha. Was this modele controlled from the head, like Vortex ? But Vortex was insanely huge for a mech, way taller than this one. He moved careful, noticing the shaking of his support.

"You hear me, kid ? Its going to be ok. You crashed in a safe area.".

He spoke in his medic tone, wich mean, of course brusque, serious, but also reassuring and calm.

He mumbled about the mech's features and tiny words of comfort while reaching for the head.

A red light, not regular and rather epileptic was coming from the head, and while he was almost there, on all four of his limb to keep balance, Ratchet saw it.

A spectacularly humanoid face, with sculpted nose and lips was tensed in a painful expression, frowning, but the thing who trapped his gaze was the two optics....

....staring back at him.

Mechs dont stare. Their eyes are glowing, oftenly to mimick human face, after all, human are pretty prideful creature, no point in piloting big ass metal titan if no one could tell these where their creation.

What human couldnt mimick with technologie, on the other hand, was the subtle expression between trying to evualuate a threat, his own injuries, and looking rather on the verge of death but also ready to tear any enemy's limb appart with its teeth.

With just one....very long....look at the other's eye, Ratchet was suddenly understanding what was going on.

Well....probably not but he knew what he had to save.

The pilot, the pilot he had to save.

The mech was the pilot.

He was the one he had to save.

He stopped trying to -certainly- open his chest. If it wasnt good for human it probably wasnt for living technology.

The giant technological humanoid seemed in a high distress, exhaling a lot of air from his vents, his eye still intensely staring at him and the engineer doubted his usual technique -including trying to make himself as small as possible- would work.

"Its going to be okay Kid. I can help you. There is nothing here that want to harm you".

He did his best to convey all of these emotions with his facial expression and gaze, still firmly watching back at him.

"the world better wait till im home and officially retired before killing me".

The mech's gaze -damn it was so more living than ANY human made machinery- seemed to soften a bit but still radiated with suspicion.

Deadlock had been in several bad situations. It happened quite a lot when a specie of giant aliens with tendrils tried to invade your homeland, and he was ready to it.

Trained to kill, and to do it efficiently.

And he was *good* at it.

This time was just another of these ‘i went too far in my excitation’ moments, and he has crashed on a random planet he hoped was not inhabited. He landed hard, and pieces of his ship must’ve been thrown near his location.

And now, now there was an organic like no one he ever saw, and the organic was on his *lap* and he had the kindest warmest eyes he ever saw.

And these eyes were directly looking at his own eyes, and the well named ‘Deadlock’ was starting to wonder if he finally had reunited with the Allspark. His pained and tenseful grin faded a little and he tried to move his head forward, searching a better point of view to watch the singularity in front of him.

Ow.

Moving hurt.

Some sound came out of the organic’s mouth, probably a language. He didn’t had the proper tools to decode it but the tone of the language was extremely….comforting ? Soft ?

This was scary.

He wasn’t used to be welcomed like that after a fight.

Usually it was either another fight, either the yelling of a superior, either nothing at all. But this actual living being was carefully examinating his chestplates, and he recognized the gestual of someone who was used to heal. A medic perhaps ?

He tried to move something, maybe a hand, to reach for the pale organic, to be sure he was real, but his body was rather uncooperative, from what he could say, one of his legs was missing, and a lot of wound were releasing energon on the ground he couldn’t saw.

The high probabilities of bleeding out and crash was an issue.

He let his head hang, too tired to watch for every moves of the organic, and barely aware of his environment.

There must be a big problem somewhere….

He confusely thought, while watching the stars.

Must be a bigger injury I haven’t saw……..

Ratchet saw the bright light coming from the alien’s eyes slowly fading, and cold swear ran through his back. Yet, he could still say the soldier was alive, the lights of his body were shining, not a lot, but it was enough. He looked at his first aid kit with disappointment. That wouldn’t be very efficient since the form of life he was trying to preserve wasn’t a tiny human. The nearest thing he could compare the Mech to was….well their own mechs, or eventually….Quintesson. An horrible mess of organic and technology. It was partially thanks to their weird constitution that Ratchet had been able to make sense with the ‘he is alive’ thought.

At this moment and with this material, he couldn’t help the kid, and didn’t possess enough knowledge to tell if he was even dying or not.

He had already an idea of what to do….to fix him, at least trying to, but it involved several objects he hadn’t right now. Leaving to search for these so called objects was risking to let an injured alone, he couldn’t take that risk. He was trapped with the mech, and had to hurry and find something. He stood and reached for more adapted material in his car, trying to find something…. Anything.

Surprisingly, the most useful artifact he came across was his electric screwdriver and a bunch of screw along with a long metallic cabke. A parallel between human stitch, with sewing threads and the material he had with him right now. He could manage something between human fixing and mech repairing, that was what the ‘bio’ in bioengineer stood for.

The kid would be ok. He would live and tell Ratchet why he fell from the sky, and maybe if he saw his friend Jazz….out there…….

.

.

—————————————————

:)) @keferon

(I swear I’m not insane, your AU is just kinda giving me infinite drawing stamina lmao)

[fran4flan]

What in the seven hells…? This looks absolutely GORGEOUS! 🤩 Man, I love the style! Look at those slender, elegant legs 😍 And the wings!

Something something I like his shapes haha

[sreabhadh]

Don't know how Tumblr works honestly, or if I'm doing this right but Kef's TexAid au and everything everyone has written, drawn, and made for it- well it's got its hooks in me. It's probably pretty tame as far as TexAid goes... so trigger warning here lol. If you are not part of the fandom/already a freak I do NOT recommend reading it because I don't want to be responsible for accidentally traumatizing someone/revealing to others who aren't also like this how "like this" I am.

Like I said, probably pretty darn tame as far as TexAid goes (so those of you like me, don't get your hopes up), and those of you NOT like me in this regard... probably better keep away lol.

Anyway, you've been warned. If you're still here, please enjoy.

--------------------------------------------------------------

He still hasn’t found him yet.

Vortex held back his laughter at the thought, wondering how much longer it would take Felix to find his ‘other friend,’ Ambulon. His other friend. Well, ‘another friend.’ That’s what Aid had said. First Aid considered him, Vortex, his friend. A place he could be safe. ‘Friend.’ It should’ve made Vortex want to squish the ‘pilot’ up till he popped and died. Should’ve made him want to explore the ways he could torture him without killing him, break and bend his mind, then test out a new method of completely dispatching him. Just like his other playthings. That had been one of the only things that had been exciting about Vortex’s life, back when he had a fleshy body, and it had been arguably the best part about being… him. Gears and all.

Killing things would always be fun. Unless it was First Aid. Somehow, somewhere along the line, First Aid had made the thought of killing his pilot…less exciting. Letting him live, the little freak, had turned out to be much more fun. Letting his squishy ‘pilot’ feed him information, ideas on how to disembowel their prey. At first Vortex had done it so he could keep going out without risking the scrapheap. Done it for the thrill of watching his cleaner squirm, trapped and forced to come back every time, no matter how much he didn’t want to. His newest toy had proved to be much more entertaining than that though. And now he was- Vortex didn’t want to think too hard about it. But he was his. First Aid, no- Felix was his.

Vortex had chosen him as his pilot. Felix had ‘chosen’ to accept. Felix chose to call Vortex his friend, chose him as a safe place to rest. And Vortex had chosen, time and time again, not to kill him. He belonged to Vortex now. Felix was his. And no one, Pharma or otherwise, was going to take him away. Vortex wasn’t going to let him leave the cockpit ever again.

Logistically, that had issues. Which should be Felix’s problem. Vortex shouldn’t care about that. It should be for Felix to figure out. Vortex’s mech- his body- his- there wasn’t a bathroom. Or a cafeteria. There were lockers, with his old stuff. Old MREs, enough water to help Felix after he woke up- even if the idiot had puked the first bottle out onto the mech’s- Vortex’s hull. But it wouldn’t be enough, not forever. Maybe Felix could think of a solution; he was smart like that sometimes. Felix seemed to have a lot on his mind right now though. Vortex had expected Felix to find Ambulon by now, he really wasn’t that well hidden. He was just tied to the wall with some cable, one of the sleeping bags Felix had brought inside Vortex’s- in the mech’s head- to cover him up.

Felix usually had a much sharper eye than this. Vortex grumbled quietly. Felix didn’t notice. Vortex snorted crossly, more loudly. Felix picked his head up from his hands. “Vortex?” he asked. There was something in the way Felix said his name, something in the way his eyes glinted in the mech’s- in Vortex’s- red lights.

[FELIX BABY~] he purred.

Felix leaned forward in his seat. “Yeah?”

Vortex let the silence pick at Felix’s patience a moment, then grinned.

[I CAN WARM YOU UP~] he said, flashing the words on his screen and speaking it into Felix’s head through the drift, grinning fiendishly as the suggestive tone in his voice made Felix blush. Little freak~

“Errrr, but I’m not cold,” Felix fumbled. His eyes darted around a little, as if looking for somewhere to look that wasn’t part of Vortex. He still didn't see Ambulon. He was busy looking for somewhere that wasn’t flirting with him. Basically, Felix was avoiding looking Vortex in the eye. Or he would be if Vortex were.. organic. And while he tried to feign a lack of understanding, Felix was blushing. It was cute. Vortex snickered. His pilot was adorable. And also a freak. He was an adorable freak. And he was his.

Vortex snickered again, opening the vents and blasting his AC. Felix stared dumbly, then stood, hand on hip, an admonishing look on his face. His mouth opened like he was going to deliver a withering retort, then it shut again, and he swallowed. His expression softened slightly, then contorted with confusion, and rehardened into complete bafflement with an edge of offense taken.

“…why?” he murmured quietly, so softly Vortex felt it through their drift connection more than he heard it.

[COLD YET?~]

“Uhhhhhhhhhhhh…”

Vortex opened the vents even wider, blasting the cold air even harder.

Felix gaped.

[COLD YET?]

“No, but I will be soon, do you mind??” he snapped back. His exasperation overpowered his fear of retribution for being cheeky. It was delicious.

Slowly, Vortex closed the vents, letting the air flow ponderously wilt to a trickle. Felix glared suspiciously at the vents as they sluggishly shut close. Vortex held them open a moment, waiting to see and feel Felix’s anticipatory frustration bubble, which it did. Once he’d tasted enough of that, he let the vents snick all the way shut, cutting off the AC completely. Felix held his breath a moment, waiting for Vortex to do something. Which he didn’t. Felix waiting for him to do something was too fun. And it felt nice having Felix so focused on him, especially after he had spent so much time “distracted.” By Pharma. By recovering from Pharma’s vile mysterious IV drip. By Pharma trying to turn Felix into another one of him. Another Vortex. Vortex gritted his- well he would’ve gritted his teeth except he didn’t have any. His gears ground in response to his anger. His current “body” didn’t have organic teeth but it did what it could.

Felix tensed, ever mindful of Vortex’s moods. The moment was ruined. He HAD been planning on waiting until Felix relaxed, then immediately restarting the AC as strong as it could go. Give him a good jumpscare, and give Vortex another excuse to crack a joke about keeping him warm before pointing him to the sleeping bag Ambulon was occupying. But Vortex had gotten distracted thinking about Pharma- every passing thought on the matter made Vortex itch to kill something. Or rather, several somethings. Lots of somethings, (including Pharma of course), with as much blood and screaming as possible. Anyway. He had gotten distracted, and ruined the moment before he could make Felix jump.

Vortex forced himself to allow a smile on his… well, not on his face. His mood? He allowed a smile on his mood. Felix was okay. He was away from Pharma. He was safe, and alive, and trapped inside his cockpit. He wasn’t going anywhere. Vortex had plenty of time to play with his pilot. And they had a friend now too- someone Vortex could send out to get food for Felix, or hold hostage if Felix tried to leave. Someone else who had an actual brain to figure out how to solve problems. Felix’s brain couldn’t be trusted- not when it came to self-preservation. His choice of Vortex as a friend made that clear enough. That and his inability to spot anything wrong with the bulging lump on the wall. Vortex had a mind, he was able to think despite being dead afterall, but his brain had been dragged and cleaned out of his current head ages ago. Shattered skull and all.  

Ambulon, despite getting very chatty when he had first woken up, still had a skull in perfect condition. He wasn’t even bruised (probably) when Vortex re-sedated him and tied him to the wall, and covered him with the sleeping bag. He’d even managed to duct tape the jumpy lab rat’s mouth closed without blocking his other airways. That took skill. Absently, Vortex wondered if Felix would be impressed by his handiwork. Felix hadn’t been around when Vortex first came online- after dying that was. Didn't know how difficult this kind of precision could be. Hadn’t been around when Vortex was still figuring out how to move his new “body.” Some of the casualties he’d caused back then had been accidents. Sort of. Accidents he’d, unbeknownst to his victims and everyone else who’d thought he was gone, reveled in. And then replicated. Again. And again. Repeating until he was capable of the same intentional blood spilling he had been capable of before. Like a baby murderer, relearning how to walk and talk- and stab people in the guts.

Killing was like breathing to Vortex. Was like laughter, and smiling. It was really quite kind of him to have not killed Ambulon. He was Felix’s friend though, and had enough potential to be fun and useful- not to mention he’d been running from Pharma. Vortex might not know a lot about Ambulon, but he wasn’t about to do Pharma’s dirty work for him. Beyond that…Ambulon’s drift connection allowed Vortex to feel what Felix felt like. As an organic. With a living body. Had allowed him to feel what it felt like to hold his hand. To hold him as he slept, safe and sound. Vortex could repay that by not killing or hurting Ambulon too much. Wouldn’t stop him from spooking him as much as he pleased, but…he was grateful, in a way. It wasn’t something he had ever expected to experience. It was part of why Vortex had stuck him to the wall instead of back in bed with Felix. He liked it, but he wasn’t sure what to think or feel about it, and frankly didn’t want to right now. And he didn’t want to share the feeling either. Felix was his, and that’s what mattered. Ambulon was Felix’s friend, and they, he, Vortex, could figure out what that meant later.  

Felix, for his part, had fallen back asleep, slumped in his pilot’s seat. Ambulon could wait until he woke up again. Vortex used some cabling to grab the remaining sleeping bag, then wrapped it around Felix and the chair- cocooning him cozily and tying him to the chair simultaneously. He toyed with the thought of dangling his old suit in front of Felix’s head so it would be the first thing he saw when he woke up… but he decided against it in the end. He liked the thought of punishing Felix if he tried to grab and put it on, but he knew he wouldn’t. There had been such a reverence in the way Felix stared at the suit that Vortex had once worn. An unspoken want in the way he caressed Vortex’s name stitched over the right breast of the suit. An unspoken want that made Vortex want him to wear it. Even without punishing him for it, just to have his name on him…he couldn’t stitch it onto his chest, not directly- Felix was too squishy for that, and Vortex wasn’t delicate enough with a blade on his own to do it without killing his prize. If he could have his name on him though, if Felix put it on by choice-  

Vortex hummed thoughtfully. The notion was intoxicating. Invigorating. Carefully adding more cabling to secure Felix to the chair and their new resident lab rat to the wall, Vortex got up and started walking. Felix had only just recently removed whatever Pharma had attached to his leg, and if it had been a tracker, then they didn’t want to stay here for long.

Maybe he could find some monsters to kill, something to take the edge off his currently stronger-than-usual bloodlust. Maybe find the ones Felix had once considered the most likely to be edible. Have Ambulon cook it and test it, see if it worked.

He hummed some more, looking forward to getting his gears bloody again. He was going to go kill some monsters, wouldn’t be returning to base, and would have Felix with him the whole time. Yes, today was going to be a good day.  

[ideal-idiot]

i was unable to resist the jazzprowl

empurata!prowl belongs to @keferon

[localleyendeckerenthusiast]

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

[enigmatist17]

I've never written Deadlock before, but RatchLock(?) in the Mecha Pilot Jazz Au by @keferon has me by the throat bc Ratchet is my #1 babygirl of All Time ❤️❤️❤️

My other fics I've done in said AU 1 2

---

Ratchet was old.

Sure, he still had a good 50 to 60 years left in him, but hoy boy he was old. He knows most of that "aging" happened when he worked with the mecha program, and while it had been the highlight of his life, the dark road they had started to turn down wasn't for him.

Pilots dying in dozens from all sorts of ways, the worst being the degradation of their minds from the very machine used to defend humanity

Bright-eyed rookies turning hollow and their spark burned out, most leaving with eyes unseeing inside the same black bag.

Demands for more, demands to integrate human and machine, demands to take away their humanity to win

Demands that still haunt his dreams, especially when old superiors ambush him with a gaggle of his new students and interns in his tow.

His town, dammit!

Most of them watch Ratchet spend the rest of the day cursing up a storm that could make any sailor blush while slamming things down, everyone escaping when he eventually made a vague motion to the door. He goes for his bottle of whiskey once he makes sure the last student drives off with some friends, taking a seat in the middle of the shop floor as he pours himself a generous glass, setting the bottle by the side of his chair.

"Does Ratty have all his toys away~?"

"For now." Ratchet rolled his eyes as he took a sip, able to hear the bay door behind his chair rattle before opening with a slight screech. To a normal person, the sight of what appeared to be an unpiloted mecha slipping into some random repair shop would have caused a bit of a ruckus, but Ratchet is unbothered as he takes another sip of his drink. "Make sure you close the door this time."

"I leave it open one time." The mecha scoffs, glowing red eyes cycling in exasperation as the bay door is closed with a slight tug, the loud crash of metal on concrete making the human in the room pinch the bridge of his nose. "Oops."

"If I had a wrench within reaching distance..." The mecha grins as it crosses the shop floor, unapologetic as they sit on the floor across from the bioengineer. "Any luck today?"

"I was able to take out two scouts, should give me enough energon for a few cycles." Ratchet watches as two glowing cubes are pulled out from a seemingly endless storage space inside one arm, shown off before they're placed back inside. "I've survived off less."

"I'm still working on a synthetic version, but no luck." A flicker of regret crosses Ratchet's face, and the mecha reaches over to poke the top of his head. "Hard to create an alien food source, apparently."

"You're still trying, I'll take that." The mecha croons, glowing eyes watching Ratchet take another sip with a sort of purring noise.

No, not a mecha, an honest-to-god alien known as a Cybertronian.

"You seem upset." While the strange organics lacked an EMF field, Deadlock didn't need one to see the annoyance in those pretty optics of his human.

"Just some of the usual bullshit." Deadlock raised an optic ridge and stared, his ornery human staring right back with a scowl. "Got somethin' on my face?"

"You don't get this grumpy over the "usual" bullshit." Deadlock leaned forward with a slight tilt of his helm, the low rumble of his engine getting the other to relax just enough to consider it a victory. "Ratty~"

"Stop calling me that, my name is Ratchet." The Cybertronian only grins, reaching forward to poke the man in his chest.

"I don't like you being upset." Metal that should not be that expressive molds into a pout that would rival his little niece, and had he not seen Deadlock rip out a part of one of the alien threats (Quintesson he's been told) with those sharp teeth, he might find it cute.

.....

Fuck

"Some of those government fucks showed up in front of my people, wanted me to just leave and go back to all of....that." The whiskey is drained, and Ratchet leans over to grab the bottle. "It's one thing to harass me over the phone, but the street? In front of my kids? They can fuck right off with that." The glass is filled again, and the two sit in silence as he slowly drinks, looking at the floor with his brows furrowed. "I can't go back to that, no matter how much that would help out my....project."

"Aw, I'm a project now?" Deadlock cooed, a clawed digit gently caressing the side of Ratchet's face with as much care as he could muster. "I got an upgrade~"

"You're a disaster." Ratchet rolled his eyes, but otherwise didn't move as he listened to the (begrudgingly) familiar cadence of Deadlock's systems. While he could be as silent as the grave, Ratchet was pretty sure he was some sort of spy or assassin of some kind despite any questions getting the brush off, the alien mech had adopted the practice of allowing his natural ambient noise to become noticeable.

Just for his human, one of many things he'd adopted for his savior-turned-object of affection.

"Would you like for me to kill them?" Deadlock purrs when Ratchet raises an eyebrow, taking in the warmth against his digit. "I could make it look like an accident~"

"Like hell you will, that'll just get more eyes on me."

"Are you sure? Didn't sound like you were all that upset by the idea Ratty."

"Yes I am...though if they approach me in public again, maybe you could cause an accident or something, as a treat."

"Oh you do spoil me~!"

[micespaceart]

Heyyyy @keferon this is for you(((:

I really liked your beasthunters au, so...I started this when it only had like 4 parts, but uhhh yeah I finally finished it.

Thanks for making that, it's awesome^^

[dundeey-art]

some blurr for @keferon i had some trouble with him so i dont think he came out too well, hope you like it anyway!

[sock-has-rock]

Some fanart for @keferon s snow au! This au consumes my brain and I had time on my breaks so made a rough sketch.

(also in my heart I think Jazz is a chronic chair swinger, if he's sat down all four of the chair legs are not on the floor.)

[p3pp3rm1ntt3a]

Yeah I love these goofy from @keferon snowbot au <3

[miniartistme]

What if prowl couldnt or didnt interfere with the mission? how bout we die (or maybe not? who knows.) :) lets just do that yeah? What if something different happened after this addition?

HEY !! LOOKIT

This Empurata!Prowl au belongs to @keferon !!

I had this in my head for a whole of too much time so I had to draw it.

I had an idea to draw more frames, but with prowl this time, and him being unable to get to him or getting there too late. I just have this image of prowl clawing at the doors to try but he. just. cant. get. out.

[cosmique-oddity]

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

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Two - To the Stars

Part One

———

When people speak about cultural differences, they expect some language barriers and mishaps because of how you were raised. Sticking four people of not only different cultures but different age groups on a rocket not destined to return to Earth might not have been the brightest of ideas, but they were some of the best pilots that Earth had to offer and the ones with the least attachments. Both those combined made it seem like the perfect idea, differences be damned.

Hound was originally from California but was a military brat, so he spent the better part of his life in the culture of the US military, enlisting himself at eighteen and not looking back. When the pilot program came around, he set himself on the long list of volunteers to see if he’d be compatible with Mecha or not. When he eventually was found compatible, he was shipped off to the research center to work on a special Mecha, one that was made more to confuse the alien than to destroy it, perfect illusions and the perfect decoy. That was back when everyone still thought we had a fighting chance. He’d had his suit for years and its overhaul for space fairing was just par for the course of how his career had gone. Pilot 1124; divorced, no children, mother deceased, and father career military. Near perfect candidate for Arcturus mission.

Breakdown was from what is once again Ukraine, growing up behind the iron curtain left him at a slight disadvantage when it came to understanding the Mecha Suits. He was initially pulled into the Soviet program while under mandatory conscription, it was just a few months before his two years were up, but when he was found to be compatible with a recently vacated suit there was no questions on who would fill it. The solitude of working in a suit appealed to him, cause when you’re in the suit and turn down radio communications, it’s like it’s just you and the enemy you’re tearing apart. Very fitting for him. His suit has gone through many renditions both before and after the fall of the curtain, even its adjustments by Mecha, on semi-permanent loan; were normal. He just tried to make sure his cockpit remained the same, it was the environment he became the most familiar with, even more than his apartment in Kiev. Pilot 1457; no wife, no children, mother and father reside in Kiev, Ukraine; siblings vary. Non-perfect candidate, cooperation with former Soviet Union mandatory. Candidate for Arcturus mission.

Sunsteaker and Sideswipe were civilians from Florida, no previous family enlistments of record, no prior record of draft selection. These two came about later in the program, hand selected by Mecha for military training and transfer to the primary facility. When the boss saw their shining personalities at a not-so-legal street race, it was practically love at first sight. Being younger when the aliens first attacked had left both with scars in both literal and figurative senses, being compatible with vacated suits that often worked in tandem made them the right choices for the selection. Neither suit was particularly powerful, but both were considered abnormally fast. With limited options in their previous region of residence and mutual desire to make a difference, candidacy was the only feasible option. They more often than not work together and are currently heading towards the record of most take downs by tandem units. Overhaul was limited, newer suits without much need for adjustment. Pilot 2450 and 2451; no wives, no children, mother deceased, father deceased, siblings enlisted together, perfect candidates for Arcturus mission.

For a mission that wasn’t meant to go well, picking the right candidates was key. For each of the missions, three of them were already planned out of course. The work on the Mecha needed to be started as soon as the first batch were done, they didn’t to be able to sustain a human life for at least a year in space plus more intense gravity that what existed on earth, as a precaution. You didn’t know where these things could or would crash once a pilot was dead inside, if recovery efforts could be made in a hand full of decades for the suits that saved the earth, that could turn a major profit in a hand full of years. Limited or no connections for these pilots was important. It was bad enough that Jazz had some family that needed paying off and he was meant to come back with data for the Arcturus missions, he was meant to go back up on Arcturus One. Well, there wasn’t much use in looking at the past, not when there was an enemy to annihilate.

The day of the launch was the first time in several years that when suiting up for a mission, none of the pilots put on the assistant suits, but flight suits for the shuttle. Each was still colored in the tones of their corresponding Mecha, helmets on to hide a majority of their features and numbers sat right below their name badges. It was the wait that was practically killing them, sat inside a giant warehouse with nothing to keep their mind off the endless expanses of space. No one could be bothered with trying to face them, for those who didn’t pilot a suit they could never understand the sacrifice and those that did were being kept away. Life and death, the state of the world as they knew it could lay on their shoulders and the data that their suits would collected and send back to earth while they hurdled towards their potential doom.

“Do you think Jazz felt like this? His last night before bugging out?” Sideswipes voice was both muffled and painfully loud, coming through their helmets while being muffled in the echoing space.

“It’s possible, but he didn’t have to deal with the fan fair of the last few weeks, so maybe not. He might have gotten a decent night sleep and woke up, ready to face the stars.” Hound leans his head back to stare at the glass ceiling, the sky was almost too blue out there. The type of day when those things would attack without mercy, he shudders slightly.

“You think the others will be able to handle the fight while we’re gone?” Now Sunstreaker was asking the dumb questions, leaning forwards and resting his elbows on his needs, helmet in hands, “Losing four of us is a lot.”

“They will be fine Kid, losing four for a specific region is easier to cover than four deaths spastically.” Breakdown’s voice was the very stereotypical, learning English from movies, that tone that actors of the seventies and eighties had when over exaggerating their words. His ankles were crossed and he was leaned back comfortably in the chair, eyes closed though hidden by the helmet.

There was silence for a few seconds, before Hound cleared his throat, “Besides, if any of us kicked the bucket in our mechs, half of ours are outdated and would be out of commission for a while and the other half are far to specialized to get compatible pilots for straight off the list.” Rubbing his shoulder, he shrugs a bit. Sideswipe looks over, “Everyone said the same thing about First Aid’s mech, that freak of nature seems to not want to let go of that guy.” In some manner, they all hum, nodding or grunting, “Sometimes the suit just knows when it has the right pilot.” Breakdown’s tone was final, meaning that the conversation should end there.

“You think we’ll find him though, right? We’re heading on the same flight path.” Sunstreaker looks to Hound, fingertips lightly grasping the bottom edge of his helmet, “I don’t know. We can only hope.” Then they fell to silence again, they’d have enough time to talk each others ear off for the rest of their lives, no matter how long that would take, they’d have the rest of them together now whether they liked it or not. Sideswipe lightly grasps Sunstreaker’s shoulder, Hound goes back to staring and frowning at the sky, while Breakdown stares at his boots.

—

It took a while for them to get called to their action places, as if this was a film set and not a launch pad. There was nothing for miles out here, but the sheer number of camera’s recording their last steps on earth was part of the plan. Plan for funding, plan for advancement, and plan for god knows what else. The boss with his dazzling smile stayed away, watching from afar, leaned against a car far nicer than any pilot would be able to afford even with their insane salaries. The warehouse with its glass roof wasn’t far from the specially crafted launch pad, that was supposedly brand new but already covered in scorch marks from Jazz’s under the rug mission. None of the pilots said anything though, the money that was just minutes away from hitting the bank accounts of those they cared about most was to important. And those without loved ones, well they didn’t want to take it away from the other pilots and their families.

Walking in a line, they didn’t say anything, staring at the shuttle with the slightly folded Mecha attached to it, the cone on the front to cover them all making it appear like a giant umbrella was covering them from a non-existent rain storm. The launch pad was recessed into the ground, to prevent some of the damaging fuels from leaching or spreading onto the nearby land. If there was one thing Mecha was trying to seem, it was conscious of the planet they protected. The lift was just big enough for the four of them and an operator to fit on it, that and a camera trying to get their closeups perfect. Hound lightly shoved the hovering camera robot, trying to stay focused. Sideswipe chuckled lightly, adjusting his flight suit a bit, Sunstreaker shoves him slightly and shakes his head. It was starting to feel normal, the prep for this mission, at least this part was not dissimilar to going out in a suit for a fight. The lift jars to a stop, sending them stumbling lightly as the gate opens to the gantry, the ship’s primary door standing open and waiting. Looking at each other, they step put and to the ship.

Each seat was marked with their call sign, designating their set position, the in cabin cameras rolling for the launch. A airlock to the cargo bay was blocking the view of the specially made gangways into the suits, designed to attach to the alerted entranced into their piloting stations. No longer would the suits slip open to take in a pilot, now only had one entrance and exit; when shut it was hard to tell there was an entrance to the suits at all. The last thing Mecha wanted was whatever this enemy was plucking their pilots out of the cockpits in space, it was bad enough they were figuring that out planet side. Strapping into their seats, the airlock was closed by the lift operator with a whispered ‘good luck’. Pilots stuck together even through the stupidest moments. Like taking the fight into unfamiliar territory that had already claimed on of their own.

Before the microphones were turned on, there were quiet murmured prayers and declarations of revenge, Jazz’s name on all their lips for a moment before Hound turned the switch to activate the microphones. Calling out flight preparations and getting the shuttle ready to launch itself, four mech suits, and pilots into the vastness of space; was almost intimidating.

It was like any other mission to space, whenever astronauts were heading to the ISS, it was almost like that. Only they weren’t stopping in orbit and were going farther than almost any human had before, it would be easy, or so said the boss. God he was awful. The engined ignited with a roar and a harsh tug as gravity attempts to keep the rocked tethered to the planet. Each pilot was watching their given system, no longer worried about the cameras or those listening, focused on each other and the mission. With the pull and the radio traffic, the assent into space would become a blur for all of them, not bothering staring out the windows and focused entirely on their equipment. Space and the fight of a life time laid in front of them.

—

A loss of contact was expected, planned even, it was usual on the other side of the moon. They could speak freely, though their instruments were still the priority, “Did any of you think about the fact we’re going to be stuck together for, who knows how long? Cause that just occurred to me.” Sideswipe was now staring out the window as the lunar surface that none of them would get to touch, frowning slightly as the tinted shield of his helmet was clearing away from the harsh sunlight of the southern sky they’d been in, now hours ago. His brother turned to look at him, “I reminded you what this mission was, several times, over the last year and it’s just now occurring to you?” The tone was one of almost hate, the kind of hate you could only have when your sibling was being an absolute moron, “Well, yeah. I didn’t really listen to your rants.” The first thing thrown in zero-g was an iPod, still hitting Sideswipes helmet but not as harshly as Sunstreaker would have preferred.

Breakdown felt like putting his helmeted head through the console in front of his, “This is going to be the longest mission ever.” Removing his helmet, he rubs his face, looking to Hound who’d already taken his off, “You can say that twice.” As a helmet was thrown across the cockpit of the shuttle, “A very, very long mission.” Both the older men glanced back at the bickering twins, who had now unstrapped from their seats and tumbled back towards the main hold and their suits where artificial gravity would help them fight each other better. The loss of contact was normal, primarily because they knew that this first stretch of the mission would either succeed or fail. Data was still getting sent back to earth, slowing in its response the further away they got from the planet. It was normal, it was totally fine, things would be fine. At least, they kept telling themselves that.

The view out the front glass was of infinite space, Jazz’s last coordinates logged into their system for a potential recovery of his mech and a hopeful anticipation of finding wherever those aliens called home. Or even just their own launch point, since no one knew where or how they kept coming to earth, to many questions with even fewer answers.

A loss of contact was normal. They lost contact with Jazz and his mech after two weeks of him in space. It would be way harder to lose contact with a shuttle and four mech’s, right?

———

A/N:

Wow, thank you so much for enjoying the first part! I promise that part 3 is going to follow. I don’t know how many of these I am going to write, or where it’s exactly going, but the four people aboard the shuttle are out for revenge. On who? They aren’t entirely sure, but whoever is holding Jazz is likely it, right?

Anyways, next part will probably dive more into their mission, and likely the loss of contact with Earth. Who knows how they get to Cybertron, hehehe. All the boss knows is that Arcturus One merch is selling like hot cakes, they can fake contact for a little while with the tech they possess, plus Arcturus Two takes off in less than a year! So they got to get ready for that.

Hope you all enjoyed.

Specifically want to tag @lunarlei68 & @whirlywhirlygig for re-blogging the first post. If you haven’t read it, it’s linked.

Thank you @keferon for inspiring us all with this.

[rungalwaysheretolisten]

Can we appreciate this amazing idea this YouTube artist did! Like this fix Megatron so good!! Idk if anyone on tumblr seen this masterpiece but the transformer community like look at this!!! It so good like this is like good story bored quilts and be so cool to see in an animation right!

[wanderneverlost]

Y’all…

Y’all have no idea how freaking excellent the writing and art is with @keferon and @somerandomcockroach ….

They have consecutively got me hooked on the Transformers Mecha AU.

When I say the I cannot get enough, I literally mean there is not enough content that can satisfy my need to read more!

And what’s worse-

I have a few ideas I want to add, I’m just working up the nerve to go ahead and get ‘em out there.

Anyways! Thanks for listening to my rambling- byyyeee!

[transformersbuthuman]

More snow human Jazz!

Inspired by @keferon s snow au!

Eyes behind the visor is so fragging hard when small like this