#mecha pilot au

[evilbugwizard]

Tf mecha au brainworms got to me hah

Blurr doodles 👍

[wiltyard]

mecha pilot au!reader x tranformers

PROMPT

masterlist 12/13/2024 inspired by: @/revelboo's idea of transporting humans wherever cybertronians are!!! @/keferon's mecha pilot au of mecha pilot!jazz x prowl!!

Can't help but think about an AU where a mecha pilot!Reader just suddenly gets transported to the Transformers Universe in the middle of a war?

They can't just stand still and ask the next guy they see about whats happening because they might get blown to bits. They have to make do with what their eyes can tell them, how to keep themselves safe and alive, and most importantly, who they can help.

By the time the battle’s over, they get taken aside, brought to Optimus. And he's thanking them, asking them their name, not yet aware that they are not Cybertronian at all.

The entire time, reader is just nodding along. Pretending to understand what he's saying but never actually,,,, replying, only gesturing.

Optimus just takes it that they're the silent type. 

They eventually find out the reader can only speak English and doesn't know Cybertronian.

They finally spoke. Introducing themselves, what squad they're from, their ID number, what organization they work for (they check, none of the mentioned organization or squad exists, and yet they do) telling them their name.

The Autobots register that the reader had not spoken Cybertronian, but an Earth language. One of which they thankfully have in their database.

The reader goes silent, before going; “Your stars are not my stars.” (does anyone get the reference, plsplsplss)

Reader’s mecha has a force shield that is constantly on, preventing anything from getting inside a specific perimeter around their mecha that spreads out 5-10 kilometers, specifically preventing projectiles, to other mechs, other humans, everything, from getting near them, you get the gist.

The first time someone tried to get close they hit the shield face-first, causing the reader to apologize and explain their EM field.

“I’ll have to register you manually into the system so you can get through the shield.”

From registering one person, to five, to seven, they eventually disable the shield altogether once they finally trust the Autobots.

Reader finds out that one of the bots was tinkering with something that brought them here to begin with.

Turns out it's been bringing other humans on the base too and never told them about it. To be fair, they didn't know it’d bring someone from a completely different universe here too.

And no one even thought of telling them, the reader left people behind in their universe, their duties, people might think they’re a deserter, that they abandoned them. All of those people who believed in them...the reader is enraged.

The first bot they let through the shield at the beginning is the one who first tried to talk to the reader and calm them down.

Reader doesn't reply back, the mecha they pilot silent, no sign of life, but they know the reader is in there.

Bot approaches them, sounding frustrated, whatever they were going to say gets cut off with an oof!, hitting the force field around the reader’s mech.

They watch as the hexagon shapes rippled then fade.

Reader had enabled the shield again. But this time, no one can get through them.

[chiliger]

Jazz worries for Optimus’ health.

Inspired by @keferon ‘s Mecha Pilot AU. It’s some really cool stuff, and I remember reading a post somewhere about Optimus being one of the first people to pilot a mecha during the technology’s infancy. Which lead to some serious physical and mental repercussions. I immediately thought of the scene from Pacific Rim and had to make a rough animatic.

[yayadrawsthingz]

Oh Hey look it's Ch 2 of this thing I made for @keferon 's Mecha au. More Texaid because I can not, not love them. This paring has done stuff to me, so I am making all of this, you're problem. Have fun reading.

tw for mild gore

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

All was black, that’s all that Vortex could see as he pushed against the restraints of Shockwave’s weird mind control thing. “Come on. Just. Let. Me. THROUGH!” Vortex pushed and pushed, until he was falling. Down and down, faster and faster until he hit the ground hard. Or was it really the ground, considering that this was Felix’s mind.

Getting up was disorienting, Felix’s mind was a rush of multiple things happening at the same time and truthfully, it sometimes made Vortex’s head hurt by how overcomplicated Felix made unnecessary things. No matter what, he is in the depth of his mind. The only problem now, finding Felix alive. 

The Problem was how? How can you find someone that’s trapped in their own mind, and how does he know he’s not talking to a memory? Uhhg Think Vortex Think, there has to be a- 

Laughter filled the area and a tiny figure ran past him. The darkness was no longer darkness, instead, a fuzzy memory of outside. Looking down at the kid-First aid;Felix as a kid, he was holding something in his hands, running closer to other kids. Looking closer he could see that what little Aid was holding was the shedding of a garter snake. Kid happily presented it like a trophy only to be screamed out that he was disgusting, before they ran away from him. Lil Felix looked down at the snake with a pout. “What’s wrong with the snakie pajama?” Before any more words were said, the world changed around the two of them, well mostly Vortex as now he was standing in a classroom with a teenager Felix cutting open a frog. He was the only one enjoying it, as the others around him were gagging at the smell, or were refusing to dissect it. He heard whispers around them from the ‘popular’ girls. “Eww is he really enjoying that?” “What a freak, like dissecting animals.” “You think he killed animals when he was younger.” “He should be put in the loony bin.” Vortex growled at those words, how dare they say such mean things about Felix. Ya He may be a freak, but he’s not a psychopath. If only he can give them a piece of his mind, but he can’t, as it was just a fucking memory. 

Just like the last one, The memory was changing into a courthouse. Felix was in prison cloths, and it seemed like he was being sentenced when- 

Shockwave walked in, asking the judge if he could take the organ stealer off his servos, and put him to good use of community service as a medic in his company. The Judge thought about it, before giving him his sentence that he would be put into community service by Senator Shockwave’s Mecha program. 

The memory changed once again. He was standing in front of himself- His Mecha. Glowing red visor as it displayed “Get inside” only this time it was different, instead of letting him in all the way, no the visor closed shut, blood everywhere, as Felix gasped for air, screaming his lungs out, trying to push open the hydraulics of the visor. But it was fruitless, He would die here, another victim of the cursed Mecha. 

But unlike all of the other times, Felix’s eyes snapped directly onto his, a hand outstretched as he weakly called out.

“V-Vortex.” 

That got the ghost into action, rushing to his side, pulling him up and off of his mech's closed visor, blood following as his legs were left outside. He placed two hands on his cheeks. “Felix, First aid, Listen to me, it’s all going to be ok, you need to fight him. You need to fight Shockwave off. None of this is real. You are not hurt. I will never harm you like this. This is all him trying to scare you into giving up. So please. Felix. Don’t give up on yourself… Don’t give up on me.”

A hand was placed on his own cheeks, the smell of blood was strong, as Felix smiled. “You came.” “I,, Of course I came, I’m not an idiot, the only one who’s allowed to control you is me. Got it. No one is taking that away from me!”

Felix laughed weekly, hoisting himself up so he could wrap his arms around Vortex’s neck. “Got any ideas on how to leave the deep corners of my mind?” 

“I may know a way, so hang on tight baby.” He grinned, sharp fangs showing. Then they were taking off, out of the fake memories. Felix gained his legs back, and the blood disappearing the moment they came back to the darkness. 

Then they were being thrown back into real life. Vortex knew it was real mostly because he felt cold, ghostly, and not solid like he had been in Felix’s mind. The man in question gasped loudly, throwing his head forward, saliva dripping from his mouth. The mech paused, it had been moving before but now it was stopped with no one playing with the controls. 

Felix immediately took his hands off, realizing that he had just touched the one thing that had killed off multiple other pilots. Vortex just grinned at Felix’s worry, it was so cute, he really wanted to chomp down on him, perhaps find a way to make him a ghost piloting this mech alongside him. 

But no, they had bigger issues to attend too. There was electricity that flowed through the helmet into Felix, making him scream again. Damn it, Shcokwave was not going to let up was he. He will have to break his own rule. 

“Felix Pilot me.” “W-what, Pilot- I’m not going to- AHK”

“You can and you will, I am ordering you to pilot me, While I take on Shockwave. Don’t disappoint me, Aiddy.” His Grin was back to being sharp and full of venom, disappearing into the mecha itself, He was ready to defend Felix with his life. Not to let a single code from Shockwave get anywhere near Felix. 

He trusted the man not to fuck him up. Because it was no longer just him on the line, it was both of them. With a yell from the both of them, One piloting the mech like second nature while the other took on the waves of code.

They will stop Shockwave, once and for all.

-----------

This will possibly be the last chapter. But If I think of more, I'll just make a third chapter, hope you all liked it.

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

More TexAid Mecha AU-AU stuff!

In this chapter - Vortex continues to be an oversized blender, First Aid has Quite Enough of it.

Pls excuse any errors, the tuxedo cat LOVES to sit on my lap and explore my keyboard when I write and I don't always catch everything.

The schedule board was a large, digital board that could be found in almost every major area. It was also available on their phones, easily viewed by all. The medics had one of the deepest levels of access to assess lone workers, and to track who should be where in emergencies.

And the schedule board was wrong.

PILOT: FELIX ANWYL

First Aid groggily rubbed his eyes at the bright light of the phone being shoved into his half-asleep face.

“Whuh?” He sleepily mumbled. His hand flopped around blindly for his glasses before he gave up and grabbed the phone, pulling it closer.

“You’re scheduled on as a pilot today?” Ambulon asked.

“I’m not a pilot.” First Aid pushed the phone away and flopped back down. “I was on the night shift.” He pointedly said.

“I know, I know, I’m sorry!” Ambulon sighed. “I just can’t figure out why you’re on the list!”

“Someone must have made a mistake.”

It was not a mistake.

It was sabotage.

Red Alert glared hotly at them all as the announcement was made. The schedule had been hacked. Anyone with any information was to step forwards immediately.

The only reason First Aid had gotten away with just twenty minutes of grilling was because he’d been in the medical bay for the night shift, and then immediately gone straight to bed – the cameras showed him yawning as he clocked out at the time when the system was apparently compromised.

It couldn’t have been him, and there wasn’t anyone he could have asked.

First Aid felt the cameras trained onto him burning a hole through him, and tried his best to ignore it.

It kept happening. Every morning, his name would be right there on the schedule. They’d tried to remove it only for it to appear again moments later. Whatever it was, whoever it was, were sitting waiting in the system totally undetected. They couldn’t scrub them out. The mysterious morning memos changed too – songs about wanton longing were quoted instead.

A compromised system was unacceptable. In lieu of a functional digital system, they made the switch back to paper. Every morning, a thick ringbound stack of papers would be dumped in the main areas showing everyones shift patterns at precisely 5:30am. First Aids name had finally been scrubbed – but he’d seen correction tape on the pages by Vortex’s name. He was still managing to infiltrate the system.

Pilots feeling brave or lucky volunteered to pilot Vortex, to prove they were made of the right stuff. First Aid watched and winced every time Vortex staggered back into the hangar, doing that grinding tremble that he did when he was laughing, and having the smell of a corpse hit him even from the wrong end of the catwalk.

He’s consuming them, First Aid thought. They’re offering themselves as sacrifices, he’s an altar to them.

Pharma hadn’t allowed First Aid to go back into Vortex to extract the previous pilot (shovelling into a bucket was more apt now) since he’d been stuck inside. He’d not been caught when he’d sneaked into him that evening, but Pharma knew. Somehow, he knew – he’d changed the positioning of cameras in the medics quarters, he’d changed how the doors logged entry and exits. He’d know in an instant if he went. So, he stayed and had to hope that Vortex could see his expression from where he stood behind the gate.

Instead of being the one to extract them, he was often involved in assisting the autopsy. Pharma lead them alongside Ratchet – a way to keep him under watch and on his best behaviour. First Aid never let Ratchet see him step out of line – his disappointment would kill him. Pharma would look at him each time as he catalogued each part, every chunk and shard and unidentifiable puddle, as if to say ‘this is a warning’. As if to check that he was paying attention, that he would see that this would be what became of him if he went near the mech again.

Only First Aid didn’t believe it for a second. They had a deal. Vortex wanted his expertise, and First Aid wanted his body. His expertise was worth nothing if he was dead, if he were rendered to nothing more than mush that soaked into the fabric of the pilots chair and ran into the gaps between the plating.

The day that Vortex’s visor opened and sprayed the remnants of the pilot on the catwalk and the approaching trauma medics was the day that First Aid snapped.

“For fucks sake I don’t care - he keeps killing them!” He swiftly evaded the grabbing hands trying to restrain him. “Look, that cadet’s been scattered all over the catwalk! How are we supposed to autopsy that?!”

“Leave the worrying about that to the pathologists, Felix.”

“I don’t know about your conscience, but I can’t stand it on mine when I know I can do something about it. I’m going to talk to him.”

“Do you want to die? He’ll kill you.”

“He won’t, he promised.”

“And you trust it?” Disgust blended with disbelief. “That AI is rogue, Felix. It’s… it’s broken. I don’t think it will listen to a single word anyone has to say.” First Aid didn’t reply.

“Let me through.” He politely said to the guard. The guard looked between First Aid and the simmering Pharma behind him.

“I don’t think-“

“Let me through.”

“No can do, Felix.”

Pharma had a smugness about him. “See? Now, let’s behave-“

First Aid took a step back, assessing the height of the barrier. He could make that, right?

“Hey-!” The guards arms flew out to catch him as he jumped over, his foot catching and flipping him over. First Aid grunted as his jaw smacked the floor with a crack.

“Stupid boy!” Pharma scolded. “You’re still healing from the last time you got inside that mech! Don’t add to your injuries!”

“I don’t care!” First Aid snapped. “People are dying! We’re medics! Why aren’t you doing what you can to help?!”

“By climbing into death traps? Don’t be silly, Felix.” Pharma roughly tugged him up to his feet. “You’ll achieve nothing if you’re dead.”

“I’ll do a damn sight better if I go see the mech throwing a tantrum because I’m not in it.”

Pharma’s eyes were hard. “Your potential is not to be wasted on some hare-brained scheme. Do not test my patience again.”

First Aid swallowed hard, feeling his legs go numb. Maybe he’d pushed his luck too far - Pharma looked very serious indeed. He relented, relaxing as best he could into his hold, and mumbled an apology.

It seemed to please Pharma. He apologised to the guard for the trouble his charge had caused, and trotted him straight back to the medical bay.

Pharma made a mistake in thinking that was the end of it. First Aid had made the mistake in going to Vortex when he was still full of a disembowelled corpse.

Nobody minded the medic walking with purpose through the pilots quarters. His heart was in his throat, his pulse pounding in his ears, as he hoped nobody recognised him as the medic who kept ending up on the pilots list. Pretend you’re meant to be here.

Pretend.

His target was a supply cupboard that held spare suits. It was still three hallways away when someone noticed him.

“What are you doing?” Their voice was sharp, piercing. “You’re not meant to be here.”

Perceptor. Of course he would pissing notice.

First Aid silently held up a blister package of paracetamol. He didn’t trust his voice to hold.

Perceptor was someone whom he had looked up to when he was younger - a member of The Wreckers, children far and wide knew their names, their faces, their stats on their Top Trump cards. First Aid knew he should have been more starstruck, that he should have asked for an autograph, but the adrenaline was gripping him so tightly he couldn’t think past the now.

Perceptor wasn’t buying it.

He opened his mouth to challenge him, frowning and folding his arms, cocking his hip to the side-

And the klaxon went off.

They both immediately turned to look at the nearest signboard.

FELIX ANWYL stared back at First Aid, glaring and red and flashing next to Vortex’s name.

Giving him a look that promised it wasn’t the end of it, Perceptor rushed off to answer the call. First Aid took a moment to recollect himself before utilising the chaos to plunder the stores and nab himself a god damn uniform. Passing through the crowds was strangely easy – he blended right in to the mass of bodies, and just his luck – another pilot was already rummaging in the cupboard when he had arrived.

“Can you pass me an S?” He asked. They didn’t even look at him as they grabbed it and shoved it into his hands, flicking through the carefully packaged uniforms as they hunted. First Aid quickly thanked him and shoved it into his bag before swiftly walking out.

It was all on camera. He felt them trained on him, watching his every move.

But he felt somehow assured that nobody would know. Vortex was watching. He’d make sure he left no tracks.

Vortex’s response time had tanked. It had never been so low, even when they were struggling to find seasoned pilots willing to enter his jaws. The brass were starting to sweat. Their sponsors and investors didn’t like mechs that inexplicably failed, especially when the mech was supposed to be the best.

Engineers and the maintenance crew confirmed that he was passing all of his tests – there was nothing mechanically wrong with him. His AI was responding as intended. There were no bugs, no faults, nothing out of the ordinary with him.

But First Aid knew what the problem was. Vortex was throwing a tantrum, and it was only the thought of letting anyone else get their teeth into the quintesson invaders before he did that got him out of the hangar doors. His need for blood always won out when it came down to it – and he’d make a show of it if he needed to.

First Aid wore the thin under-layer of the pilots suit under his medics uniform, and carried the thicker armour in his backpack. He stowed it under his bench, always within easy reach - he’d grab it and sprint as soon as the siren went off.

Vortex was always one of the last to launch. Finding a willing pilot to get inside of him was getting harder, and they’d had to start using new recruits. Fresh, green, and who didn’t have a damn clue who he was or about the rumours of his supposed haunting. And new recruits needed showing the ropes, needed to be shown how the helmet worked, needed to have the reason why his name was on the screen explained away.

So he had about three minutes to get to him whilst they plucked someone from the academy. The medbay was a three minute sprint away if you were an athlete. He could do it in five. It would have to do.

The first klaxon since he’d stolen the suit was a night time alarm. He was dead asleep in his quarters a good twenty minutes away – he was only aware that they’d launched when the alarm in the medics building went off alerting them to incoming casualties. He’d shrugged on his uniform and hopped onto the transport, ready to jet off to the medical bay, and silently cursed his bad luck. Vortex would be so mad.

And mad he was. Apparently, the pilot had been mauled before they’d even left the hangar, the mech continuing on with just a slowly dying nervous system connected to it. Blood had oozed from the visor, loudly splattering down Vortex’s chest. The instructor who had brought the cadet up had cried.

First Aid felt the cameras on him. It felt like Vortex was accusing him of something, but surely he was just imagining that. The cameras looked no different.

Perceptor hadn’t said a thing to him. He also hadn’t said anything to anyone – if he did, First Aid knew he’d have been frogmarched up to the top brass, chewed out until he was but a smear on the floor, and kicked out into the cold unforgiving world outside. Pharma had been the one to protect him when he’d been caught with the infant quintesson – he’d been the one to catch him, to pretend nothing had happened and handled his discipline internally. There wasn’t anything he could do when it came to him stealing a pilots suit.

Especially when one considered that Pharma had explicitly told him to not do this. He’d be watching his downfall with a glass of wine and canapés.

It ate away at him, clawing at his insides. What was Perceptor thinking? What was he planning? Was he waiting to see what he would do?

Relief came in the form of a distraction and of stars aligning. It had taken three alarms, three incidents, three deployments of their mechs, before First Aid was able to make it to Vortex. He had always been too far, off shift or dead in sleep in a building where they weren’t alerted to quintessons.

In the chaos of an attack, nobody paid much notice to the pilot who jumped the barrier. Overzealous, over excited. The guards shook their heads at him. First Aid didn’t catch his foot this time, and was audibly wheezing by the time he got to Vortex. He’d said it was a five minute sprint, but he didn’t say a thing about what state it would be leaving him in. He felt dishevelled. His hair was sticking to him. He’d never felt more awake.

The new recruit was there, bright eyed and excitedly drinking in the atmosphere. The instructor had a guilty look on her face as she let them take one last look at the facility, their last look at life.

“Sorry, sorry, I’m here!” First Aid called as he slid to a stop. “I’m so late!” He gasped for breath, trying not to laugh in how giddy he felt. Pharma would murder him. Ratchet would be so upset. But Vortex had visibly shuddered, his canopy trembling, and he couldn’t suppress his giggle.

“I’m sorry, who are you?” The instructor looked perplexed. “I wasn’t aware the mech had a pilot assigned to them?”

“Felix. Felix Anwyl.” He smiled at them, still breathing heavily from his nose. Was he sweaty? He felt sweaty. He felt hot. He couldn’t wait to sit down.

“But-“

“Thank you for your diligence! Your service will be appreciated, cadet!” First Aid said as he jumped into Vortex, the visor snapping down behind him with a sound of finality. The lock loudly slammed into place, and First Aid threw himself into the seat as Vortex remotely began the start up procedures. The harness seemed to buckle itself around him, holding him firmly into the seat as Vortex roughly shoved off the dock and began to sprint.

“Woah- wait wait wait I’m not ready-!” His hands were scrambling for purchase on anything, hands slipping from the sweat of his earlier exertion.

Vortex shook with laughter.

[WELCOME ABOARD, DARLING~ <3]

First Aid lost himself laughing. “I can’t believe I did that! Look at what you’ve got me doing!”

[YOU’VE GOT BIGGER BALLS THAN I THOUGHT, I WAS STARTING TO THINK YOU’D NEVER COME BACK]

[DON’T WORRY ME LIKE THAT AGAIN~]

He was pressed firmly back against the seat as Vortex left the hangar, speeding up now that he was clear. In the distance, First Aid could see smoke.

The quintessons had arrived. They were closer than he thought they’d be – he’d never realised how close they got…

The adrenaline slowly wore off and the reality of the situation quickly sunk in.

He had disobeyed direct orders. He had stolen a pilots uniform, he had impersonated one, and he was currently in a mech he was not trained or cleared to operate.

“Pharma is going to kill me!” First Aid panicked. “Oh, I’m so dead, I’m so dead!” He pulled his hair in despair. “Oh!” He moaned, burying his face into his hands. “What is Ultra Magnus going to say?!”

[RELAX]

“Easy for you to say! You’re already dead! You don’t get court marshalled!”

[JUST PUT THE HELMET ON, I WANT YOU TO FEEL THIS TOO]

Bright blue blood splashed up onto the visor. First Aid scrambled for the helmet.

Pain shot through him and he cried out, tightly gripping the seats. It had been easier to handle when Vortex wasn’t moving, when he wasn’t busy twirling and slashing and slicing and running around, but there was so much data. So much information he had to take in, and he didn’t have the hardware required to filter it for him. He didn’t need to know that the panel on Vortex’s left foot right by the heel was slightly loose because of how hard he’d started to sprint, but it felt as if something were out of place on his own body and it was all that he could think about.

“Sorry about that, babe. I forget it’s a bit much for you squishies.”

Suddenly, the pressure crushing his head lifted. He breathed a sigh of relief, pressing a hand to his chest as if to hold his heart in place.

“How many did I miss?”

“Three.” He carved through another, the scream loud and cutting off with a wet gargle. “Four, if you count that one. Pay close attention – you’re telling me what to do to the next one.”

He was horrified, but he couldn’t look away. His words had stumbled and tripped, unclear and garbled, instructions lost in translation. He couldn’t think straight and Vortex was moving faster than he could keep up with – he had to. There were so many. It suddenly made sense why their pilots always came back exhausted, why their mechs always needed repairs. It didn’t stop.

But he was learning.

“Come on, honey, don’t make me regret sticking my neck out for you.”

“Can I take control?” His hands hovered over the controls, a joystick nudging itself into his palm.

“If it’s you I’ll allow it.”

The next kill was more like a dissection. The quintesson felt squishier than he thought it would, clasped in his hand. He held it up as he carefully inserted the sword with scientific precision, the blade slowly gliding down to reveal the peritoneum – it shone like an oil slick in the light of the slowly setting sun, and he could see one of its pulsing hearts straining against it. He was sure it was screaming, but he couldn’t hear over the thunderous beat of his own heart in his ears and the endless praise pouring out of Vortex.

“It’s got multiple hearts. That’s fascinating.” First Aid commented. “Okay, carefully does it…” he thought back to his first dissection. His little hamster, Lucky. The feeling of joy and wonder that he had had, the quiet worship that came when one engaged with the natural world around them in a way that left them feeling much smaller than when they had begun.

His hands hadn’t been as skilled back then. He’d struggled to get hold of a knife sharp enough without his parents noticing and taking it from him, he wasn’t even tall enough to climb up onto the counter top – he’d seen a documentary on TV about the palaeolithic and flint knapping, and a few days later had noticed a piece of stray flint on the beach. His parents had been happy for him to take it, thinking he was just excited to find an interesting rock. They never found out that he’d whacked it against the boulder that marked the end of their driveway to break off a piece sharp enough to cut flesh. He buried it with the hamster.

The quintesson dropped with a wet squelch, the peritoneum breaking and its internals spilling out over the fields. First aid tutted.

“Damn it, I didn’t mean to cut that deep.”

“There will be more to practice on. Look, the next one’s headed our way~”

“Am I in trouble?”

First Aid staggered out of the mech, exhausted and giddy and dizzy and bleeding. They hadn’t suffered a single hit – they were fast but Vortex was much faster – but the strain of the connection had proven too much again. Red dripped from his nose to the floor, splashing up onto his boots and the shoes of the opposing officer waiting for them to return.

“Yes.” Prowl said. “Yes, you are.”

Pharma didn’t look angry. Somehow, that made it even worse. He couldn’t look at him as he walked by - he couldn’t look at anyone.

He’d saved the life of the cadet, he told himself. He would saved the lives of countless more – if they let him, that was. The silence was heavy and oppressive.

The walkie talkie on Prowls hip crackled loudly. He slipped it from its holder and held it up to his ear, brow creased in a frown.

A series of short and long beeps proceeded to play. First Aid didn’t understand what the hell they meant, but he recognised it from documentaries on the war.

Morse code. Four letters repeated over and over.

Prowl stopped to turn and stare at Vortex. Water was starting to be sprayed on his exterior, glowing blue running down over his visor. A singular red dot pierced through it – a camera inside of his cockpit. He was watching them.

“What’re they saying?” First Aid asked.

“… Mine.” Prowl quickly turned and resumed a brisk pace. First Aid stumbled after him, Pharma catching him in a firm hand. Blood dripped onto his pristine white lab coat, blooming like flowers.

[gt-abby]

damn i want to be a part of the mecha au community for jazzprowl but i bareky have time to breathe, someone help

[stati22]

@keferon s Mecha pilot AU made my brain worms demand Blurr and Swerve so here they are, hope you happy brain worms

[skeletondeer]

Soundwave is the key communications officer between the Mecha and base control, without them, the whole operation goes silent. When they’re not working alongside Megatron and Starscream, they’re taking care of their little sisters, Rumble and Frenzy, and their cat Ravage is almost always glued to them.

Another backlog piece from my Mecha AU! I’ve got more art already on twitter or on my Patreon, but I’ll be uploading it all here over the next few weeks.

[quiminus]

My piece for the mecha pilot au enjoy `⎚⩊⎚´ -✧

Pov shockwave

The tea tasted of nothing, the words in the book were all blurry, since one cannot read in a dream the book was the picture of dorian gray

- i hope you like what i made, you know im not the best cook but i tried - said orion his dear orion

Orions face was a bit blurry, his memory of him had faded over the years and only now he was noticing this

- it tastes wonderful, you really outdid yourself this time - shockwave said his voice lighter than it had been in years

Shockwave entertained orion, this version of orion at least, while he tried to jog his memory and remember what happened before this

- you know, the upgrades you intstalled in our mech really helped with withdrawal symptons after the conection ends - said orion grateful to not feel like recovering addict every time he stepped out of their combined mech

Ah, yes now i remember- thought shockwave finaly realizing what happened

The mental space he had created for the pilots and their friends while he finalized his experiment, his orion, something had gone wrong and he had to step into the simulation, it seems not even he was able to resist its pull

- im glad they work, if it wasnt for me we would be wearing normal pilot suits - shockwave smiled a real smile something he hadnt done in years

- why not listen to some music, you always liked classical right? - orion reached for a radio that definetly wasnt there and turned it on

"Baby we built this house on memo.." "what if happened to you on..." and finally the sound of an orchestra it was the requiem of wolfgang from mozart

- no, you liked classical and roped me into this - mock accused shockwave with no real bite

The "evening" progressed much like this shockwave trying to regain his memory and find the exit while entertaing this "orion"

When it finally hit him

- you know, jazz i have been getting really into jazz recently i dont know why but it has made me really relax whenever i listen to it- orion said  after taking a sip of his tea

That pilot jazz and his alien mech, what was his name growl or something? They teamed up to fuck with progress with his orion and now it was time to fix this

He got up went to the door a few feet behind their table and went to grab the doorknob when

- where are you going? - asked orion confused

- i forgot something in my lab, ill go grab it and then we can continue - said shockwave giving one last glance at orion before he left the void where their table was

Walking between the simulations was something, first aid, what was his real name flex or something, was dissecting an alien with vortex, the real human version of vortex at his side, by the heated look on vortexes face it seems like the activity was about to change

The combaticons or rather onslaught, blast off and brawl were all getting drunk reminiscing about the good old days back when they were simple mercenaries brawl was trying to see how many cigaretes he could fit into his mouth

Deadlock ratchet and hot rod were all at ratchets home deadlock was in his vehicle mode drifting while hot rod was inside having the time of his life and ratchet supervised

Swindle was awed at swerve while blurr was laughing his ass off at swindles expression swerve flipped into alt mode and somehow swindle got even more bewildered with blurrs laughter geting even bigger

[Ignore this paragraph]

Dawnbreaker her human version Daniela brooks was ice skating she was in a competicion and was giving her all the music she chose for this one was funeral by neoni

[Now continue]

And finally his targets growl and jazz they somehow got out of the simulation and were trying to wake up everyone it was an easy fix just tweak a few things in the code and ban they were back where they belonged they were in a spaceship prowl was teling jazz about the stars and the constelations they formed he was talking about the constelation of orion and jazz was listening very closely not missing one detail

Before departing he took one last glance to it all orion waiting for him at a table in the void the pilots the setient mechs sighed and went back to the real world back to his orion to finalize his experiment it was worth it it will be worth it everything he told himself and opened his eyes and went back to real life

Now this has a continuatuon ->

[karanseraph]

I kinda want Mirage and Skywarp to play in the Transformers mecha pilot alternate universe, which @keferon originated.

I'm not 100% on who would be the pilot. I think it might make sense if the serious super-spy got the playful teleporting mecha with wings that sometimes just wants to teleport away from danger.

But it might be funny if the cocky but secretly scared military pilot got the mecha full of spy gadgets and holo-tech with the haughty and critical personality.

[serotoninisheldinkiwis]

been thinking abt @keferon 's mecha au and woe silly guy upon ye

i raise to you! mecha pilot arcee! from high-school teacher to mecha pilot, she's had one HECK of an interesting career path! her focus in her mech actually isn't combat- it's more evacuation and rescue! that doesn't mean she can't pop an invading quint if she has to, she's been trained in battle, but while mecha like jazz' and blurr's take point in fighting she helps injured people and crowds get away from the fight safely! her mech is one of the smallest and most compact for ease of maneuverability, but she is the most annoying wriggly glitch to exist because of this <33

[soundcrusher]

I made a continuation for this.

Mecha Pilot Au and Humanformer Overlord were made by @cuppajj

---

[springtimeishere]

I love CHAOS 💕

Wait it'd actually be so funny when all the different stories of the Mech au start overlapping. Because none of them know almost anything about each other they'd be so confused.

Jazz, Prowl, and Swerve arrive on earth and meet Ratchet and find that this random ass Decepticon has been living on Earth for god knows how long and are just "How the hell did you even GET HERE???"

And then there's TexAid who haven't had ANY Cybertronian shenanigans yet so First Aid is just like "WHAT THE FUCK DO YOU MEAN THERE ARE GIANT ALIEN ROBOTS??? I'VE BEEN DEALING WITH A GHOST THIS WHOLE TIME!!" So everyone else has to deal with the fact Ghosts exist apparently.

AHAHAHAHAHHA HELP

First aid: ALIVE ROBOTS ARE REAL???

Cybertronians: You're literally sitting inside one..no?

First aid: nonono Vortex isn't robot, he's a ghost

Cybertronians: GHOSTS ARE REAL????

Deadlock staring at Prowl: The fuck you look like that?

Prowl: I scanned a Mecha. So I'm Mecha now.

Deadlock: Oh shit for real?? With lil human holder place and everything?

Prowl: Yes. It allows Jazz to...assist and control my movements in battle.

Deadlock: WAS THAT AN OPTION THIS WHOLE TIME???

Swerve: Ratchet. Ratch I love you but what do you mean the whole time we've been working together you had the ENTIRE DECEPTICON LIVING IN YOUR GARAGE??

Ratchet: AND YOU'VE BEEN AN ALIEN ROBOT THIS WHOLE TIME AND DIDN'T FUCKING TELL ME??

Swerve: I DIDN'T KNOW THAT ALRIGHT??

Ratchet: THE FUCK YOU MEAN YOU DIDN'T KNOW???

[somerandomcockroach]

HELP, IT WAS SO SWEET I COULDN'T RESIST, here comes my good morning wheeezeee

Mecha pilot Jazz au made by -> Keferon <-

[silence-ofthe-llamas]

Apologies for the ones here for TexAid or even the mechs but it's Combaticon background time again~! Contains thinly veilled Onslaught/Blast Off I'm SO weak for them.

Oh how unkind the narrative is to them (it's me. I did this.)

Edit: completely realised I forgot: TW for thinly veiled homophobia

Brawl found a kitten once.

The thing was tiny, dwarfed by his massive hands. Its eyes were barely open, its fur matted with dirt and mud. They were pretty sure it was going to die. Its pitiful meows were more raspy whispers.

But Brawl still decided to look after it. His hands were suited for destruction, skilled at breaking and crushing. The kitten looked so fragile nestled up against the scars and callouses.

Vortex had said that he could wring its neck and kill it before it knew his hands were there - he’d had to do it before to orphaned kittens with frostbite in his home town when he was younger. He was practiced at it, a natural – the old women had said so themselves as they helped him bury their little bodies in the frozen ground. Brawl was venomously opposed to the idea. He fed it warm milk through a syringe, used a damp cloth to work the worst of the filth from its fur, and revealed the tabby cat coat pattern hidden underneath. Blast Off had remarked that they looked like a mackerel fish, and Brawl had decided that the cat was to be christened Mackerel.

Its life would be so short it didn’t matter what they called it, he’d argued. It’s not like they’d ever grow to care. It’s not as if they’d be mincing around with a cat mascot called Mackerel.

Except Brawl was very attached to Mackerel.

The kitten spent its naps tucked away in a pocket on his chest, replacing ammo and explosives. When awake, he watched him like a hawk. He procured him blankets, soft and fresh, warm and clean. He sat in his lap when they were in their vehicle, he held him close when bullets were flying, and shared pieces of his meals with him when he was old enough for solids.

The thing was too stupid to die.

Mackerel loved Brawl. He’d just need to see him to start purring. And, in turn, Brawl loved Mackerel.

It broke Brawls heart to leave him behind. His sister had promised to look after him, to make sure he was clean and fed and healthy, and once Brawl could come back, he’d be sure to remember him and would happily purr for him again. They all pretended they didn’t see the tears in his eyes as he said goodbye, that they didn’t hear the way his voice shuddered and broke as he stroked him one last time.

He didn’t know that it was the last time he ever would at the time, but something in him must have told him it would be.

It was all a bit unfair, really.

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

“Oh my god. He’s wearing the fucking trousers again.” Blast Off groaned.

Onslaught whipped around. “For fucks sake.” He slapped that mornings newspaper down onto the makeshift table and stood up, gesturing for Swindle to turn around. “No, no, absolutely not. Go get changed.”

“What’s wrong?” Swindle asked innocently. “I didn’t think we had any dirty jobs today.” The trousers were gaudy and glittery and godawful. How he liked them god only knew – he had locked eyes with them in the shop and that had been it. Instant infatuation. He was obsessed. Brawl saw him sneak back to the shop to buy more when his first pair mysteriously gained a rip across the groin. He seemed to always have a set at the ready.

“We’re meeting with potential clients, Swindle, you can’t come looking like that.”

“There’s nothing wrong with how I look!”

“You have two choices.” Two fingers were presented to him. “You take them off yourself,” a finger curled to his palm, “Or I take them off for you.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Alright, fine. I’ll need you to undo them for me though, my fingers are too stiff.” Swindle winked at Blast Off. Blast Off pursed his lips.

Blast Off took a knife from the sheath on his calf and calmly handed it to Onslaught. Onslaught took it without looking, and beckoned Swindle forwards.

“We’ll cut you out, then.”

“On second thought, I think I’ve got it!” Swindle squeaked, disappearing off back to his room. Onslaught tutted and passed Blast Off back his knife.

“Cheeky git.”

Blast Off hummed, carefully sliding it back into its sheath. “I was looking forwards to seeing them destroyed again.”

“He’s got three pairs.” Onslaught looked at him, expression very grim indeed. “I’ve seen them.”

“I can leak our location to get them destroyed?”

“There’s probably a stash of them somewhere in secure storage too. We’d never find them all.”

“Worth a shot…” He muttered. He stubbed out his cigarette on an ash tray balanced on the arm of his chair before placing it neatly onto the table and standing, brushing off imagined dust. “How long do we give him before we leave?”

“Two more minutes.” Onslaught checked his watch. “Is the car good to go?”

“It starts. Has Megatron still not responded?”

Onslaught pressed his lips together tightly and shook his head. Blast Off scoffed.

“Bastard.” He dramatically threw his hands up. “What does he expect to happen? Christ. He’s fucking useless.”

“Would you rather deal with Starscream again?”

“I’d rather be dead.”

“And we will be if we don’t get going!” Swindle announced as he walked in, clapping his hands. “Come on, to the car!”

“You act as though you weren’t the one keeping us waiting with your ridiculous wardrobe.” Blast Off chided as he grabbed the keys. “I didn’t expect much from the English, but Jesus Christ. Are you all blind?”

“Shut it, you damn frog.”

“That’s enough.” Onslaught firmly warned. They both immediately straightened, jaws snapping shut.

Swindle stuck his tongue out at Blast Off. Blast off flipped him off.

“I’m setting fire to those damn trousers.” Blast Off threatened as they got into the car. Onslaught got into the passenger seat, rolling his eyes at them. Swindle scoffed.

“You wouldn’t dare.”

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

“For goodness sake! Sit down right now!”

The fabric of his shirt ripped with ease and quickly turned red with blood, seeping between his fingers as he pressed his hand to the wound.

“What did you even do?!” Blast Off demanded. “All that bravado about getting back in one piece! Look at you! Your lip will need stitches! Your eye is black! Why?!”

“They were going to find you.” Onslaught was pressing a wad of tissues to his lip, obscuring his voice. “I did my job.”

“If they’re going to find me then tell me so I can flee my nest, not… not whatever this is! Oscar!” He was desperately pulling at tissues to help stem the flow of the wound in his arm. “It wasn’t that important! Look; we haven’t got Swindles credit card, so you’re just going to have to suffer through whatever I can Frankenstein together. Hold this tightly - think I saw some superglue? They used to use that for wounds, right..?”

“Probably not in its current form.” He obediently replaced his hands over Blast Off’s, his hand pressing against a blood-soaked one. “Shit. Where’s Swindle when you need him?”

“Did you at least win?”

“What kind of question is that? Of course I did. One’s tied up at the bottom of the stairs. The other’s dead.”

“Two?”

“One each.” He raised two fingers. “One meant to keep me busy, one off to go get you.”

“As if I wouldn’t make their head a red mist.” He tutted. “Let me look for that glue.”

He carefully pulled his hand out from under Onslaughts, the air ice cold against it. He felt like he had been stripped bare where his skin had been pressed against his own, whittled down to the bone.

The glue was sat on top of a first aid kit. He brought both back to him, popping it open to take a look.

It wasn’t great, but it would do.

The arm was first. The bleeding was manageable, but they’d need to get an actual professional to look at it - Blast Off barely remembered his training. It had been a single day in a scorching hot tent filled with sand, the air thick and heavy like a blanket, and his head had thumped and ached the whole way through. He’d only received the pass mark because he had given the instructor a cigarette.

“Jean.”

Blast Off’s eyes snapped to his. Onslaught only ever used his name when they were alone - especially the short version. And likewise - he only ever called Onslaught Oscar if no one was around to hear it. Suddenly, he was aware that he was knelt on the seat Onslaught had taken, his knees either side of his thick thigh, their bodies inches away - he could feel the heat rolling off of him and suddenly his mind was racing away in another direction, one that had his hands hands raking down his commanders back and lips at his throat-

“When we’re done here, we move to the backup.”

“Yessir.” Quit it.

He did his best for his arm. It was shallower than it looked, thank fuck - thick bundles of gauze and a well wrapped bandage kept the pressure required on. His sleeve wouldn’t go back over it, but he would be okay - it was still baking hot outside, the heat rolling off the ground in thick waves.

“Hold still - let me put your lip back together.”

“Ow!” Onslaught hissed and pulled away at the sting of the alcohol Blast Off had dripped onto the open wound.

“Be quiet, I’ll kiss it better, how about that?”

Onslaught snorted, and obediently remained still as Blast Off applied the suture strips to his lip, carefully pulling the flesh back together. It would scar horribly, but it would just join the other one. Maybe he’d end up matching with Brawl? That would be fun.

“There, done.” Blast Off leaned back to appraise his work. He grimaced. “It will do.” He stepped back and reached for his gun, fully intending on getting right back to it and finishing the job when Onslaught cleared his throat expectantly.

“My kiss?”

Blast Off rolled his eyes. “You really try your luck, you know that? Fine. Here.” He leaned forwards, the corner of his lip brushing against the stubble that wrapped around the corner of Onslaughts.

“Mwah! Happy?”

Onslaught looked at him with wide eyes, the tips of his ears burning pink. He had a look in his eye that had Blast Off’s insides turning, blood rushing down and making him feel dizzy. There was hunger in them, a look only a starving man had.

“… Happy.” He finally replied.

They’d had to drag the survivor by his feet. They’d repurposed some curtains to wrap around him to make him easier to move - he cursed and swore and spat venom the whole way. Onslaught ignored him. Blast Off did his best to.

“Where did he even learn to speak like that?” He asked, utterly aghast.

“Same place I did, most likely.”

“He’s going to alert everyone to our location. We should have left him.”

“Vortex needs him.”

“Damn it, he can come get him himself then!”

They ended up stuffing his mouth with a sock. Blast Off made himself comfortable in his new spot, settling in for the long game - the sun was starting to get low in the sky. Time was running out.

Time was running out, and he couldn’t quite push Onslaught out of his mind.

He had two targets left out of the four. Small game, but tricky - they were meant to be leaving the facility they were watching, but so far there hadn’t been any sign of them. He was starting to feel twitchy.

A man walked over to a window, and he felt his heart stop. Target spotted. He held his breath, waiting for them to step into just the right position-

The glass splintered and red sprayed up in a mist. He swiftly reloaded, ducking down to hide himself.

Oh, I am so pleased he finally showed his face.

The sun sunk lower, and Blast Off finally moved.

“When does Brawl get here?” He asked.

“Five minutes.” Onslaught glanced at him and offered him an open carton of cigarettes, one sticking out. “Smoke?”

“Not yet.” Blast Off shook his head. “When we’re back.”

“Ever the professional. I’ll look bad if I have one, now.”

“Can I have one?” Their captive asked, voice muffled.

“Not yet.” They replied in unison.

Five minutes later, Brawl arrived. He was alone - Swindle was still with Lockdown negotiating a deal (Blast Off wasn’t so sure that’s what he was doing now, but if he stuck his nose into his business Swindle would scrutinise his, so he kept out of it and looked the other way) and Vortex was preparing for his new guest. Apparently he’d made quite a mess earlier and had lots to sanitise.

Their special guest loaded, still wrapped in the curtain, Onslaught got into the front seat and Blast Off slipped in behind him. He quickly dug his binoculars out of his bag, checking them over - he’d knocked them quite hard when they were manhandling the curtain-bundle into the car - he absently brushed off the sand and prepared his rifle.

“You split your lip?” Brawl asked as they pulled away.

“Yeah. I’ll get stitches tomorrow.”

“That guy back there?” Brawl gestured with his head.

“Nah, the dead one.”

“Eye for an eye.” Brawl snickered. “And the black eye?”

“Now that was him.”

Blast Off peered out through the binoculars, scanning for his targets. He’d hit 3 out of the 4. Just one was eluding him. It wouldn’t do.

The tunnel that lead them towards the valley they had carved out a space of their own was rapidly approaching - time was running out. Finding him now would be pure luck - cutting it this fine-

There. There he was, on a water tower. Looking for something. Looking for them.

“Cover your ears!” Blast Off instructed, pushing ear protectors over the head of their captive. He took aim and fired, watching as a dark shape slumped and fell from a tower. Smirk tugging at his lips, he pushed his own off his ears before removing them from the strangers, smiling down wickedly at him. “See, we can’t have you not able to hear, so be good for us, okay? Vortex doesn’t like it when you can’t hear him.”

“Tuck in, Blast Off.” Brawl warned from the drivers seat. “Tunnel.”

The rifle was drawn back into the car.

“Are we at an understanding?”

They rapidly nodded.

“Good!”

“Vortex will be happy you’ve got a new toy for him.” Brawl commented, slowing as they entered the pitch black tunnel. “He was saying the other day how it had been a while.”

“I hope he’s not rusty. We’ll need everything this guy knows.” Onslaught said. Blast Off caught himself staring at him - the way the lights of the dash illuminated him, the way it caught his eyes and tangled in his hair, the smell of grease and blood and sweat. His

Adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, and his brow creased with focus, eyes squinting into the darkness ahead.

If things were different, they’d have never met and he wouldn’t be tortured like this with things he could never have, things he’d be so close to but never be able to touch. If things were different, everything would be so much simpler. Onslaught looked back at him in the rear view mirror. Their eyes met, and Blast Off felt a tingle down his spine.

Yeah. He’d take this any day. The torture of knowing him would always feel better than the absence of the one who made him feel whole.

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

The man wrapped in a curtain was roughly dumped on the floor of Vortex’s lab. They fell with a loud grunt, head bouncing off the floor. Brawl giggled, waving at them by wiggling his fingers before he left.

“Have fun, Tex, this one’s got a gob on him.”

“Oh, I do like it when they’re mouthy.” Vortex chirped back, rubbing his hands together.

“You’re all fucked up! Did you know that?!” The man hissed at them, wriggling desperately. “I don’t know anything!”

“That’s what they all say~” Vortex sung as he strode off to find a knife to cut him free. Blast off rolled his eyes at him.

“He’s right, you know. People like to crow about their innocence when they’re really just trying to keep the lid on the jar.”

“You talk a lot of shit for someone who needs a bodyguard.”

“And you’ve got a big mouth for someone who’s wrapped in an old ladies curtain, so I suppose that makes us even.”

“Fuck! You are so infuriating!”

“Yup.” Blast Off popped the p. He looked around for the sock – they’d taken it out on the basis of good behaviour, but apparently it needed to be crammed back in again.

“You like him.” The man said, eyes hard and voice cutting. “That big guy. Like a man likes a woman. Ha!” He laughed, spitting blood. “Forgive my wording - I wondered who was the tunnel and who was the train, he fought so valiantly to protect you-“

Vortex’s boot met his face with a crunch.

“Fuck me, shut up.” Vortex sighed, gesturing to his boot as they cried out and whimpered in agony, blood running down their face. “Look, now my boot’s all dirty! I just cleaned these!”

“Was that really necessary?” Blast Off asked.

“They were boring me.”

“I’ll leave you to it, then. Dinner’s at eight.”

“I’ll bring whiskey.”

The heavy door locked behind him, and he grimaced.

He still had Onslaughts blood dried onto his hands. A stupid, ravenous part of him wanted it to stain him, to never let it go. The sensible part of him strode off to the bathroom to set himself to rights.

[sam-out-of-energy]

More mecha pilot jazz sketches including angst because because squishy human yeeesss