#mr robot AU

[vhbutter]

Mr robot AUs.

Help me.

I had two scrapped ideas:

1) Gotham, Elliot as the riddler and Tyrell as the penguin. Gotta hear me out, it has potential.

2) Doctor who/Torchwood, but it’s Forchwood or something and the aliens are from the planet E.

[lis-alis]

unexpectedly i remembered i had a few small sketches for a tiny Mr robot AU i created last year. Elliot meets Tyrell in anger management group therapy, which Elliot is forced to attend after the case in the server room (i've change the canon a bit so Elliot is 24 and Tyrell is 28 here). Of course they hate each other at first👀

[nyxteeth]

crash // 2.8k lydia x elliot alderson

cw: ptsd, dialogue-heavy, codependency (probably), not beta read this is just for my discord besties <3

Lydia sits perched on the windowsill of her fire escape, her gaze vacant, unfocused, as though looking straight through the grime-streaked city below. The hum of traffic and the occasional wail of police sirens drift upward, blending into the muffled sounds of a restless night. She doesn’t seem to hear any of it.

Her ears are ringing again.

The cigarette in her hand burns low, forgotten, the ash clinging stubbornly to the tip. When she brings it to her lips, her fingers tremble, just enough for the movement to seem unsteady. The smoke curls in ribbons around her as she exhales shakily.

Her knee bounces against the iron railing in an uneven rhythm, a release valve for the anxious energy that’s been clawing at her chest all day.

Beside her on the sill, Elliot hunches against the brick wall, his hood drawn tight over his head, hands buried deep in his pockets. He’s not close enough to touch her, not quite— Elliot never really gets that close —but there’s a quiet kind of comfort in his presence. He doesn’t say much, but she feels him there in the way his head tilts slightly toward her, in the faint scrape of his sneaker against the railing when he shifts.

“Hey.” He says, short.

She blinks, startled as though surfacing from underwater. “Huh?”

“Lost you for a minute.”

She hesitates, taking another pull of the cigarette. Smoke trails upward in a ghostly ribbon, caught briefly in the orange hue of the streetlights before dissolving into the cold night air. Her knee keeps bouncing. She doesn’t notice it until his eyes flick downward, the faintest crease forming between his brows.

“Sorry,” she mutters, the word half-swallowed by the exhale of smoke. She forces herself to control the jitter of her knee under his gaze.

“I just—” Her voice falters. She takes a moment, the filter burning hot between her fingers. “Long day, I guess.”

His gaze is uncomfortably perceptive.

“You having nightmares again?” He asks, quietly, clinically. But there’s something soft beneath. Concern, maybe.

She stiffens, the words striking closer than she’d like. For a second, she considers brushing it off, throwing up some casual deflection, but there’s something about Elliot— his quiet insistence, the way he doesn’t press but somehow still gets answers.

Her leg resumes its anxious pattern as she stares at the cigarette in her hand, the ash building precariously at the tip. Flickers of her nightmares— her past —come to her unbidden, as they always do when she thinks too long about it: the suffocating dark of the crawlspace beneath the floorboards, the smell of cloying wood decay and something metallic, the slow, deliberate drip of blood seeping through the floorboards above her.

“Yeah,” she says, and it pitches weak.

Elliot doesn’t press her. He waits, letting her find the words on her own, though his gaze lingers on her, steady and observant. Breath held like he was leaving space for her.

“The night of the attack,” she continues, tone flat but wavering beneath the surface. “I was… I was under the floorboards. My mom—“ Her voice cracks. She stops short, squeezing her eyes shut.

Elliot shifts slightly, just enough that the fabric of his hoodie rustles. He doesn’t speak. He doesn’t have to.

“My mom hid me,” Lydia forces out. “Pushed me under the floorboards like she used to make me practice. Never understood why, I used to think it was some game.”

She laughs, but it’s devoid of humour.

“But this time she just— she kissed my head, and shoved me in.”

Her free hand drifts upward, rubbing at her face absentmindedly, as though trying to wipe something irritating away. Her breath catches.

“I couldn’t see anything,” she whispers, her voice trembling now. “It was so dark. But I could hear them. The men. My dad was shouting— trying to fight, I think. And then I heard… I heard the sounds. The hits. The screaming. Gunshots.”

Her fingers press harder against her cheek, trembling now. “And then… then it got quiet. Except for this…” Her breath catches, and she rubs her face again, harder this time. “I felt it. It was dripping through the floorboards. Her blood. It was on me.”

The cigarette trembles between her fingers, the ash threatening to fall as she stares at it, unseeing. Her voice is barely audible when she speaks again.

“I stayed there for two days. I didn’t move, didn’t make a sound. Even after they were gone, I couldn’t… I just stayed there.” She lets out a bitter laugh, shaky and broken. “Some survivor, huh? All I did was hide while they died.”

“You were just a kid,” Elliot says, voice steady. Soft and pointed.

The words hang in the air between them, heavy and raw. Lydia stares at him, her lips pressed into a hard line, but her eyes shine with unshed tears.

For a moment, the only sound is the faint hum of the city below. Then a car backfires in the distance, loud and sudden. She flinches violently, the cigarette slipping from her fingers.

Elliot moves without hesitation, his hand darting out to catch it before it hits the skin of her thigh. He places the cigarette back in her hand carefully, his touch brushing hers for a brief moment. Then he leans back against the wall, his hood shadowing most of his face.

For a while, neither of them says anything. The city below them churns and buzzes. A couple argues in the distance, their voices faint and muffled by the night. Somewhere farther down the block, a bottle shatters, punctuated by laughter. It’s chaos, but to Lydia, it feels almost like white noise—static to drown out her thoughts.

“You ever talk to anyone about it?” he asks after a long pause.

She shrugs indifferently.

“Until you? No.”

His jaw tightens.

She huffs. “Not like it changes anything.”

He hums, leg swinging over the sill as he leans back in. He hesitates.

“You coming inside?”

She takes a deep breath. Eyes closed for a moment longer than a blink.

“In a minute.”

.

.

.

Elliot pulls his hood tighter around his face, leaning back into the creaking chair by his desk. He watches Lydia climb back through the window, her movements quiet but taut with unspoken tension. Her sock-covered feet land softly on the floor, and for a moment, she just stands there, arms crossed over her chest, scanning the cluttered room like she hasn’t been here a dozen times before.

She always did this— checked her surroundings, her exit points. A habit. A survival instinct. Elliot doesn’t comment, but he notices.

“You still keep it freezing in here,” she mutters, half under her breath. She moves to the bed and sits heavily on the edge, running a hand through her hair.

“You didn’t have to come,” he replies, his tone flat, but not unkind.

She lets out a dry laugh, glancing at him over her shoulder. “Yeah, well, I guess I didn’t feel like being alone tonight.” She pauses, then adds, “you’re kind of a last resort, though.”

It’s a weak joke, but Elliot’s lips twitch almost imperceptibly. Almost.

Lydia leans forward, her elbows on her knees, staring at the worn floorboards as if they might offer her some kind of answer. “I used to think hacking would fix it,” she says suddenly. “The pain. The anger. Like, if I could just… dismantle the people responsible, it’d stop feeling like this.”

Elliot stays silent, his eyes on her. He doesn’t need to say it— he understands. Better than most.

“It worked for a while,” she continues, her voice quieter now. “When I first started, it was like… I don’t know. Power, I guess. Like I was finally doing something. Striking back. But then, the more I got into it, the more I realised it didn’t change anything. They’re still gone. I’m still…” She trails off, shaking her head. “Whatever.”

Elliot shifts in his chair, his fingers twitching against his knee. “You think it’s pointless?”

She looks up at him, her gaze sharper than before. “I don’t know. Maybe. But then, what else is there? Therapy?” She snorts, the sound bitter and raw. “Tried that. Didn’t exactly stick.”

He leans forward slightly, elbows resting on his knees. “Me neither,” he admits quietly.

She studies him for a long moment, her head tilting slightly. “So, what then? You just… live with it? The nightmares, the weight of it all?”

His jaw tightens. “Sometimes it’s not about fixing it,” he says. “Sometimes it’s just about… keeping the world from getting worse.”

The words land heavier than she expects, and for a moment, the weight of them settles in the space between them. She leans back, letting out a slow breath.

“That’s why we do this, right?” she says, her voice quieter now. “The E Corp thing. All of it. Because if we can take them down, maybe… maybe it won’t fix us, but it’ll stop someone else from going through the same thing.”

Elliot doesn’t answer right away. He looks at her, really looks at her, and there’s something in his expression she can’t quite read. “You really believe that?” he asks finally.

She shrugs, her eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t know. I have to, though. Otherwise… what’s the point?”

He nods, just once, and something shifts in the air between them. A kind of understanding. They’re both broken, both carrying the weight of their own shattered lives, but maybe, just maybe, there’s something in this shared purpose that keeps them moving forward.

Lydia shifts her weight on the bed, the floor creaking faintly beneath her feet. She draws her legs up, wrapping her arms around her knees as though trying to make herself smaller, trying to contain whatever storm is raging inside. Her gaze flickers toward Elliot, who’s still perched on the edge of his chair, his hood low, his face partially shadowed.

“You can crash here,” he says suddenly, breaking the silence. His voice is flat, matter-of-fact, but there’s something in it— an uncharacteristic warmth.

She looks at him, her lips parting slightly as if to protest, but the words never come. Instead, she nods, her shoulders sagging in a way that speaks more of exhaustion than relief.

“Thanks,” she murmurs, barely above a whisper. “I’ll take the couch.”

“No… no, that’s alright. I got it.”

Elliot stands, moving toward the bed. He pulls an old blanket from the foot of it, shaking it out before draping it over her. She flinches slightly at the gesture, not out of fear but surprise. He lingers for a moment, his hand resting lightly on the edge of the blanket, before stepping back to his desk.

Heat creeps up her neck.

He doesn’t say anything else, doesn’t try to reassure her or push her to talk more. He just sits back down, his attention turning to the soft glow of his monitor. The faint clicking of keys fills the room, a rhythmic, almost soothing sound that seems to ground her.

Lydia lies back on the bed, her head sinking into the pillow. Her fingers clutch the edge of the blanket, and she closes her eyes, though the darkness behind her eyelids still feels heavy. Still, she’s not alone this time.

—

The subway car rocks gently as it speeds along the tracks, the overhead lights flickering every so often. Lydia leans against the window, her fingers fidgeting with the frayed edge of her sleeve. Beside her, Elliot sits with his hood pulled low, his gaze fixed on the worn floor. Neither has spoken much since boarding, but the silence between them feels less awkward and more like a shared understanding.

“Ever seen Jaws?” Lydia asks suddenly, her voice cutting through the hum of the train. She doesn’t look at him as she speaks, her eyes still fixed on the blur of darkness outside.

His brow furrows slightly. “The shark movie?”

“Yeah.” She shifts in her seat, pulling one leg up to rest against the edge of the bench.

Elliot glanced at her from the corner of his eye, his expression unreadable under the shadow of his hood. “A long time ago,” he says, wryly.

“I’ve been thinking about it lately. You know that scene where they’re in the boat, comparing scars?”

He stares at her, clearly unsure where this is going. “What about it?”

“Well, it’s kind of hilarious, right?” She turns to him now, a faint smirk tugging at her lips. “Like, these three guys are out there trying not to get eaten, and they’re just… showing off their trauma like it’s some kind of competition.”

Elliot’s brow lifts slightly. “And you’re saying that’s… funny?”

She huffs a quiet laugh, her fingers still tugging at her sleeve. “Okay, not funny funny. More like… I don’t know. Relatable. Like, it’s so human, you know? You’re stuck on this sinking boat, death is literally circling you, and instead of dealing with it, you’re like, ‘Hey, look at this cool scar I got in a bar fight.’”

Elliot doesn’t respond right away, his gaze dropping back to the floor. The train jerks slightly, and he adjusts his hood. “Guess it’s easier than talking about the shark,” he says quietly.

Lydia’s smirk falters, her expression softening. “Exactly,” she says after a moment. “You talk about the scars because talking about the shark makes it real. Like, if you acknowledge it, then it’s not just out there anymore. It’s… in here.” She taps her temple lightly, her voice trailing off.

Elliot shifts, leaning back slightly against the seat. “You think that’s what we’re doing?” he asks, his tone carefully neutral. “Comparing scars instead of talking about the shark?”

She tilts her head, considering this. “Maybe. Or maybe it’s just… easier to deal with the scars when someone else is there to see them.”

He stares at her, his expression unreadable. For a moment, the train’s hum is the only sound between them.

“You think they made it?” she asks suddenly, her tone lighter now, almost playful.

“Who?”

“The guys in Jaws. After everything. You think they stayed friends or whatever?”

Elliot lets out a short, humourless laugh. “Don’t two of them die?”

“Okay, but hypothetically.” She nudges his shoulder lightly, trying to draw him out. “Say they all make it. Do you think they stay in touch, or do they just… drift apart?”

He hesitates, his gaze flicking back to the floor. “I think people like that don’t stay in touch,” he says finally, his voice low. “They survive together, but that’s it. Once it’s over, they go back to pretending the shark never existed.”

Lydia watches him closely, her smirk fading. “Yeah,” she says quietly. “That sounds about right.”

The train begins to slow as it approaches their stop, the automated voice crackling overhead. Lydia leans back against her seat, exhaling softly.

“Guess that’s why they’re better than us,” she says, her tone light but her eyes serious.

Elliot glances at her again, his brow furrowing. “How?”

“They killed the shark.” She flashes him a quick, crooked smile before standing as the train comes to a stop. “We’re still stuck on the boat.”

Elliot stays seated for a beat longer, something in her words that lingers, something he can’t quite shake, his hood casting shadows over his face as he watches her. Lydia doesn’t just walk to the door— she drifts, her steps light and unhurried, as if the ground beneath her feet barely exists. There’s a sway to her movement, something almost otherworldly, like a figure stepping through a haze of memory rather than the stark fluorescent-lit reality of the train carriage. Pixie-like when she spins around the carriage pole.

Her head tilts slightly as she looks back at him, a faint, knowing smile flickering on her lips. It’s not smug, not even teasing, but something softer, gentler— a ghost of shared understanding. In the starkness of the moment, she seems untouchable, like she exists a little outside of the world, a little out of time.

“Coming?” she asks, her voice cutting through the low hum of the train as it settles into the station.

The sound of her words pulls him back to himself. He straightens and rises slowly, his hands still shoved deep in the pockets of his hoodie. He keeps his gaze fixed on her as he follows, like he’s trying to hold onto the tether of her presence, something to keep him from sinking too deep into the murk of his own thoughts.

As they ascend the stairs, the cold morning air hitting their faces, Lydia speaks again, her voice softer now. “You know… I think comparing scars isn’t so bad,” she says. “Better than pretending they’re not there.”

Elliot doesn’t reply, but as they reach the street, she feels the faintest brush of his shoulder against hers. It’s subtle, almost imperceptible, closing the small distance between them until they step through the station doors side by side.

But it’s enough. For now, it’s enough.

[hadthatdreamagain]

he got caught doing medical malpractice and now he teaches 5th graders

[skelegold]

Batman AU Rogues Vol. 3! Featuring the rest from Smell Of Fear

-Mr.Freeze

-Bane

-Poison Ivy

[donelywell]

Does Eggman exist in your roadtrip AU?

I was thinking maybe no at first. Almost everyone is so short, so how would they be able to destroy badniks? Plus, I kinda want it to be a chill and relaxing au.

But then I was wondering how Shadow would exist if it wasn't with the help of Gerald and Maria. They're vital to his story and conception.

I realized last night that I can do whatever I want with this au, it's literally just an excuse for me to be self indulgent and make everything how I want it with the only glue being 'because I want it'. So if I can have humans exist but not have Eggman trying to take over the world- that'd be great! (Listen, this au is all self indulgent nonsense, but having some sort of reason for things being the way they are would be nice, plus I'm an overthinker and a lore lover so I was eventually gonna cover this entire au with lore.)

And it hit me- Mr. Tinker. Ivo Robotnik isn't a mad evil genius trying to take over the world in the RoadTrip AU, he's just a humble tinkerer that has a habit of making robots sentient. I've yet to draw this and I still gotta further explore the idea of the Robotnik family, but yeah! Eggman is just Mr. Tinker in this au (just without the whole amnesia thing)

Thank you for the question!

[sprunkimortality]

Oh shit didn’t think things would go this fast

Ciq it’s going to be ok, I know this is a lot to take in, and obviously there’s a lot of questions that need answering, but it’ll be ok. You’re still Ciq dude

Mr. Tree: "...he needs some time to process, dear friends."

[esprei]

Could you perhaps draw...

A certain pretty robot from an AU called Mechanical Errors hehehehe

he's a beast of the mister kind

(psst go check out the AU here)

[alelathedragon]

Broken Star Mr.Puzzles

Full body reference!!! .....except his back being normal bc I didn't wanna.

You know what they say, Third Times the Charm!!!

I still took inspiration from @livzees post (ill link at the bottom for Ref) in the more mechanical parts of his reference and the colours, hope you enjoy my pictures and ramblings

While connecting himself to the Wishing Star Machine, it got absorbed into his body and did irreversible damage to his body and granted him the power of an Extra Star.... Meaning if he got 5 stars, he would now have 6 total. Even if this 6th star is very unstable and in pieces, it is still 100% functionable and gives Mr.Puzzles some new powers.

•Dreams Make Minions: he still has some of that power he had in the Amusement Park but can only summon small lil guys to do his bidding for a lil while. Nothing to crazy

•Psychics are for the weak: When using his 'Puppeteer Hand' Mr.Puzzles' body will go completely limp, and he can bend in angles he previously wouldn't have been able too. Think Mario breaking his own body for the funny type of psychics.

He mainly uses it to do freaking Spider Crawls across the floor but if his body wasn't a solid object he would totally be able to put his legs through his head and back at the same time and still touch the floor with his feet.

•He has a lil bit of his mind control power as a treat. But it's super finicky and he can't rely on it

•The power of friendship: Puzzles has locked himself away from any and all people interaction that isn't controlling their minds once again but it's a little... More... Than that now with the Star in his body.

Reacting directly to his Thoughts, when Puzzles enters a state due to either seeing the SMG4 Group or A group of friends simply having fun. He will progressively get stronger to the point of summoning demons or Eye Goop monsters to try and tear them apart physically into a million pieces 🤭 this takes a toll on him in massive amounts. He can't do this often but the power also.... Feels so good he doesn't need friends. Friends let him down, friends were never there, if he opens up again this will hurt more. THIS power... Is all he can rely on

Having one of those wires plugged into the back of his noggin left a big hole- and being bashed about in rubble scratched his precious handsome TV Head :(

He's tried to put his wires back in his head and fix up the scratches but being locked up doesnt give him a lot of supplies to do that- (I still say he's locked up, but not in an asylum and he escapes fairly quickly when he figures how he can summon nightmare creatures at his finger tips)

This hand can pop out at any time and seems to follow Zero Rules on how it functions. It doesnt matter where the metal arm attached to the eye fog is- the Star Hand will ALWAYS be above Puzzles moving around with his every twitch

Trying to break the hand only sends it flying apart as it is not connected fully anyways, however this is the easiest way to throw off Puzzles as if you bonk the hand making the fingers go flying Puzzles with GMod ragdoll into a mess on the floor and have to take a second to get back up as the star fingers come back together

He will try to have his Star Hand dodge but he's not good at that just like hes not good at protecting his face from being punched

Here's livzee's post!!! Thanks again for letting me use your own design as inspiration. My lanky guy AU wouldn't have been completed without you!

[alkeneater]

wish i drew them more often :c

alsoooo

this info is from e2080!mr b's wiki page (still unfinished)

i was kinda thinking that mr b had pretty simple built-in AI until Scudworth started talking to him frequently (because he felt lonely in his lab) and that developed his conversation skills and then they became best friends :)

honestly they are very wholesome in my AU <3

[gachawolfiebloom]

Just watched the Wild Robot in theaters and it made me cry. Imagine that ending scene if it was Mario and Mr Puzzles where he has to go and Mario is like “What if Mario has to tell TV man something…?”

[hebiusagichan]

Mini Disco x Sprunki (Part 4)

Incredibox's Sprunki as the Baby Time Mini Disco characters!

Mr. Fun Computer as Robot Bronislaw (Multivarik)

Wenda as Rarity (My Little Pony: Friendship Is Magic)

Pinki as Stephanie (Lazy Town)

Jevin as Gerick (Volshebniki Dvora)

Black as Shawn The Sheep

[lis-alis]

some silly sketches for my AU from the previous post

[pianokantzart]

I did get the idra from ur fic but also the tv tropes page for super paper mario when it talks sbt brobot

Oh, don't even get me STARTED about Brobot. The "has such a glaring brother-sized hole in his heart that Mr. L unwittingly created a simulacrum of the very sibling that he's been brainwashed into trying to kill" Brobot.

[feraltvman]

hey so Làcheria. Noticing that you are only making use of Puzzles’ head and not his body. Did you have anything to do with the whole thing with him decapitating himself to replace his head with a TV? And the fact that he somehow survived that?

[molten222]

these casts would make the best fucking sburb sessions