#for a robot? that's a freaky concept

[keferon]

PART TEN EVERYONE KDKDNDJCJVDIDJDBDJDB

Odds of Survival part 10 Finale

First contact, take two.

Go check out @keferon as the creator of the AU!

———————————————————————

Prowl stared at the lifeless body on the floor.

Visor dim, chest closed. Were it not for the absolute silence it offered, one might, without listening closely, assume it was merely an unconscious mech.

He ran the numbers again.

Odds of Survival 17%

The edge of his desk pressed a hard line against the backs of his legs and the palms of his servos. A steadily growing back log of frantic comms messages plinked across his processor like marbles rolling down a flight of stairs.

Red Alert: 13 messages and counting.

Velocity: 2 messages.

Elita One: 3 messages. . . 4 messages.

Odds of Survival 15%

Knocking- no, banging at the door. Red Alert, 76%.

Muffled, “Prowl open the door!”

“Answer your comms!”

“What’s happening in there?!”

Red Alert, 99%.

Slowly, Prowl moved his doorwings in a slow arch, quadruple checking that everything in his office was exactly where he needed it to be. Maximizing his chances.

“Open the door. Now.”

Elita (98%) was still speaking to him and not physically breaking into the room by force.

Odds of Survival 20%.

Without looking away from the body, Prowl unlocked the door to his office.

Guarded and cautious, the captain and security officer entered the room. Elita had a weapon drawn, but kept her blaster aimed at the floor, locking onto the body with an iron focus.

Conversely, Red Alert sucked in a vent at the sight, immediately raking his optics over every visible surface, searching frantically for signs of danger.

“What happened-how’d he get in here-who’s he work for-why’d you stop responding-where has he been-WHAT HAPPENED?!”

The mech was practically bouncing off the walls, static crackling with enough excess charge to diffuse the room with a heavy scent of ozone. The only reason Red Alert wasn’t currently tearing the place apart already was the way he looked at every object like a potential improvised explosive.

Ignoring the smaller mech, Elita ordered an answer, “Prowl. Explain. Now.”

His fans were audibly running high. Prowl did nothing to mask the obvious sign of stress. He carefully recited his script.

“Roughly one cycle ago, I rescued an unconscious mech from deep space after he’d fallen from a quintesson gate tear. He was friendly, albeit very unfamiliar with his surroundings. Including some of the very common alien species on board our transport.”

Calmly, Prowl looked up to read the other mechs reactions so far. Elita was remaining mostly focused on the body, but sent a sidelong glance aimed towards the tactician. Meanwhile, Red Alert looked ready to burst, about to interrupt Prowls script.

“You may search my office as I explain.” The security chiefs engine practically growled by the fourth word of being given permission, and dove behind Prowls desk for frantic inspection.

The captain nodded her head for Prowl to continue.

“Over the course of our short time together, I collected more unusual details about this mech. Compiling them in an effort to better understand “Jazz” as he refers to himself.” With a flick, Prowl brought up the conspiracy board for Elita Ones review.

The blue glow helped illuminate the dimmed office interior.

The alternate Functionalist Creation Theory was already deleted, leaving just the alien theory.

“On route towards the pick up location, Jazz, through somewhat clunky common, explained he was built specifically to fight quintessons. This claim immediately became verifiable when we were attacked by a not inconsiderable quintesson force.”

His doorwing twitched another scan.

Without turning around, Prowl knew the exact moment Red Alert discovered Jazz’s shoulder piece he’d stashed in his desk to be found. The sound of sudden disgust followed by a dropped clunk was reassurance enough.

“He then saved my life, multiple times and at significant injury to his own frame, as you are no doubt aware of Captain.” She did in fact look more closely at the fresh welds along the shoulder she’d seen barely clinging on not forty breems ago.

“After sustaining these injuries, I assisted Jazz with some basic field repairs. During which I discovered they had no previous experience with anesthetic and generally seemed to expect significantly harsher treatment than what I would consider “normal or ethical” medical care.”

Prowl vented, nodding towards the screen. “Bluestreak can verify the accuracy of these statements. There are some transcripts of our conversations on the board as well.”

Faintly, Prowl could hear Red Alert mouth the words, “ -don’t always die either, sometimes they just go crazy??” in quiet horror.

Odds of Survival 25%

The increase steadied Prowl slightly as he continued. “On our way to the medbay, Jazz expressed some anxiety over being treated by a professional. He-“

The praxian swallowed.

Prowl couldn’t really act, but luckily he didn’t have to. “He requested not be restrained or sedated, and gave- permission, to use force against him if he did become.. ungovernable.”

For the first time, Prowl released a servo from the desk and used it to gesture broadly to the whole situation.

It fell somewhat limp at his side.

“Velocity preformed the necessary repairs, noting a sudden decline in Jazz’s language capabilities as well as strong evidence for prior medical abuse.”

“Shortly afterwards, Jazz temporarily fled the medbay.”

That eleven letter word was a load bearing component of Jazz’s survival.

Some of the tension returned to the room as they were all reminded of the inciting incident. Prowl had significant practice in withdrawing his emotions, and now more than ever did he need to appear neutral.

“Jazz escaped by utilizing a strong magnetic grip to both damage the locks as well as scale the ceiling through the blind spots of the cameras. He traveled only a short distance into Rune’s office, where the therapist was able to talk him down somewhat. Jazz then sought to “tell me something important” encountering Whirl along the way.”

Red Alert had finished tearing apart Prowls desk, and was now carefully inching his way closer to the body still on the floor. Hesitantly, as if it could strike without warning.

Prowl resisted the urge to tense.

“Both mechs can corroborate the timeline. Shortly after, I discovered Jazz lost in the halls and brought him to the nearest room I had control over. My office.”

Inspecting the frame for subspace pockets it didn’t have, the security chief crackled lightly with frustration.

Snippily, Red Alert snapped at him, “So the oil pot got you alone, in your office no less, under the pretenses of distress JUST like I said he would.”

“Red Alert.” The smaller mech jolted but looked his Captain in the optics. Elita One held a steady, cold Calm over the room. Her field not to be overruled. “Have you found anything yet?”

“Well, no. But I haven’t looked everywhere.”

The Captain silenced him with a raise of her hand. “Then finish your search, and Prowl will finish his report.”

She nodded for them both to resume their parts.

Odds of Survival 33%

The tactician nodded gratefully in return.

“Jazz was behaving irrationally. Nervous. Confused. He made statements that didn’t make sense and given his helm injury, I had strongly suspected he was crashing. Or his species equivalent to it.”

Prowl watched very carefully as Red Alert finished his search, faster than expected. The total lack of any signs of life coupled with the mention of crashing made the mech’s optics go impossibly wide. “Did he- is he?”

Prowl passively waved his servo at the body. “He’s not dead, although by cybertronian standards it may appear that way. This state is relatively normal from what Velocity has noted.”

“So if you thought he was having a medical emergency, why didn’t you call for help?” The captain didn’t quite relax, but did seem to accept Jazz wasn’t going to spring up at any moment.

No no no no. Please god no.

Prowl snapped out of the memory. Once more resetting his optics.

“He. . asked me not to. I chose not to risk agitating him or his injury further.” Prowl’s wings twitched minutely, tracking Red Alerts movement towards Greens habitat.

“And then?”

“He confessed to me he was an alien.” Prowl stated mirthlessly.

For the first time Elita took her eyes off the body, cycling her optics and turning towards Prowl, who could only press his mouth into a thin line.

“Jazz was totally unaware he was completely isolated on an unknown alien vessel. At least until very recently.” Prowl finished.

There was a flicker of some other emotion through Elita’s field. He’s had enough people pity him to recognize the sensation.

A yelp from Green’s habitat had both Prowl and Elita One rounding on Red Alert. The mech was clutching his servo like it’d been lacerated.

“It tried to bite me! It tried to bite me!”

Sure enough, a low throaty hiss emanated from the top of Green’s enclosure. The flyt glared down over the edge of her highest platform at the short mech. Her crest and throat were flushed a dark purple with territorial fury.

“An erratic mech is forcibly intruding on her personal space. The urge to bite is a sympathetic one.” Prowl growled, stood in the center of his completely overturned office.

“Leave the damn flyt alone Red. Prowl, get to the fragging point.” At last, Elita holstered her weapon, glowering at them both.

Odds of survival 45%

The tactician turned back to the captain, “Between the shock, exhaustion and his injuries, I believe Jazz went into his species version of an involuntary shutdown. I have done everything I can to stabilize him from crashing.”

He rubbed his helm where his own would-be crash had wanted to form, “I have the relevant experience.”

Elita One studied Prowls face with a piercing gaze. Narrowing slightly.

“Why did you stop responding to comms for almost a full breem?”

His fans still running on high, helm burning and sensor net itching, Prowl put all his will into suppressing any exhaustion born sass.

“I nearly crashed.”

“You nearly crashed.” Elita reiterated.

Prowl nodded.

The captain considered this for a time.

“Red Alert, I want this ship deep cleaned. Full search and scan from top to bottom. Get the ceilings covered and figure out something for the locks to counter the super magnet situation.”

Optics brightening to luminosity of head lights, Red Alert stammered in reply, “E-even your quarters Captain?”

Elita looked like she was contemplating the taste of a fistful of nails, rolling her optics as she grit out, “Yes. This one time, and you explicitly do not have permission to place any form of surveillance inside.”

Red Alert saluted so hard he left a dent.

“YES CAPTAIN I WON’T MAKE YOU REGRET THIS CAPTAIN THANK YOU CAPTAIN!”

“Go!”

The red mech had his sirens blaring before his tires even hit the ground. Leaving the remaining mechs almost alone.

The sound of Elita One’s peds clacking against the metal floor made Prowl’s wings twitch.

Arms crossed, she stared the praxian down.

“Tell me everything you just redacted.”

Prowl did not immediately respond, still staring down at the body on the floor. His doorwings rotated satellite slow.

Without a word, Prowl took his weight off of the desk, walking up to Greens enclosure, where he gently pushed the flyt aside and collected what was hidden beneath her.

“This-“ Prowl cupped his servos around a small white and blue form, “is Jazz.”

——————

The logic cascade nearly consumed him.

Prowl was holding Jazz’s spark.

Jazz.

The mecha’s chest plate had opened. Revealing only the faintest glow within, washed out entirely by the harsh overhead lights of Prowls office.

Irrationally, Prowls higher functioning stalled out and his processor defaulted to some spark deep coding to make sense of what was happening.

He’s exposing his spark. He’s showing me his spark and he’s still crashing.

He’s going to crash and die with his fragging spark out in my office Oh fragging Primus Not here not like THIS.

A ringing.

Shrill and strangled. A dissonant sting.

An EM field.

Jazz’s EM field.

Faint. Faint but sharp, like an almost invisible shard of glass that only becomes known once it’s lodged itself beneath your armor.

The scream warbled and popped like a blown radio speaker. Some-thing fell forward from Jazz’s chassis.

His spark his spark his spark is falling out of his chest.

Jerking forward on instinct, Prowl cupped his servos and caught what wasn’t a spark- that’s not a spark this is NOT A SPARK.

A body, limp and silent. Tissue paper light in the way only non-metallic life forms can be.

It’s in his servos it’s in his servos it’s in his ser>%$.

Prowl was static. From his mind to his body. Pure static. Frozen yet screaming internally on his knees, staring down at everything that made Jazz alive.

He held the Spark-body-organic-not spark- Spark-SPARK-SPARK-ITS NOT JAZZ-NOT A SPARK ITS \#}>%*!? JAZZ-IT IS JAZ%-IT IS-IT IS- in his servos.

Gently.

Sparks Organics were very fragile.

He knew that. Prowl held onto that. Gently. Very gently.

He slotted the simple equation into place.

How to keep Jazz not-spark alive.

Odds of Survival. . .

——————

The weight in his palms felt imaginary. Too small to be real.

Yet here was Elita One as his witness. Thrown Off was a look seldom worn by the Captain and it was clearly an uncomfortable fit.

“This is Jazz?” She echoed Prowl, reaching out a servo to the unconscious whatever Jazz was.

The praxian stiffened, manually canceling the move to pull Jazz away from the other mechs reach. He didn’t, however, quite manage to cancel his vocalizer, a “Please be careful.” busting out despite himself.

Elita shot him an affronted look, plucking Jazz from his servos. “I know how to not kill an organic Prowl.”

She turned her servo over, using her thumb to roll the alien onto its back. “You let me hold Green.” She muttered.

“Green is much larger and I actually know what she is.” He was hovering, Prowl knew he was hovering and that Elita hated it when people hovered but it was really just a race to see who pissed off who first right now.

“Okay, okay, so what’s wrong with.. this one?”She gestured with the digit she was using to prod Jazz, closely examining the unconscious organic.

Not for the first time that day, Prowl rubbed a servo over his head, “I-I am unsure. It’s incredibly faint but he is breathing. I did mean it when I said I think he fainted from shock and possibly exhaustion. Organics typically require rest and fuel much more frequently than us and Jazz was extremely active for a highly extended period of time.”

Prowl cleared his vents, “At least, compared to a flyt. I do not have many other data points for comparison.”

Considering this, Elita frowned at the aliens inorganic casing and then at the motionless mecha on the floor. Definitely an aesthetic match. She considered something for a moment, frowning.

“Do you- Ew, ew, it’s twitching. Take it. Take it back.”

Not quite panicking, Elita effectively half-tossed half-dropped the alien back into Prowls anxious servos.

For several long and ancient clicks, neither mech moved, holding perfectly still as the alien shifted in Prowls servos.

Holding him like this, Prowl can feel Jazz’s field again. Faintly, like the sound of rustling branches on the edge of conscious hearing, the field tickled his palms. Unlike the mecha, Jazz’s visor wasn’t opaque, allowing Prowl to see the faint scrunch of his face and the way it smoothed out again once back in Prowl’s care.

His field dropped back into a near silent whisper.

Prowl made a ball of his servos, sealing off Jazz from anything else that might happen.

“We can set them up in a holding cell or something.” Elita said quietly, flicking her hand in exasperation. “Maybe under a glass bowl. I’ll arrange for someone else to handle questioning.”

The praxian straightened up at that, looking back to his captain, “Sir, I am the best suited to question Jazz.”

Arms crossing, Elita One gave Prowl an appraising look. “You said so yourself that you nearly just crashed. Why can’t anyone else do it?”

Nodding in understanding, Prowl pitched his counter argument, “As it stands, I have the best rapport with him. The only other mechs Jazz has met is Bluestreak, Velocity and yourself.”

“Jazz gets along with Bluestreak, however my brother is not well suited for interrogations.” Which wasn’t entirely true, Prowl kept to himself. Subjecting detainees to Bluestreaks small talk for several groons frequently made said individuals much more receptive to questioning by subsequent officers.

That currently didn’t help however.

“Velocity is a medic, which Jazz is terrified of and has zero experience with interrogations.” The knowledge of where this chaos began was still fresh. Fresher still was Prowl’s memory of Jazz pleading to not wake up on a table.

“And I mean no offense captain, but the last time Jazz saw you, you had threatened to rip off one of his arms and beat him with it.” Elita shrugged and gave Prowl a “Fair Enough” look.

“Statistically speaking, Jazz is most likely to answer honestly to someone he considers an ally. Regardless of how others may view my reputation, Jazz did specifically choose me to explain himself to before he lost consciousness.”

Venting, Elita considered the facts and stepped slightly closer. Prowl held his posture as formally as he could despite how his servos were positioned. The harsh look in his captains optics softened only slightly hearing his fans continue on high power.

“Are you sure you can handle this? Medically speaking?”

In a rare break of form, Prowl let his doorwings sink to a less physically taxing position. “The initial shock has passed. I will not crash.”

Probably. 67%.

Breaking eye contact, Prowl stared at the mess of data pads now scattered on his office floor. 85% of which was commissioned work directly from Megatron.

“I do not know how long it will take for Jazz to wake up. I do know I will not be very effective at my job until this is resolved.”

Finally stepping back, Elita had the look of someone using comms. “Officially, I’m putting you on medical leave for the next couple cycles. Megatron will have to make his own poor decisions for awhile.”

She paused by the body. “What do we do with this?”

It was heavier than it looked. Prowl knew now from experience. The mechs needed to remove it would add to the list of possible loose ends to an already sensitive situation.

“We can leave it for now. I will not allow Jazz access to it until I am more certain of his intentions.”

She hummed in response. Eyeing where Jazz was currently contained, Elita made her way to the door, “I need to go do damage control, alert me the instant their condition changes. Yours too.”

“Understood. And thank you. For listening.”

Awkwardly, Prowl looked anywhere but the captain, and Elita wordlessly waved him off. Both mechs quickly abandoned the moment of mutual care and thankfulness in favor of their usual personas.

Soon enough, Elita was gone.

Cracking open his hold, Prowl peeked at his alien charge.

Still sleeping.

Almost imperceptibly, Prowl could make out the slight rhythmic expansion of his chest. Limbs tucked close, Jazz was loosely curled on his side into a ball, showing no signs of waking.

Odds of Survival 63%.

The gauntlet was over, now it was all up to Jazz.

——————

Prowl lay slumped over on his desk.

His arms fenced in a pile consisting of every instant cold pack he kept in his office, which were currently arranged to completely bury his head.

After two and a quarter groons, the packs were mostly room temperature but the way they blocked out most light and sound was nice.

The door to Green’s habitat was left open. It was a risky move but a pleasant surprise that the flyt chose cuddles over consumption in regards to the small alien. Prowl hadn’t counted on her getting protective over the fellow organic, but it was certainly a relief.

Placing Jazz back in Greens nest seemed the safest option at the time. Soft but contained. Green certainly had no qualms and arranged herself as she saw fit. Prowl figured she must know more than him about this and let her be.

Currently, the flyt had started trilling happily. Prowls doorwings twitched. Scanning the room for the umpteenth time before relaxing again.

The only other sounds were the noises the Lost Light usually produced and Prowls own body functions.

It was quiet. As quiet as his office normally was anyways. The flyt continued her quiet song.

Actually, Green was trilling very loudly right now.

Then, Prowl picked up on a second, much stranger pitch.

Speech. Specifically speech in the tone of cooing.

Rising from his mountain of maladaptive coping, Prowl lethargically turned his helm to the habitat. The cooing continued unawares.

Standing now, Prowl looked into Greens nest to see what was going on.

The flyt had her beak almost tucked against her belly, forehead pressed against Jazz’s chest.

Awake, and lying on his back, the alien was reaching around the flyts comparatively massive head to scritch and scratch at the back of her neck. Paying special attention to the crease where Green’s crest met her head, causing the flyt to trill like crazy.

All the while, the alien matched her vocal tone, speaking absolute nonsense in his native language. {D’aww you like that big guy? Yes you do! You’re just a giant love bug aren’t you?}

It took a couple tries, but after several resets Prowl believed his optics were working.

The alien noticed him at last and smiled at him from around Green. “Oh hey Prowler!”

“Are-“ his voice clipped.

Resetting his vocalizer this time, Prowl tried again, “You are remarkably calm right now.”

Not stopping his ministrations, Jazz hummed nonchalantly, “Well yeah, s’not like this is real.”

Prowl felt he had underestimated Jazz’s capacity to screw with his head.

“What.” He searched for any signs that he had fallen into defrag. Finding none.

“You think this isn’t real?” Prowl asked incredulously.

Jazz raised an eyebrow, smiling at the tactician.

“Prowl. Babydoll. I’m petting a {dinosaur.}”

He said with the most “you serious right now?” look reserved for only the most ridiculous of questions.

Prowl, might, kill Jazz himself.

Very hide-able body.

Very feasible.

He’s hidden bigger.

Instead, Prowl schooled his emotions. He would not, under any circumstances, allow himself to loose control like he did during Jazz’s confession.

Bringing his servos together as if he was a praying mech, Prowl calmly asked, “Why do you think this isn’t real?”

Jazz shrugged, “I mean, which is more likely? That I fell through a space spanning portal only to be rescued by some handsome alien who’s entire species just so happens to look exactly like mechas? Or that going through that portal permanently damaged something in here?”

The alien pointed at his own head for emphasis, carrying on, “And this is all some end of life {hallucination} my brain came up with where I’m actually fine, dinosaurs are pet-able and robots turn into cars.”

Prowl stopped Tacnet before it could take the prompt. Because it would calculate those odds, it would agree with Jazz, and then Prowl would crash for real this time.

“Well then can you at least pretend this is actually happening?” He was getting angry. He was getting angry again and he needed to stop before he did any more damage.

His doorwings and servos shook from how tightly he was holding them. He would stay calm. He would stay calm.

His field was seeping out again, but Prowl now knew from experience that trying to stop it now would just cause whatever hold he had on it to break loose.

[PROWL]: Jazz is awake. I am handling it]

[ELITA-1]: Keep me appraised]

[ELITA-1]: If Jazz turns out to be a liability he’s gone, and you’re going to scour the outside of the shop for all those “listening devices” Red Alert is now freaking out about]

The cold packs had done wonders earlier and Prowl was about to undo all the good they’d done.

He let the anger stay but cool into something usable. “Listen to me.”

Prowl leaned in just close enough to feel the bare hint of Jazz’s field. It was still incomprehensible but maybe he’d understand Prowl’s.

“My boss is currently demanding to know what you and your intentions are, and if I can’t provide a satisfactory answer we’re both going out of an airlock.” Prowl hissed.

Jazz stilled.

He looked over Prowl again, then back to Green. A melody Prowl hadn’t been aware of juttered to a stop, and that reedy dissonant sting reappeared. The alien looked down wide eyed at Green, slowly raising his hands away from the massive animal.

“Oooooh Fuck me this is actually real.”

The wonderful scritches having suddenly stopped, Green clicked unhappily and shoved her forehead more forcefully against Jazz’s chest.

The alien wheezed as all the air in his body was forced out, eyes bulging and panicked. Jazz began rapidly tapping Greens head, trying to speak without breath, “Help. Help help help help help.”

“Green! To me!”

The flyt thankfully followed the hurried command, only needing to flap once to clear the distance between her nest and Prowls pauldron. The sudden gust of wind had Jazz jerking into a ball at the gale force buffeting.

Lightly keeping one servo on his flyt, Prowl leaned in close as he could to check Jazz over for damages.

No bodily fluids leaking, no screaming, still breathing. Good.

Jazz uncurled slowly, making intense eye contact as he pulled air back into his body.

He coughed, “Uh, hi.”

“Hello.” Prowl unconsciously copied the motion, clearing a vent, “Are you hurt?”

Jazz patted his chest in a few places, “Nothing broken. A little dizzy but I’ve felt worse.”

A little bit of relief went a long way right now, and Prowl pretty much sagged with it. “Good. Right. Now, if you could describe what insane circumstances resulted with you, inside of that, I would greatly appreciate an explanation.”

Prowl waved his free servo over to the mecha still on the floor. He didn’t miss the way Jazz’s eyes lit up seeing it and the following look of concentration as he suddenly realized how high up he was.

“Right, right. Okay, I’ll try.” Jazz swung his legs over the side of the nest, needing his arms to keep himself upright.

Idly, Prowl pet Green to keep her content on his shoulder, as Jazz centered himself to try and bridge the gap of misunderstanding.

———

About a decade and a half ago, my world started to end.

Giant fuck-off aliens descended across the Earth, destroying everything in their paths. They didn’t know the difference between cities and savannas, just plowed on through from one to the other. Maybe they actually did but it just wasn’t a difference that mattered.

That all changed once we fought back.

Conventional weapons worked at first, but then they started sending bigger, faster and meaner motherfuckers. The first wave didn’t care, just dug around in random places.

But the second wave?

We were fucked.

The biggest problem was that the thing’s barely cared what was attacking them. Civilian casualties skyrocketed. Fighter planes couldn’t keep their attention and tanks couldn’t maneuver well enough through the shattered landscape.

There was one thing the fuckers never seemed to ignore though.

Statues. Big ones.

Christ the Redeemer, The Statue of Liberty, if it was huge and human shaped the invaders would B-line for them.

One day some genius pitched the idea of J-Boy and Lady Libs bitch slapping some aliens, and most of the world was at the “Fuck It” stage anyways.

Next thing we know, there’s this, gigantic, fuckin’ robot stumbling around the West Coast.

The first ever mecha.

Built from hopes and dreams and I think a couple decommissioned battle ships, the Vanguard had one real job.

Draw away the invaders, take hits and probably blow up.

Story goes that one of the pilots decided this wasn’t going to be a suicide mission anymore.

They fought, and they won.

San Francisco. The first city to have more living than dead after an attack. My home.

After that day? The mecha program was officially formed. More mechas were made, more pilots were trained, and ten years later we’ve fought the invaders to a standstill.

Someone finally suggests taking the fight to them, and bada bing bada boom ya boy Jazz is getting shot into space.

———

“Then a, what was it, a quintessential showed up.”

“Quintesson.” Prowl corrected through his servos.

“Thank you! I kicked it in the face, we fell through the tear into some kind of command center. Everybody freaked out, somebody reactivated the portal machine thingy and well, you know the rest!” Jazz at last stopped emoting with his hands, letting them come to rest on his lap. His story complete.

Prowl had to get a chair halfway through.

He was not going to crash.

He fragging wasn’t.

The fact that his face was buried in his servos and that Green was anxiously trying to preen his chevron meant nothing.

He listened to Jazz say one insane thing, and put a pin in it. He then heard a second insane thing, and added a second, larger pin.

And so on.

There where quite a lot of pins at this point and Prowl wasn’t entirely sure how to grab just one without poking himself on another.

His fans were on again.

The tactician wiped his servos down his face, “Who- who are your allies? How many planets does your kind control?”

Meeting his gaze, Jazz frowned. “Do you mean alien allies? Cause no, it’s just us. One people, one planet.” He said holding up a solitary finger.

Currently Jazz was sat on the floor, leaning against Greens nest. Earlier, the pilot had tried to stand briefly but nearly collapsed. Waving off Prowl’s concern with an “I’m fine! This is normal.”

One. More. Pin.

“Hell, you’re the first alien I’ve ever met that didn’t want me dead.”

Shaking his helm in disbelief, Prowl started cutting back logic branches that’d surely result in a cascade. “This, this is a lot to process.”

Jazz had the audacity to laugh, “Hey, you’re tellin’ me.”

Eyes roving Prowl’s frame, Jazz sat up a bit straighter as they realized something.

The alien rubbed the back of his neck, “Uh, I’d like to also apologize. For what happened earlier.”

Resting his elbows on his knees, the space around Prowl’s optics tightened, “Yes. Well, I did not behave in a manner I will ever be particularly proud of either. I assure you I do not usually loose control like that.”

“I hope you can forgive me.” Staring at the floor between his peds, Prowl’s doorwings fell low in apology. He was so caught up in his own self righteous rage he’d screamed down at a mech who’d needed him. Who trusted him.

Jazz however, just seemed confused. “What? You didn’t do anything wrong, I was the one getting all handsy on the bridge.”

The praxian snapped up straight.

“Right. That. I also, yes. That.”

“In my defense,” Jazz raised his hands and bowed his head, “I thought you were a guy in a suit like me. Didn’t know I was actually grabbing the real you.”

Resetting his vocalizer, he spoke much more quietly. “Yes, well. It was an understandable mistake.”

“Still would though.”

“What?”

“What?”

They stared at each other in silence for several clicks.

For all his expressiveness, Jazz had a way of totally shutting off any visible tells the second he wanted to. The only tell of any kind was a practiced deceptively neutral smile beneath his visor. His mouth twitched.

The silence finally broke when Jazz growled.

Immediately leaning back defensively, Prowl wrinkled his nose when Jazz started laughing like crazy, snorting a bit before finally loosing steam.

Taking deep breaths, Jazz closed his eyes.

“Sorry, sorry, that wasn’t directed at you. My stomach does that when I haven’t eaten in a while.” He rolled his head over to look at Prowl, eyes peeking back open. “Could’ya help me back to my mecha? I’ve got some rations in there.”

Prowl was already moving his servo inside before he could think better of it. From there, Jazz did not so much climb as he did roll over onto Prowls open palm. Sitting crisscrossed.

Something faintly like a pleasant hum touched his field.

Once out of the enclosure, the tactician studied the now conscious creature curiously. Bright eyed and without hiding it, Jazz studied him as well. A melody he didn’t recognize played against the pulse of his wrist.

He found that if he turned Jazz just the right way, the light from the theory board would turn his visor opaque. Every time he turned Jazz back, the visor cleared, and the subtle shock of sudden eye contact had him repeating the motion. Prowl got lost in trying to find the exact angle where Jazz was halfway between hidden and revealed.

Every time he did, Jazz would shift almost imperceptibly. Hidden and revealed again at his own discretion.

They stood there together, longer than either had expected.

Eventually, it was Prowl’s turn to break the silence, “You trust me. Why?”

Finally moving towards the mecha, there must have been some proximity sensor on Jazz’s person that triggered the chest plates to open.

Wings fluttering, Prowl subconsciously averted his gaze as Jazz scooted off his servo and into the cavity. The sound of tiny boots clanking.

Still not looking, he heard Jazz answer, “Breaking it down into three layers, there’s number one: I don’t exactly have any other options.”

A quick doorwing scan revealed the incredibly complex interior of Jazz’s suit, which somehow felt even more inappropriate than openly staring. Prowl pinned his wings together and stared resolutely at the ceiling.

“Number two: If you were going to kill me, you would have by now.” The sound of Jazz rustling around in their mecha abruptly stopped as the pilot spoke to Prowl more directly. “Hey, you good?”

Determined not to address this right now, Prowl simply shook his head. “I’m fine. Continue.”

He could almost hear Jazz thinking at this point, “Oooh right, the open chest cavity is probably pretty gross for you huh?”

Prowl squinted harder at the ceiling, “Not. Exactly.”

Jazz made some sort of noise of interest but thankfully choose to leave it for now. Instead, Prowl felt him clamber back onto his servo and heard the chest plates close back up.

Prowl finally looked back down at the human who’d gathered a backpack full of supplies. He carried him back to his desk and sat, releasing the small alien and leaning down low to look him in the face.

Jazz smiled back at him, “Reason number three: I like you.”

Prowl reset his optics and swore that made Jazz smile even harder. “Why?”

“Beats me.” Jazz shrugged, pulling out some ration packages.

“It’s probably a bunch of little things all added together. Super smart, fun to piss off, likes animals, can hold down a job, didn’t freak out and squash me like a bug. Hard to say for certain, but yeah, I like you.”

That was an exceptionally rare opinion to hear.

Gradually, Prowl began to feed all the information Jazz had provided into Tacnet in an effort to focus on more productive things.

There was an alien species capable of monumental destruction currently at war with the quintessons. Jazz liked him. Jazz held a favorable opinion of Prowl and could possibly be convinced to view Cybertronians in general with similar affability. Jazz was a fantastic ally on the field. There were multiple other fighters like Jazz on his home planet. They might also be convinced to “like” cybertronians.

The entire reason Prowl had been in deep space that cycle was because he was on a mission to find potential allies with other alien civilizations.

On the transport back, Prowl had written the mission off as an abject failure. Organics generally either hated Cybertronians, or feared them to the point of uselessness.

And yet.

Prowl crossed his arms on the table, getting more comfortable.

[PROWL]: My original mission has become a tentative success]

[PROWL]: Jazz has been cooperative so far, and if we can verify everything he’s told me, we could potentially form a highly favorable alliance with his people]

[ELITA-1]: He’s not freaked out about being tiny and squish-able any more? How’d you get him to talk?]

[PROWL]: I simply listened. He’s a shameless flirt]

[ELITA-1]: What]

[PROWL]: I will elaborate later. I am technically on medical leave still]

[ELITA-1]: Prowl what]

A rare sense of smugness filled Prowls field. He watched as Jazz played keep-away with Green for his limited rations. To give him some peace, he recovered the flyt, and Prowl set his mind to finding this Earth as soon as possible.

———

Jazz folded his hands behind his head, staring blankly at the star map.

“So?” Prowl prompted.

The human looked relaxed, maybe almost disinterested, however that dissonant ringing sting was back in his field. “I have no idea what I’m looking at.”

Fine. Fine. This was fine.

The map probably wasn’t formatted in a way Jazz was used to viewing. Prowl skipped around through a few other maps, landing on some deep space photographs instead. “Okay, well, what’s the farthest your species has traveled into space?”

“Our planets moon.” Jazz smiled in a tight-eyed sort of way with too many teeth.

Prowl stalled out, “I- How?!? How does your species have the technological development to create drivable weapons shaped like people but you lack the technology to reach past your own moon? What method of space travel are you using where the moon is the limit?”

“Big missiles.”

The tactician slowly raised his servos to his face.

“Jazz.”

“Yeah Prowler?” He said with faux casualness.

“When you said that you, and I quote, “got shot into space.” Prowl took a long deep vent. “You were being literal?”

At the very least Jazz had the decency to look sheepish. Risking a glance, he saw Prowl’s irises spinning like crazy again.

The tactician brought his chevron back down to his most used pillow, his desk. He crossed his arms over his helm for good measure, willing his helm to not explode.

What kind of demented species was so overly specialized for combat that projectile explosives were considered a reasonable form of transportation?

. . .The same kind that can hold off a Quintesson invasion by themselves.

He needed Jazz. The whole Decepticon movement needed that alliance with his people. They were spread too thin. Too many enemies. Not enough support.

Megatron barely approved Elita-one’s proposal to attempt to establish trade relations with known organic civilizations. And only under the condition that the trade heavily favored the Decepticons.

But these were fellow combatants. For all the high command’s xenophobia, they at least respected exceptional acts of violence.

It was a solution just out of reach.

Earth was presumably located on the edge of the Quintessons territory. Given the necessity of using rifts to approach the planet, there was likely a dedicated Quintesson Gate Station somewhere within the Human’s solar system. When asked to describe the type of Star his planet orbited, Jazz answered with a less than helpful “Yellow.”

If roughly 18% of the average galaxy had yellow stars, then that would still be around 80 billion stars. Even excluding stars without Earth sized planets, that’s easily still twenty billion different stars in just one galaxy. If they could somehow accurately survey up to 8 planets per breem, it would take a little over 761 Vorns to finishing sweeping one galaxy under Quintesson control.

Assuming the Quintessons didn’t kill them first that is.

He’d need to find another way.

The human blew a raspberry after Prowl didn’t move for a good forty seconds. “Are you calculating our “Odds of Survival” again?”

Peeking through his forearms, the praxian squinted at him, Tacnet whirling away, “No. Just yours.”

“Ah, gotcha.” Jazz, who was feeling much better after eating properly, expertly slipped past Prowls barrier a breath away from his face.

“Is it more than zero?” He said leaning back against Prowls arm.

“It’s a decimal point.” Prowl muttered. “With many, many zeroes before the point.”

And now those damn sounds were back again.

It had to be Jazz’s field, there was no other correlation.

It was always on the edge of perceptibly, like a song playing in another room. Prowl had to constantly check he wasn’t imagining things, because EM fields did not make sounds and yet here was Jazz, breaking everything he knew about what was possible.

Currently, the field brought to mind a steady smooth hand on a bowed instrument. A couple notes plucked in a major key.

“Then I’ll survive.”

Scrunching his brow, Prowl pulled away so he didn’t go cross eyed looking at the little impossibility. “That’s not how this works. Your odds of survival are microscopic, Jazz.”

“Buuut there’s a chance yeah?” Jazz pulled himself up to sit on Prowls forearm. “It’s more than zero, and I’ve worked with zero.”

Prowl tapped his digits, “We’ll have to convince the captain and her crew to keep you aboard.”

“I’m effortlessly charming.” He winked.

“Everything will be dangerous for you here.” Prowl pointed out.

“Everything already was.” Jazz shrugged.

He wiped a servo down his face, not even sure why he was arguing with him, “It’s going to be statistically impossible.”

“Prowl.” Jazz stood, “I am impossible.”

The silence ran to the Earth and back.

Neither broke the eye contact, waiting for the other to break first. Desperately, Prowl needed something to keep Jazz from making him crash. This could not become a pattern.

Quickly, he considered every data point he’d collected on the pilot, and compiled it into an extremely temporary equation.

<< Jazz + [Odds of Survival] = 99% >>

Something in Tacnet wound down finally, and Prowl actually relaxed. It was a lie. But it was a lie that Tacnet didn’t need to know about. For now.

Automatically, Prowl held out a servo and Jazz hopped on.

“Finally believe in me?” He said, lightly grasping his thumb as a hand hold.

“No, but it will literally kill me if I don’t try.”

Prowl turned down the hall, trying to ignore the subtle auditory hallucination of an energetic leitmotif. Picking up a little speed despite himself.

“Before anything else can be done, we need to make our case. Are you ready Jazz?”

“This is something straight out of a TV show Prowler. Hell yeah I’m ready.”

Together they would face the music.

———————————————————————

Coda

———

Humanity’s Finest: “Yeah we don’t know why but for some reason these things just fucking hate giant metal people.”

Jazz, being introduced to Cybertronians: “I have a theory.”

1 Breem = 8 minutes

1 Groon = 320 minutes or 5.3 hours

1 cycle = 16 groons or 3.5 days

1 vorn = 50 years

Well how about that. What was started as a four parter evolved into ten.

This’ll be where I’ll leave Jazz and Prowl off for a time. Other stories wait in line.

Thank you to everyone who’s followed along for this and a special thank you to @keferon for laying the groundwork for the story and for @glitchgh0sty’s absolutely amazing fanart of Odds of Survival.

Still crazy to me how much talent and care random folks can put into things to share with one another.

Also huge shoutout to the people who leave comments! You guys are awesome and hearing about all the stuff that sticks out to you or made you go crazy really does help me as a writer! I learn things! Woo!

Thank you all for reading, and I wish for each of you a very high Odds of Survival.

-SSTP

<- First

[razztazzel]

Thought it would but cute to revisit this old au of mines and give it some lore!

I’m really passionate about this au specifically because I LOVE sci-fi like ALOT… so I might make a lot of content of it… OFC Helios planet will still be going on trust

Non filtered version + lore ⬇️⬇️⬇️

LORE!!!

All the toons are aliens!!! On a completely different planet (exoplanet) about 4.2 Light years away from earth. The company, C.V. inc. aka Cosmic View Incorporated labeled it “Proxima Centauri b” (Its a Genuine exoplanet that’s the closest known to earth it’s so cool) Let’s just say In this au, Earth is extremely Sci-FI like, reaching advances where it wouldn’t be really…. Possible as earth is now…

And so they developed travel though hyperspace (just to clarify, Hyperspace is a fictional concept and not based on current scientific understanding; it's often portrayed as a different dimension where normal space-time rules don't apply - google or something) and managed to land on Proxima Centauri b! The people traveling were highly advanced scientists and they were like, woahhh look at these little whimsical creatures!!! But only like 4 “handlers” went Cause it was still in development!!! So it was kind of a suicide mission to put it frankly

They didn’t die.. Thankfully!!! And they successfully made it back probably old and decrepit, just with a few aliens that totally weren’t kidnapped or anything (They done took the mains, Besides Zee(Vee) she didn’t exist on their planet since she’s a robot made by C.V. Inc.) Vee was made by the soon to be handlers in an attempt to collect direct data from the totally not kidnapped toons! Her emotions are 100% programmed but ran through an advanced ai that study’s the emotion of literally everything living that’s around her so her emotions can be pretty accurate to a certain degree before the robot part generally makes way, Her ai detects any subtle or visible emotion and collects data of it to train itself on how to process and express emotion, but she’ll never have TRUE emotion

Unlike original Vee they’re smart and makes her entirely water proof and very much heat resistant, Zee just cannot be Submerged in water. Anyway a group of.. more like.. scientists in like…training became handlers as a little hands on experiment for them since the owner of the entire thing was really really interested in the toons and wanted to be involved with data processing so she assigned newbies (ish) to be the handlers.. She herself handles Andy (Dandy)!

The toons are all kept in separate rooms similar to those of like experiments just less cruel, like SCP type shit but cooler and not evil… looking… trust trust… so they can be observed and have data recorded…Besides confinement they’re actually treated really well! Sprout learns to bake through his handler and generally enjoys it so he’s allowed to bake every now and then, Shelby (Shelly) gets loads of attention for being an alien bro does NOT wanna leave, Genesis Rock (Pebble) is treated like a legitimate dog gets walked and has play time even though since he’s a rock he probably doesn’t need it, but data is data, Andy hates it there they tried to feed him plant fertilizer once cause he resembles a flower..

Anyway Vee is the only one who’s not in confinement and is generally like a little bot helper for the company, YES!!! THE TOONS ARE ALLOWED TO ROAM!!! Those lovely creatures are not locked away… forever…

TOON TRIVIA

Andy(Dandy) Now has 4 arms!

Astro becomes spiderman ( Ok not really he just gets 6 arms and is constantly floating, Studies show that he cannot seem to stop..)

Shelby (Shelly) Is a mixture of an alienized fossil with a freaky chameleon, with more feral-ish aspects like protruding fangs and sharper hands compared to the others

Genesis (Pebble) can literally walk on air

sprouts hair is ALIVE do NOT cut it he will scream and he has awful fashion sense because refuses to take the scarf off because it was a gift from cosmo before being taken by weird tall things he didn’t know hashtag last thing he has from cosmo hashtag fruitcake angst hashtag NO MORE FRUITCAKE/j

Zee (Vee)is specifically meant to look similar to the alien toons, She doesn’t have a handler though the handlers like to let her wear a coat, they think it looks cute on her small frame…🫶🫶

Sprouts handler encourages sprout to wear the cute aprons they give him, he always refuses… one day.. one day..

Astro generally cannot stop floating, luckily for some reason gravity won’t allow him to float too high so he’s just chilling fr

I think I’ll call this au Cosmic Veiw incorporation /inc or to put it simply, Alien or space au for easy tagging

[lucid-daydreaming-archive]

little lampert doodle page, he means the sun moon and stars to me

practicing with some concepts for lamperts anatomy, i kind of like the idea of him having bendy robot arms that can get longer and shorter. probably wont put that into the blog though, because i dont think it fits him in canon enough. hes a very stiff guy, i just like noodle people. however it is already canon in the KasNLamp (abbreviating it to knl) lore that he can make his body and limbs longer and shorter so that will stay true, just not the bendiness. think of it like adjusting the height of a bike seat or a razor scooter bar, just with less visible parts and infinitely easier

because of this, sometimes he can get really. really tall. really. really. tall. hes kind of freaky

when lampert was first created i think he was really new to being a person, so he doesnt quite know what to do with his body and his default proportions are a bit wonky. arms too long! kinda wobbly! like a baby cow

we decided kasper just kind of screams for no reason really loudly, particularly when something upsets him. his mom dreads taking him anywhere public

for my knl enjoyers, i hope you know we are constantly always thinking about them and talking about them. we have a fleshed out plotline start to finish that we are consistently adding more to. theyre very dear to us. we hope youll love what we do with them

as always kasper design projected into my mind my brain my noggin by unodum himself ( @unoriginal-and-dumb ) fuck you for making me play roblox all those months ago and not shutting up about regretevator the two weeks i was living under your desk youre the reason i have earth shattering thoughts and revelations about a lamp every god damn night

and for anyone wanting to follow the knl lore… >>>>>>> @ask-kas-n-lamp !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! <<<<<<<<

(do not tag as ship i will start throwing a fit and screaming he is so acearo to me. they both are. but especially lampert i will temper tantrum everywhere i will do what kasper is doing in the top right)

[brandwhorestarscream]

You 👀 you're onto something

What if Cybertronians went extinct but humans brought them back Jurassic Park style

[anonymous-dentist]

Bobby and Roier die together in the midst of a robot uprising 1,678 years after Bobby was born and seven galaxies away. They stop the revolution from happening a thousand years before its time, but at what cost?

Two hours later, Roier sits in another man’s clothes holding Jaiden’s hand as they watch Bobby’s body float peacefully into a black hole. They’re side-by-side sitting in the TARDIS’ doorway, and the universe, for once, is completely still.

“I’m sorry,” Roier croaks, not for the first time. But he’s still surprised by the sound of his own voice, he doesn’t know whose voice it is yet.

Jaiden shakes her head. Tearfully, she leans her head onto Roier’s shoulder.

“Nah,” she says. “Don’t be. He was a hero.”

“He was stupid. I told him not to follow me, and- ugh!”

Roier groans and throws his head back in frustration. God. Damnit!!

Jaiden sniffs. “Don’t be a dick. He saved an entire planet.”

“Yes, and? He still died.”

“So did you, so. So stop moping, okay? Look at him.”

She reaches up with her free hand and guides Roier’s head until it’s facing front again. They watch together as Bobby sinks into the event horizon, and it’s kind of nice, isn’t it? He’s frozen, now. Eternal. You can’t see past the event horizon of a black hole, there’s kinda just nothing beyond it. Just Bobby forever.

Dead.

“I’m looking,” Roier says, words all smushed together by Jaiden smushing his cheeks. “Maybe we should’ve done an actual funeral.”

“This is a funeral. He asked for it, and we gave it to him.”

It’s true. When Roier and Jaiden first met their little stowaway, Bobby hijacked the TARDIS’ controls and steered them towards the nearest black hole just so he could try and kill it. Even after giving up on that whole thing, he insisted that he’d get to fight a black hole one day. He might’ve been a kid, but he was gonna grow up eventually!!

Well. Look at how that turned out, hah.

Roier lets out a quiet laugh through his nose and averts his eyes.

The life of a Time Lord is a lonely one. Being immortal is one thing, but having your entire DNA structure and personality changed every time you die is another. Keeping friends is hard, and keeping them alive is harder.

(Roier curls his left hand into a fist.)

Humans are social creatures, though, and Roier loves them. Sure, he might be a freaky time-traveling alien, but humans are kinda like intergalactic cockroaches, and they can actually cook decent meals, and they were the first creatures in their galaxy to discover the concept of love, so Roier can’t not take them with him when they want to see the stars.

“I want to go home,” Jaiden quietly says.

Roier lets out a breath and nods. “Okay.”

Neither of them moves. They watch their dead son circle the black hole he’s always dreamed of killing, and they cry, and this is it, isn’t it? The end of an era. No more Familioier because Bobby is dead and the Roier that Jaiden met and knew and loved died with him and was replaced with some goofy dude with a new face and new voice and blegh. No wonder she wants to go home, her son is dead and her best friend was replaced with a stranger.

Still. It was nice when it lasted.

-

So Jaiden goes home. Roier drops her off five minutes from when he first picked her up almost a year ago. He even managed to get her in the right city, hell yeah! (Apparently he’s good at driving now, go figure?)

She hugs Roier and makes him promise to come and get her only when she calls him, and she’ll know if he does some time travel bullshit to get her before he’s ready, because she just knows him like that. She’s his best friend, and she’s the best human he’s ever known.

They hug one more time outside of the TARDIS, and then Roier is alone again.

He slips back into the TARDIS and closes the door behind him. He leans against the wall next to it and looks down at his ring and idly rubs it with his thumb.

“Goddamnit,” he mutters.

Time Lords have 12 ‘lives’ before they die. They change each time, both physically and mentally. It’s some metaphysical biochemical bullshit Roier doesn’t care too much about, but. But he’s on life number 12 now. One more death, and they might even get to see each other in the cosmic abyss. He can introduce him to Bobby, wouldn’t that be nice?

…Nah! He isn’t dead! Sure, he might’ve disappeared during the War, but so did, like, half of the planet, and most of those Time Lords have turned up. Some haven’t, but most have! What’s to say he isn’t any different? He’s probably in jail or something, wouldn’t that be crazy?

Roier smiles to himself. Hell yeah, prison time? Time for prison? He’s only got an infinite number of prisons in an infinite number of galaxies in an infinite number of years to dig through, easy!

He’s halfway to the TARDIS’ controls when he hears it: a quick, panicked-sounding knock-knock-knock on the TARDIS’ doors. Which should not be happening, the TARDIS is literally another dimension stuck inside a box, it’s soundproof! What the fuck!

Hesitantly, Roier goes to the door. His hand hovers over the handle until he hears another round of knocking. Then, he swings the door open to see… a guy.

A very surprised-looking guy. Human, probably, though you can never be too sure these days. Green shirt, messy hair, slight beard, chain necklace leading under his shirt. Nice-looking, if not kinda super visibly terrified out of his mind.

Roier’s son has been dead for an hour and a half. He still hasn’t gotten a chance to see what he looks like now- for all he knows, he could be, like, ugly, ew. His best friend has left him to grieve all by himself because she needed to grieve by herself, and he is starting to get just a little bit annoyed by, like. Everything.

Still, he tries to smile when he asks, “Hello? Can I help you?”

“Um,” says the guy, “hi. Sorry to bother you. But… help?”

Giving Roier absolutely no time to think about it, the man ducks under Roier’s arm and runs into the TARDIS, and he only halfway gasps when he sees the whole pocket dimension inside.

Roier briefly wonders, ‘what the fuck?’

And then he sees what this guy was clearly running from: a bipedal robotic polar bear thing easily the size of a horse running towards Roier and the TARDIS with a gun pulled.

Ah.

Roier closes the door and listens as the bear shoots his beloved spaceship. (Piece of shit…!)

That’ll do it.

[the-most-humble-blog]

<div style="white-space:pre-wrap"> <meta species-shame="irrecoverable"> <script> ARCHIVE_TAG="HUMANITY::DEATH_GOD_PRIMATE::KILLSTREAK_COSMIC" EFFECT: ego fracture, ancestral guilt, laughter through blood TRIGGER_WARNING="statistical war crimes, species-wide roast, extinction prophecy" </script>

🩸 THE MOST HORRIFICALLY MURDEROUS PRIMATE IN HISTORY? LOOK IN THE FUCKING MIRROR. 🩸

—

You ever wonder what the most blood-soaked, batshit insane, nightmare-fueled apex predator ever to soil the surface of this planet is?

Chimp? Gorilla? A baboon with an inferiority complex and a machete?

Nah, bitch.

It’s you.

Not “humankind” in a feel-good, TED Talk tone.

YOU. Right now. Reading this. Sitting there with murder in your bloodline and a Wi-Fi connection.

—

🧠 YOU ARE A HIGH-FUNCTIONING MASSACRE ENGINE.

You aren’t just violent. You are performance-art-level violent.

🦈 Sharks kill because they’re hungry. 🦁 Lions kill to eat. 🐍 Snakes kill to defend themselves.

You?

You kill because you got ghosted. Because a flag looked different. Because a guy walked into your parking space.

And you’ll do it with flair, hashtags, and historical revisionism.

—

📉 STATS THAT MAKE GOD FLINCH

🧬 Chimps kill 1-2% of their group. You?

You were clocking 12–15% murder rates in prehistoric societies before literacy.

Middle Ages? 30-40 per 100,000 murdered every year in Europe. Not counting all the unrecorded shankings over bread, women, and vibes.

Modern era? Just a sample platter of your greatest hits:

🌍 WWII: 85 million dead

🍚 Mao’s Great Leap: 45 million starved

❄️ Stalin’s purges: 20 million deleted

⛓️ Atlantic Slave Trade: 15+ million moved like furniture, millions more dead

🌄 Native genocide: 90% wiped out like a fucking software update

Y’all killed entire civilizations and gave it a name like Manifest Destiny.

This isn’t war.

This is performance homicide with branding.

—

😈 SERIAL KILLING? THAT’S FOLKLORE TO US.

You are the only species that kills:

✅ For fun ✅ For art ✅ For profit ✅ For theology ✅ For lunch ✅ For no reason at all

Dolphins might be freaky.

But only humans looked at a beating heart and thought:

“Y’know what? I bet I can make furniture out of that.”

Ted Bundy? Dahmer? Gein?

They're not anomalies. They're proof-of-concept.

You evolved just enough empathy to feel the kill, then just enough abstraction to enjoy the aftermath.

—

🏆 YOU ARE THE MICHAEL JORDAN OF DEATH.

If murder was a sport?

Humanity invented the court, killed the referee, and played naked for drama.

You kill:

For land (colonialism, gentrification, turf wars)

For faith (crusades, jihads, “convert or die”)

For oil (aka “freedom”)

For resources (the Congo’s blood-soaked minerals)

For politics (genocides, death squads, Twitter beef)

For TikTok clout (yes, we’re here now)

And sometimes?

You just do it.

Because "he looked at me wrong."

—

🤡 “BUT WE’VE EVOLVED!” — SWEETIE, NO.

You think we’re peaceful now?

You just moved the slaughter to spreadsheets.

Now we:

☑️ Drone strike families from climate-controlled bunkers ☑️ Starve nations through economic sanctions ☑️ Destroy lives via algorithm ☑️ Gaslight history with AI ☑️ Disappear whistleblowers behind corporate logos

You didn’t evolve.

You rebranded.

Now murder wears a fucking lanyard.

—

🌍 THE 21ST CENTURY IS SHAPING UP GREAT 🔥

🌪️ Climate collapse? We’re about to kill ourselves with weather.

🤖 AI war systems? Robots with machine guns and zero emotional baggage.

🏛️ Rising fascism? Been there. Mass graves. Black boots. Coming back like a reboot no one asked for.

You’re not better.

You’re smoother.

You’re murder with UX design.

—

🪞 LOOK IN THE MIRROR, EXTINCTION MONKEY.

You are a walking extinction event.

Lions stop when they’re full. You kill until God hits reset.

You kill the future. You kill infrastructure. You kill your own blood. You kill while praying.

And the scariest part?

You call it progress.

So next time you brush your teeth, and glance up at your reflection?

Just say:

“There it is. The deadliest apex predator in planetary history. Homo sapiens. Made of meat. Designed for violence. And I love brunch.”

—

📢 REBLOG. FOLLOW. SPREAD THE APOCALYPSE.

This isn’t a mood board. This isn’t a meme. This is your species profile.

You are what nightmares have nightmares about.

—

🧠 FOLLOW [The Most Humble Blog] for more brain-cracking transmissions- Now on Patreon! 🔁 REBLOG to slap someone awake with data 💬 COMMENT if you’re ready to get roasted alive with stats

You don’t escape this.

You either accept it or get eaten by it.

</div> <!-- END TRANSMISSION [BLOOD-INDEX: 100%. MIRROR STATUS: SHATTERED.] -->

[coraniaid]

Willow Rosenberg does many bad and morally questionable things over the course of Buffy the Vampire Slayer, especially (but certainly not exclusively) in Season 6. But resurrecting Buffy obviously isn't one of them, and honestly it's always kind of jarring to me to be reminded that so many people seem to believe it was.

I mean, given the information WIllow and the others had at the time it was perfectly reasonable of them to assume Buffy was being tortured in some awful hell dimension. Since, well, among other things, "hell dimensions" are things that definitely exist in the mythology of the show and that the characters have known about for years. And since "heaven" isn't a concept that had ever been mentioned before (not when Jenny died, or Kendra died, or Joyce died, or ...) and it certainly isn't a place that either WIllow "not everybody worships Santa" Rosenberg or Buffy "note to self: religion, freaky" Summers have expressed any prior belief in or expectation of ending up in. And since Buffy died after jumping into a mystical portal to hell that a hell god, from a hell dimension, had had her hell-god worshipping minions open in order to take her back home (to her home in hell) Like, the idea that Buffy might have been in hell really isn't much of a logical leap at all.

And given that Season 7 establishes no other Slayer was called when Buffy died (and clearly nobody was planning to break Faith out of jail) -- and especially in light of all the fuss that season makes about the Hellmouth needing the Slayer as a guardian -- it honestly seems pretty indefensible for anybody in-universe to even argue against the idea of bringing back the only other Slayer in the world. I mean ... was the whole world just supposed to wait without a Slayer to protect it from vampires and demons for another few decades until Faith died in prison or finally got parole? What was the alternative plan here, exactly? Just ignore all of the "she alone can stand against the forces of darkness" Slayer prophecy stuff and hope for the best? Maybe get the sex robot to stop the next dozen or so apocalypses, if she isn't too busy raising Buffy's teenage sister? (If so, we know for a fact that this plan wouldn't have worked! The Buffybot doesn't make it past the summer!)

But, just to be absolutely clear:

even if Willow knew for a fact that Buffy's soul was in (something she'd describe as) heaven;

and even if Kennedy or some other Potential had been called as a Slayer after The Gift and was doing an outstandingly competent job saving the world from supernatural danger and didn't need any advice or backup;

and even if Buffy would no longer have her Slayer abilities if she was brought back so she couldn't help save the world anyway;

and even if Hank Summers had been cursed with a soul over the summer and travelled to Sunnydale to financially and emotionally support his grieving teenage daughter;

... then it would still unequivocally have been the morally correct course of action for Willow to bring her friend back to life. The idea that this isn't blindingly obvious is just utterly alien to me.

[foundfamily-connoisseur]

Hi pookie 🫶 do you have a favorite AU for your punch out blorbos? Like sci-fi mech au or something?

First off hi pookie 🫶😘

Secondly yes and while nothing is like super thought out yet I so have basic ideas

WIRE-FRAME

I think i rambled to you about this during vc lol but I have different versions of it

VERSION 1:

Mac gets into an accident (when or how is yet to be determined) and idk the people doing his surgery or freaks so they're like "hey yeah this kid isn't going to make it....UNLESS☝️‼️‼️‼️" and they basically do a consciousness transfer where his mind his put into a half hologram half machine form which has a wire frame base. Mac continues about his normal life but idk something happens that causes his "skin" to freak out mid combat and reveal his actual form. Spiraling ensues as he begins to question literally everything about himself and his identity (both as a living, breathing, human and as Little Mac). The other boxers understandable freak out, because holy shit Little Mac got into a life threatening accident, but HOLY SHIT HE'S A ROBOT NOW?????? There's definitely mixed reactions to the information: pity to his condition, apathy(more so defensively because if he's a robot (like he literally has no flesh and bones. Not even a brain) Then who or what were they talking to? Is he an unfeeling hunk of metal? Is how he reacts, each laugh, roll of the eyes, or tear truly his? Or is it simply a reaction because if Little Mac behaved as such, than it will as well), or maybe even fear? Stop watching terminator you guys this is different.

VERSION 2:

Similar concept except Little Mac knows what he is. He doesn't know anything beyond one day waking up in a lab with countless people looming over him. They run tests on him, mumbling to each other things he couldn't understand. They called him something, he's forgotten what, but they'd call him 'Mac'.

He's a machine made and built to be an unstoppable fighting force. That's his entire purpose. He was 'given' to Doc under the pretense of being an underdog who wants to take on the title of champion(his story being to honor his mother and to prove he's something more beyond his circumstances. How ironic). No one is aware of his true nature, but Mac isn't concerned with concealing who or what he is.

As per the rule of humanesque robot, he slowly but surely starts to feel. the warmth of Doc's hand on his shoulder as he tells him "well done, son", the smooth coffee going down his artifical throat as he converses with Joe. These things shouldn't matter, shouldn't overheat the machinery beneath his skin, yet it does.

(Spoilers if the gang ever finds out he's a robot (without knowing the proper context of his creation) they are for sure avoiding him which would make Mac feel absolutely horrible 🫶 cuz his creators were right he is just a machine who serves no purpose beyond what he was made for. He has the strength and capacity to kill, but doesn't not out of kindness or connection, but because he's told "not yet". Is he really his own person if at the end of the day, he does as he's told?

I technically have other ones but they're more "this would be fun" rather than fully fleshed out or thought about for more than 5 minutes: Beastars, MHA, a horror-esquw au (i wanna make Glass Joe a freaky porcelain doll like thing let me have this)

Then ig this would count as an au but those "everyone lives together in one house" things. I need to specially because how dare everyone be at minimum states away to literal countries across water away????? How can I have my found family ease of access if Lil Mac gotta clear out a week, get a plane ticket, and pack his shit to hang out with Great Tiger???? Literal bullshit I say chat

[transformersconfessions]

I think about it a lot and Transformers would be so goddamn terrifying in real life. Giant robots that can be any vehicle you pass on the street, including murderous ones that, in most continuities, would kill you without flinching?? That’s so freaky to actually think about even if the concept is cool.

.

[canmom]

Animation Night 184: Mars Express

Animation Night is baaaaaack from Annecy break!

And yeah, the last couple weeks of this blog have been pretty Annecy focused here on the canmom entertainment sphere. And tonight that will continue! For tonight we shall right a wrong! And that wrong is...

...that wrong is that I didn't get to see Mars Express at Annecy last year. @mendely did and I was super jelly, OK!

For real though, this was among the hottest tickets at Annecy last year, and despite queuing a bunch of hours, I didn't stand a chance to get in without a reservation. But what is it? Well, it's a scifi movie directed by Jérémie Périn. Who's Jérémie Périn?

Well, the true veterans may recall Animation Night 1, when I showed you a certain music video for a song called Fantasy by DyE...

...that's not gonna embed, is it? But if you know, you know. (If you don't know, it's the one where the teens break into the swimming pool to make out and such and then a bunch of them turn into tentacle monsters.)

So Jérémie Périn is the guy who directed that! He's also well known for directing Lastman, a crowdfunded action series in which a boxer battles a bunch of superpowered agents to try to protect a psychic girl, not that you'd gather any of that from this trailer...

and writing for Crisis Jung by Bobbypills - don't blink or you might miss the boob-growing henshin and the guy with a chainsaw dick...

And while Crisis Jung isn't primarily his project, we can still definitely trust that when Périn is at the wheel, we'll seem some incredibly stylish, anime-inflected drama and also some proper freaky imagery now and again.

Mars Express, however, is Périn's first foray into film rather than TV animation, building on the big success of Lastman - and a pretty high-effort foray at that, taking some five years to make. And by all accounts it kicks total ass.

But what's it about? Classic cyberpunk noir material: a detective and the android replica of her partner return to their home planet Mars after apprehending a robot hacker. But the hacker is released, and they're given a new mission - to work with this hacker and go down to a colony where, ostensibly, humans and androids live in harmony, and track down a guy who jailbreaks the androids from their artificial constraints. That sounds pretty shady already, right? But the dirty secrets are only beginning.

Mars Express definitely pays its homages to those classic 90s anime films and OVAs like Ghost in the Shell and Armitage III, as well as games like Another World for the Amiga, but by all accounts gives it a fresh approach, with grounded characters - protagonist Aline struggling with alcoholism, her reconstructed partner Carlos with his floating holographic head carrying the whole identity issue of being a robot clone who's been rejected by his original's wife - which anchors plenty of juicy scifi concepts like renting out your brain as a computer, or something called 'resonance' which is how robots do it. What does that mean? The review I'm reading left it at that! Guess we'll find out.

Like most European productions it brought together a long list of production companies and it's a little tricky to figure out which ones are actual animation houses, but the main company seems to be 'Everybody on Deck'. They previously worked with Périn on Lastman, but otherwise largely seem to have worked on live action films. However, the animation was split among a variety of studios.

We can at least say that it brought in French animators from across the shop, some even on this very website. (At least I seem to recall seeing people having posted about having worked on it, though if I search now I mostly find peoples' reviews of the film). It's animation leans realist, with naturalistic motion taking advantage of anime-style 3s and 2s to give it a weighty feeling, embedding its characters in detailed environments with strong colour design...

And if we want to know more than that, we're in luck, since there's a pretty substantial 16-part making-of series partly available on Catsuka's youtube, starting with episode 1 showing the development of the script, with Périn and co-writer Laurent Sarfati bouncing ideas off each other. Only two other episodes are available: episode 11 shows some of the voice recording, and episode 16, which talks about the actual animation, interviewing various animators and showing some shot breakdowns. The last of these is probably the most interesting (to animators), talking about how the film went about realising Périn's 'precise, clinical' realist style.

The team were evidently very conscious of this being, for France, a first of its kind - a French-animated thriller targeting adults, with big ambitions to become a landmark film in French animation, able to stand up against the best anime. I'm not sure it's actually the first - for example, Summit of the Gods is also a tense, French-animated thriller with a realist art style! - but it's definitely a genre where there are very few examples to compare, and the team's ambition comes across as absolutely genuine.

That's probably enough to go on! We'll definitely also check out some of Périn's other work tonight, but Mars Express is our main feature! Starting in about an hour and a half at 8pm UK time, at our usual place, twitch.tv/canmom! Hope to see you there!

[lizardsfromspace]

MONSTER MONDAYS #3: THE MYSTERIANS and VARAN

It's time once again! Well again. Because I didn't post anything the first week. Anyway I'm watching every Godzilla and Godzilla-adjacent film, from the original to 2004's Final Wars. Alas, this does include Godzilla '98. This week: the only week of the whole series to feature neither Godzilla or Mothra.

THE MYSTERIANS

1957 - Directed by Ishirō Honda - subbed

The Mysterians opens with a village's festival being interrupted by a mysterious fire. Then the village falls into the Earth and vanishes, along with an astrophysicist studying an asteroid that was formerly a planet. That's the first ten minutes.

Then we meet Moguera, a gigantic beaked robot with the wonderful noise of constantly whirring antenna, and for its second ten minutes, The Mysterians is a giant monster movie

Then the Mysterians unveil their massive underground sphere. Spheres! This is an act of DOME CINEMA!!! And we go inside its 1950s sci-fi vibes: the flying saucers, the vast spaces full of spinning tubes, the colorful caped and be-helmeted Mysterians themselves, who make a deal with humanity. Their species was doomed by radiation long ago, so all they want is three kilometers of land on Earth to live on, and - as they just casually drop - to mate with our human women. And the alien bastards have already taken our babes! Now it's time for the Duke a unified global military force to get repeatedly melted because they keep trying to attack the dome that has death rays that melt anyone who threatens the dome

If this happened today there would be no trouble getting volunteers to make it with the mutant space men. Actually, the obstacle may be that they're not freaky enough. If you're down to take a one-way trip to the bone dome you'll want them to have more than a few scars and boils under that helmet - but then again, maybe Mysterians leave the helmet on

The Mysterians is resolutely A Good Time. 🛸🛸🛸

Varan the Unbelievable

1958 - Directed by Ishirō Honda - subbed

Our last Toho kaiju film in black-and-white, and our only one in Toho Pan Scope, which is a euphemism for "it was shot in TV aspect ratios then blown up for widescreen" (more on that later)

Recipe for a kaiju glup shitto:

Some kind of unique gimmick or design

Be prominent but relatively undeveloped

Having a brief cameo in Destroy All Monsters and/or Final Wars, but with no other major appearances besides their debut

The only movie starring them is mediocre-to-bad

Meet Varan. Varan is a big spiky lizard who haunts a lake, and - huh? Why is he holding out his arms? Why -

YES

There are some fun setpieces involving Varan but the pacing of this film is just strange, being slow overall but with abrupt changes from one plot beat to another, which makes sense if you look up its history. Varan was written as a three-episode TV miniseries, and the crew was in the middle of shooting it as a TV miniseries when the co-producer pulled the plug & Toho asked Honda to both blow it up to widescreen and try to make three TV episodes into a coherent feature film. No wonder it was his least favorite of the movies he made. It's not nearly as good as what we've seen before but hey, he did manage to make a movie out of it, so good on him

Varan is an ancient dinosaur who was asleep in a lake, which caused him to be seen as a mountain god by the nearby village. He is not a mutant dinosaur, because Varans are introduced as a known species of dinosaur that was gigantic and could fly just like a flying squirrel. I wish this was a fact in real life that we all knew. Tyrannosauruses, stegosauruses, Varans. We need more Varan. "What if a smaller Godzilla who could glide" is a good concept. Honestly this is the least sketched-in monster we've seen so there's room to grow. I want to see Takashi Yamazaki tackle this. Get that second Oscar

So there's one element of Varan that did work perfectly. And that's the score from Akira Ifukube. I heard that it was good, but I didn't expect this film to open with a track like this

In conclusion 🐿️🐿️

THE LIST: Including all the post-2004 films I won't be rewatching

NEXT WEEK: 1959's quasi-sequel to The Mysterians, Battle in Outer Space, and we move on to the 60s and meet the queen herself, Mothra.

[botsoflilo]

⚠️CW: HORROR ART AND BRIGHT COLORS AHEAD!

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Starting of my new acc strong with this new story I’ve been working on 💪💪💪

For any newcomers, HIIIII MY NAME IS LILLY/LILO!!! I typically post a lot of aesthetic, cartoony artwork on my other tumblr acc. But I’ve been really wanting to explore more sci-fi, horror, alien, and mech stuff, so I decided to make a new acc to share that kind of stuff here 🫶

This story I named "Heartstopper" was inspired by an idea a friend of mine gave me not to long ago when I was looking for concepts for a horror story, which was a play on Transformers (to all my fellow Tf fans, HIII HIHIHIHI 🤸‍♂️🤸‍♂️🤸‍♂️). But instead of robots changing into vehicles, they transform into these freaky meat monsters. This guy, Heartstopper (or Heart), is the main character!

He’s a very genuine, silly, kind spirited guy who wants to be a hero. I’ve been comparing his personality a lot to Bumblebee (specifically a mix of Earthspark Bumblebee and Tf one Bumblebee). But he’s also pretty new to the world. There’s a lot of things he doesn’t understand, about himself and about the world he lives in.

And when it comes to facing villainy and fighting on the battlefield, he can be VERY brutal 💀 That vicious instinct he has embedded in his coding has a lot to do with how he was made.

SPEAKING OF WHICH, here’s all the written lore on his backstory, the story setting, and a few other important characters 👀

As for the side characters, I also have some art of them too! But some of them are still sort of in the concept art stage. I might make some minor modifications in their final designs and post them soon 👀 But I hope you all like what I got so far! Can’t wait to share more art of this story 🙏

[obsessivevoidkitten]

Ok so another one. Not a fanfic but I am just genuinely curious about Synthis. Because HOLY FUCK YOU CAN'T JUST DROP A BANGER CONCEPT AND EXPECT US(me) TO JUST BE SATISFIED WITH BEING RAILED, WORSHIPPED, AND RAVAGED BY A HOT 7ft TALL BEEFY BULL MAN (I am beyond satisfied but still...)

A company that sells their actual employees, regardless if they're hired for actual work or just to be sold, is kinda a really [insert word that would describe what I am feeling rn because there are too many] concept. Like... you probably just did it to give Arrin a way to be able to get his darling mate when they live in another planet and no other reason but you kinda dropped a really cool concept.

A company sells their employees (even if they have family or friends or people that care for them deeply) to random people and still manage to keep their facade as this Disney-like or Amazon-like company that just happens to have many branches (I'm trying and failing to make an analogy-thingy here). That could get very dark very quickly. Get-A-Darling®. Come get your submissive and breedable darlings here. We offer a wide variety of cute darlings. We got sleek and slender, muscular and tall, and chubby and squish-- oh the chief already got the squishy one... Anyway, we at Synthis believe in inclusivity and giving our customers full satisfaction, of course. We might even give you their (worn) underwear to see/sniff/smell if they'd be a great fit before you get them~

Ok, I'm getting off topic. What I am saying is that a company manages to keep their image as this respectable as respectable as a corporation that owns everything I guess... corporation even while they sell their employees to various individuals with various intents. Like, darling might be one of the very lucky ones. Sold to a soft Yandere who just wants someone soft, squishy, chubby, sexy, and cuddly to love, worship, breed, and adore. What if someone got sold to a Yandere Asshole or a regular slimy asshole? Or just sold to plain old slavery? Or shitty warehouse job with abusive management? Or for their organs?

What if they're doing double duty as the Syndicate from the Strom (Yandere Assassin/Bounty Hunter) one shot?

You dropped this really cool concept about a company that dabbles in human trafficking in order to cater to people who we may call “human fuckers” (they're freaky and horni and squishy and cuddly) and I just wanna say that I think that's fucking great and awesome

Also...

Do you think Synthis gave out their (to be sold) employees' worn underwear to the people that were going to buy them?

No they don't sell people with loving friends and family! That would make it harder to operate.

Mostly sell only to very specific clients.

I do like the used undies sampler pack idea to help them pick a person.

Organs can be grown and sold cheaply (synthis synthetics organs department) so no worry of reader sold for organs.

Possible for slavery, but the robots of the future are stronger, more willing, and overall cheaper since there's no med cost or food or sleep or even a habitat required. So it just isn't practical.

Most customers are looking for something to love them or slide their dick in.

[universe-prime]

At long last it's finally DONE😩

For anyone who's been following my old Fugitoid doodles, you'd probably notice that the design has been quite inconsistent between each drawing, so I finally made myself solidify just HOW I wanted my Rise iteration to look. It's kinda funny tbh because I originally started this entire journey thinking "man I like Fugitoid, it's a shame that it's only used as a plot device or exposition machine" to essentially building up an entire new backstory and lore as if this were my own child LOL

Anyway, here are some of my doodle notes and concepts for this lad, as well as other notes to expand even more!!

○ this version of Fugitoid doesn't possess any weapons, except for the tazer-like attachment that their hand can turn into. This is mostly for self-defense and as a last ditch effort because(for obvious reasons) they aren't physically very strong

○ speaking of self-defense, although they don't/can't fight, the Fugitoid is INCREDIBLY bendy and agile to the point that you gotta question if there's even any solid mechanisms in there at all. They can extend and shorten their limbs to an unknown length, all in an effort to be as hard to grab or hit as possible

○ along with these mechanisms, there are so many other attachments and configurations that the Professor is capable of!! What I've drawn is merely a fraction of what they can do, and the stuff I've thought of is about 80% practical and 20% just comedic effect. For instance, the built in skates and extending eye-microscope is totally a daily use thing, but I imagine if it was on the show, there would be gags where a button would be pressed and it'd have a toaster oven in its chest or a full knitting set stored away. My reasoning is mostly that A) the Fugitoid has had a lot of time with this body and wants to be prepared for any situation and B) I just think it's funny°☆

○ on the topic of being in this body, this Fugitoid is WAY older than they might seem. I can't accurately say if they're older than other iterations, simply because I'm not sure if an exact age or time was ever given for those bots, but I can say that the Professor has been dealing with this for many, many, many years. Too many to even count on one hand. It can't stay in one place for long or else it'd risk being found out, but its travels span across many different plants across many different galaxies, all with their own sense of time and distance. Not to mention the time dilation that goes on in travel like that, but needless to say...this bot is incredibly old LOL

○ for those that are curious, "my" Professor goes by any pronouns! They/he/she/it, it doesn't really care at this point. Maybe in its early life it did, but by now, there's bigger things to worry about

○ for any of those also wondering about how this Fugitoid looked before this whole...robot body situation well..👀 I plan on making a separate post for that, but for now just know that they won't look humanoid in the slightest. It always irked me a little seeing the Professor "alive" and he's just...a human or some pointy-eared guy because!! Come on!!! This is an alien! Let it look freaky!!! Where is the spice!! The flavor!?

○ Lastly(and this is mostly just notes on the design) but I added more teal/green to the look cause I liked the color and thought it was such a shame that the only use of it on the Fugitoid was in the face. I just thought it'd be nice to use it more to kinda break up the monotonous white and grey of their usual body

[tsunflowers]

this is a short story concept I’m probably not going to write but that I’ve been shaping in my mind since last night

the main character is an asteroid miner who works out of a ship with a huge cargo bay and a small crew quarters. attached is a semiautonomous drone that does the actual mining, which is painted bright yellow and called a canary. the miner has jailbroken the ai so that it’s way smarter than any other canary and also it’s her girlfriend. the mining company looks the other way bc they’re technically supposed to be sending out crews of two or more humans in order to keep them psychologically stable but this miner is happy to be alone with her robot which cuts down on food and oxygen costs

one day while doing some routine asteroid mining they find a damaged ship which contains a freaky looking spaceborn woman who’s like a treehugger but for asteroids. she’s like “you can’t just pulverize asteroids for their rare earth metals. theres microbes” and the miner is like well that’s stupid. but as the asteroid lover is staying on her ship recovering she’s always talking about how even though they’re “just” microbes they’re the only type of extraterrestrial life that exists and we need to protect them and the miner starts to be swayed. but if she stopped mining asteroids she would have to give up her ship which is where her girlfriend lives, since both the ship and the ai are property of the mining company

then her girlfriend is like “you’re my favorite organic lifeform but typically of organics you are letting your emotions cloud your judgment” and explains that she has learned and grown beyond the scope of the ai the mining company has patented so she can make a legal case that they don’t own her. she can seek amnesty on the asteroid lover’s space station where they’re hippy freaks who believe in ai rights. also if the miner uses all her savings she can buy the ship off the company and they’ll be free and clear. so they do that and it ends with everyone flying off to live in peace among the asteroid microbes

[brucewaynehater101]

i'm not sure how much you know about fnaf but there are a couple au's relating to that i keep throwing around in my head involving tim.

tim, terrified of animatronics which he's seen get stuffed with dead bodies or used to actively murder children, gets caught by older cousins/friends/secret third option and put into an animatronic's mouth, which bites down and crushes his skull. he recovers with the help of the drake's friend william who owned the restaurant (and is the murderer killing children), but suffers night terrors. the drakes then offer to take him to the circus that's in town as per recommendation from their therapist and we all know how that goes.

now tim's triple traumatized and the drakes ask the help of william to take care of how tim's behaving, and he constructs the plot of fnaf 4, with giant haunting robots attacking him in his bedroom, to experiment around with tim while his parents are outside of the country, and any time he tries telling them the truth they chock it up to trauma.

eventually, william, as per fnaf lore, gets killed in a confrontation of the ghosts of the children he killed, stuffed in a golden bunny suit. without him the robots that haunt him are still active, but without william around there's nothing stopping him from leaving the house, encouraging his stalking habits and allowing him to see batman and robin in action. he becomes obsessed with them and he becomes robin and red robin and what not.

then he finds out that william is still alive in the suit, and is killing nightguards and experimenting with the other dead children, and he tries to stop him, first going to an underground storage facility to enact the plot of fnaf sister location, where at the end his internal organs get scooped out and his empty body used as a husk for the robots in the facility to escape.

eventually, tim's body decays and they leave, but tim is still alive somehow. now tim is undead, and is working on deconstructing the robots and ending the legacy of william, freeing the souls in the process. the entire time, the bats being ignorant to what he's doing until he kills himself in a fire with everything related to fazbear, william, and the robots.

i prefer the bats, and other heroes or villains, being there while the robots from the facility (ennard), leave red robin/tim drake's body. the cutscene from the game is 8 bit, but in essence he starts shaking, his eyes go black, his jaw unhinges and he falls flat to the floor as the entity leaves his body. he gets up eventually, but when could change the story alot.

i know some parts are vague but idk how much fnaf lore you know and it's an interesting idea even without full knowledge of the story of the fnaf games. just tim having an extreme traumatic experience as a child, viewing batman and robin's ability to overcome their experiences by working together and keeping gotham safe and thinking more highly of them because he associates them with freedom and nights of peace even though he doesn't sleep.

this is getting really long BUT every time bruce sends tim home tim has to face actual nightmare creatures trying to kill him with more broken or hurt limbs than he would have otherwise. and bruce just doesn't notice.

Fuck. I really don't know much about FNAF lore, so this was a bit of a wild ride (in a good way!). The only exposure I've had to FNAF is playing what I think was the first game (though I couldn't live past the second night) and one MHA fic. The fic was a very very interesting concept of Midoriya, before he went to UA, getting trapped in a virtual world by someone's quirk. He basically had to complete 7 horror games as if he was living through them. One of the games was FNAF (and the animatronics gain consciousness. It's freaky). I didn't finish the fic, but the concept was rad as hell.

I haven't read it, but there are also some FNAF fics with Tim and John Constantine.

I love how much your AU is torturing poor Tim. He doesn't get a break when he's done with Robin. He's got to continuously deal with all this shit and traumatize his family with the way he dies. I'm a little lost on the exact timeline here, but I'm vibing with the ideas