#cosmic rust

[quibbs126]

You know it’s kind of funny how Cyberverse Season 1 dedicated a whole episode to Cosmic Rust and how it destroyed Velocitron, only for it and the events of the episode to basically never be addressed again

Like I think the most important thing to come from that episode was that it properly introduced Hot Rod, who later became a main character. But like, Hot Rod could have been introduced to us any other way, the Rust was not necessary

Was it something they planned to reuse but just never found a place for or weren’t allowed to use? Like why was it here and why did it get its own entire episode, genuinely

[stunticonbreakdown]

Story boards of Breakdown from Cosmic Rust!

You can find more here!

[bunnieswithknives]

The soul of Wicked is randomly inventing extremely elaborate relationships between characters who barely interact at all in canon. Also Fiyero is here.

[soundwavesopretty]

'Usually our science achievement award goes to a human being... But this year we're honoring... Perceptor!'

[menasors]

Random G1 Headcanon:

Most of the chairs on the Victory do not have backs on them because most of the mechs on it when it crashed either had wings, tails, or other parts in their backs. No one really cares or notices, until the Stunticons are born and they're constantly falling out of the chairs because they keep trying to lean on nothing, get back pains because they can't properly balance themselves on them (they keep going to Hook thinking they're dying), and end up pushing every chair they use as close to the wall as possible. They steal wood pallets to make chair backs.

[yagodichjagodic]

Watching True Detective for the first time & omg, of COURSE there are references to the king in yellow. & the implication that Rust sees these things, because he exists between the gaps in society. In the world. Obsessed

[dandelionjack]

riffing off of ligotti: considering the fact that all life on earth, but even earlier than that, sapient life, is inevitably predestined to come to an end (whether that be in ten years or ten billion), it can be said that we are all doomed by the narrative, dead from the beginning since we are aware that all that we create is not eternal, not able to outlast its own finale.

in that respect, the entire planet is a haunted house, and we – people, all those blessed with cognition and emotion – are the hollow spectres that stalk its corridors.

[theaircaptain]

FRAG FRAG FRAGGGG FRAGGGGGG QUIT SHAKING UR ARM YOU'RE GOING TO MAKE IT WORSE!!!

I JUST POURED LIQUID RUST ONTO MY ARM NOTHING IS GOING TO BE WORSEE!!!

[quibbs126]

Sick Lux: Hi! I’m the one who suggested sick Lux and I’m happy you like it! May I suggest more ideas?

After Lux is settle and Optimus had to sink in that he’s a Sire (and the horrible realization that he pretty much banished his pregnant ex, even though he didn’t know), he and Megatron have a chance to…simply talk things out. Perhaps Lux has allowed Megatron have a more clearer head and not filled by blind anger so he listens.

Words are exchanged, regrets are shared, and apologies are made on both ends. Maybe by the end Optimus & Megatron had come to an agreement. One that ends their conflict and for Lux to be both in their lives without conflict. Whether they’ll remain awkward friends who wants best for their daughter or getting back together is unknown but it’s a good start

So, what do you think?

Sorry, meant to reply earlier when I got the ask, but I've been procrastinating on about everything today, so it took a while

But anyways, I hadn't really thought that far in my own head, only really getting to Megatron's attitude when he first gets to Iacon, basically being on edge and ready to bolt with Lux the second things might go south or he's at risk of losing her, and Optimus probably realizing that he's acting weird and trying not to aggravate him more

I'm also thinking that Megatron doesn't immediately tell Optimus the full story on Lux, just that there's a sparkling there that needs help and hoping that's enough, dodging the question of why there's a sparkling there in the first place. It does eventually come out that she's theirs though, maybe through Starscream thinking Megatron already told Optimus, I'm not sure

I mean, she does look like a blue D-16 which is gonna raise suspicions, but the fact that she's specifically Optimus' isn't immediately found out (there's a good number of blue Decepticons anyways)

But as for what you're saying here, they probably would have a talk about this whole situation at some point, especially after Optimus learns Lux is his (it might be what causes this conversation even, or at least an argument preceding it), with Megatron eventually admitting that he's terrified Optimus will take her away from him

I don't know if the story would end with their feud being declared over. I mean, it would make logical sense honestly, since the Decepticons coming back to Iacon permanently would solve a lot of the problems this situation brought up, like the lack of necessary medical equipment for the Decepticons (they haven't done enough bad yet), or the problem of Lux spending time with both her creators

Maybe it just ends with them agreeing to try and work out an agreement, but we don't see where it goes from there, like what happens with the Decepticons? Which I'm realizing is what you said, them making an agreement. I just misinterpreted it as them officially declaring the war over and stuff. The end would just be like them planning on doing so

So yeah, I do like it. Gives an actual end to this story, which knowing me, I was probably never going to have one in my head anyways (and it's probably why I'll never get around to finishing Firestorm tbh), so hell yeah

[rustedbread]

you ever fuck around in drawing app because you get bored

yeah

A F AF KGDSA<HAFS<L I>HK>FHUASBKJ FKGACS>INL AFBSKJSBICHLKB HS FJKJ GUA FHGUUGFHLGI AHFGI<MAUGW HJFCN GNJ <YYGFTYY&TI*YG KUHGUGKHV FK:VDWVL <VHJASBGIDVHJAS LTH GNYGHGF GTFUD*&LTUYNHGYIGFH^&FCKUGYCGYUYGIHLGS FFS GHGGREERRHHGHHGGRGGRGRHGHHGG RHGHGGRGGGRGGRGR :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D :D ahem [cough] anyhow YAYY!!!!! WHIPPEE!!! YAY!!!! YIPPEE!!!! I would say like ["crawling around cosmically obliterating my confinement"] however it does appear that that might be clear from what I've already typed

I fucking LOVE your art and genuinely anytime I see how you use effects with it, a bizarre ghoul enters my room and beams me with psionic energy safe to say, I really, really like it Also anytime I see Ginger Root stuff I get really happy, so the absolute combo of your art and Ginger Root stuff makes me immensely happy and just AUG HGHGAHUHUGAHUBGGHGHGIHAIHGIHOIHSFIH I'm happy right now, safe to say OH OH!!! AND I LOVE HOW YOU HAVE IT LOOK LIKE THERE'S SOME POORLY DONE GREENSCREEN THAT'S NOT EDITED OUT PROPERLY!! AUGHHHHHHGHHGHGHGHGHHH I can't exactly find the words to ever properly express how I'm happy right now so so here's an image of a fucking nuclear reactor

I really like your art actually fun fact if you didn't know possibly it's a very missable detail, of course [looking around all shifty-eyed] I still feel like I haven't voiced myself about how I genuinely really like your art so here's some more of the same nuclear reactor

[definitely-not-karen]

“He’s right the omens are ill”

- Astrotrain

[thebeigeoverlord]

Dead gods and machine gods are honestly the coolest noun phrases ever. Like, for me at least i think its probably because im so used to judeo christian stuff that a god being capable of being a corpse or machine is just. Crazy.

Like i dont even quite get what a true machine god would even be like.

the prime mover/beginning of all things being a machine, clearly developed by an intelligent being, but with no creator???

That would be so fucking weird/cool

Has this been done before

[syoddeye]

Bookworm. Ghost x Reader. cw: cyberstalking, abrupt ending a/n: to borrow a phrase from early, a brain hairball.

Simon hates being idle.

It leaves him feeling off, a knife left out in the rain. Rusting creeping along the edges, the weight uneven when you finally take it back in hand. Twice the effort to get it in killing shape again. That’s what leave does to him. Makes his skin crawl with the need to move, to do something. And this bloody physio appointment won’t scratch that itch.

His shoulder’s still not quite right. Stiff in the mornings and aching when the weather turns. Makes it impossible to train without spending forty-five to an hour on the floor, sweating and cursing. He’s been putting off the appointments, avoiding them outright. Gritting his teeth through it, but Price caught wind of it. Told him if he skipped another one, he’d drag Simon there himself.

So, here he is.

The café’s nothing special. Small, tucked away on a street where the foot traffic’s mostly locals. The kind of place you’d miss if you weren’t looking. He likes that about it. Quiet. Nobody’s looking at him twice with his cap pulled low. 

He’s been here long enough for his coffee to go lukewarm, sitting near the window where the glass fogs from the chill outside. He watches people come and go, eyes drifting over faces without really focusing.

He should have arranged a bird to pass the week with. Would’ve been easier than sitting here or his miserable flat, waiting out the dead time between appointments. Someone warm and agreeable, eager to make use of him. Let him press the ache from his bones in a way that physio never will. Too late for that now. All he’s got is a bitter, room temp coffee and a stiff shoulder.

It’s almost a mercy, then, cosmic correction, for the universe to drop a little puzzle in his lap.

You sit down at the table next to him, barely sparing him a glance. You’re juggling too much—bag over your shoulder, laptop under one arm, and a mug clutched in hand. You drop everything down with more force than necessary, letting out a quiet sigh. Frustrated.

He steals a look while you set up. 

You’re pretty. Ink smudges on your fingers, a tiny dot near your temple where you must’ve rubbed it without thinking. Something floral drifts off you—shampoo, maybe. Or perfume. Light and girlish. And the way your jeans hug your thighs. Hard not to look at.

He can’t help himself. Pure instinct, cataloging details and slotting them together.

Laptop stickers. A small cluster of them, nothing flashy. One’s a crest for a university. Another’s from a fabric store. A couple related to books.

Jumper. Grey, oversized. Worn. The same logo as the sticker, but with the department embroidered over your chest.

Notebook and book. Neat handwriting, margins filled with cramped notes, and arrows pointing to even more ideas. Dozens of colorful tabs stick out from the novel’s pages.

Dozens of messages. Simon stares at your phone on the edge of the table, catching the preview of the latest. Something about a meeting with your advisor and a graduate dissertation.

Your laptop opens to a wall of text. Hundreds of lines.

Student.

Easy to piece together.

You’re chewing on the inside of your cheek as you type, bottom lip caught between your teeth. Worrying it. Something stirs in his chest at the peek of your tongue.

No ring.

He scans your hands. No marks where one might’ve been.

Single. Unmarried, at least.

No tattoos. No visible scars. Nails painted, but barely. The polish is chipped, wearing away at the edges. You don’t bother keeping up with it. Too broke? Too busy? 

Another vibration. A second message lights up your phone. This time, he sees more of it: Shift swap. Someone asking if you can cover tonight.

Works, then.

He swipes his thumb over his phone, scrolling absently, pretending, but his mind sticks fast. The facts are lining up, falling into place.

Grad student. Literature, most likely. Working on a dissertation. Works at least part-time to make ends meet. You keep squinting at your screen and notes. Maybe you need glasses or contacts.

Simon’s eyes drop to your jumper again.

Department of English and Creative Writing.

His mind is already filling in the gaps. The stickers on your laptop. The books. How you’re typing. Focused, wholly absorbed, with no awareness of the world around you. Lost in your own head, a few steps removed from reality.

Little bookworm.

He already knows your school and department. The name of your advisor who’s texted you. From there, it’s easy.    

He tilts his phone away, though no one is paying attention to him. Especially not you. A quick search brings up the department’s website, a list of faculty, graduate students, and recent publications. He scrolls until—

A university blog post with a photo. Blurry, the lighting awful, but it’s you. The shape of your mouth, your face. Hands frozen in a fidget. Your name, attached to a paper. Has a nice ring to it.

Simon should stop here. You seem like a nice girl with a normal future and it’d be a shame to get in the way of that. But he doesn’t.

If anything, this is a good lesson for you to learn. To not be so permissive with your information and belongings. You shouldn’t leave your life so open, with easy-to-follow breadcrumbs. Who knows what might end up at your door, hungry for more?

Besides, if he didn’t do it, someone else would.

Your name leads to a personal website, then to social media, where your life is laid out in squares. Windows into the future. Bookstores, classes, afternoon tea. Friends. Flatmates. A black cat, curled up in a patch of sunlight on a lumpy sofa. 

He taps through them, one by one, mapping out your world, mentally marking places, people. Figuring out precisely where he’ll slot in.

The reminder for his appointment pops up, buzzing in his hand. His thumb hovers for a moment longer, then he takes a screenshot—a photo of you on holiday, lying on your belly on a beach, looking up at the camera with a soft, easy smile. A book rests open on the towel in front of you, forgotten for the moment. A generous glimpse of the tits you’re currently hiding from him. Thighs pressed together, arse dusted in sand.

His jaw flexes as he breathes out through his nose, staring hard at you from the corner of his eye.

He wants to haul you into his lap and wipe the ink from your skin with a spit-slicked thumb. Pop the button on your fly, slip his hand down, and make you explain whatever the fuck it is you study while his fingers sink into you.

Instead, he pockets his phone and stands.

Flexes his thighs, eyes drifting out the window to keep himself in check.

He’s quietly pleased when he shuffles out on the side closest to you. You shift automatically, tucking your legs, making space without thinking, without looking up.

So. You notice some things. You still won’t see him coming.

Simon’s reluctant to leave now. Not with his new itch, the burgeoning curiosity for the bookworm walking the same streets as him. But he leaves, knowing he’s gathered enough for now. Enough to find you again, to keep that little thread of connection alive. Maybe the rest of the week won’t be so dull, after all.

His shoulder twinges as he rolls it again, but the discomfort doesn’t register as bad. He’ll sort it now.

He just needs it useful enough for a bit of lifting later.

[10yrsyart]

a long tf sketchdump i started after watching Transformers One last year, which was great btw! (also Soundwave is one of my faves but he somehow didn't make it into this, RIP my guy 🥺 to be fair, most of these are the beginnings of ideas that don't reach conclusion so -shrug-)

also also, i watched TFA for the first time, and i CANNOT believe they really just squished my boy Blurr into a cube while still alive and left him like that 😤 i know the show got cancelled and they had plans to bring him back, but like, hotdang! SO of course i decided to slap some claustrophobia on that sucker. y'know, as a treat ✨

transcript:

(Chitty Chitty Bang Bang design) -Neutral non-combatant

-Came to Earth early, joined the races

-Lost most of her memories after the Crash

-Forgot to act non-sentient around the family who adopted her

(Wander Over Yonder designs)

Hatertron: UgggHH! That STUPID, orange Autobug, GAH, I could just wring his ne-

Peeperscream: SIR!! FOCUS!

-Wander is a Neutral Autobot sympathizer

-Sylvia is an Autobot, but protective of Wander

-Hater messes up so many plans, Peepers is the only reason Megatron hasn't figured it out

-Peepers admires Starscream's intellect, but avoids him at all costs

(TFA comic)

Rodimus Prime: Uhm, Agent Blurr? ..You good?

Agent Blurr: Rodimus-Prime-sir! There's-nothing-wrong, why-would-anything-be-wrong? This-is-a-party; a-celebration-for-the-Autobots'-GRAND-victory-over-Megatron, which-we're-all-overjoyed-about-so-there's-really-no-reason-to-be-worried-about-the-amount-of-mechs-and-femmes-in-this-room-of-which-there-is-a-perfectly-normal-number-for-a-celebration, and-it's-not-as-if-we've-reached-max-capacity-so-I'm-SURE-the-space-is-NOT-too-small-even-if-the-walls-are-getting-closer-and-closer-and-no-one-seems-to-care-that-it's-too-small-in-here-and-can't-vent-I-can't-I-I-c-I-ca-

Rodimus: Whoa, hey! Ok, ok, let's go outside for a bit, yeah? I'm tired of people asking it I'm “still infected” anyway... Like, obviously. It's Cosmic Rust.

Blurr: ...This-is-humiliating, completely-pathetic-behavior. I-am-a-professionally-trained-intelligence-agent-of-the-Elite-Guard, THEREfore-I-should-not-be-losing-my-composure-whenever-I-enter-a-room. But-I-begin-to-feel-trapped-and-I-I-I-I-can't-...

Rodimus: ..Yeah. Sometimes, I just- freeze. It feels like ice is crawling up my arms and legs and chasiss.. it hurts. I mean, I know it's not happening, but that's how I feel. It sucks. But we made it, we survived. It's still hard, but there's gotta be something to that, right? The effort and struggle is worth it, or whatever.

Blurr: With-all-due-respect, I'm-quite-sure-you-are-terrible-at-this-sir.

Rodimus: Dang. Alright, fine, that's fair. But do you feel better?

Blurr: Marginally, thank-you-Rodimus-Prime.

[raventherogue]

We need those MLP style infection AUs that would go so hard

Has there been anyone in the fandom that came up with a Transformers analog horror already?

[dat-lil-shark]

Honestly I think there is a lot of underrated ways humans can help Autobots in stopping Decepticons. Like it’s kind of annoying to see that most humans that manage to significantly help are either super geniuses like Chip, Raf, and maybe also Elena, or were just under mega plot armour.

Like they can give a thousand possums diarrhea and let them run free in the cons ship. They can replace a large chunk of their energon with mountain dew. They can also spray moss and mushroom spores all around so the cons got these things growing in their ships. They can also climb onto a con’s back and use a rifle to shoot right into their optics, or drop a scraplet straight into their vent.

And if, like scraplets, the humans will also not be harmed by Cosmic Rust and Cybonic plagues as well, they can just carry themselves bottles of infected energon and go into the cons ship and poison their supplies, like rats spreading the Black Death.

Like, let’s make the humans feral. Even just a little bit feral. If the cons think of the humans as rats, then just let them be rats. Did you ever got rats and cockroaches mess up your entire life? Yeah, let’s make the humans do that.