Keferon

Little Chibi drawing for @keferon.bsky.social feron 's Mecha Pilot Jazz AU! Really wanted to showcase the idea of Jazz playing some tunes and dragging a stiff Prowler through a dance :D And of course, Prowl is starstruck with this odd-but wonderful- mecha 💙. #jazzprowl #jazz #prowl #maccadams

Getting a feel for drawing him consistently!! (I have nefarious plans in store…)
#transformers #senatorshockwave

Mecha Jazz telling a story and Prowl laughing at the story

Jazz' mecha leaning on Prowl and linking hands while Jazz (the human) is porched on Prowl's shoulder. Both jazz and the mecha are resting/sleeping. Prowl is pleased and comfortably looking at the resting mecha.

Doodled a bit of the #jazzprowl Mecha Pilot Jazz AU of @keferon.bsky.social RAAHH I love them...

#transformers #maccadam #maccadams

If you mean my comics then probably no. I made Bsky account mostly for writing

a man is sitting in a red chair with his legs crossed . ALT: a man is sitting in a red chair with his legs crossed .

Ngkgjfjfneh I'm happy><

First aid/Vortex 🧵
bsky.app/profile/kefe...

The end————————-

Side note:
Hello Toasterwarbles I saw you liking the thread hehe I hope you had fun:D

He opens his eyes and involuntarily looks at the button again.

A broken piece of fingernail is sticking out from under it.

He pulls it out, tucks it into his pocket, and folds his hands again.

There's a smell of death and cleaner all around him.

He knows the monster must be hungry

This is the first time he's come into an already pre-cleaned cockpit, but he knows it's an illusion.
He knows where to look, he's already examined every seam and hinge a hundred times.

There's nothing in this little bubble of darkness that hasn't been touched by death.

He sits in the pilot's seat and he feels his blood run cold.

He folds his hands in his lap so he won't be tempted by the buttons and screens.

He closes his eyes and sighs deeply.

When they take his measurements, give him a new suit and explain safety procedures.
When they pat him sympathetically on the shoulder and wish him luck.
When everyone he knows acts like they're seeing him go on his last ride.

_____________________

When months later, First Aid holds the order for his enlistment into the pilot staff, the first thing he thinks about is that fucking button.

A metal monster chewing through its pilots one by one.

First Aid puts the panel back in place with unsteady hands and looks around the cockpit, suddenly keenly aware of being watched, even though the power is off and the cameras are physically inoperable.

And yet..

"What the hell.….."

The flashlight in his hand begins to shake faintly as the realization comes to him.

Perfectly passed safety tests.

An ugly smashed and scratched emergency eject button.

And the dusty mechanism that hasn't moved once since it was confirmed to be perfectly functional.

But that can't be right! No pilot is good enough to always finish a mission intact. Especially when you consider how many pilots have gone through that mech! He doesn't know for sure, but he'd bet half of them were fresh out of the academy...

Considering how dirty this mech is, the hinges there must be caked in filth.
He carefully pulls aside the panel and shines the flashlight inside and…

The ejection mechanism is covered in dust.

First Aid suddenly feels a rush of exploratory interest and climbs down to check out the emergency release mechanism.

On mechs whose pilots have ejected, this mechanism is always exposed to the outside environment and inevitably has to be cleaned of soot, dirt, or alien remains.

There are a lot of ugly scratches around the emergency eject button.
There's also a paper stamped nearby that says the mechanism has passed all the necessary safety tests and inspections.

Within the test sites it works perfectly, but every pilot sitting here seems to be desperately struggling…

This mechanism is not just faulty.

This mechanism destroys its pilots often enough for it to imprint on him.
How many people have been killed when that shell slammed shut, slicing their spines in half?

Based on the color of the stains First Aid can guess at least five.

The edge of the retractable visor has barely visible brown streaks just about on level with where each person would be required to pass if they were to enter the cockpit.
If you squint, you can see that the stripes are layered on top of each other, some older than others.

There are scratches everywhere from hard brushes and ugly pale stains from using strong cleaners.

It smells like death and solvent in here.

This mech resembles a hollow morgue.

First Aid runs his finger along the bottom, hard-to-reach side of the console.

A filthy stain remains on his glove.

He wonders what kind of death you had to die for your remains to leave stains THAT far inside the cockpit.

Then it happened again.

And again.

Dozens and dozens of times.

Enough so that the disgusting dark layers had to be chipped off rather than washed away.

All places that are very hard to reach with a brush and cleaner.

There was blood in this cockpit, then it was cleaned up, but not all of it. They left some in the crevices and tight corners, figuring it was enough to keep it looking decent.

First Aid sees.

First Aid looks.

And the more he looks, the more he realizes.

It's the stains. But not the ones First Aid was just sent to clean up. No.
The old ones. In the seams between the plates, in the narrow gaps between the components, in the ventilation grill and inside the hinges.

Ambulon sighs in relief.

"You'll see. You'll see for yourself and you'll know what I mean."

"I don't think so."

_____—————-_____

First Aid bends over for a bucket and brushes. He unfortunately doesn't have all the time in the world to listen to creepy stories.

"Okay, I heard you. Don't touch anything, don't turn anything on. But I still think you're superstitious."

..The damn thing slammed shut on its own, jamming his leg into the windshield. Please, First Aid. Promise me you won't touch anything."

That still sounds like something out of the mysticism category. Or a technical malfunction. Just one idiot who didn't figure out the buttons and paid for it.

"You sound very superstitious...”

Ambulon puts his hands on his shoulders.

"Last week one of ours was doing some cleaning in there and turned on the electricity in the cockpit to use the ventilation system…