#uuuuh this entire thing is about death and mutilation soooo...

[welcometomybraincomics]

The world is full of so much beauty.

Sunlight glinting off the edges of a crystal garden, filtering light through each flat prism and speckling the ground in miniature rainbows. (The shattered remains of a crystal garden, glistening across the ground. The glistening spires they used to be before the battle. Lying in the rubble between them, incapacitated and left with nothing to do but observe. They bounce and fracture under pedsteps, each movement creating a near imperceptible symphony of chimes)

The greying of paint as a mech dies, starting at the edges and encroaching on the spark in fractal patterns. (A youngling, tucked into a shadowed corner, frozen long after the mech's spark snuffed, unable to move, like watching a train wreck)

the way energon drips down plating, always seeking the lowest point and inevitably painting a tapestry across the plane as it finds pits and valleys imperceptible to the naked optic. (Watching the energon seep from wounds. On the battlefield, in an alley, in his home. It always seeks the same path, that vibrant pink fluid, regardless of frame type. He watches as it solidifies, as the solvent that makes it "processed" evaporates, leaving the crystalline structure of energon once more. There are patterns to it, there are differences, depending on where in the frame it's from)

The way optics dim when a mech offlines, always from the edges in as the bulbs burn out or lose power. (He hides as much as he can, tucked into a crevice nearly too small for him, and he knows his face is the last thing the mech sees before his spark is shot through by someone he makes sure can't see him. Just like the mech who starved in the gutter next to him, this mech's optics fade the same)

There's so much beauty everywhere, you don't see how everybody misses it. (Pink and grey and rust. There's so much of it, this must be what the world loves. He's been gifted with paradise and he's honored to be born there)

It's in the techno-moth evaporating in a flame, the way rust slowly eats at metal, the way cooling frames bend and pop as their plating settles for the last time. (Symphony of life. Symphony of death. The patterns, here, always. Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful)

The splatter of arterial spray is beautiful when captured on a wall, but in the middle of the battlefield, all you can do is snap quick captures as its arc is backlit by the fading light of a foreign star just above the dust and rummage of battle. (A shot to the spark, a knife to the neck, so many beautiful ways to kill a mech. The battle a gallery and he an artist relishing in the majesty of it all. So much so much so much, he wants to capture it all: Every frame, every movement, every death. But he is one mech. It's all he can do to capture this beautiful moment, framed by the flailing limbs of battle, so dark against the setting star)

There's beauty in a field after battle. Some say it's a chaotic wasteland of ravaged corpses, but there are only so many ways a mech can fall, and you see its beautiful patterns spread before you after the dust settles from the air like an ethereal mist and grey frames are all you can see for miles. After you, others will come and pick them apart, scavenge them. Then, their frames will be left to rust, to become part of the landscape, to wash away an acid rain, to disintegrate and wither away and turn into dust on the wild wind of land with no life supporting it. There's beauty in that too. (Cyclical, cyclical, ashes to ashes, dust to dust. To rise from Primus and to return to him. Till All Are One)

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Pov you see double standards in action and go "Oh! So all the rules are a lie and there's actually a secret set of rules that I must figure out with my brilliant powers of deduction!" except you don't determine you're on the lower end of double standards, you determine EVERYONE is on the lower end of double standards and now you look like a lunatic

Ahahahhaha After getting into his head, I realize that Guillotine is a deeply traumatized mech. Does he think he's traumatized? No. But his vision of beauty is 100% an attempt to cope with the persistent horrors of the world that just didn't seem to stop. "If all this is so horrible, why is it still here? If it's still here, that must mean this is a good thing, that this is beauty. That must mean this is a utopia"

Anyway, Guillotine is fucked up in ways that did not initially occur to me and now I need to write a Vaporwave pov to see how the fuck their thought processes go together. Not bc my imagined thought process for Vaporwave doesn't mesh well with Guillotine, but because I've only got an outline and I'm super interested in seeing what mindset is compatible.

#transformers #oc #transformers oc #robits #Guillotine #Local mech is very fucked in the head #Some of it is stuff he was taught #most of it is stuff he twisted up inside his brain and taught himself #maccadams #canon typical violence #Prose #uuuuh this entire thing is about death and mutilation soooo... #tw death mention