We are a literate, intermediate to advanced AU Transformers RPG Based off of the first season of TFP with dashes of other incarnations sprinkled here or there. Characters from any continuity are welcome however must be restyled to match the TFPrime universe.
Active, with ongoing plotlines, we are always willing to integrate new characters into storylines once incorporated into the setting.
Post by Optimus Prime on Dec 31, 2015 13:47:33 GMT -5
Ok so here is the Secret Santa thread we have been waiting for! ((Or procrastinating, whoops)) People may go ahead and post whatever they have made below. If it is a piece of writing, you can either place it here, or a link to it from the Fanfiction section of the site, or anywhere else you have it stashed.
If you need more time to accomplish what you wanted, and will not have it ready by the end of the 31st, just go ahead and post a note below. Be sure to say who you got so that they know they are not forgotten!
PS: I need a smidge more time, so I will post mine later today.
Ok! So due to some stuff happening, mine isn't complete. But, not wanting to be a dick, I have uploaded a sneak peek that is rough to look at. I'm sorry, but my sketches are sad until I get them cleaned up and some color slapped on. So! This is my sad attempt. I got Zercon and I drew a human version of Flatline and Rou working together.
Also, I'm amused that I over thought Flatline's anatomy to the point of thinking he'd probably have very nice, polished fingernails. I KNOW, IT'S HIDEOUS. But I have guests arriving and didn't have more time to fixxit. Soon!
Post by Optimus Prime on Dec 31, 2015 19:56:50 GMT -5
Ahha look at those two dysfunctional fools XD I love it. I can easily see this happening on site too. Rou hammering back a cube of highgrade, Flatline squawking about how he can't believe that she would do such a thing while working, it's the perfect family! -sarcasm- And hush, it isn't hideous. -smack bats at-
For me I got Jazz, which... there isn't really a concrete design out there to work from that I found. Each version is different so I kind of just... blast blended them all together into a mash that I hope looks right.
NO RUMI, I'M NOT TRADING YOU SECRET SANTAS JUST BECAUSE YOU GOT ZER TWO YEARS RUNNING. IT'S GOT NOTHING TO DO WITH WHO I GOT AT ALL WHATSOEVER.
The 'Nemesis' fell from violence towards ruin.
The dim hallways and angular rooms were already empty; there was that much to be said. The last salvo in this unexpected bit of slaughter had all but emptied even the warship's immense stores of cannon fodder.
Roulette idly wondered what had happened to Flicker, but it was one of those thoughts that came and went and did not linger amidst the rush of everything else. She had found an odd moment of tranquility in the midst of the end of her world, and she was going to milk it for all it was worth. With distant care and idle grace she brushed the loading slip of her gun until it gleamed. Deft fingers tipped a bullet into each chamber, and with the faint click of a projectile coming home her mental counter dropped. That her stock had dropped into the single digits had stopped bothering her back when something had gutted one entire side of the 'Nemesis'.
The slip was full. She closed it, lifted the gun, lined the sight with the only source of light left in the room. Numbers and vectors and that simple, innate knowing locked onto the target and told her all was as it should be with that small part of her life, even if nothing else was.
"I would prefer that you not shoot my ship."
She did not look at him. Once upon a time that rumble, like a storm speaking, would have made her scurry both physically and mentally for cover. But so much had happened between them, and then the last half-cycle, and one got to realize she was never going to not put her pede in her mouth around him, and it got very tiring to try and avoid the unavoidable. Not to mention after your cassette pecked the Decepticon Warlord somewhere inappropriate after he 'embarrassed' you, you kinda learned not to do that. Or not to show it, at least.
Instead she lowered and docked the gun, away from the shining core of the 'Nemesis', and gave Lord Megatron a faint smirk as she pulled the other one from its dock, setting to work on it. "I promise I won't scuff the paintjob."
He can't help but give her a dry, ferocious little grin, and she finds the gesture far more meaningful than anything else from their many misadventures and misunderstandings. In that place, in that time, with everything that can be lost most definitely gone up (or coming down) in smoke and flames, Roulette can't help but be absurdly pleased that she made him smile.
The space between them tilts, and she sees his head snap up at once. All things considered, she cannot blame him; by all rights the 'Nemesis' is a giant hunk of smoldering metal at the moment, and it should be flying as well as a dead brick. That it is falling but not plummeting means some control is being exerted on the last of the power running through the navigational controls. Which means someone's on the bridge, and last she saw, the bridge was about to be overrun with Locusts.
She shakes her head, trying to dislodge that thought. Her hands take her into the soothing, automatic process of caring for her gun. Dismantle. Brush. Polish. Reload. Don't think. Earth was dismal and vile and a muddy horror and choked with organic things. And it's gone. Humans were a weird randomizer even Shockwave could not begin to quantify. And they're gone. The Cybertronians who brought their war to the planet and his native population had given either no second thought. Both are gone. Or about to be.
That's the problem with Locusts. They only care to consume. During their one and only contact, when they'd been first detected approaching Earth, they had recognized the Cybertronians - what sentient, sensible, space-faring species didn't?
And they had laughed.
Laughed rightly, Roulette though, taking the sight out and blowing lightly on it. Hand-calibrating it. Securing it in place. Nothing they had done had stopped them. She was fairly certain nothing they had done, humans or Cybertronians or both together, had even slowed them down.
Not until they were left as they were, behind the blast doors of the 'Nemesis" core chamber, nothing but her, lone soldier to Lord Megatron's command, and the last seven energon cubes the warship was not likely to need. Roulette finished cleaning the loading slip and put the last of her ammunition in it. The last chamber was left empty. She was out. "You know..." Megatron turned to look at Roulette as she closed the gun. She had meant to say something sharp and acerbic - something to see that fleeting smile come back. "Not how I expected it to end." The words tumbled out of her and she did not know where they'd come from, but she could not call them back, and they were not a lie.
"Indeed."
She watched him then, this restive, angry creature, taloned hands working open and closed, frame singed, battered and entirely unbowed. They had lost literally everything, and in his case he was about to lose what was left, as his ship accelerated towards catastrophic crashing death. And in that moment she realized he wasn't defeated. He wasn't afraid. He wasn't even resigned. He was still just plain angry. And he was truly something to see, in that anger. And it occurred to her, as she watched him pace and measure the tiny space of their last refuge, that when you boiled everything down to the bare struts the Locusts had really changed nothing at all whatsoever.
Something was gnawing on the other side of the blast door. The pitch of the floor was getting steeper, and one of the energon cubes slid off its meager pile and clunked down on its side. "You know..."
Megatron's ex-vent was not a patient sound as he turned his hyperbolic attention on the gunner. She saw him check himself almost at once, and wondered what her face was showing, to catch him so off-guard. For all the times she suspected she'd surprised him, he'd let it show... maybe once? Roulette wasn't even sure about that one. But this one? This one was for the record, and she felt it lift the corners of her mouth into a wicked grin. "I still got bullets."
He was silent, optics on her for a long, long moment. The feeder arm of the core picked up the tumbled cube and threw it in. The rasping sound from the other side of the door got louder. "How convenient," his tone was lavish with approval as he examined his own weapon, his expression turning just as wicked, just as feral as Roulette guessed her own to be. "that we still have targets."
"I know, right?" She rose to her pedes, wincing to a long list of warnings scrolling past her optic. He brushed it aside with a flick of her hand, pulling up both guns with a flourish and aiming them at the door. "I'll even leave you some." The sound he made couldn't be called a laugh, not really, but it was, once again, one for the books. I did that, she thought, and it pleased her to no end, and this time she allowed herself the sentiment.
"I appreciate the generosity." His cannon powered up, and he aimed it at the spot on the door that was beginning to shine cherry-red. "Ready?"
"Oh, come on, now." Roulette crouched down, one knee bracing her on the tilting floor. It was the time for a flirt, a decoy, a distraction, but a distraction from what? All they had left was each other. She aimed, hands steady, and her voice smiled at him for her. "I was born ready."