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.
"That's 'cus mah job's better'n yers," Ironhide replied, the banter automatic even as some of the short stutters in his vents evened out. "'Cept for th' requisitions an' scrap. Tell th' Prahm he can do his own slaggin' 'paperwork'. Ah've been spoilin' him too long shoulderin' that slag."
For a moment he let himself think about it - think about an existence without duty roster, without responsibility, without endless to-do lists in cascading hierarchy of what needed doing, and when, and why. Let himself imagine a life with only standard duties, encapsulated as when to be where without the heavier load that came with officer rank.
It was frightening, in its own way, how much he wanted that.
Ironhide made himself draw in a deeper ventilation, flushing it through his systems and watching careful for errors, but the vent came easily enough. Reluctantly, he peeled himself away from Jazz's hold, sitting back, optics not quite meeting the other's visor. "Yeh outta get goin'," he made himself say. "Just threw a Pitload of scrap in yer lap, can't be tyin' up yer time too." It was easier to shutter his optics and lean forward, letting their helms touch. "Thanks."
Jazz leaned his helm against Ironhide's, hands resting on Ironhide's shoulders. "Y'welcome," he said, pressing here-here-right-here into Ironhide's field. "Not five minutes, mech. Seriously. Y'gotta work on that. Maybe I should have someone responsible keep an eye on you. Like Blue."
Jazz sighed and got his feet under him, hand reaching up to pat Ironhide on the top of his helm. "A'right. Off to go find our femme. YOU, cohortmate, are under strict orders to cycle down and defrag, y'hear me? I got this."
Pit, but he wished Chromia was here. Hurry up, femme. Things're goin' wrong, and I might have to deal with it. An' nobody wants ME to have to deal with scrap....