Right, this needs a little context.  I have a transformers RP blog I’ve been running for about 14 months, and a lot’s happened to her appearance since I started, so I decided to doodle her starting design and current design side-by-side to see just how much she’s changed.

Also used a new shading and texturing technique, so I felt I should post it here first instead of her blog because this is my art blog and I need to actually put some art on it :T

(( And now to show all my robot buddies. Don’t worry, I’m still alive!  Also I guess this is a prewiew of what she’ll look like when she gets her framechange back to femme. ))

(( And one reblog for everyone who wasn't up at 3 in the morning. ))

Send me ✉ and I'll randomly generate a text message you'll get from my muse.

1-40 completely random messages.

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Send me "Care to join me?" and I'll generate a number and my character will react to yours asking them to join them in...

Mix of fluff, angst, and NSFW.

1-30

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::Hm.  Last we heard was from a young scout of theirs who came by to purchase some sucrose—apparently the price for it in their economy has shot up threefold within the last few metacycles, as a resistance force actually managed to devastate one of their major sugar factories in a surprise assault,:: Stockpile reported.  ::They’ve seemingly conquered many of their targets thus far, but Meekrob is still holding strong, fortunately.  There have also been rumors that the scattered resistance groups are about to form into a united coalition with a Vortian by the designation of ‘Lard-Nar’ at it’s head.  Speaking of, as for the planet you are referring to, that would be Vort, which was overrun a while ago and turned into a weapons research and production facility.::

Stockpile grimaced as he said that.  How could they manage to turn an entire planet into one thing?  It was horrifically amazing how the Irken Empire was capable of turning anything they touched into another cog in their assembly line, and he hoped that their continued conquest would be put to an end, and soon.  But that was in their own quadrant, very far away, and there wasn’t much anyone outside that area could do about it.  Well, aside from the Galactic Federation, but they weren’t intervening for numerous reasons—some of them valid, most of them complete bull.  Speaking of which…

::The Na-Quel spaceport incident,:: the shuttle continued after his moment of internal pondering, ::was seemingly a terrorist attack from an unknown group—many governments have been up at the Galactic Federation’s throat for all sorts of different reasons, and this just adds another one, which I personally am sure was the entire point. It’s quite possible that, with enough added stressors, the Federation will either become a dictatorship, or dissolve entirely.::

And then there goes one of the few forces in the known universe capable of standing strong against the Armada, he thought.  While the Cybertronians had had their own war to deal with for the past few millenia, war and politics continued on throughout the galaxies. Compared to it all, the cybernetic planet was largely irrelevant, especially since they had no ties to any interplanetary alliances.  Hell, they didn’t even have an actual working government yet.

At least he could take comfort in the fact that Earth was a boondocks world far, far away from all that noise.

::That is about what I know.  Anything else?::

The Irken had a possible uprising on their hands? Good. Or, not again. In his own universe, they were just as far removed from the war, but he had a feeling that Megatron already had plans in motion to deal with them.

If the Decepticons were successful, then the Autobots stood no chance. Finally, the war would be over… but he would not ever see it. At least, he thought he would not see it.

[ Thanks for the details… I hoped they had preserved that couch. If they didn’t, then it’s a terrible waste. Otherwise, it sounds like more of the same. Uprisings haven’t been all that successful with their track record. ]

[ I think the Galactic Federation may face a split. Considering their set-up, if they become a dictatorship then my money’s on them dissolving afterwards. Eye of the storm and all that. ]

[ Hm, that’s about all right now. Thanks for the heads-up! ]

::But of course.  Have a nice day Dart, and we hope to speak with you in the future.::

click

-

::I’m sure they don’t.::  Dirge remarks, plenty aware that his desires did not reflect those of the general populace.  Which made sense considering he was a clone and not a fully sparked individual.  He listens while the other mech lists off the items they are unwilling to provide, mentally checking his own list against it. The comment about having a simultron but not offering it made his wings twitch in irritation. Not having something was bad enough- but having and not giving it to him was much worse. ::Any reason you won’t give me the sim-machine other than concern for my health?  What about property? Got any deeds to a moon or two?::

::Partially ‘cause it’s been severely customized fer medical purposes by our medic, partially ‘cause I just don’t give out hard drugs.  I make an exception, next thing I know I got a buncha different aliens at my door tryin' ta get fizzet-poppers 'n beta-sucrate fixes.  Personal morals ‘n all that junk.::  Hotwire let out a little sigh.  Okay, so that was a slippery slope argument, but she was still holding her position. 

::As fer property, we don't own any at the moment, though we've traded in deeds 'n proof-of-ownerships before, yes.  Dependin' on where ya'd want it, we might be able to scout ya out somethin' an' pay it's down payment as a return fer yer work.  The rest 'a the payments'd be all you tho.::

Why is the human holding a sword like a gun.

// Can’t we just…focus on the Transformers? Like…just…fuck the human plot? also the shop job on this hurts.

(( Thank you!  I mean, I do like human characters just as much as the Cybertronian ones, they round out the whole thing in the 'verses that they're included in, but if the movie is called TRANSFORMERS, than the main plot should be about the giant alien robot problems.  Not human drama issues with a side of exploding vehicle-bots for marketing purposes.

And you'd think that if they have the budget to make real-looking Cybertronians, they could hire any one of thousands of 'shop geeks on the internet to make this look... not bad. ))

His smile became a little softer and more genuine now, less of a thing of politeness and more oriented with actual delight. He accepted the cube with a smile, watching it for a few long moments, intrigued.

"I’m a surgeon. A Microsurgeon." He chuckles as he brings the cube to his lips, taking a long sip from it. After a moment he licks his lips slowly as if to savor the energon, his glossa piercing slipping out of his mouth just briefly before he sets the cube to the counter, thumbing it. "… That’s good…! What do you call that?" He asks, peering into the ever-shifting color of the energon in his servo. 

The scrapper let out a whistle.  ”Nice,” he said.  ”Never could get a grip on all that technical-anatomy-framework stuff, no matter how often Echo tried explainin’ it ta me, but Ah gotta admire th’ dedication it takes ta be any good at it.”

Blindside would be lying if he said he hadn’t stared a tad longer at the mech’s derma than was strictly necessary.  What?  He was a good-looking guy.  He gave a grin at the compliment.  ”That particular mix’s called Milliklik-Colors.  It’s a version ‘a my Tank-Twisters, which rely on this thing called ‘oscillatin’ reactions’. Basically, a chemical reaction happens, an’ then, due ta th’ nature ‘a th’ mixture, it separates again into what is was before, an’ then the reaction happens all over again, and over an’ over ‘n over.  Notice how it changed flavors in yer mouth?” His smile turned proud.

"The real processor-stewin’ stuff’s got iodine innit, an’ it turns black,” he went on.  ”This stuff’s mid-grade—made with hydrogen peroxide, sodium iodate, manganese, melonic acid, an’ a bit ‘a sulphiric acid.  An’ don’t worry,” he assured, holding up a servo.  ”Most mechs go nuts on me when Ah say ‘acid’.  The only way this’d hurt’cha’s if ya binged on it fer several hours straight.  In small doese, it’s fine, an’ yer self-repair undoes any damage done.”

His expression turned sheepish as he realized he’d been rambling. “Um… but, ah, yeah.”  He coughed a bit into his servo, optics sweeping to the side.  ”So… hey!  ’Sides yer surgeon duties, whaddaya do in yer free time?”  He propped his helm on a servo, gaining his casual air back.  ”The whole cookin’ thing’s my side schtick.  Technically Ah’m Hotwire’s bodyguard.

"I’m very familiar with anatomy," He said with a smile, looking up at the other, "Have to be. Microsurgery means being able to fabricate and repair organs from their basest materials. Believe it or not, I graduated top of the entire university for it." 

As the other begins to speak, he nods along, alert and interested. He was a big mech indeed, so there would have to be a lot more high grade involved to get him off his pedes. Optics alight with intrigue, he barely resisted the urge to start jotting down notes about the brew.

"You developed this yourself, then?" He asked, a certain kind of wonder in his voice, "You’ve got a real talent, Blindside— I’d love to hear more." He grins, flashing slate-grey, pointed dentae that shone under the flashing lights of the party, "Me? I, uh…" Now it’s the red mech’s turn to be sheepish, all thirty tons of him. "I don’t… really have a hobby. I mostly find something to do with myself that’s… well, I mean, it’s all technically work, but I have responsibilities I gotta keep up with, you know?” He tries, bringing the cube to his lips again, but not quite sipping, his helm tilting back just slightly. “I uh, mostly do custodian work on the energon plantation decks in my ship or manage fabrication or just… generally take care of things.” 

Blindside nodded as he listened, very impressed.  He'd honestly never really heard of microsurgery before--the term was vaguely familiar, like he'd heard it in passing once, but that was it.  To think, regrowing internal components from their base materials... that was really something.  Kinda made his chemistry tinkering seem a little silly in comparison.  But Tourniquette really did seem interested--oh wow, he had fangs.  Cute little fangs.  Nice.

He gave a humble smile, waving a servo.  "Eh, just applyin' chem ta drink mixes," he said.  "Try ta balance what tastes good wit' what looks good.  Ah just got a thing fer makin' flashy stuff.  An' Ah do come across new ideas, visitin' all different alien cultures an' their sciences."  He gestured upwards, towards... well, space.  "Ya wouldn't believe how many elements exist outside the ones we got back home.  Ya ever try Naquadah?  I could make ya a Naquadah mix."

That said, the scrapper listened to his patron continue on the subject of hobbies.  "As long as ya enjoy it, Ah guess," he said, reaching down under the bar for a second and bringing up a cube.  Everyone else was drinking--why not?  He popped the top and took a swig.  "Though ya know what they say 'bout 'all work, no play'.  Yanno, we got a lot ta do on this ship.  Ah could show ya 'round, if ya ever get some free time later that'cha just got no idea how ta spend," he offered with a lopsided grin.

"Arright, one sec," Hotwire said before opening her comm. line. ::Yo, where’s everyone at?::

::Out in the orchard.::

::Out ‘here…

Introductions and Whatnot

"Are they or were they Decepticons?" Chromia asked, still irritated. Her spark was beating so hard that her optics were glowing even brighter. If she met another (former) Con, she couldn’t guarantee she wouldn’t shoot on sight.

"No!  No no no," Hotwire placated quickly.  Stockpile was the only former 'Con on the ship, but even if he wasn't, the tank wouldn't be absentminded enough to make the same mistake twice.  "They're former 'Bots, though.  So's Echo.  Me 'n Crank've always been neutral," she went ahead and explained.

"Arright, one sec," Hotwire said before opening her comm. line. ::Yo, where’s everyone at?::

::Out in the orchard.::

::Out ‘here with th’ kid.::

::Trying to find this fucking little tiny cable in…

Introductions and Whatnot

Chromia tensed up at the sight of this old shuttle. Her blaster charged in its subspace… Yeah she knew him. “… You killed my friends right in front of me….” She grit her denta together. “And then you ran without a word….”

Hotwire could've kicked herself right then.  Yeah, good idea--introduce the Autobot Wrecker to the former Deception frontliner.  It wasn't as if they'd been enemies once or anything!  The room's atmosphere had gone from 'calm and wondrous' to 'aw shit' in no time flat.

Stockpile grimaced and looked to the side, trying to think of what to say.  He exvented slowly and made optic contact with Chromia again.  "That... was a long time ago, when I was a very different mech," he started slowly.  "While that does not at all justify my past actions, and while placations cannot fix what errors have been committed in the past, I do truly regret the sparks I snuffed back when I sought to spill energon, when I somehow believed it... would amend what happened to my family."

son i have some news for you

boy do we have some news for him

"Hm."  Hotwire’s optic ridges furrowed at the ‘toy’ bit, familiar with that feeling, distant as it was.  "That’s… a scrap thing ta have ta put up wit’, Megatron."  Primus, it felt weird actually using that name.  Usually it was just ‘Megs’, well out of earshot of any Decepticon, or anyone who cared.  "Ah… ya go by Megatron?  ’R ya pick a different name fer yerself?"

"No, I go by Megatron. I am still him after all, just miniaturized. However I don’t see the world quite as he does." Smiling lightly. "Clearly. Completely different perspective from this size. Makes a mech think about things."

Hotwire nodded.  "Yeah, I'd imagine."

There was an awkward silence as she thought of something to say, before she defaulted to polite host mode.  "Hey, ya need a refuel?  We got plenty 'a energon 'n energon mixes, if ya'd like."

*deeper and deeper still…*

*as she made her way through the maze-like infrastructure of wherever-this-was, a long metallic groan rose from the passage somewhere behind her. that… that was definitely not good. it could have been the infrastructure settling, someone standing on cranky flooring, or the manipulation of any atmospheric controllers. it could have been any of those things but the conclusion she jumped to was “GHOSTS AND MONSTERS ARE IN HERE WITH ME”, prompting a panicked run through the narrow corridor.*

oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god oh god eeeeeeeeeeee Dx

*with shaky hands, she shoved open an empty light socket and gripped the wall, preventing herself from plummeting to her death. she had somehow found her way up near the ceiling, and the drop would have easily shattered every bone in her body.*

*she backed away, and took greater care in searching for another way out of the menacing darkness. the next panel opened up to what appeared to be some sort of archive.*

*she squeezed through a row of datapads and peered around. the chamber itself was quite vast, and contained many shelves full of datapads, intel chips, computers, and drives.*

*THIS WAS PERFECT. NOBODY READ ANYMORE SO THAT MEANT SHE COULD FINALLY BE ALONE, AND LIBRARIES ARE ALWAYS HAUNTED IT’S LIKE A RULE OR SOMETHING. she turned off her ghost box and replaced it with her evp recorder.*

*she had long since determined that she was no longer on overlord’s ship, but somewhere else. this is what happens when you have the power of teleportation and don’t fucking use google maps, goddammit. what now? she knew that she had alerted someone somewhere, and at some point her fun would be spoiled. would they be friendly, or would they attempt to eat her? A TRUE ADVENTURER WASTES NO TIME WORRYING ABOUT SUCH THINGS. THERE ARE GHOSTS TO LOOK FOR AND RECKLESSNESS TO CAVE INTO, BY GUM!*

Stockpile had been reading a datapad, a historical-fiction story from Plorginarr.  He had been so into it that when the sound of metallic impact cracked through the air, the shuttle's spark practically leapt from it's casing and he jumped in his seat with a gasp, the poor chair underneath cracking from the sudden lift and subsequent impact of the several-ton shuttle. 

"Primus above," he muttered, servo placed over his rolling spark and optics wide.  He scanned the room, finally settling on a small object sitting lonely on the wide empty floor.  That was odd--Stockpile cocked an optic ridge and frowned.  It was a circular light fixture.  He looked up, finding the black hole in the ceiling where it was missing.  Huh.

Sighing wistfully--he'd just gotten to a good part--the old mech pushed himself to his pedes, setting the pad aside on a nearby table as he went to retrieve the little light fixture.  He crouched down and plucked the tiny thing up between his thumb and foredigit, subspacing it with the resolution to bring it to his sparkmate later for repair.  Right now, he had a story that needed read.

He was about to sit back down when another sudden noise found his audials--it sounded like a wall panel popping open, on the second floor of the library.  Stockpile sighed.  Always something.  He was about to head up the stairs to check it out when the door on the far wall slid open and Blindside darted in, skidding to a halt on the floor and leaving little marks on the floor as he did.  He looked around wildly, optics settling on Stockpile, who looked at him curiously.

"There's an organic thing runnin' around in the walls," the scrapper said by way of explanation.  Stockpile simply pointed up, and Blindside nodded, running off up the stars and onto the second floor.

::Blindside!  Visual?::

::Ah'm lookin' fer it, Crank.::  Blindside stopped at the head of the stairs, taking in the room and looking for--there!  On one of the shelves, behind a stack of datapads, a wall panel was open.  "Got'cha!"  He dashed over to the shelf and--

Bugger.  He looked around, shoving datapads and old books and scrolls and binders aside, trying to find... whatever it was he was looking for.  "Aww, c'mon," he grumbled, stepping back to get another look at the whole shelf.  He slapped a servo to his forehelm and groaned.

"I swear, if yer a thief, yer makin' a real mess 'a sneakin' around!" he called out.