King of the road

G1 Motormaster RP blog with NCC.

Current universe location: G1

Tracked tag: roadruler


Also dropping due to inactivity. It’s been a fun ride, but finding Motormaster’s voice never came to me easily.

  • 03.23.14
  • 11:37 am


"Come again?" Onslaught squints. "Oh, how could I forget that…? You can only enjoy yourself if desperate struggling is involved, don’t you? I’ll try to keep this in mind next time.”

'Do you prefer to hold hands and kiss and whisper in each other's audials?'

The massive truck does not have a well-cultivated sense of irony.


Top Gear Magazine Destroyed the Mazda Furai
There aren’t many details yet aside from the merged together before & after photo and a brief statement from the Top Gear team; 

"Forgive us, for we have sinned. Top Gear is responsible for the untimely demise of the quite remarkable Mazda Furai Concept, and we’re very, very sorry. Find out how (if that picture hasn’t clued you in…) in our bumper anniversary issue, and try not to hate us too much.”


Top Gear Magazine Destroyed the Mazda Furai

There aren’t many details yet aside from the merged together before & after photo and a brief statement from the Top Gear team; 

"Forgive us, for we have sinned. Top Gear is responsible for the untimely demise of the quite remarkable Mazda Furai Concept, and we’re very, very sorry. Find out how (if that picture hasn’t clued you in…) in our bumper anniversary issue, and try not to hate us too much.”

Via: itcars
+ source: itcars #reblog


"Of course you would be glad to hear that. After all, if it weren’t for mechs like me, who would let you touch them voluntarily?” He tilts his head and snorts. “Well, actually, voluntarily might be stretching it a bit. Let’s call it ‘not being outright averse to it’. Or maybe, ‘at least not in immediate need to be coerced’.”

'Do you lie there like an offlined mech for your teammates too?' He snorted, unimpressed with Onslaught's verbosity. 


"What did you call it again? Admiring the view?”

'Henh, good to see you're still living up to your reputation, Whoreslaught.'


"What did you call it again? Admiring the view?

'Henh, good to see you're still living up to your reputation, Whoreslaught.'

Meanwhile, on patrol



-Thankfully Motormaster isn’t on his tail and Sideswipe takes his advantage with stride. Distance accomplished, he tries to open his communication line to Blue. The damn thing still crackling from being busted earlier by Motormaster’s heavy hit.

Slowing to a halt on the side of the road, the frontliner tries again and again. If the large semi isn’t chasing him, he’s fairly certain that he’s still dealing with Blue. He’s just hoping that he can at least get something through to figure out where Bluestreak is and what’s happening.-

::Bl… -ue? Bl….? Where a-…. you?::

Driving at a speed he doesn’t normally do, especially since he’s so used to having to watch out for humans on the road, the Datsun has no plans of slowing down. Even with Motormaster being much slower than him, he’s not surprised when the ‘con is able to barrel through everything on his path and get closer to him. 

Hearing Motormaster’s taunts, he only gives a louder rev of his engine as he kicks things up a notch; driving faster and silently telling the Decepticon to “eat his dust”. He’s getting close to his way out and once he gets there, he can focus on meeting back up with Sides. 

As an incoming ping comes onto his comm. lines, he opens up the private comm and hears static along with Sideswipe’s broken words.

:: Getting Motormaster off my tail. I should meet with you soon.::

Turning off the comm, he hopes that gets through. With the way the ‘con is driving through everything, he’s getting dangerously close. When the Datsun finally spots the tunnel he’s been heading for, one too small for someone like Motormaster to go through, he wastes no time in speeding up more and going through it. Even if the ‘con did try to continue to chase after him, he’d have to take another route to get to the same path as him and Blue’s more than sure the ‘con wouldn’t be able to catch up to him.

Making his way through the tunnel, his next course of action is making sure Sides gets back to the Ark okay.

Motormaster charged straight ahead, ignoring trees, trashcans, railings and even the road itself as he headed straight towards Bluestreak. Although he’d never catch the Datsun on a straight run, the Autobot had to weave his way along the asphalt and Motormaster was slowly gaining on him.

When Bluestreak disappeared into the narrow tunnel, it was too late for Motormaster to break in time.He transformed and spun around, digging his sword into the ground to stop his trajectory. With sparks flying and scraping all the paint off his knees he finally came to a stop, with the overhead archway of the tunnel gently bumping into the back of his head. 

He turned around and yelled at the disappearing tail lights ‘SLAGGER’. 

He transformed back into truck mode with a painful rattle and clank as his outer plating had shifted out of place. He moodily went back along the path he’d come down, following the trail of destruction and looking for sideswipe, but unable to find any sight of him.

He sulkily drove over and flattened a few parked cars like a tank before giving up the search. 

Meanwhile, on patrol



-With Motormaster now focused on Bluestreak, much to Sideswipe’s dismay, it gives him that window of opportunity. He’d much rather stay and finish this but even he has the intellect to know when he needs to suck it up. There will be another time.

Sensors re-aligning themselves to a higher functioning status, the red frontliner is able to finally transform and drive off.

How far he can get until he’s forced to halt depends, however. And he is no medic. Still, Blue gave him this chance and he’d be damned if he’d mess it up for the Datsun. He tries to open a comm. line but all he gets is static. Regardless, they’ll meet up; Sideswipes trusts Blue’s judgement– he was taught by Prowl after all.-

Bluestreak watches as Motormaster loses grip on his sword and pulls out a chain to replace it. He’s not surprised to see the Stunticon with another weapon. It’d take more than jut shooting at one of the ‘con’s hands to make him fight without any sort of weapon. Even so, the gunner accomplished what he needed which was to keep the other mech focused on him.

When Motormaster yells out his name, he glances over at Sideswipe for a moment to see the frontliner starting to move before switching his attention back to Stunticon.

"Took you long enough to figure it out, Motorbreath"

He adds to the taunt by firing several shots at the con. He’s sure Motormaster will deflect most of them with his field or his chain. But his current goal is to just annoy the hotheaded mech. He sub spaces his rifle and transforms into his alt. mode. Giving a loud rev of his engine and challenging the other mech to come after him as he starts to drive off. He’s faster than the Stunticon so he’s not worried about the con catching up to him not with their current distance. Even if he does, he’s already planned out how to get the con off his trail.

Motormaster is infuriated enough now to momentarily forget Sideswipe. He easily deflects the shots, and curses loudly when Bluestreak transforms and speeds away. Although he isn’t nearly as fast travelling at his top speed, that isn’t an automatic loss. His massive bulk and heavy frame mean he can gain headway by taking shortcuts smaller mechs couldn’t.

He transforms and revs his powerful engine angrily, kicking up a cloud of dust as he heads after Bluestreak, barreling straight over any obstacles in his path. 

'Get back here and fight me like a mech you empty headed slagger!' Having his prey try to flee just as he was anticipating a good pummeling intensifies his anger.


"What, this?” Whirl draws his leg up even farther, folding it at the joints almost like an accordion. Because of the way that his hip-mechanisms work, he has a greater range of motion on his legs than most mechs. Once again, under different circumstances, such a display would be bordering on inappropriate. 

To Motormaster’s eye, it probably just makes Whirl look like his leg-joint is broken. 

Motormaster frowned in disgust at the display. It was the kind of thing that made him want to blow up the sun.

"Isn’t it about time you meant to see a medic? Put your comrades out of their misery from having to look at you."


Whirl leans back enough for his impressive cockpit to come into view, and he pats the side of the angular array fondly. “I have chest-mounted blasters. Your argument is invalid.” 

He’s pleased to see that Motormaster has swallowed his yarn about being spikeless. Let’s see how long he could make the other mech believe that (the answer would likely be until he lost interest). “Hey, my legs are plenty stable. More stable than yours.” He leans back further, lifting one leg and wiggling the foot back and forth. Under different circumstances, his posture would be quite provocative, but seeing as how he’s being an annoying little shit, it’s highly doubtful the thought ever enters into Motormaster’s mind. 

“You don’t want to get kicked with one of these, trust me. If any of the mechs I’d kicked could speak afterwards, that’s what they’d say.”

"Load of good they’d do you when someone rips off your rotors and you start crying like a sparkling." Like many things about Whirl, Motormaster is unaware of the mech’s disturbingly flippant attitude towards pain.

"So the ‘cons in your verse are made of tinfoil and wishes, hm. Only way a mech with so many lose screws like you could survive."

Motormaster finds Whirl about as alluring as a kitchen drawer full of scissors, rusty knives and robo-syphilis. To his optic, Whirl’s physique looks weirdly fragile but above all else, awkward.

"Ugh, stop that before you hurt yourself."


“Excuse you,” Whirl replies, “how do you know how many puppies I have or haven’t hugged? Rude.” Whirl leans back in his chair. He’s secluded himself to his room for now, and observing Motormaster through a vidscreen on the desk. The ex-Wrecker crosses his long legs, the very picture of dignified relaxation. 

“And I’d be careful about who you call freak. Your head looks like an end-table,” Whirl points out judiciously. “I mean, I’m aware that I’m a little different than most mechs in the looks department,” he taps the side of his helm, “but even so…”

"Hah! You couldn’t even pick one up without accidentally slicing it in half." Whirl’s antics are irritating like a buzzing gnat, but not enough t get Motormaster truly furious.

"So some mechs don’t like the the shape of my helm." He shrugged.

"But armour is more important than looks. Besides, I got plenty of other qualities to make up for it. Like stable legs. Fingers. A cord. A face. You look like Shockwave and a pair of scissors had a functionality impaired sparkling.”


Whirl is astonishingly used to not being respected. He can’t remember the last time someone actually did respect him… well. Aside from a certain psychotherapist, but that was a special case. Nit even the Decepticons he’d terrorized before killing had respected him. They’d just feared him. 

“Give the mech a prize,” Whirl reached up and began to clap, stared at his claws in mock astonishment, and then simply clicked them instead by way of applause. “You’re Motormaster. I take it you’re some sort of alternate version of our Motormaster, though. For one, you don’t sound like someone being held prisoner.” 

The second clue was that he didn’t know who Whirl was. 

Everyone knew who Whirl was (or they should, Whirl had long ago decided).

Motormaster narrowed his eyes at Whirl’s antics, unamused. 

"There aren’t enough Autobots around to even try to take me prisoner." he answered flatly. He was a little disappointed to hear his counterpart wasn’t dead; he would never surrender to a so-called Autobot victory and suspected his counterparts wouldn’t either. Being locked up, that was just embarrassing.

"I can tell you’re not from around here, too." He crossed his arms over his chest and gave Whirl a cool look.

"The Autobots would have ‘accidentally’ lost a battle and let us put you out of your misery. You don’t fit their puppy-hugging daisy-chain making image, freak."

"Well aren’t you a pretty little bird…."

"Well aren’t you a pretty little bird…."

  • 06.25.13
  • 10:48 am


‘Every mech I’ve met must’ve had real undersized ports then.’ Motormaster’s engines rumbled low in annoyance. ‘And least I got equipment, unlike you poor drones. The Autobots couldn’t even spring the cash to give you fingers? Sad.’

“Nah, it’s better this way. Interfacing equipment is distracting. Besides, fragging isn’t nearly as fun as eviscerating. Or dismembering. Or shooting. Or dropping someone from the sky, that one never gets old, especially if they can’t fly—or burning, or bending, or melting, or decapitating, or any of those things,” Whirl replies airily. 

He’s lying, of course, about the state of his equipment. Whirl has a perfectly normal set under his panels (ironically, one of the few normal things about him) but he’s content to pretend otherwise for the moment. 

“Oh, my hands? I used to have hands. But they had to take them away from me because I was so deadly with them I violated seventeen subsections of the Autobot Code using them. Then they gave me these.” He clacks his pincers. “And now I violate twenty-six.” 

Whirl gives a dark, melodramatic chuckle. “Those fools.”

"Fools. Hn. Those Autobots are dumber than I’d imagined then." Under different circumstances, Motormaster might have admired Whirl’s impudence. Or hated him anyway; seeing him as a rival. Regardless, the only Autobot he held even the smallest iota of respect for was Optimus Prime, and no other. A very small and grudging iota. Whirl, being an Autobot (no matter how surprising or seemingly illogical that fact was), was getting nothing but contempt.

"….oh. You’re a fragging helicopter.” He rumbled, as if that explained everything.