#they're disasters

[namelessmoons-corner]

Syringa vulgaris - First Love ☆ OP81

From the series petals unfolding, forever anew

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Mirabelle Desmarais (OC) Summary: It’s 2021. Mirabelle is a florist. Oscar is in need of a Mother’s Day bouquet. The rest is history Wordcount: 4,7k a/n: They’re both disasters. Oscar more than Mirabelle tho

It's finally here! It's past midnight where i am, but i'm so happy with this! Enjoy! (If you want to read the other installment in this series, here it is)

Taken from Youtube (02/05/2021)

[The viewer can see a woman dressed in a long khaki skirt and a cream shirt with ruffles, the outfit adorned with a brown apron. She is watering different plants around a room, the video being sped up as she changes the water of vases bigger than her torso. The video cuts to a short scene of the front of a flower shop with a loopy cursive added one top. The words read “Une semaine en tant que fleuriste et 1er mai” (“A week as a florist and May 1st”)]

Weekly vlog S1e17: A week as a florist and May 1st

@/Mirabelle Desmarais 10,56 k subscribers 2k likes

5,2 k views 5 hours ago 17th vlog of the year! And we still haven’t missed one :) …Show more

16 comments

@/Milliesplace i love the way this is edited :) keep up the good work Mirabelle @/deadinsid3 i’d love to be in Monaco to buy flowers from you @/tiredhighsoolstudent how old are you? i feel like you’re so successful already and i’m lacking @/danielisthebest I’m in Monaco next week! I hope i can see you 

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Monaco (03/05/2021)

The weeks leading up to mother’s day are always busy for flower shops, and Mirabelle knows this well. This year is her first year having her own shop, but she’s been employed in a flower shop for about two years after getting her vocational baccalauréat in horticulture. 

She knows how to operate a flower shop; running her business into the ground before it can fly is not in her ten-year plan. That’s why this year, for the first Mother’s Day of her shop, she’s going to do great. Or at least that’s the mantra she’s been repeating every hour for a few days.

She’s been living in Monaco for the past two years, so she can’t call herself a local yet. She has her own flat, and she pays her own bills (to the French government, to her great disappointment; what she wouldn’t do to get tax exemptions like most people living in Monaco…).

Her flat is situated near the French border, but you could say that most streets in Monaco are near the border, unless you want to live in the Mediterranean Sea. And while Mirabelle thinks fish are cute in their own way, she doesn’t think that she’d like to spend the rest of her days underwater, eating algae. And Mirabelle has always preferred Barbie: Fairytopia to Barbie in a Mermaid Tale.

The view from her flat is amazing, because she lives on the highest floor of the building. Not a penthouse, but a flat under the roof, she says. She managed to get it for a reduced price because of the state it was in when she bought it. Still, what she owes the bank haunts her in her dreams. One more reason for Mother’s Day this year to be a success. Monaco is home to a lot of foreigners (as she is); and so deals for the celebration can run during more than a week. For Monaco-natives, or Monégasques, as they like to insist upon, Mother’s day is May 30th this year. For French people like Mirabelle and her mother; Marie, it will be on the same day. But she knows that there are a lot of Italians coming to Monaco during the month of May, following the Grand Prix, and so the day of the celebration will be on May 9th. Which is less than a week away.

Today is Monday. This means that she has six days left to prepare for the rush and to write down orders. And rich people always want exotic flowers or flowers that don’t bloom during the spring for Mother’s Day. Which, fair. If she had that kind of money, Mirabelle would decorate all year around with lilac or hibiscus. Unfortunately, she cannot, and her flat is already filled to the brim with potted plants anyways. Maybe she could try and grow wisteria. 

Lilac, or Syringa vulgaris, blooms during spring, but it’s not a flower commonly used in bouquets and even less for Mother’s Day. Depending on the colour of the lilac, the flowers can mean the first love of someone (lilac colour, the name of the shade coming directly from the flower), which could be used for this celebration, Mirabelle thinks, even if it would be a bit strange; or mourning a loved one for darker purples. Not really sought after for Mother’s Day.  

Mirabelle needs to get a stock of lilies this year. It’s a flower often wanted for bouquets destined to mothers, because one of the meanings of lilies is motherhood. Still, lilies bloom during summer, so Mirabelle isn’t the happiest when dealing with people demanding she use lilies for bouquets in the middle of spring.

White roses are a staple too, and so she needs to contact her supplier to see if he has any news about her shipment. She has ordered more than a hundred roses for Friday, which would leave her the time to prep the flowers for the rush of Saturday night leading into Sunday.  Her fridge is already stocked to the brim with caffeinated drinks; keeping them cold in order for her to make it through the night. 

At least the city is still navigable (for now), the Grand Prix of Monaco taking place at the end of the month. This week is… Spain, if she remembers correctly. While Mirabelle watches 1 occasionally, she’s not that informed. The only moments when she gets new information is when she goes to Cece’s flat to watch races when they are at a reasonable time. 

Cécé, from her first name Célia, has been Mirabelle's best friend since kindergarten, when a boy had decided to push Mirabelle to the ground, saying that carrot people needed to stay in the dirt where they belonged and Célia had pushed the boy right back, stomping on his hand for good measure. Cece has always been spirited. And when she was younger, Mirabelle indeed had carrot-like red hair. Now the colour has faded, settling into a comfortable strawberry blonde, still keeping her darker ginger highlights in the summertime. She still lives in Nice, their hometown and is studying business with a focus on luxury.

Startled out of her thoughts by a passing truck, Mirabelle shakes her head and looks at the shop front of her business. She likes the vibes, she thinks. She’d decorated everything with the help of Cece and Nathan before the grand opening a few weeks ago. Nathan, Cece’s fiancé, was great to have around to renovate an old building, the guy being quite tall and good with manual tasks. The only downside is his inability to stay still for more than two consecutive minutes and his clumsiness. 

From an external viewpoint, the shop looks like an antique store, with its forest green wooden front and the gold lettering above the door and the windows. Mirabelle did it herself, which she is really proud of. The gold works quite well against the green of the background, in her opinion. And the honeysuckle climbing at the side of the shop is great. She still needs to find a name for it. Maybe Cece would have an idea. 

Mirabelle takes out her phone and steps onto the street to take a picture of it, sending it to her best friend to ask for her opinion. The picture is great, now that she’s looking at it. It just needs some touch ups, and she’ll post it on her instagram page. She still needs to check the vlog she posted yesterday on Youtube. 

The idea of filming her life everyday and posting it as vlogs was her little sister’s idea. Amandine is currently in 9th grade, but because she’s in a boarding school in the north of France, she only has access to her phone for half an hour everyday to call their parents. Apparently, she also has access to her phone on weekends, because that’s when she calls Mirabelle. And so, to get updates on her sister’s life, Amandine had made her take a resolution for the new year: film her life a bit everyday and post it on Sunday afternoon, when she still has time to use her phone to watch the Youtube video. Well, at first Amandine had wanted Mirabelle to use Tiktok, but Mirabelle still hasn’t used the app, and even less downloaded it.

And so Youtube it was. At first, she tried talking face to the camera, but honestly, that took so much time that she discarded it after the third week of filming. Between the script (Mirabelle is not confident enough in her skills in front of a lens yet to talk without any notes), the filming and the editing, she didn’t have the time to actually live her everyday life. And so now, her camera is on when she goes about her business, during her trips between home and the shop…

Mirabelle will admit, filming oneself does boost one’s confidence, because now she’s quit her previous job and opened her own flower shop, all of this in less than five months. Which, in her opinion, is so strange that sometimes she wonders if she were a saint in her previous life. Or maybe the bad karma will only appear in a few years, when she’s resting on her laurels. 

If it comes in the future, let it come. Nothing is set in stone, and she’ll enjoy what she has for now, even as she watches the people around her like a plant yearning for the sun, reaching and reaching and never embracing the golden star.

Taken from Instagram (03/05/2021)

@/mirabelledesmarais

[Picture of the front of a flower shop. The walls are painted green, with a bay window on the right and a normal one on the left. A honeysuckle is creeping up on the left of the shop. Above the door, gold letters can be seen writing ‘Desmarais - Fleuriste’ (Desmarais - Florist)]

🖤 💬  729 Likes

mirabelledesmarais Waiting to create your bouquets for Mother’s Day 💐

Comments

@/lilyofthevalley: fan n°1 je l’annonce j’étais là dès la semaine 1 (number 1 fan i’m calling it i was there during the first week)

@/fleurtoujours: 🌷🌺🌹

@/celia_guillaume: i still need to find a name for that plant! ↬ @/mirabelledesmarais: i’m counting on you soldier

@/rosedesvents: c’est pas dans 3 semaines la fête des mères?? (isn’t mother’s day in 3 weeks??) ↬ @/mirabelledesmarais: Pour la France et Monaco, la fête des mères est bien le 30 mai! Mais j’ai beaucoup de clients étrangers pour qui la fête des mères est ce dimanche 9 :) (For France and Monaco; Mother’s Day is indeed on May 30th! But I have a lot of foreign clients, for whom Mother’s Day is this Sunday the 9th!:))

Monaco (09/05/2021)

Oscar was bored. Monaco was good and nice, but after a week with his parents and his three younger sisters, he was ready to throw himself over the hotel’s balcony into the water. Fortunately, this was his last day of vacation, and he would go back to the sim room and his training. He still had no idea why his mum wanted to go to Monaco, of all places, to spend his vacation week. She was right that it made more sense to visit the city state before or after the racing season, but a mere ten days before was pushing it, in his opinion. 

At least they went to visit some cities in the south of France. Nice is quite pretty, with its old town and warm colours, and Menton was nice, even if they missed what is apparently a whole two weeks of celebrating lemons.

What an idea. But to each their own, his mum would say. And she’s right, he shouldn’t judge. But still. If he can trust the internet, they have whole floats made of lemons. He won’t ever understand France, he thinks. 

It’s morning now, and as usual, he opens up his phone to check if he received any message or emails during the night. Because Australia is on the other side of the world, some of the conversations he has with friends wait until one of the participants is awake to continue. Just spams, and a reminder coming from his calendar app. Fuck. It’s Mother’s Day. So that’s why his mum is still not up. 

He gets out of the bathroom in a hurry, puts his clothes on, checks that he has his wallet and the key to the hotel room with him and goes out the door. How could he forget? Every year, he usually puts a reminder two weeks before the date so he has the time to prepare something nice for his mum. This year, he bought her a bracelet, but now that he thinks about it, it’s been forgotten amidst the preparations for the trip to Monaco. He didn’t bring it on the trip. This means that he’s going to have to wait for them to go back home, all the way in Australia, to give her the bracelet. What to do now?

There must be a florist in the area. 

As he waits for the elevator and then goes inside, he’s opening Maps and writing florist in the search bar. Apparently, there are two florists near the hotel, one closer than the other. That's where he’ll go, he decides. He doesn’t have any time to lose, especially if he wants to buy breakfast for his mum before she wakes up. 

His run to the florist is short, fortunately. Monaco is hell to run through, with its elevation. He mustn’t be the only one waiting for flowers, as there’s a queue of at least ten people. He checks his phone regularly as he waits, to see if his father has sent him any message. He doesn’t want to risk sending the first message, afraid that the sound of the notification would wake up his mum.

Strangely, the queue goes quite fast and once they say what they’re here for, the florist just goes through a back door and comes back with a bouquet; he must be really efficient at putting up bouquets together.

In front of the florist, a balding man in his forties, he tries to explain his predicament in french before giving up and explaining in english. The man frowns.

“Young man, this is a high-end flower shop. We only take orders at least a week before for our client's utmost satisfaction.” The florist leaves Oscar alone for a minute as he goes to bring a bouquet to the woman behind him in the queue. He continues, “You can still order flowers for next week, but I'm sorry to say that you won’t be able to get a bouquet today.You could still go to another shop, I think a lovely girl has opened up hers just 10 minutes away from here!”

With this said, Oscar thanks the florist in a hurry and runs to the location he’s been given. There’s a climbing plant growing on the side of the dark green storefront, and the inside of the flower, which he can see through the large windows, is luminous. Above the shop is written “Desmarais - Fleuriste” in gold letters. The flower has a fragrant smell, sweet but not too overpowering. It’s not jasmine, Oscar thinks. He would have recognised it. It’s soft, and he can’t help but sop for a few seconds and close his eyes to try and imprint the scent into his brain. He gets closer to the door, ready to enter the flower shop, and a man leaves, loudly declaring “Merci!” (Thank you!) over his shoulder to the person behind the counter.

There’s a girl. 

She’s a girl. 

Oscar’s seen girls before, of course. His mum is a girl. And he has three younger sisters. He knows plenty of girls. He's just… He doesn’t know this girl. Of course he doesn’t know this girl. She’s probably from here, and he has not been in Monaco a lot. 

She’s pretty. Not the kind of pretty you turn around in the street for or the kind you see on TV. Oscar would turn around and stop in the street, he thinks. But this girl, she’s the kind of pretty that comes with the sweetness of summer when fruits are ripe or the lightness of the breeze when you watch the sunset, on the beach with sand between your toes.

With the sun coming from the window, her hair is the color of this sunset, or perhaps more of the sunrise, light oranges blending with gold bathed in light. She has a brown apron on, and it only adds to her beauty, almost imperceptible freckles dotted over her whole face; they frame it like a painting, from her forehead down her wheels to her chin. They’re forming a constellation, Oscar is sure of this, and he wants to know which one. He would stay and watch her all day long, he thinks.  

It’s only when she waves her hand that he realises that he’s been staring at her for far too long. She’s speaking, too.

“Bonjour? Hi? How may I help you?” Her voice is melodic. His feet bring him closer. He should answer, right?

“Um… Hi.” What to say next? Should he ask for her name? No. That’s too forward. She’s pretty. Maybe that’s not the right adjective. She’s enchanting to look at, mesmerizing. She’s a siren and Oscar is just the poor sailor caught in her trap. Oscar doesn't know why he came here anymore. Maybe he can stay here, right where he is, and keep watching her. Would that make him a creep? Maybe if she’s aware of it it’s less creepy. 

“Are… are you okay? Do you need to sit down?” And she’s nice. She takes care of people. She doesn’t want him to suffer. She’s perfect, actually. Oscar thinks that he would follow her to the end of the world if she welcomed him. 

She’s coming over. Should he move? Oscar holds his breath, heart thundering in his ears. She takes his hand. Are they… are they going too fast? With his hand between hers, she guides him to a wooden stool, sitting him down. And then she leaves him. She’s decided to leave him, and he will be like Ariadne waiting for Theseus to come back. 

As soon as he thinks about this myth, she comes back, a glass of cool water in her hand. She puts it in his hand, blinking at him slowly.

“Hey, I brought you water. You know this, you have it in your hand, I don’t know why I said this.I hope you’re not having a stroke. But if you are, that's totally fine, or not, I guess. But I'll call the pompiers in thirty seconds if you don’t answer.” She hasn’t breathed once during her small tirade. But Oscar doesn’t want to inconvenience her more than he already has if he can help it. So this means he needs to say something.

“You’re pretty,” he blurts. Wow. Great first impressions, Oscar. 

She’s blushing. He can see this, her face close to his and her skin fair and almost translucent. Maybe he hasn’t fumbled this too much. 

“Right. Thank you. Did you come into the shop just to tell me this? Not that I’m ungrateful, of course. I’m really grateful actually. Thank you.” She’s cute. And she’s blushing even more, now. He can see it spreading to her ears and down her neck and… No. No impure thoughts. Think about something else, Oscar. What can you see? Her blush. Stop it. Flowers. Right, flowers. Flowers, flowers… Mother’s Day!

“Shit, sorry. I’m just—I actually came because I need flowers for my mum. It’s Mother’s Day.” Does he still have time before his mum wakes up? “So, yep. I need flowers”

“Of course!” she smiles and gets back. Oscar feels the spot where she was getting colder, and the hole in his chest gets bigger. She walks over to her working station and takes a pen and paper in hand. “Did you have particular flowers in mind? or a budget?”

“Do you know of any flowers that mean either gratefulness or flowers to apologize? I forgot her gift back home. Which now that I think about it, is maybe too much information?” He scratches the back of his head with his right hand. Honestly he’s not that worried about the price. His allowance should cover it. even if it ends up being higher than he anticipated.

“Well; if it’s for your mother and to apologise, pink oeillets are great. I think their English name is carnations.” She walks towards one of the walls filled to the brim with flowers and takes a pink one in her hand. “It’s this one, see?”

The flower’s pretty. Not as pretty as her, of course. 

“I like them. Could I have a bouquet?” She seems surprised; why? Fortunately, what she says next explains it.

“Don’t you want to hear about other flowers?” She asks, and he shakes his head right to left. “What’s interesting with carnations is that in France, they also mean gratefulness, so this means that they’ll be spot on for what you want!”

Oscar only nods, still dazed. He stays where he is, not moving an inch.

“I’ll make the bouquet, and as we go, you can tell me if you want more or less flowers, is that okay with you?” Oscar had planned on going to the bakery while the florist created the bouquet, but now that he is faced with the possibility of staying with her, he thinks he’ll stay and watch her work. 

Oscar observes her as she works and busies herself with selecting the flowers in the best conditions and filler flowers to add to the bouquet. It occurs to him that he hasn’t asked for her name. He should. When she asks him if there are enough flowers for the bouquet, Oscar hasn’t listened to a word coming out of her mouth, too occupied with watching her. And so he nods, agreeing with her, and when he realises that this means that he will spend less time with her because he’ll have to leave with the bouquet, it’s already too late, she’s wrapping the bouquet in pink tissue and white kraft paper; putting the finishes touches in the form of raffia and stapling her business card to the paper.

Once she finishes, she catches Oscar’s eye and smiles, blushing all the while. 

“It’s all done! Your total will be 35€.” She says while tapping on her till. The machine beeps and a receipt comes out of it. 

Oscar pays and he takes the bouquet that she holds out to him. Now he doesn’t want to leave. He should say something. At least ask for her name. “What’s y—”

“I wondered if—” They both speak at the same time, stopping when they realise the other is about to ask something. He manages to speak.

“Please go first”, he says gesturing with his free hand. Her blush is stronger now. She tucks a strand of hair behind her hair before speaking, and Oscar tracks the motion with his eyes, a cat with a treat.

“Well, I just—I wondered what your name was? If that’s not too forward, of course!” She bites her lips at her own advances, a mindless habit. He’d been about to ask the same thing, and so he’s happy that he’s not the only one who may be interested. This means he can feel less creepy.

“I’m Oscar. It’s great to meet you! And I was about to ask for your name too…” Oscar is all too happy to give his name to this enchanting florist. He can’t wait to hear her name.

“Uh. Well I'm Mirabelle, and it’s also great to meet you, and I hope that your mother will enjoy the flowers.” She smiles as she says this, and he thinks about the fruit, the mirabelle plum, with its sunset skin, so close to the colour of her hair.

“Your name is beautiful.” Just like you, he doesn’t say. “ I don’t know how to say this, but I’m coming back to Monaco in ten days, and I don’t know if you’ll be free or anything, and if you have anything to do or if you’re not interested, please don’t mind me and ignore me and forget I ever said anything but would you maybe want to go and drink a coffee with me?”

Oscar doesn’t know if she’ll be able to understand his word vomit. It probably makes no sense. The blush, which had begun to fade, comes back in full. 

“Yes of course! Hum… I’ll have to check if I'm free, but maybe I could send you a text to tell you?” Oscar thinks his soul just left his body. Did Mirabelle, the pretty florist, just ask for his name and then his number? He must be the luckiest man alive. He gives her his phone with a bit of gymnastics with his left arm, taking it from his right back pocket and unlocking it. She quickly types in her number and returns the divide to Oscar. When he looks at the contact she created, he can see she put in a purple flower next to her name.

“I couldn’t find lilacs in the emoji section, so I put a hyacinth,” she explains. He’s already half in love with her, he thinks. Whoever said that love at first sight doesn’t exist is wrong. She adds, “by the way, if you don’t want to damage the bouquet on the way back, you should hold it upside down.”

Oscar can feel his neck getting hot, and even if he doesn’t want to leave her, he knows he has to go back to the hotel room. And so he turns around, says goodbye, and he feels like Odysseus leaving Penelope, the flower shop their Ithaca.

He stops on the doorstep before leaving and turns around to say goodbye one last time. Mirabelle sees him and waves.

“Goodbye Oscar, see you soon! And you’re very pretty too”. At that, Mirabelle winks and hurries to busy herself.

Oscar finally leaves, all the while thinking about her.

Once he gets back to the hotel room, he realises that he forgot to go buy breakfast, and so when he sees his sister Hattie, he tells her to be quick and ask the reception for room service before their mum wakes up. When everything is set up, the four siblings gather in their parent’s room and slowly wake them up. Privately Oscar can guess that their mum was already awake, waiting for them.

By the time breakfast is finished, Oscar has spaced out more than once, and his mum can’t help but ask him what he’s thinking about.

“My future wife,” he blurts, before his mouth shuts and his eyes go wide. his parents share a glance.

“I thought you didn’t want to get married,” his mother says, and Oscar shakes his head. That’s true, he doesn’t want to get married, and he doesn’t think he ever will.

“I meant it in a spiritual sense. I met my soulmate today. She’s the one who made the bouquet”. 

And Nicole Piastri only has one answer for him:

“Well, you’ll have to practice your French, then.”

Taken from Twitter (09/05/2021)

@/NicolePiastri Thanks to my son and my daughters for this wonderful bouquet and breakfast in bed for Mother’s Day! and thank you @/mirabelledesmarais for the arrangement [Picture of Nicole in a hotel bed with a tray filled with pastries and a cup of coffee, along with a glass of orange juice. In Nicole’s arms is a bouquet of pink carnations] ↬ @/mirabelledesmarais I’m so glad you like the flowers! i hope you had a great day 💐 ↬ @/81futurewag girl no one asked for ur opinion

@/f14ever My dream is to have @/NicolePiastri as my MIL i need this mirabelle girl to go away and disappear from the face of the earth ↬ @/oscarthegoat i fear that’s everyone’s goal ↬ @/mimidefender4life She’s just doing her job what’s ur fucking problem ↬ @/oscarpiastriloml the ‘fucking problem’ as u said is that she’s a gold digger and she trying to become famous using oscar

@/oscarsfirstfan Happy mother’s day to our queen mother @/NicolePiastri ↬ @/oscatpastry She’s a national treasure ↬ @/F1GossipHere And @/OscarPiastri is such a good son, imagine him as a son-in-law, id die

I hope you liked it! I didn't think I'd write more than 2k words, but here we are :)

(the dividers are the works of @thecutestgrotto)

[sailorsol]

Okay but when Luke and Han knock out those stormtroopers and pull them into the Millennium Falcon to hide their bodies.... when do they remove those bodies? Or do they just have like... two stormtroopers in Han's smuggling hold until they get to Yavin IV and they're like, well shit.

[lexicorp]

Transformers Earthspark: Another Place, Another Prison

Screenshot from that moment of "Nowhere is safe if it's with you." Which pairs with this chapter having his anxiety around thinking Megs wants to kick his aft really peaks. Also Megatrons confused friggin face in response.

The nature of this chapter is quite funky. A lot of it has interior meaning where you can't always take things at face value. It has some wholesomeness that rapidly devolves into sussy bs. Might even get a glimpse of the lingering antagonist of this theoretical season, who knows. Also a smidge of the background human drama the other bots are dealing with.

Previous Chapter: Family Feud

First Chapter: The Need For Read

Next Chapter: Obligation

Chapter 12: Make or Break

“Just stay where I can see you, alright? The kids and I are gonna be doing some training over there.” Bumblebee gestured back towards a clearing littered with crates, what looked like dehydrated cylinders of some type of shredded flora, and an assortment of tires; which seemed to be arranged in some sort of obstacle course. 

Starscream ducked out of the barn, keeping a close optic on the bug’s movements while stealing a glance at his surroundings. Upon gaining full access to the outdoors again, distancing himself from the structure, he fully flexed his wings and stretched. The stifling atmosphere of underground constructions was something he could do without.

Bumblebee shot a digit up to point at him with squinted optics, “Don’t you think I’ll be too distracted to notice you trying anything.”

An extremely weak attempt at a threat. The scout did not possess optics on the back of his helm. There was no way he could possibly watch Starscream every nano-klik while surrounded by sparklings. 

Starscream rolled his optics and put his servos on his hips, then leaned down at face level to the bug with a smirk. “I would never dare assume such a thing.”

Bumblebee shoved Starscream’s faceplate away with a roll of his entire helm as he turned and scoffed, “Yeah, like I believe that, con man.”

“Tsk, you wound me.” Starscream crooned. Primus how he missed banter like this. The scout could be insufferable, but at least he was entertaining. 

“Uh-huh. Just stay out of trouble will ya? I can’t be attached to your ped 24/7. ‘Sides, that’s what Wheeljack’s little thing ya got is for.” Bumblebee gave his own challenging grin with a gesture down at Starscream's ped accessory. Whether the statement was purely meant as a play on words, or actually held some sort of double meaning towards the device’s functioning, was difficult to determine.

“Hm, what could I possibly do…” Starscream tapped his chin in mock contemplation. “That tank of propane looks promising. Perhaps I could see how sturdy its containment is–right next to the human’s little residence.”

“Primus Starscream. You’d better not be that stupid.” Bumblebee turned to leave him be with a toss of his servo.

“I was obviously joking.” Starscream crossed his arms and his wings tipped down in a twinge of annoyance. The scout should be better at picking up sarcasm than that. It was actually rather disappointing. He paced closer to the edge of the fence as he watched Bumblebee meet with the others. Surely an examination of the perimeter would be permissible. 

Starscream took his time exploring every centihic of the surrounding area within view of the bug. He didn’t need them accusing him if that blasted tank did decide to spontaneously combust. They were surrounded by an extended range of stalky perennials, with one road leading away from the residence, and a train track over the slight hill. The humans were cultivating an odd array of fuel, one variety sprouting from a particular species of those stalky perennials, while simultaneously managing a herd of lower class organic creatures. 

He knelt by the fence containing them, and one stared at him. Starscream stared back. It looked stupid, and broke focus to gnaw on the ground dully. What purpose could these things serve? Would they not only become a resource garbage chute? Although he supposed some creatures he had studied in the past did refuel by consuming other beings. Perhaps instead of hunting, the humans decided to imprison them. A disgusting disrespect to the natural order of their planet’s formation. 

A part of him felt sorry for the beast. It clearly knew nothing larger than this pitiful block of land. Nothing of what fate could befall it, or what life it could lead outside of its walls. Only living in complacent ignorance. 

Starscream carefully reached over and picked it up, intent on freeing it from its cage. Surely those humans wouldn’t miss one or two of these things. Unfortunately, the creature’s liberation was thwarted by that damn bug barking at him.

“Leave the cow alone, Screamer!” Bumblebee called from across the field. When Starscream paused with the cow hovering in the air giving weak little kicks, the scout pointed a digit and dropped his tone to be more stern. “Drop it. Find something better to do than terrorizing cows.”

Starscream growled out a sigh as he lowered the beast back into its cell. He gestured flatly at it to the bug with half lidded, annoyed optics. Of course the Autobots would be opposed to a bit of minuscule revolution. Yet another example of those bot’s hypocrisy as they preach their ever expansive empathy. The cow ran off as if it too disapproved. It clearly didn’t know any better. 

Since apparently fraternizing with the present wildlife was in the forbidden category, Starscream opted to redirect his focus to scouting out the possible escape routes. The road could be a useful means of keeping track of his position if he were to follow it, but that’s exactly the trail the Autobots would take. He rounded the edge of the forest to hover on the hill overseeing the train tracks. He might be able to discreetly hitch a ride on one of those, which would grant him a good deal of distance. As well as make it difficult for them to determine at what point he got off. 

Starscream glanced back at the bug, and leaned casually against one of those stalky perennials surrounding the place. That rudimentary obstacle course seemed to be entertaining the children well enough, although he wouldn’t be so bold as to call it “training”. Bumblebee only seemed to be giving them useless words of encouragement or soft sparked notes on their performance. They must be preparing for some other ridiculous game inspired by their human companions. Nothing about whatever it was they’d cobbled together would prepare them for a war. It was a wonder the children turned out as well as they did. 

Suddenly, he heard heavy propellers shake his audials. He turned his attention to the sky to see Megatron lowering in front of the Malto’s primary residence. Starscream’s optics narrowed, before widening in alarm. Why was that slagger here? Of course he was! Starscream knew it was only a matter of time. It was a miracle the buckethead hadn’t slagged him to the Pit the first day! Perhaps he’d simply wanted to wait until a sufficient amount of time had passed since his previous injuries…

When Megatron landed, Dorothy exited his hull before he transformed back into a mech, yet remained knelt before his little agent. Scrap. What could she be reporting to him? Starscream doubted anything good. It was never anything good. Sure, he hadn’t exactly done anything catastrophic yet, recently…but that hardly ever seemed to matter. 

Starscream fumbled against the branches of those blasted overgrown twigs as his peds began backing him into them. His focus was locked on the warlord, even as he made a painfully sharp in-vent from his clumsiness. Then their optics met.

And he ran.

***

Meetings with those entitled, over blown human executives was always like grinding his processor through a compactor. Megatron was more than happy to let Optimus do all the suck up business. Having Dorothy by his side through it all was truly the only reason he was able to stay sane, and somewhat hopeful as he kept the terrans in mind. 

Of course the human government would have questions about what happened with G.H.O.S.T., or the trouble with the Quintessons. But hadn’t Schloder already explained it all? Instead, after all this time, there still was that ever lingering distrust towards cybertronians. With apparently some conspiracy around them aiming to usurp the human’s government spreading around their internet. It really will never change, will it? At most, he could hope that such allegations will never fall upon the kids’ shoulders…

“They’re just uptight big shots that are insecure about their ranks, don’t let ‘em get under your plating Megs.” Dorothy advised from within his hull as they were making the flight back to her home. 

Megatron growled out a sigh as he tried to shake his lingering rage at the ordeal. “Regardless, it does not give them the right to threaten eviction from our base over their baseless accusations.”

“I know. But we won’t let it get that far. Agent Schloder and I have been working on constructing a better organization that will be what G.H.O.S.T was supposed to. If we all work together as a team this time around, I’m sure it’ll be better.”

“Only time will tell, I suppose. I will give you my confidence, Dorothy, even if I cannot be as optimistic as Optimus.”

Dorothy scoffed a laugh, “I’d never expect you to be, Megs. No one can beat that bot’s ridiculous sense of delegation. He just wants to baby talk and social media his way through this biz and that just ain’t gonna cut it. We get that. But y’know, our two sides of dealing with this mess also complement one another.”

“Ah yes, teamwork. Heh.”

Dorothy knocked on the interior metal beside her affectionately, “You know it! We gotta hit ‘em from all sides! Give ‘em no way of gettin’ the jump on us with their dumb wall of red string they’re tryna wrap us up in.”

Megatron chuckled at her enthusiasm. It was often quite infectious. “I did always enjoy a good crushing tactic of the sort. If they think they will be the ones backing us against a wall, they’ll be sorely mistaken.” They reached their destination and he made certain to avoid the other vehicles in the driveway as he landed. He opened the hatch to let her out, then switched out of his alt mode with a servo set on his knee. 

Dorothy patted his ped reassuringly, “Exactly. Now all we have to worry about is a certain con stirring up more trouble for us to clean up.”

Megatron’s expression fell. “Starscream. Has he behaved himself this past week?”

Dorothy shrugged with crossed arms, and looked unsure. “Decently enough. He actually seems to be…trying, in his own way. Although he did get a bit heated over Uno.” She dropped her arms again with a slight shake of her head and an amused grin. “I can’t exactly blame him for that–” she straightened to a more serious tone again and held a digit in the air firmly– “but he did grab Bee, which worried us for a moment before he let go. I definitely see what you were talking about with those strange surges. It’s difficult to determine what exactly triggers them. The kids said he had one the first day just out of the blue, and he blamed Bee for it, but they weren’t sure what he’d even done. Then there was another moment during Pictionary when he’d said “Transformers”...” She shuddered. “It was weird, Megs. I don’t know a better way of describing it. Like, it wasn’t exactly his voice for a moment, and he looked all disconnected or something… It doesn’t seem like it’s just tied to his anger. It makes me uneasy not knowing what is going on with whatever that is… But. Still. I’m sure we can handle it.”

Megatron paused for a moment, then nodded. “I understand. You are wise to be wary. We can’t be sure what exactly happened when he linked himself with the corrupted Emberstone, or what happened all that time while he was in the Titan. Unfortunately, I do not imagine he would take the prospect of testing well. So it seems the best we can do is keep him under control and monitor the surges. I trust you will continue to keep me updated. Remember, I am only a comm away.”

Dorothy smiled more genuinely up at him as he slowly rose to his full height, “Yes, yes, I know. I’ll keep in touch.”

Megatron smiled thankfully back at her, until his focus became distracted by the feeling that someone was watching him. His gaze drifted towards Bumblebee and the kids, before locking onto Starscream, who was standing just on the edge of the forest on the hill. Upon making optic contact, the seeker abruptly jerked backwards and darted into the woods like one of those skittish deer creatures at the sight of a predator. Quite a dramatic reaction. Megatron’s optics narrowed and he began walking towards where his former second had fled.

Dorothy followed his gaze and asked, “What is it?”

“Starscream ran off into the woods, alone. I will go after him. I’ll make sure he doesn’t have any plans of escaping, or whatever it is he’s thinking he’ll accomplish by simply running off like that.”

Dorothy put a servo to her hip. “Hm. Alright, be careful then.”

Megatron scoffed, “Careful? I know how to deal with him. I doubt even with this new power that he could be that much trouble for me to handle.”

Bumblebee noticed Megatron approaching them, then looked behind him and noticed the seeker’s absence as well, looking startled. He assured the kids not to worry and ran over to meet Megatron near where Starscream had vanished. “I assume you got this one? Or we could–”

“I’ll handle it.” 

“Ookay…” Bumblebee backed off, “Gotcha. Have fun kicking his aft solo.”

Megatron lowered his optical ridges at that comment, and gave the scout a momentary glare. Bumblebee only shrugged and made his way back to the terrans. Megatron wasn’t entirely sure why the statement bothered him. After all, it did often become necessary to use force when it came to the seeker. Yet this time, he actually had the initial thought that he’d only accompany Starscream to serve as a chaperone. Optimus had wanted him to get more of those nature walks the Prime loved so much, anyway. It only bothered Megatron that Starscream would be unsupervised. A show of firepower wouldn’t be necessary, unless the flighty mech decided to make it so.

Megatron tapped into his Decepticon coding channel to pinpoint Starscream’s tracking signal. As he made his way through the trees, he attempted to be careful, but the damn things were always far too close together. Stealth was never his forte, which seldom mattered, although it did make it inconvenient at the moment as he had to catch a second tree from shattering another. He needed to be swift to catch Starscream, yet the clever bastard picked just the terran to slow him down.

Once he found a sufficient enough clearing to transform, he took to the sky. With Starscream’s own wings clipped, Megatron could easily cut him off from the air. Once he was right on top of the signal, he boosted a few hics ahead before transforming mid-air to land heavily in front of the seeker. Crushing yet another of those twigs in the process, perhaps he should get some training navigating these things some time…

Starscream, well, screamed. An annoyingly shrill shriek that would never cease to irk Megatron’s audials no matter how many times he heard it. His former second raised his arm that typically held his null ray reactively as well. It was absurd that he still had the instinct to do such a thing. He knew null rays were ineffective against Megatron’s plating, yet always tried uselessly regardless. It was almost amusing, if it wasn’t equally pathetic to see the panic on the seeker’s faceplate upon the recognition that he was disarmed. Then he only stared silently as if he were frozen on the ground.

“What are you doing?” Megatron inquired flatly, although with genuine curiosity. He moved his canon clad servo vaguely at him, which caused Starscream’s optics to shoot between his and the weapon.

Starscream still didn’t speak. For being so loud at the start, he always loved to shut up at the most aggravating times. It was a simple question. What could have possibly caused him to react so ridiculously? Megatron’s fusion cannon clearly wasn’t aimed in any threatening manner. 

Megatron rolled his optics as the lingering frustration of the day's events seeped into his posture, and he took a step forward that shook the earth beneath his ped. “I am not talking in riddles, Starscream. Answer me.”

A minor surge started as red lightning began flicking from the seeker’s frame, although his optics seemed to fight the crimson force. Starscream stood and stumbled against the tree behind him as he tried to back away. “Stay ba-AAH!” The bark broke and sent him falling back in tandem with the log.

Megatron’s optics narrowed. He continued to advance despite Starscream’s demand, and reached down to pull him up from the bush. All he got was a rude smack across the servo with a buzz saw.

***

Starscream was running as fast as he possibly could. Although still made note to avoid leaving obvious evidence of his direction, also tossing broken twigs in an attempt to create a false trail. Even as he tried to retain some form of his tactical processor, he couldn’t think of anything else beside his need to move. Memories and predictions were rapidly flashing through his optics. He tripped over a scraggly lump of flora and cursed as he scrambled to his peds again to continue forward.

It would be far easier to gain ground if he didn’t have that blasted device locked to his ped! If he tried to fly away with only his thrusters, he’d be quickly spotted and not nearly aerodynamic enough to properly maneuver out of the way of incoming fire. Starscream didn’t have the time to try and pry the damn thing off. So apparently, the best he could do was dodge through the terrain and hope by some mercy of Primus that he’d be granted some luck for once.

He was easily still skilled enough to sleekly slip past any obstacle. He’d fold his wings back, down, or flare them out to narrow himself at his side. He might not be as nimble as Skywarp, but he had arguably more experience with such things. His processor was on overdrive as his vents struggled to keep up with him. Starscream’s focus was so tunnel visioned on the path ahead that he couldn’t take a single nano-klik to consider anything else besides what laid before him. 

Megatron was surely after him. He had to be. Bumblebee would be angry with him. That won’t matter. He could live with that. If he managed to live at all if he got caught.

He wouldn’t. It’d be fine. Starscream is far faster than Megatron’s ever been. He just needed to not stop. Keep running. Dodge the branch, jump the next rock, slide between the next choke point. He’d get somewhere eventually. As long as it was far away from Megatron.

He heard those blasted propellers again from the buckethead’s stupid earth alt mode. No. He couldn’t possibly have found him already. There was no way he knew what his position was as the tops of the larger perennials shielded him from aerial view. Right? Starscream just needed to be quiet, not shake any of the brush to alert his pursuer. Speed wouldn’t matter anymore with that slagger hovering over him.

Yet even as he’d been carefully stepping through the branches with such precision that not even his joints dared make a sound–Megatron shot down from the sky so violently that his peds vertically crushed one of the perennials that’d dared to stand in his way. The force of the warlord’s descent knocked Starscream backwards with a rather indignant yelp. His helm hit against the stalky twig behind him and his optics shuttered. Without thinking, he attempted to blast the offending mech, but of course his null ray had been confiscated. It’d only been meant to serve as a warning shot–but he couldn’t even focus enough to see if his other blasters were operational. None of it would do anything against Megatron, anyway. 

Megatron demanded something of him with a nod of his fusion cannon that made Starscream squirm, despite feeling as if he was in stasis lock. Was he going to shoot? Did he want him to get up? Starscream couldn’t take his optics off the cannon, and barely recognized that he had brought his servo up defensively in anticipation of an attack.

Megatron spoke again in his booming vocalizer that wrenched Starscream from his frozen state, as the two words “Answer me” came in far too clearly like a dagger through his audials. The order was horrifically pared by the thud of the warlord’s advance towards him. Starscream in-vented sharply, and tried frantically to back away as his vision glitched. “S-stay ba-AAH!” The stupid twig betrayed him, and left him crumpled in a painfully precarious position before Megatron, as the buckethead of course disregarded his statement. Why would what Starscream wanted ever matter? His wings and servos shook as the corrupted power grew and burned like an unstable reaction ready to burst from his cockpit.

Megatron was looming over him so that his shadow could further pin Starscream against the foliage. Then, a servo began reaching for him, and he felt as if his spark was trying to leave him too. Starscream transformed out his buzz saw and wacked it across the offending digits. He scrambled backwards with rapid kicks of his peds as he waved his weapon threateningly. “Stay back!” He reiterated firmly with a wretched squeak to his vocalizer. 

Megatron’s fist clenched and he took another step closer. “I’m trying to help you. Is it that difficult to take my servo you stubborn fool?”

Help?? That was the most obvious lie the mech has ever allowed to leave his intake. Starscream may be stubborn, but he was certainly not foolish enough to brazenly surrender his servo to an enemy. If that even was Megatron’s intention. The brute would surely drag Starscream from the ground by an arm or wing before any such softer gesture would cross his processor. 

Starscream glared and revved his saw as a warning. He refused to take his optics off of Megatron, using his other servo to stabilize himself on a nearby rock as he stood. The crimson power invaded his transformed servo, and sped its function to an uncomfortable level as it began launching lightning toward the buckethead. Alright then. It actually seemed to make Megatron stumble as it connected with his frame. Maybe it could be useful this time.

“Why must you always make things so difficult?” Megatron charged his cannon and fired a pinpointed blast straight at Starscream’s overcharged blade in response. 

His saw was left to be slung across the ground in a crumpled lump of slag as he struggled to transform back out his servo. Sparks sputtered from his damaged limb, and he hit his working servo against it uselessly. Scrap! Well…perhaps he could still use it like some fragged up blaster with the chaos power still active. 

Starscream aimed and shot a more concentrated, charged blast that made Megatron stumbled backwards. “I am not the one making it difficult!” He yelled and focused his attack on the fusion cannon as the mech attempted to pull it up for another shot. “All you have to do is leave me alone! I am not staying here for whatever twisted purpose you have planned!”

“What??” Megatron actually sounded outright thrown by this as he held his arms crossed to block the volley of fire. “What are you going on about?!”

“Don’t feign ignorance with me Megatron! What is it you want from me now?! You were never satisfied when I was your second in command, it never mattered what I did! Whether I did everything you asked, or challenged you, it was the same. Now, you still are seeking to make me into whatever slagged up puppet you have in your processor! So WHAT IS IT?!” The power rose and the device on his ped made him stumble as it disrupted his motor functions. “Why else would you keep me online now?!”

“I only wish for you to be better.” Megatron urged earnestly as he knocked away another blast and attempted to get closer.

“BETTER?!” Starscream shrieked, then began to laugh maniacally. “Oh yes, THANK YOU for that clarification! That explains everything! Except the fact that nothing I do or ever did will manage to meet your standards. What are they this time? What could I POSSIBLY become for it to be enough for you?!”

The corrupted power felt like it was scorching his interior components as it increased in strength to a point that the next blast nearly made Megatron fall over. He couldn’t turn it off. He just needed Megatron to be gone. His stabilizing servos were just about useless as the device sent another pulse through his frame, but he managed to force himself somewhat upright against the rock. His vision was now fully glazed in red light and his optics burned. 

His aim began to suffer until Meridian’s disgusting voice swam through his processor. “Shoot him. You want that wretched mech purged from the Earth just as much as I, don’t you?” Those last, crooning words strung static through his servos like a magnet pulling them into action.

Starscream’s optic twitched, but he couldn’t bring himself to shake his dizzied helm. He growled and his wings flicked back as his chassis forcefully straightened itself again. Why did that fragging human continue to plague his processor? Starscream didn’t need that pest telling him what to do.

Megatron actually dodged the next shot that came his way, “Can we not just talk without the theatrics?! Perhaps I could–” Then he blocked the next, and planted his peds which slid backwards with a cut across the dirt from the force– “Ugh, I suppose I don’t have an answer that would be–” Another strike– “satisfying. But right–” Again– “now I just want you to be able to work with us, instead of–” Again– “continuing to cause more–” And again– “trouble for yourself.”

“I suppose you think it is all my fault as usual.” Starscream ground out the statement with considerable effort.

Meridian added his own pathetic opinion oh so helpfully. “All you Transformers know how to do is destroy everything around you. You really think any of you are capable of doing anything less? Relationships are far too human for you.”

“Oh shut up–”

“Just shoot. It’s what you’re made for after all.”

“No one asked you.” Yet Starscream couldn’t stop himself from doing just that. 

Megatron had apparently acquired a meager shield from a shard of the fallen perennial. “All you need to do is stop fighting me! You may have the right to place blame upon me, just as the others did. But this petty bitterness for whatever I did to make you feel this way, does nothing to help us now.” 

Starscream’s attention snapped back towards the buckethead as his optics attempted to focus on his shadowed silhouette. Oh slag. Not again. 

His faceplate twisted into a sick grin, “Oh I think it’s doing wonders, actually! You can’t even get close!” The chaotic force shot more energy into where his servo should be and blasted forth an intense, continuous laser that shattered Megatron’s twiggish defenses. Starscream distantly heard himself laugh. “Look at how the mighty Lord Megatron cowers before the lowly Starscream! Even as your pathetic device attempts to disable me! How does it feel to be the powerless one?! The day I stop fighting you, is the day I go offline–but you’d rather keep me around as your functioning punching bag!”

Megatron maneuvered out of the line of fire, his plating scorched and dented. When Starscream realigned his aim, he shot his fusion cannon in a counter attack. The two forces colliding erupted into a violent explosion, with an equally intense recoil.  

Starscream’s helm was now against the dirt and his optics were struggling to clear the white that continued to blind him. His arm wasn’t responding to him anymore to resume an attack. His audials were ringing. His spark burned. He wasn’t sure what was happening anymore.

Although some part of his processor must have, as he was saying something else to Megatron as the buckethead added some slag of his own. Starscream's spare servo moved, and he assumed he’d used it to do…something. He had to. He couldn’t let Megatron win. But slagger always did. 

There was a lapse in time as Starscream felt numb, despite the fact that he was still moving, if a bit clumsily. He’d continue to squabble with the mech, until a final surge encouraged the device on his ped to release its final EMP that knocked him out. Why had it only finally managed to do so now? What had happened? Shouldn’t it have done that during…

He couldn’t remember. 

It did do something before, didn’t it? He was sure it did. 

This must be the fault of Quintus’ slagging curse. And Megatron for showing his stupid fragging faceplate in the first place. Why couldn’t he do anything without that glitch looming over him? He should have played it off better. He’d forgotten the foolish mech was attempting to be some sort of twisted Autobot. He should have played into that. Not run off without a plan.

Why had he thought Megatron was there to destroy him again? The fool had spoken against violence as a means of solving one’s problems in favor of his newly branded superiority complex–ah but he supposed he knew such a promise couldn’t be trusted. That must have been it. 

But he still couldn’t quite remember…

[itsbasicallycanon]

was reading little kid with a big death wish (@remedyturtles) and wanted to play around with visualizing leo and sensei's headspace and putting it alongside the outside world and i'm mostly happy with it so i'm posting it

[inkskinned]

"don't make it political!" .... what proportion of death and suffering must occur before politics are involved. if this isn't political, what is even the point of any politics, ever. of democracy. the words are "by the people for the people." if i am going to be left alone by my elected representatives to "figure it out" - to undergo damage, hardship, fear. what the fuck did i elect them for. what was their job. the entire point is that they handle this shit. this is why we were supposed to be electing leaders.

poverty is political. misogyny is political. gun control is political. climate change is political. how much aid a community gets is political. what the fuck are you talking about. it's been political this whole fucking time.

[snawleyy]

[periwinkla]

[ in a world of only you and me ]

[spam-monster]

Just rewatched A New Hope and I have to say the energy between the main trio is absolutely bonkers; like they switch between "you are the most annoying person I know" to "omg bestie hugs!" at the drop of a hat.

- Han and Luke are arguing the whole way from the cantina to the detention center.

- Then Leia comes in and she's yelling at both of them.

- Then they get stuck in the trash compactor and Han desperately tries to save Luke from the tentacles, and then when the compactor goes on and they're all panicking he's trying to help Leia get to higher ground.

- Trash compactor goes off, they all celebrate, Han and Leia freaking HUG...and next scene we're right back to the Sass.

- Leia kisses Luke on the cheek for luck right before they swing across a gap.

- Han and Luke bond over shooting tie fighters away.

- Han admits he kinda likes Leia even though they've basically done nothing but bicker (when not in immediate danger).

- Luke gets upset when Han wants to take his money and leave even though he's know him for like a day. Han pretends he doesn't care but then leaves Luke with a completely sincere "May the force be with you." Despite thr fact that he doesn't believe in that stuff.

- Luke continues to be upset so much that he complains to Leia about Han leaving and she kisses him on the cheek AGAIN as comfort.

- Han comes back and must have been tapping into the comms the whole time because he swoops in specifically to save Luke.

- When they return to the base Leia runs to hug Luke, and then Luke runs to hug Han, and then they all just end up in an excited group hug.

And maybe it's because Leia just lost her planet and Luke just lost all his parental figures and Han is just lost but they absolutely speedrun found family in a way that critics nowadays would find completely unrealistic, and yet the energy between them is something neither the prequels or the sequels were able to match. Just "nope, these idiots are mine now".

Anyway the point is Star Wars is good when it's good.

(Luke doesn't get a braincell until RotJ, Han has no braincells but is very good at making it seem like he does, Leia has braincells but they are angry.)

[whitejays-galaxy]

Yoda's gift

One of my headcanons explaining why Dooku wears a cape almost every time he's featured on screen

It was the first gift Yoda gave him to celebrate his apprenticeship

And Dooku just wears one out of habit ever since

[cuterefaction]

Trektober Day 11 - Seance. Yet ANOTHER scenario to add to the list of ways we could have double the Dax :p (if in doubt, assume this is a variant on the Zhian'Tara ritual, I guess)

[namelessmoons-corner]

can u tell I like my men desperate?

(last one shot i wrote)

[urghblergh]

AH.

Julian taking care of Garak by taking charge of things iykyk. 🤲

Ref 1

Ref 2

[charbroiledchicken]

Jesper "WHY THE FUCK DID I KISS KUWEI WYLAN IS TALLER" Fahey and Wylan "I think my father sent someone to kill me, but at least he's pretty" van Eck

[brain-rot-tmnt]

A fun little dialogue I've had bouncing around in my head that I haven't figured out where to fit into my fic. And so I shall set it loose here. Go! Be free my precious creation!

“Why do you keep calling me a baby!” Mikey whines, absolutely not helping his case.

“Oh that’s easy." Leo drawls in response. "I’ve got Big Brother, brother who is biggest.” He gestures to Raph. “Twin Brother, brother who is twin.” He drapes one arm around an unimpressed Donnie’s shoulders. “And Baby Brother, brother who is baby.” With his other arm he reaches forward to condescending pat Mikey on the head.

Donnie lifts his head from his coffee mug, voice neutral but face sporting a smirk. “Does that make you Middle Brother, brother who is Mid?”

[sandflakedraws]

Why is the drawing of young hickory crying in the snow wearing a coat?

poor boy is cold,,,

give im some slack, he just lost his parents and like half the population of his nation in an avalanche :(

[tevanactually]