destin sparks

  • [In which Team Instinct go on a Nature Safari]
  • Go Trainer: Could they attack from here?
  • Spark: Yeah, they can attack. They're weedles.
  • Go Trainer: Could they jump this thing?
  • Spark: Weedles can do anything. They can fly.
  • Spark: They can read your mind. They can run 250,000 miles an hour.

             the universe worked in mysterious ways– it left youth upon cybertron, the planet glowing with life. at first the youngling was overjoyed. his world was surrounded by war && fear, confusion to whom he was. but here upon cybertron was a different aura. familiar faces that were not so familiar, ones that didn’t know the praxian or who he was, exactly. younger && a smaller frame size, shortened patience && anxiety riveting. the looks he received, the whispers- perhaps they were aware he wasn’t like his counterparts. 

                        ❝ you’re not my si– ❞ came a voice that was laced with blunt lack of respect, ❝ don’t order me around. just– ❞ this prime was larger in size than his, && not his creator. blended with the desire to go HOME to his own universe came out in the form of disrespect && the mindset he could get away with things. he had turned away from optimus after an obnoxious && rather obvious optic roll && a small scowl. perhaps to hide the lubricant that had welled in his optics.      [ @oneshallstand ]

1.  “Taking pictures is savoring life intensely, every hundredth of a second.” - Marc Riboud

2.  ”Beauty can be seen in all things, seeing and composing the beauty is what separates the snapshot from the photograph.” – Matt Hardy

3.  “In photography there is a reality so subtle that it becomes more real than reality.” – Alfred Stieglitz

4.  “A good snapshot keeps a moment from running away.” - Eudora Welty

5.  “A portrait is not made in the camera but on either side of it.” – Edward Steichen

6.  “Which of my photographs is my favorite? The one I’m going to take tomorrow.” – Imogen Cunningham

7.  “Sometimes I do get to places just when God’s ready to have somebody click the shutter.” – Ansel Adams

8. “Photography is the story I fail to put into words.” - Destin Sparks

9.  “It’s one thing to make a picture of what a person looks like, it’s another thing to make a portrait of who they are.” – Paul Caponigro

10. “If you see something that moves you, and then snap it, you keep a moment.” – Linda McCartney

11. “What I like about photographs is that they capture a moment that’s gone forever, impossible to reproduce.” - Karl Lagerfeld

12.  ”I always thought good photos were like good jokes. If you have to explain it, it just isn’t that good.”– Anonymous

13.  The camera’s only job is to get out of the way of making photographs. – Ken Rockwell 

voltron, sheith // a kiss, in a liminal time of your choosing

When it finally happens, they’re under the halogen glow of a flickering lamp and even Keith knows it’s no substitute for moonlight; but if there’s one thing he’s good at, it’s making do under less than favourable circumstances. He never knows if he’ll get the chance tomorrow, anyway. Might as well.

So he’ll take what he can, however he can, and what he can, now, is a fistful of Shiro’s collar. The nape of Shiro’s neck is smooth, well-shaven, and Keith knows he’ll be in trouble in a whole other way if he leaves his marks on clothing or on skin, exposed, so he leaves them instead where no one can see.

Shiro’s hands find his hips, find a lull in his erratic rhythm to steer him, steer them, firmly against the wall, and then they’re sliding round his back and under his jacket and what gives Keith the biggest thrill of all is the tug of Shiro’s glove, the friction of leather on his shirt and the way that it pulls. Keith stands his ground, comes up for air, leans in again—closer, closer still—and he tastes desert dust, tastes salt and sweat and a clouded sunset sky below. Spilling streaks across the barren ground, across their faces.

There’s Keith’s bed, right behind them. Shiro does not steer them there.

Good, Keith thinks fiercely. He’s better on his feet. Alert, knife-blade senses singing and alive, alive. He can take it all in, the sensation of Shiro’s shoulder heaving beneath his grip, the throaty murmurs that punctuate their ebb and flow, and as Shiro breathes something that could be his name, could be a quiet swear word, could be both—Keith swallows, lets his reverence be a prayer, an offering.

There is nothing celestial, he knows, about any of this. They’re just trying to get by. Sometimes, they don’t know any better, and that’s the most gut-wrenching beautiful thing about this; that there are no guarantees in the life they lead, only incandescent promises like candle flames, willingly lit and given.

Shiro’s lips tear away from Keith’s as he straightens, slowly. Drag a trail of gentle fire across his cheek, his temple, the shell of his ear, and they come to rest there, not saying a word. No secrets to be whispered, no more spaces between them. Only reality, now.

It could have been a kiss in an alleyway. Another dead end, smeared with handprints and reeking of someone’s 3 AM party. Or they could have been trapped in a pod, drifting in deep space with no escape; they could have been two pilots lost in a star field, destined to become another spark that burnt up, burnt out, and collided to flare again, brighter than before. Across the galaxies, they would’ve found their way.

And Keith would have fought off garrisons more, ridden his bike halfway across this world and the next, till he found it.

The windows, beside them, are half open. The curtains stir lightly. As a warm breeze ruffles his hair, Keith can close his eyes and pretend they’re out there somewhere, to chase a horizon that they once watched together.