“Imagine, sitting outside on a warm summer night, lying on the grass gazing into the sky. Watching how each individual star twinkles independently, how some shine brighter than others and how together they create pictures in the sky. Suddenly dawns on you that your world, what you thought only existed, is nothing more than a grain of sand on a beach that stretches for miles and miles.” - a short excerpt by me
A commission for the lovely @ruenesca! Thank you for the opportunity, this was a lot of fun to make! <3
This picture also comes with its own story, written by @ruenesca. Enjoy!
If Only in
The scene before him was a familiar one
that had played out in his mind many times before. Drift smiled with a fondness
as he took in the bot standing with his back to him, leaning against the
Sometimes someone makes no sense and yet they are beautiful. It’s bizarre and frustrating. You may deny their form, but you cannot deny that the stars twinkle and shine, scattered as they are.
- B. E. Barnes | S c a t t e r e d L i k e S t a r s
AROHA’s official colors have been announced! The colors range from Vivid Plum (R143 G5 B149, #8f0595) to Space Violet (R75 G0 B129, #510082).
This is the appearance of AROHA that makes the star ASTRO twinkle shine brighter.
ASTRO shine in the sky painted by AROHA with Vivid Plum and Space Violet.
As stars always twinkle in the night sky, ASTRO and AROHA are always together.
There are multicoloured lights lining the walls of Swerve’s bar. They’re twinkling, but not shining anywhere near as bright as the optics of the mechs occupying the tables of the dimly-lit room, where music is resonating, mecha are dancing, chatting, drinking, and temporarily forgetting all of their responsibilities for the night. Swerve realized that they’re all happy, remarkably so, even after experiencing all of the horrible slag that’s happened to them since liftoff on the Lost Light. Even though it was easy to tell that people were having a good time, it was hard not to take note of the individual conversations that some mechs were having.
When he wasn’t busy making up drinking games with Whirl for the patrons to participate in, making sure to water down the drinks so that they wont all get sent to Ratchet in an hour (Whirl disagreed with that notion),
Swerve took a step back, scanning the room, focusing hard on each group of his friends to see what they were doing.
Megatron and Ultra Magnus are sharing stories of Rodimus’ irresponsibility pleasantly over drinks. Magnus admits that he’s glad to have Megatron aboard, even if all odds says that he shouldn’t. Megatron… blushes.
Ratchet and Drift are chatting and bickering lightheartedly at the bar, but everyone knows the truth; they’re sitting a little too close to each other. Also they’re holding hands under the bar counter. Drift may have kissed Ratchet’s cheek.
Skids and Nautica are dancing, laughing away and snuggling up to each other when they sit down to have a drink. They drunkenly share sloppy kisses to the cheeks, and both turn in to give another– but kissing each other’s lips instead.
Cyclonus is telling stories to Tailgate about pre-war Cybertron, lamenting about the world they’ve lost. He finally tells Tailgate that he’s glad the minibot is in this world with him, and that he’d like to spend the rest of his time with him. Swerve silently screamed in excitement.
Rewind is sitting in Chromedome’s lap and they’re at a table full of mechs, sharing embarrassing stories about each other while they all drink, giggling away. They say “I love you,” far more than is acceptable. It’s cute.
Brainstorm and Perceptor talk science over drinks in a booth at the back of the bar, but Brainstorm eventually shifts his focus to using science to flirt with Percy. It’s apparently working, if Percy’s flushed cheeks and smile are anything to go by.
First Aid and Ambulon are sitting near Ratchet and Drift, (loudly) gossiping about how stupidly in love their CMO is with the speedster. Ratchet gives them dirty looks every so often, but doesn’t ask them to stop. That’s how they all know it’s true.
Ravage lays on the bar counter (because he’s the only one allowed to do that, also he’s Ravage), talking to Whirl and himself. He’s drinking engex out of a bowl, actually laughing with the other two. He finally allows Nautica to scratch behind his ears.
Rung and Fortress Maximus are chatting in the corner, and Max makes Rung laugh so hard he snorts, which makes him laugh. He offers to buy the little mech a drink or two, and then carries him to the bar. Swerve whips them up some drinks.
Nightbeat is bouncing around tables, talking pleasantly with all the mechs around the bar. He looks like he’s a nervous wreck, but he channels that energy into telling ridiculous stories. He mostly stays near Chromedome and Rewind.
And Rodimus, oh, Rodimus is the one drunkenly dancing on bar tables, being cheered on by other mecha. Swerve didn’t have the heart to tell him to stop when he started climbing up the wall behind the bar to change the letters on the “Merry Christmas” sign so that it says “Merry Shitscram.” He announces the new message to the entire bar. He’s smashed. Then he goes and (almost successfully) flirts with Megatron and Magnus.
Swerve looked beside him.
Ten stood there, silently, turning his helm every time a new, loud noise echoed throughout the bar to make sure everyone was safe. He looked lonely, or bored, and honestly, Swerve knew exactly what that was like, and he didn’t enjoy the feeling. He pulled out a large glass from below the counter and filled it with sweet, high-grade engex, and then slid it to the end of the counter for him to sit down. Ten must have caught the glow of the substance from the corner of his optic, for he turned to the drink and picked it up with a questioning look. He turned back towards the open expanse of the bar to try and find out who the drink was for.
Swerve chuckled, then walked towards him to gently grasp the Legislator’s huge hand. Ten looked down at him, more than a little confused, before Swerve started tugging on his arm to pull him towards the comfortable stools of the bar counter. Ten knew he wasn’t supposed to be sitting there. He resisted Swerve’s movements. He calmed the huge bot down by placing his other hand over top of that one huge one. “It’s okay, Ten. That rule’s gone.”
After a moment of hesitation, Ten finally sat down right beside Drift, who placed a gentle, black hand on the Legislator’s arm with a beaming smile. Ten smiled back as best he could, and then looked past him and to Ratchet, who waved happily as he greeted him and he couldn’t help but return the gesture. “Ten!”
The couple shared a laugh and Swerve was pleasantly surprised when Drift and Ratchet didn’t just turn back to their own conversation, but instead starting telling stories, sharing them with Ten and the others around the bar counter. Ravage had moved closer to the action, laying against the warmth of Ten’s arm. Whirl moved a few seats closer to listen in. First Aid and Ambulon were chiming in with their two cents on the situations, which got good laughs out of everyone. The way Drift told stories was intriguing, his arms and frame moving to exaggerate words and actions. Every time he tried to impersonate Ratchet, making it look like he’d say things like “Thank Primus,” or “Adaptus be praised!”, he’d get a defensive “Hey!” and a playful punch to the shoulder. It was a joy to watch and listen to.
Time passed, and Swerve had mixed up another drink for Ten, who accepted it with a graceful bow of his head.
“Ten,” he said softly.
Swerve just smiled warmly, placing a hand over his friend’s once again. “You’re welcome. Merry Shitscram, Ten.”
Ten nearly choked on the first gulp of high-grade.
6) things you said under the stars and in the grass 28) things you said but not out loud
“What’s your favorite star?”
He twists his neck to look at her, her hair tickling his cheek as a fans out around her. Her eyes are caught between the the constellations that shine above them, fascinated.
“Mine’s Sirius, just ‘cus it’s so bright and it’s the first one you see when everything goes dark,” she answers, before he can conjugate a response. “Plus, I like that it helps form a dog in the sky. I love dogs.”
He hums looking back up at the winter constellations and finding the one she points to, twinkling now and then but shining ever brighter. It truly outshines all the rest.
“I guess -” he hesitates, thinking, because what other star is there to love above the one that lies next to him? “I guess Polaris is my favorite.”
“The North Star?” She snorts. “C'mon Marco, you’re more original than that.”
“I guess I’m not,” he chuckles. “It’s like…that one star is the center of the sky, and no matter the season or the day, while the other stars come and go, Polaris is always there. It’s constant. And all the other stars move around it, like it’s some sort of beacon.”
He hears her rustle against the grass beside him, turning on her side and folding her elbows, watching him from above with curious blue eyes.
“It helps you find your way home, too,” she says quietly.
He meets her gaze, soft and simple yet holding back, looking as if there’s more to say but no way for her to say it. He wants her to, and he wants the words to spill from his own lips too because she is all of the stars - bright and unyielding and constant and home.
Instead, he smiles gently her way. “Yeah. Yeah, it does.”
I lay adrift on a wooden raft. Surrounded by the still, black sky of
my mind. Floating on the dark, dimpled water of time. There your face
twinkles above me. You shine. Stars so seemingly close, but
unreachable. The light glowing on my outstretched hands. Clawing at
the sky, but unable to grasp the source.
My heart ticks in time to the groan of the planks. It is a clock.
Counting not the day, but the moments since last we touched. Passion
in fingertips the world has not yet rendered. Promises unspoken by
lips that plead for fulfillment.
Tick Tock. I drift farther from your touch.
Tick Tock. Two more moments alone without you.
My heart is a clock. It’s muscle and nerves the gears and pins. A
machine. A tool. But a clock is meaningless without time. Without
time, a clock would simply count. Valueless decimals discarded and
alone. My heart is a clock and you are its time. Giving purpose to a
machine empty without you. Your sweet song, the harmony to my meter.
Breathing life into the inanimate.
Tick Tock. My heart waits for you.
I lay adrift on the water of time, waiting for the currents to bring
me back to you.