#greenlight

[lazychimken]

Lay witness to my YURI BLAAAAAAST!!!! Sorry if Greelight is kinda ooc, I don’t really know much about her character rn 😔

[evieeion]

happy lesbian visibility week with arcee and greenlight 🩷💚

[melonnabar]

My zine pages for transformers!

[redsea8me]

whaaat oh my god now way it’s Elita’s team I’ve missed them so much

But no yeah I realized recently that they haven’t been portrayed as a team together since I’m pretty sure they’re debut episode and I miss them 💔 I had planned to share more sketches than just the designs but I’m impatient lol just know that I have fun plans

[boxbox81babygirl]

Insomnia – OP81  

Pairing: Oscar Piastri x Reader 

Summary: When sleep won’t come no matter how hard you try — and Oscar is there anyway. Every time. 

▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။||||။‌‌‌‌‌၊|• 1:21 

When insomnia kicks in again, it finds you the same way it always does — 

sitting on the cold kitchen floor at two in the morning, a plate balanced on your knees, eating quietly like you’re afraid to wake the walls. 

It never takes him long to notice. 

It’s like he can feel the moment you leave the bed — when the scrolling stops, when pretending sleep might come if you just try harder finally becomes pointless. When your body gives up but your brain refuses to follow. 

This time, when he finds you, it’s leftover cake from your brother’s birthday. the kind your mum insisted you take home, wrapped too carefully, like she somehow knew it would end up meaning more than just dessert. 

“Wide awake?” he asks softly. His voice is low, still thick with sleep. 

You nod, then hold the plate out to him. 

“Want some?” 

His eyes are heavy, lashes clumped together, hair sticking up in ways he’d never allow during the day. He could’ve stayed in bed. You wouldn’t have blamed him. This was yours to deal with. 

And the fact that he didn’t — that he followed you out here half-awake, barefoot, shirt wrinkled — makes something tight and guilty twist in your chest. 

“I’m sorry,” you mumble. “I didn’t mean to wake you.” 

He lowers himself beside you, back against the cabinet, knees drawn up. His shoulder brushes yours. 

“You didn’t,” he says quietly. Then, after a beat, 

“I woke up because you weren’t there.” 

You swallow. 

He takes the fork, steals a bite of cake, then nudges your shoulder gently with his. 

“You okay?” 

Your eyes stay fixed on the plate. 

“My brain won’t switch off,” you admit. “It’s like it’s running ten conversations at once and none of them are useful.” 

He hums, listening. Not interrupting. 

“I tried,” you continue, words spilling now. “Counting breaths. Scrolling. Staring at the ceiling. But the second it gets quiet, everything gets louder. Every embarrassing moment I’ve ever had decides tonight is the night it wants attention.” 

Your voice wavers. 

“I’m so tired.” 

He shifts closer. 

“I hate that I can’t just… sleep,” you whisper. “I hate that it makes me feel so useless. Like I’m too much work. Like one day you’re going to get sick of following me into kitchens at stupid o’clock.” 

His hand finds yours — warm, steady — fingers lacing with yours like it’s instinct. 

“Hey,” he murmurs. “You’re not useless.” 

You scoff softly. “Feels like it.” 

“It might feel like it,” he says, thumb brushing slow circles into your skin, “but that doesn’t make it true.” 

You finally look at him. 

“I don’t wake up because I have to,” he continues. “I wake up because I want to know you’re okay. Because if you’re sitting on the kitchen floor at two in the morning, I don’t want you doing it alone.” 

Something inside you cracks. 

“I don’t mind the nights,” he adds. “I mind the idea of you thinking you’re a burden.” 

Your eyes burn. 

“I’m scared this never goes away,” you confess. “That my brain will always be like this. And one day you’ll decide it’s easier without me.” 

He shakes his head immediately. Sure. Like the thought never stood a chance. 

“Then we learn how to live with it,” he says. “Together. Every night it shows up.” 

You lean into him before you can overthink it, forehead resting against his shoulder. His arm wraps around you instantly, like he’s been waiting. The smell of his shirt — him — settles something in your chest, quiet in a way nothing else ever manages. 

“You don’t have to be quiet about it with me,” he murmurs into your hair. “You don’t have to pretend you’re fine.” 

The thoughts don’t disappear. Not completely. 

But they slow. Enough to breathe. Enough to exist in the warmth of his arms, the low hum of the fridge, the shared fork tapping softly against the plate. 

You don’t realize how tired you are until your body sags against him. 

He notices. 

“You’re fading,” he murmurs. 

“Not asleep,” you mumble. “Just… less loud.” 

A soft breath leaves him. 

“That’s good enough.” 

He shifts carefully. 

“Come on. Let’s get you back to bed.” 

“I don’t think I can walk,” you admit. 

“Okay,” he says immediately. 

He stands first, then turns back to you, hands steady as he helps you up. You wobble — exhausted, unbalanced. 

“I’ve got you,” he says. 

And then he lifts you. 

One arm under your knees, the other firm around your back, pulling you against his chest like it’s the most natural thing in the world. You curl into him instinctively, fingers clutching his t-shirt, face pressed into the warmth of his shoulder. 

“You didn’t have to—” 

“I know,” he murmurs as he walks. “I wanted to.” 

The hallway is dim. The apartment quiet. His steps are slow, careful — like he’s afraid moving too fast might wake your thoughts again. You focus on the steady rhythm beneath your ear. 

Thump. Thump. Thump. 

When he reaches the bedroom, he nudges the door open with his foot and carries you straight to the bed. Lowers you gently. Like you’re something fragile. Something precious. 

But he doesn’t let go. 

He climbs in after you, pulls the duvet over your legs, one arm wrapping securely around your waist, the other settling between your shoulder blades. His hand spreads there, warm and grounding. 

“You okay?” he whispers. 

You nod, eyes already closing. 

“Can you… stay like this?” 

A quiet breath against your hair. 

“Yeah,” he says without hesitation. “I’m not going anywhere.” 

He presses a soft kiss to your temple. Then your forehead. 

“Try to rest,” he murmurs. “I’ll be right here if your brain starts up again.” 

And when it does — because it always tries — it’s slower this time. Easier to ignore. Because every time a thought threatens to spiral, his arm tightens just slightly. 

Like he knows. 

And for once, sleep doesn’t feel impossible. 

🏁 Requests are Open!🏁

So, this honestly was written at 2 am on a wednesday night.

I hope you like it!

xoxo babygirl

[physzoo]

some fembot art

[mirrorfangz]

Arcee x Greenlight 😸 YAYAYAYAYYA

[they-hermes]

alright no more boys its time to become a certified transformers himejoshi

heres to the married/canon couples (wow arcee how come you get two wives)

and to the ships we wish to set sail!! girls love 4ever!!!