#image inspiration

[thegikitiki]

A twinkle in its eye, and green with envy...

1964 Chevrolet Corvair Monza

[pleaseimnotgoodatnames]

Image Inspiration: La Machine

Les Machines de l'Île

Le Manège d’Andrea

La Princesse

Le Manège Carré Sénart

[paperstarwriters]

Reflections

Photo by Amar Saleem from Pexels

Music. Transformers Masterlist

Optimus watched the flickering lights of the buildings as they stood over the water. The lights were not as bright as the cities of Cybertron, but they gave off the same feeling. Life.

His optics flickered downward, into the deep waters separating him from the glowing lights. Water didn’t collect in Cybertron the way it did on earth. Giant pools of water, to tiny little puddles, earth was an endlessly wet planet. It was foreign to watch the light ripple and fuzz the lights of the buildings. To see the buildings stretch and twist in their unstable reflections. If he squinted, the blurry buildings almost looked like home. Almost. Almost.

The water stilled and darkened. As the sun set and the temperature dropped, it felt so much more like home. Sitting in his berth, checking over data pads in the late nights, watching the glow of other buildings from his window.

Like the blurry imperfect reflections of the houses in the water, Earth sometimes looked like a blurry reflection of home. Of Cybertron. When it was home, and not a battle field. Before the war, before he was prime.

It’s foolish to dream that a planet decimated by war would be able to go back to the way it was. Everything that they fought for was to stop the way Cybertron once was, the corruption, the cruelty. Yet one day, when lights spilled from windows once more— lights of bots spending time together late into the night, lights of bots staying up late as they work away at a project, lights of a little sparkling staying up past their recharge time— then maybe as he watched in the distance, he could see the blurry reflection of the Cybertron he knew in the dark waters of his memory, as he watched the city from afar.

[ahainspiration]

The smell of battle was overwhelming, but he wouldn't leave without his friend. Dead or alive- hopefully alive. And once he found him, he would whisper everything he'd let go unsaid.

[faeree-layne]

𝕴𝖒𝖆𝖌𝖊 🏰 𝕴𝖓𝖘𝖕𝖎𝖗𝖆𝖙𝖎𝖔𝖓

John Boorman “Excalibur” 1981~Post Malone “Circles” 2019

[flashingcursor]

On The Run (A Wintershock Fic)

They’ve been driving for days. Always driving. On the run after nearly two years of moving around every few months. Darcy knew it would eventually blow up in their faces. She’d hoped though that after two years of peace and quiet and evading Steve Rogers and Falcon, things might finally be calming down.

 “We have to go,” Bucky’s voice has a way of putting her on alert as he comes through the door as fast as he can without throwing it off its hinges. 

 Darcy’s on her feet halfway through the words. The sense of urgency infectious; one look at Bucky and she’s in the bedroom as fast her feet can carry her. There’s no mention of time, they practiced this. The fast she can get her go bag the better chances they have of making a clean break. 

 She hears the footsteps before she sees them. Men in tactical gear and Darcy just manages to fold herself into the back of the closet before one comes bursting through the window. And he’s followed by two more as they move through and across the room a little conga line of soldiers getting ready to ambush her boyfriend while he was busy with whoever came in through the front. 

 The first guy makes a few hand motions and Darcy holds her breath. Her fingers sliding over the zipper of her back searching for the pull tab. If she can just get her taser she might be able to even the odds. Finally, after what seems like ages Darcy finds the tab and moves it along the track hand slipping inside as the men slip one by one through the door. 

“Hey,” Buck’s voice slides over her squeezing her hand in his bringing Darcy back to the present and the view of open road before them. A motorcycle would be faster, but it doesn’t work well when there’s only so much camping she can tolerate. But an older model car, that is only well-kept in so far as that it still moves and wasn’t rusting but it wasn’t shiny either. 

“Hm?” she asks leaning closer to rest her head on his shoulder. 

 “What are you thinking about doll?” He murmurs bringing their joined hands to his lips and kissing her knuckles. 

“That you should teach me to use a gun.” She can feel him tense, “Hey I think I’ve proven that I’m a pretty good shot. And I can’t keep letting you take the risk. We’re in this, together right? Let me help keep us safe. Or what was the point in drilling into me what the essentials were or how to gather my go back and get out of building in under three minutes?” 

 He’s still tense as Bucky returns their joined hands to the wheel. The silence pressing as they drive another mile before he says anything again. Darcy doesn’t have to see it to know the wheels are turning. He’s always been a little hesitant about letting her into his world. Letting her in far enough to see the soldier but sometimes she had to push, because the alternative was Bucky bleeding on the hotel bathroom floor while she uses tweezers to dig the bullets out of him. 

He slides his hand from hers to drape his arm over her shoulders. Left hand still on the wheel a leather glove hiding the shine of metal in the later afternoon sun. Bucky sighs, “Alright doll. We’ll see how you do with a few targets.” 

 “That’s all I can ask, Buck.” She murmurs pressing her lips to his cheek. 

 The first guy through the door comes crashing through the wall, showering the floor and her in drywall and wood splinters. Darcy inhales sharply and watches the man just lay there before a silver arm comes through the hole followed by a torso. If she were a little jumpier she might have actually squeezed the trigger on her taser. Except she doesn’t despite having the weapon in hand and her go bag at her feet. 

 Blue eyes meet hers, flick to the taser and her grins, “Let’s go doll.” 

 “I think you’re getting old that took at least five minutes longer than normal.” She smirks at him while picking up her go bag from the floor and slinging it over her shoulder. 

 They’ve been driving for days.

[thegikitiki]

Sheer madness...

Bur-Mil Cameo Stockings, 1958