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Starr | Artist Self Ship Art Tag #starr's self ship Art Blog: xspacecryptidx
holy fucking shit if your proship go away i shouldnt have to fucking say this
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Latest picture of Sanctiphage of the Burning Blood. I really tried to push myself here
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The lighting be giving mad scientist vibes.
Phineas has a teleportation pad. Where he gonna go?
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'Came a time, where every starfall brought you to tears again
We are the very hurt you sold'
Based on my own challenge to redraw your self ship as the MCR album cover uwu
Taglist♡: @me-myself-and-my-fos @tiny-cloud-of-flowers @sunstar-of-the-north @dearly-beeloved @adoredbyalatus @changeling-selfship @crushes-georg @cherry-bomb-ships @rosieaurora @rejaytionships @sunflawyer @in-true-blue-love @tropicalgothships @hotrodharts @1980ssunflower
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Had to shame a friend with this today, figured I'd share.
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in high school and college i never encountered the type of person who was like “you need to drink and smoke and have sex to be cool you can’t hang out with the cool kids if you don’t” so i thought they were a myth but somehow like 500 of them have spawned into tumblr in like the last six months and idk what’s up with that
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Fandom: Transformers: EarthSpark
Characters/Ship: Windshear (OC)/Elytra (OC) (Familial)
Word count: 762
Summary: Some bonding between Windshear and his adoptive daughter, Elytra, in which she reminds him of the importance of self care. Set before the events of the show.
—
A pretty little butterfly bobs along the curve of a grassy hill, her iridescent wings bathing the speckles of white daisies below in a vibrant, bloody crimson. Slowly she hones in on her prey, but the bot she stalks is alerted by the wailing cry of an unseen creature crushed under the pede of her right forelimb, and the red that stains the picturesque scenery is no longer just an illusion.
“Elytra,” Windshear says, his antennae twitching at the sound of her plates collapsing as her form shifts. “You really must be more careful.”
“Ngh… fragile earthlings,” she groans, scraping her foot back in the soil, her faceplate distorted with momentary revulsion. “I was trying to be quiet. I had an inkling that you might be resting.”
Windshear grimaces, his optics darting down to the mess she has made on his perfect plateau, his echoed voice struggling to tap out his lingering exhaustion. “We are recharging. It is you who should be resting.”
“I can’t. I’m worried sick about you.”
“We are fine,” he lies, but his companion sees straight through it. Her helm tilts as she looks him up and down, her gaze drifting to the shiver in his joints and lingering on the balled, marked fists of his servos.
“You are shaking.”
“Yes,” he admits, momentarily regretting all the times he said she’d make a good medic and stoked her with his weighty praise. “Hence the recharge.”
She sighs as she watches the metal of his chassis shimmer in the day’s afterglow. What a gorgeous sight it would be if it wasn’t so painfully stupid. “You cannot survive purely on sunlight,” she says. “And you know that Insecticons cannot satiate our appetite with our stomachs alone. You are Cybertronian first and foremost and you need energon.”
Windshear is too tired to snap back, instead slumping his already dithering weight to the ground below, his knees arching him back as he gazes up at this prison of a planet's personal star. It is not as warm as the one he knows, but none ever are.
When he fails to respond, his caretaker creeps forward, determined to catch the gaze that is so eager to avoid meeting hers.
He snarls at the gesture, his safe haven in the light of the sun getting caught in her shadow. “No, Elytra, we—“
“Please,” she begs. “I only want to see the light in your optics again.”
He thinks for a moment, his mandibles chittering in careful consideration. A queen’s anxiety is fragrant, and Elytra’s surrounds her like a heavy fog. “…No more than we desperately require, understand? You need it more than us,” he decides.
That makes her laugh. “Do I?”
“You are still growing, little nymph,” he chirps, his faceplate near enough sagging with ache. “When did you last shed?”
She scoffs as her antennae curl in their species’ equivalent of a hormonal teenager shrivelling up at her mother’s doting invasiveness. “I will soon,” she huffs. “My seams are slack, and my wings are loosening by the day.”
Windshear’s dimmed optics narrow, his lips forming an incredulous zigzag. “Then that is even more of a reason to save your fuel.”
“I will manage.”
“You should flourish.”
“And you should stop being so selfless. You don’t want your conjunx to reunite with a walking corpse, do you?”
“He has seen us in worse states.”
She’d strangle him if she didn’t respect him so much. She still might. “That’s not funny.”
“It was not meant to be.”
“Do you want a siphon or not?”
Much like mother birds feeding their chicks, an Insecticon’s ability to share their fuel with another even after consumption promises survival among groups that have found themselves displaced from their home hive, and Windshear and his small following of buggy outcasts couldn’t be further from theirs. This time, however, it is the young doing the feeding.
It doesn’t take long, and Elytra smiles as she watches the colour return to his external lights. “Much better.”
“For us, yes. How do you feel?”
She makes a show at bouncing on her heels and fluttering his wings. “Still spritely.”
Windshear’s expression softens, and he kneels before her to nuzzle their faceplates together, their antennae looping and their servos entwining, claws affectionately brushing against each other. “Good,” he says, pulling back to look at her. “And thank you.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“But we—“
“Seriously. Don’t.”
He shrugs, the blades at his back jostling as he stands back up to his full, towering height. His gaze returns to the blaring sun, and he releases a heavy, grieving sigh.
Elytra frowns. “Don’t worry, my queen. We’ll find him.”
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What question is your OC most commonly asked?
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all your issues with modern anime are this cunt's fault btw
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if you're okay with others selfshipping with your ocs...
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