To arcee and bee how did you two first met and what you think of eachother
Both: !
Bumblebee: I- uh- see, she-
Arcee: Ah, ‘Bee was one of dad’s spec.ops members. Absolute master in the field. Worked with Mirage, and Hound. I believe Bee was… the assassin, and the blackmailer?
Bee: aha! Yep. Assassin-ing and blackmail. Love doin’ that! It’s my favorite! Never met a better blackmailer than me, Bumblebee! A-heh…
Arcee: yeah, I was right. He’s great. Pretty sure I met him way back, when I was little.
Bee: Mhm! Yep! Met waayyy back.
Arcee: Real cool, and fun to hang out with. Also fun to mess with, too.
Bee: Pretty good, yourself, Arcee. Kinda tough, and everything, but not bad company. Especially when I need an adult to hang out with, and not one with ten limbs and speaks like Shakespeare.
Arcee: oh, yeah. Tarantulas. He does talk like that a lot doesn’t he? Kinda ridiculous.
*hissing*
Arcee: BUT LIKE, IN A COOL WAY.
*somewhat quieter hissing*
Bee: Eeee-ee-eee… good grief…
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My sketchbook hasn't seen any action since my kids were born. They are seven. SEVEN. I guess I have to thank our idiots for breaking my little black heart enough to start drawing again.
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Selfshippers who ship with weird/unappealing characters. I love you. Like hell yeah you go get with Mr Crocker. Go get with lord faarquad
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you're in the habit of denying yourself things.
if someone asked you directly, you would say that you love a little treat. you like iced coffee and getting the cookie. you drink juice out of a fancy cup sometimes, and often do use your candles until they gutter out helplessly.
but you hesitate about buying the 20 dollar hand mixer because, like. you could just use your arms. you weren't raised rich. you don't get to just spend the 20 dollars (remember when that could cover lunch?), at least - you don't spend that without agonizing over it first, trying to figure out the cost-benefits like you are defending yourself in front of a jury. yes, this rice cooker could seriously help you. but you do know how to make stovetop rice and it really isn't that hard. how many pies or brownies would you actually make, in order to make that hand mixer worthwhile?
what's wild is that if the money was for a friend, it would already be spent. you'd fork over 40 without blinking an eye, just to make them happy. the difference is that it's for you, so you need to justify it.
and it sneaks in. you ration yourself without meaning to - you don't finish the pint of ice cream, even though you want to. the next time you go to the store, you say ah, i really shouldn't, and then you walk away. you save little bits of your precious things - just in case. sometimes you even go so far as putting that one thing in your shopping cart. and then just leaving it there, because maybe-one-day, but not right now, there's other stuff going on.
you do self-care, of course. but you don't do it more than like, 3 days in a row. after that it just feels a little bit over-the-edge. like. you can't live in decadence, the economy is so bad right now, kid.
so you don't buy the rice cooker. you can-and-will spend the time over the stove. you can withstand the little sorrows. denial and discipline are practically synonyms. and you're not spoiled.
it's just - it's not always a rice cooker. sometimes it is a person or a job or a hug. sometimes it is asking for help. sometimes it is the summer and your college degree. sometimes it is looking down at scabbed knees and feeling a strange kind of falling, like you can't even recognize the girl you used to be. sometimes it is your handprint looking unsteady.
sometimes it is tuesday, and you didn't get fired, and you want to celebrate. but what is it you like, even? you search around your little heart and come up empty. you're so used to denying that all your desires draw a blank.
oh fuck. see, this is the perfect opportunity. if you had a mixer, you'd make a cake.
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