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3 - Silly - Ironhide n LennoxThe clatter of body armor and weaponry was almost unheard over the deafening roar of the engine of the Autobot the soldiers rode upon. Ironhide didn't mind being used for transport, after all. He was the largest, most open-bodied of the bots that were not kept for more severe situations Optimus, during these sorts of missions, was usually resigned to a transport aircraft high above whatever city they were heading to.
Nearest to the cab rode Major Will Lennox, his hand always resting in the same spot against the big black truck's frame. For the both of them, it was a sign of the friendship they shared... one most humans would never have the opportunity to experience. Smell 'im yet, Ironhide? he questioned. We're getting' restless back here.
Ironhide snorted a response through the smokestacks at his sides, giving his huge body a shake so much like the big bloodhound Sgt. Robert Epps had nick
Lullaby for RatchetCybertron pre-Movies, still fairly early in the war. Ironhide/Ratchet comfortyness.
The door between the medbay and recovery slid aside with a soft hiss.
Ironhide was pulled out of recharge once again, blinking momentarily in the dim light. The weapons specialist was attempting to shake off the aftereffects of a mortar round to the chest, which had also left shrapnel imbedded in his neck and shoulder. Once the plating and underlying components had been mended and the foreign scrap removed, he had been laid out in recovery to let his self-repair systems finish the job. Recharge cycles post-op were always restless and fraught with breaks; pain, some error or alert, system demands for energon or the rounds from the medics.
Other recently repaired warriors had slowly been brought in, filling the room. The black mech had come to when most of them were escorted in and settled onto a berth by the unassuming figure of F
Abandoned ChapelThe parish waits now,
the loneliness of corners
crawling outward on walls--
chipped away by the wind,
and held together
by silk spindles;
cobwebs align them like the membranes of memories,
the cut of a jewel in an broken window
against the sun
where beads of rain
gather in a mesh of strands
a new Mosaic
against the backdrop of a cemetery;
My eyes seek out the sermon
in close proximity,
paint no distance
between headstone and cloud;
elegies topple each other
in their climb to heaven
as light trickles
over the shade,
breathes a new glow over snuffed candles.
I feel the weight in these empty rows,
how a breath couldn't cease to be breath
in the midst of prayer.
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Bluefley has a gallery filled with artwork that whisks you off in to a Sci-fi daydream, and keeps you captivated for hours. Marc has been a member of our community for over a decade and has achieved nothing but success with his astounding commitment to interacting with the community, sharing a prolific amount of video tutorials and generally being an all round rockstar deviant. It is no joke that we are absolutely delighted to award the Deviousness Award for April 2014 to ... Read More