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About Literature / Student TurboTracks25/Female/United States Groups :icondestination-earth: Destination-Earth
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Masterpiece - Drift X Perceptor
Drift was a masterpiece painted in Energon. As he walked through the Lost Light’s corridors, splashed with the blue lifeblood of his fellow crew members and interspersed with the occasional fragments of torn armor, he couldn’t help but wonder when his final brush stroke would come. Gasket’s murderers, Dabola, the Circle of Light, the near close call with the Heart of Darkness, and now Overlord’s escape. There were so many deaths on his helm that he was suffocating under the weight of the flashbacks, memories, and regrets. It was a curse. A curse that had tailed him from the day that Ratchet had told him he was meant for something more than rusting homeless in the streets.
Drift no longer believed that it had been Ratchet speaking to him that day, especially not with the medic’s sudden change in attitude towards him. The optic rolling, the snapping, the heated arguments. It didn’t take someone with Perceptor’s intelligence to see that Ratchet re
:iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 27 2
Mature content
Conspicuous Invisibility :iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 3 4
.99 Cent Cards
If my god had a form, my god would be a goldfinch.
My theology professor once asked me to draw how I envisioned the almighty. A difficult question at best. All the other students around me were drawing pictures of men with cotton beards seated on cotton clouds wearing cotton robes. Then there was me. All I had was a lurid yellow piece of construction paper, a pile of Crayola Markers, and a mind empty of ideas.
My god ceased to have a name years ago. I liked it that way. No rules to clip my wings. No rules to clip the wings of others. All it took to earn paradise in my religion-of-one was a good heart. Why did god need useless cotton filling?
"Hope is the thing with feathers." I didn't want to put my hope, my belief, in fluff. Not when I could have wings. I picked up the black Crayola marker and began to carve my mantra into the construction paper. My own construction began to take shape. The words of Emily Dickinson's poem formed the base, the same poem that had perched in my soul Juni
:iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 3 1
Mature content
Falling Lover :iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 5 1
Needlepoint Schedule
The point of a schedule rhythmically stabs at the fabric of time.
The seamstress sews mistmatched hour-minute-second patterns and tries to create
An expertly-tailored pillow, luxurious and fine, on which to rest her weary head.
No matter which stitch she uses to bind time forces to her will
The thread unravels and leaves her with only stone to sleep on.
The cotton filling of her life refuses to be bound
Within the narrow and comforting limits that she tailors.
The seamstress pricks her fingers and dyes the fabric red,
Yet she persists in her futile stitch-stitch-stab-stab routine.
Repeated squinting at her stitches slowly destroys her eyes.
She doesn't see the soft cotton spilled about her, comfort that doesn't need confined.
:iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 2 4
Mature content
Weed :iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 4 0
Alone - Soundwave X Dreadwing
The loudest sound in the room was the wild thumping of his own fuel pump: a lonely sound. There were no others around to add their tempo to his. Even if there had been the resulting music would have been as harmonious as grating metal. The others had returned to their business: Knock Out trying to discover the purpose of the relics, Starscream swaggering about the warship and glorying in his return, Megatron to his command post.
That left him alone. More alone than he'd ever been. Even if the room had been full to the brim with his fellow Decepticons, he would have been alone. Soundwave's shoulders drooped minutely; his very spark shuddered when he pulled up the appropriate memory file. Fear. An emotion almost completely unknown to the former gladiator that had matched Megatronus. However, he had to rewatch it. Reluctantly, he allowed the scene to play on his visor.
While everything had been occurring, he'd been observing over the security feeds. If he'd only known what was going to ha
:iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 36 13
"White reflects all colors on the light spectrum,"
                                    my teacher once said.
I wondered why it took a scientist to discover
a lesson that history has already taught us.
White doesn't carry home its dead
:iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 16 11
Molten Love
The last thing I heard was the pounding of my sparkbeat.
As my life faltered, the sound grew louder and stronger.
In that final moment, my spark blossomed into an inferno.
The ragged edges of my wound glowed molten hot,
But that flame was nothing to what smoldered inside me, the true source of my end.
I wasn't burned to ashes by my anger, my betrayal, or my sorrow.
The thing that fueled the flames of my demise was love.
My spark grew too big to be contained, and so it erupted.
I bled lava for you Skyquake, the price I paid for knowing more love
Then anyone has any right to know. It was when the love grew too strong
That I was finally extinguished.
:iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 17 28
I Hear Your Cry...
Brother, I feel you.
Everything I've known is a lie, even you. I thought you'd always be there for me, but then one day you simply were not. Such betrayals are all I've received in recompense for my honor and loyalty.
Do you remember how you promised me that you'd return in glory when you entered that stasis pod bound for Earth? You're still gone, though. And where is your glory now, Skyquake? Mine hardly matters anymore. It's built on lies of lies. Second-in-command of what? A pack of honorless scoundrels. I see that now. Not even my honor can patch the leaks in the Decepticon system.
Dearest brother, I don't want to be angry with you. Yes, I loved you while you still lived. I still love you now. But I find it difficult to find room for anything but this anger. This overwhelming rage. Where does it come from? There's too much for it to arise from my spark alone.
It's as if you were still here, as if your anger were feeding into mine. Is that what it is, Skyquake? Talk to me! I need
:iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 26 15
How to be a Wrecker (III)
"What are we doing here?" Wheeljack muttered, glancing over at Seaspray.
The other mech returned his gaze, faceplates completely blank of any emotion. "I thought you might enjoy it, kid.  Put you in better spirits before I brought you to the lab and we really got down to business. It seems I've got a lot to learn about you though," he remarked.
A bitter laugh escaped from Wheeljack; when he tried to cut it off, he was disturbed to find that his vocalizers crackled. It made his laugh sound like Seaspray's. That's what they wanted, right? To make him the next Seaspray. Was that what Seaspray wanted too? It was too difficult to judge this early in the game. Even if there was a lot he admired about Seaspray though, and just as many things that raised his hackles about him, he'd much rather be himself and not what they wanted to shape him to be.
Taking another sip of his high-grade, he allowed his optics to move from Seaspray to their surroundings: a small, dingy bar. Most of the
:iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 14 7
My Lover
Dear lover, Progress
I have something I need to confess.
You know our date last night?
The reason I told you I missed it
Was a complete and utter lie.
Truthfully, I was courting Motivation
But my efforts went awry.
I suppose I deserve that for what I did.
I'm sorry if I hurt you;
I didn't intend to cheat.
Let's just spare each other further agony,
And end this static relationship.
Signed with "Love,"
:iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 3 3
Mature content
My Fraying Batman Wallet :iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 0 3
Mature content
Three-In-One :iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 7 10
Where Loyalties Lie (Epl.) - Soundwave X Dreadwing
"Why come back here, Soundwave?" Dreadwing whispered, glancing anxiously over at the former spymaster.
Time had begun to heal old wounds. The other mech had begun to look and act more like his old self. Strangely enough, it was actually calming to Dreadwing to hear Soundwave's vocalizers less and less; the silence was more natural than the forced words he'd spoken early on in their reunion.  There was no denying they were both different. That wouldn't ever change, but at least he could still love and recognize Soundwave. It was the same at the core, and that's what mattered.
But he was beginning to wonder if the mech was backsliding too far. First, he'd quit his job at the arms factory and refused to explain. If it'd been just that, Dreadwing might have been able to shrug it off. Although he found it odd anyone would want to spend their day idly, having worked to earn his keep his whole life, everyone had their quirks. Admittedly they were both getting old too, even by Cybert
:iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 20 12
Mature content
Where Loyalties Lie (XIII) - Soundwave X Dreadwing :iconturbotracks:TurboTracks 24 20

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TurboTracks's Profile Picture

Artist | Student | Literature
United States
I'm a 19 year old female. I enjoy writing, reading, roleplaying, and many other pastimes. I'm secretly, not-so-secretly, a fangirl of Tracks from G1 transformers. Well, cause dat voice. How can a girl resist that? My favorite color is green; I can't draw for my life, so perhaps it's a bit odd to join dA, but I'm hoping to put up some writing and just get to know some other Transformers fans. My other secret fangirl crush is Ratchet. Who doesn't love a medic? My favorite books series is Eragon by Christopher Paolini along with Clive Cussler's adventure/action series. I love country, pop, and 60s music. I'm currently in college as an English major (hence student writer).

NOTE: I like because I like, not for pageviews. I ask you pay me the same courtesy and only like my art if you like it, not to get thanked/gain a pageview.

ANOTHER NOTE: The next piece is not by me, but one of my most favorite excerpts. It's written by Joyce Carol Oates, and she gets all the credit.

"It is a fact that, to the other, nothing ever happens. I, a mortal woman, move through my life with the excited interest of a swimmer in uncharted waters – my predilections are few, but intense – while she, the other, is a mere shadow, a blur, a figure glimpsed in the corner of the eye. Rumors of “JCO” come to me thirdhand and usually unrecognizable, arguing, absurdly, for her historical existence. But while writing exists, writers do not – as all writers know. It’s true, I see her photograph – my “likeness” – yet it is rarely the same “likeness” from photograph to photograph, and the expression is usually one of faint bewilderment. "I acknowledge that I share a name and face with “JCO,” this expression suggests, but this is a mere convenience. Please don’t be decieved!”

“JCO” is not a person, nor even a personality, but a process that has resulted in a sequence of texts. Some of the texts are retained in my (our) memory, but some have bleached out, like pages of print left too long in the sun. Many of the texts have been translated into forgien languages, which is to say into texts at another remove from the primary – sometimes even the author’s name, on the dust jacket of one of these texts, is unrecognizable by the author. I, on the contrary, am fated to be “real” – “physical” – “corporeal” – to “exist in Time.” I continue to age year by year, if not hour by hour, while “JCO,” the other, remains no fixed age – in spiritual essence, perhaps, forever poised between the fever of idealism and the chill of cynicism, a precocious eighteen years old. Yet, can a process be said to have an age? An impulse, a strategy, an obsessive tracery, like planetary orbits to which planets, “real” planets, must conform?

No one wants to believe the obvious truth: the “artist” can inhabit any individual, for the individual is irrelevant to “art.” (And what is “art”? A firestorm rushing through Time, arising from no visible source and conforming to no principles of logic or casuality.) “JCO” occasionally mines, and distorts, my personal history; but only because the history is close at hand, and only then when some idiosyncrasy about it suits her design, or some curious element of the symbolic. If you, a dear friend of mine, should appear in her work, have no fear – you won’t recognize yourself, any more than I would recognize you.

It would be misleading to describe our relationship as hostile in any emotional sense, for she, being bodiless, having no existence, has no emotions; we are more helpfully defined as diamagnetic, the one repulsing the other as magnetic poles repulse each other, so that “JCO” eclipses me, or, and this is less frequent, I eclipse “JCO,” depending upon the strength of my will.

If one or the other of us must be sacrificed, it has always been me.

And so my life continues through the decades… not connected in the slightest with that conspicious other with whom, by accident, I share a name and a likeness. The fact seems self-evident that I was but the door through which she entered – “it” entered – but any door would have done as well. Does it matter which entrance you use to enter a walled garden? Once you’re inside and have closed the door?

For once, not she but I am writing these pages. Or so I believe."

- "Joyce Carol Oates"


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VendettaPrimus Featured By Owner Apr 2, 2016  Hobbyist Digital Artist
hello ! you do redesign tf ?
GoldstarXD2015 Featured By Owner Nov 5, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
i sent an angel to watch over you last night but it came back. I asked “why?” The angel said “angels don't watch over angels.” Twenty angels are IN your world. Ten of them are sleeping, nine are playing, one is reading this message. Send this to ten friends including me. I guess if I don't get it back I'm not one of them. As soon as you get five replies, someone you love will quietly surprise you. Please read, not joking. God has seen you struggling with something. God says its over. A blessing is coming your way. If you believe in God send this message on. Please don't ignore it. You are being tested. God is going to fix two things BIG tonight in your favor. DROP Everything and pass it on. Tomorrow will be the best day of your life. Don't break this chain. Send to 14 friends in 10 minutes. It's not that hard ♥
GoldstarXD2015 Featured By Owner Jul 24, 2015  Hobbyist Digital Artist
I shall be your friend. I will send you pictures if you want. : )
I love Transformers. My favorite character from G1 is Ironhide, from animated: Prowl, from Prime: Soundwave.
(Cause, it's friggin' Soundwave, ya' know?)
Soundwave: yes,sir! (by BG) 
MonyYoshi1 Featured By Owner Apr 26, 2013  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
Thanks for the llama ^-^
megzysgurl69 Featured By Owner Apr 21, 2013  Student Writer
Thanks for the Llama! :giggle:
SingingFlames Featured By Owner Mar 25, 2013  Hobbyist Writer
:iconcheerplz: :iconcheerplz: :iconcheerplz: :iconcheerplz: :iconcheerplz: :iconcheerplz:
:squee: :happybounce: :party: HAPPY BIRTHDAY!!! :party: :happybounce: :squee:
:iconcheerplz: :iconcheerplz: :iconcheerplz: :iconcheerplz: :iconcheerplz: :iconcheerplz:
chibigingi Featured By Owner Jan 7, 2013  Student Traditional Artist
LegatoSummerBlue Featured By Owner Dec 28, 2012  Hobbyist Traditional Artist
thanks for llama :)
Nagi-Oki Featured By Owner Dec 9, 2012
Thanks for the favie.
tlfunk Featured By Owner Dec 6, 2012
Thank you much for recently adding, Backyard Beauty, to your favorites. You are much appreciated!
(1 Reply)
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