#tbb oc

So... Are ya gonna let me in?

It's sort of in theme with something that might be found at the club, right? Red, decadent, hot...

Happy birthday, gorgeous!

BIRTHAY CAKE! And it's decorated with my favorite colors! Thank you for thinking of us! 💋💋💋

(I'm 36 today @.@ where does the time go?)

i tried and evidently failed to do art fight last year, but i have more time this year and more detail in my ocs sooooo

It had started with the crash. A shriek of tearing metal, a tremor that rattled the windows, and the sudden appearance of a crumpled, unfamiliar starship in the ruins of the old playset. Her parents, ever the pragmatists and soft-hearted scientists, had taken one look at the dazed, terrified children—Hunter, the serious leader with enhanced senses; Wrecker, a giant of a boy who loved demolition a little too much; Tech, the bespectacled genius whose knowledge vastly outstripped his emotional intelligence; Echo, the quiet one with a prosthetic arm; Crosshair, the sarcastic sharpshooter; and their tiny charge, Omega—and decided they were staying.

Which is how Saoirse found herself on a sweltering afternoon, kneeling in the dusty backyard, attempting to jury-rig a power converter from the ship to jump-start her father’s ancient, defunct Volkswagen Beetle. The “bad batch,” as they called themselves, were theoretically helping. In practice, Tech, who looked about eleven but spoke like a university professor, was micromanaging.

“The fluctuation in the core energy output is inconsistent with Earth-based automotive technology,” Tech stated, peering over her shoulder, his goggles slightly too large for his face.

“It’s a car battery, Tech, not a hyperdrive,” Saoirse grumbled, not looking up from the drill in her hand. She was trying to widen a connection port. The high-pitched whir was the only thing cutting through his incessant commentary.

“Precisely my point. Your methodology is inherently flawed. The risk of a cascading power failure is approximately—”

His lecture was cut short as Sara, Saoirse’s ten-year-old sister, chasing a brightly colored butterfly, tripped over the extension cord snaking back to the house. The plug popped from the socket. The drill died mid-whir.

Saoirse sighed, a long, suffering sound that was her default setting these days.

Tech adjusted his goggles. “I believe we had a discussion about you and galactic technology.”

“It wasn’t a ‘discussion’,” Saoirse snapped, her patience evaporating faster than a puddle in the Brazilian sun. “It was your opinion, which I strongly disagree with.”

Tech’s face remained impassive. “I have become well versed in earthling emotions based off my viewing of a certain doctor on your television. He would say you have an unhealthy need for control and desire to rush boundaries.” He paused, a perfect, robotic replication of a TV announcer’s cadence. “He also says you should tune in every day at 3:00.”

Saoirse snatched the plug and rammed it back i

nto the socket with more force than necessary. The drill gave a weak, protesting sputter. “Uh huh, I’m no ‘tv doctor’, but I think it’s you who is insecure about his abilities and fears competition. So why don’t you listen to your tv doctor and tune in at 3:00?!”

She turned her back on him, focusing on the corroded battery terminal. She grabbed a wire brush, intent on scouring the nasty green crust away. Maybe if she just got a clean connection…

“Give me that,” Tech said, his voice tight. He reached for the brush.

“I’ve got it!” Saoirse insisted, yanking her hand away. The brush scraped violently across the terminal.

A spark, white-hot and angry, leapt from the battery. It wasn't just a spark; it was a fountain of sizzling, incandescent energy, feeding off the alien power source it was connected to.

From the porch, six-year-old Eion dropped his toy car. His eyes went wide. Sara, who had been trying to show a ladybug to a bemused Omega, froze.

“Sara!” Saoirse yelled, the world snapping into horrifyingly slow motion. “Take cover!”

She didn’t think. She lunged, not for safety, but for her siblings. She hooked an arm around Eion’s waist and tackled a bewildered Nimah, pulling them both down behind the dubious cover of the rusted-out husk of the swingset.

The world turned white, then orange, then deafening.

The explosion wasn’t a Hollywood fireball; it was a concussive wave of pure sound and force that ripped the air from their lungs. It tossed the husk of the playset like a toy, sending splinters of bright plastic and twisted metal skyward. Saoirse felt the impact slam through her body, a physical blow that left her ears ringing and her vision swimming with black and silver dots.

When the world stopped spinning and the rain of debris pattered to a stop, Saoirse was on her back, staring at the hazy blue sky through a cloud of dust and smoke. A high-pitched whine was the only thing in her ears. Her head throbbed with a rhythm that felt like a jackhammer. Concussion, a distant, clinical part of her brain supplied. Definitely a concussion.

She blinked slowly. Tech was a few feet away, sprawled in a similar state of disarray. His prized goggles were cracked, one lens completely missing, the other webbed like a spider’s nightmare.

Saoirse tried to sit up, but the world tilted violently. She collapsed back into the dirt. “I fixed the car battery,” she announced to the sky, her voice slurred and dreamy. “You’re welcome.”

Tech pushed himself up onto his elbows. He blinked, disoriented, his unfiltered eyes squinting against the bright light. He looked at the smoldering crater where the battery had been. He looked at the vaporized remains of his beloved power converter. He looked at his shattered goggles. And then his gaze, sharp and clear and utterly furious, landed on Saoirse.

His usual detached curiosity was gone, replaced by a raw, primal anger. His small hands clenched into fists in the dirt. A low, guttural growl rumbled in his chest, a sound none of them had ever heard him make. He was finally, truly, livid. And Saoirse, in her concussed glory, was the one who had achieved it. She was too busy marveling at the fluffy shapes of the clouds to notice.

“Snow angel,” she mumbled happily, and started moving her arms and legs through the dust and ash, tracing the shape of wings.

She was currently forgetting it was 94 degrees outside, it hadn’t snowed in Brazil in the last forty years, and she was lying in the newly created ruins of her younger siblings’ playset. From the porch, a tiny Omega began to wail. Hunter was already rushing toward Tech, and Wrecker was staring at the crater with something akin to professional admiration.

Jar'ath Bussy

Its late. I forgot to post this here. I uhh... yeah.

Tahny butt.

Washing the Speeder