#so out of context snippets it is!

[kari-go]

uh oh you said a stupid thing, time to never speak again!

[somerandomcockroach]

Okay, but decepticon Prowl didn't plan and prepare and properly defect from the decpticons, he was thrown out.

The ask that mentioned him being a bad shot got me thinking.

We rarely see Prowl as a bad shot, so either one of two things are going on

1.) Prowl is just not emtionally invested in this fight and is running too many numbers for something else but he has to be here against his will

2.) Prowl is intentionally shooting certain deceptions because "they threaten the future of the decepticons" (they threaten and beat up Prowl)

So after enough "bad shots" the grunts of the decepticon base Prowl was stationed on (as barricade) beat him up, and throw him out. Prowl is annoyed by this because obviously he is important but he can't reveal himself without ruining his cover. So he goes planet hitch-hiking to get back to Megatron and obviously get reinstated and protection.

While planet hopping, "Barricade" meets Jazz who is currently under the name of Meiser since he is infiltrating and taking a look at some decepticon territory. Barricade does not know that Meiser has been following him since he got thrown out. Barricade also does not know that Meiser has his suspicions about who he is. Afterall, there aren't a lof of praxians left in the deception forces, and this one has some dumb gold paint on his cheveron that has already started to flake and show red in these harsh outdoor conditions.

Barricade does think that Meiser is either an autobot spy (since he is not accounted for in any of Prowl's databases and battlefield simulations), or has a major glitch in his logic circuits that got him kicked out and now desperate for any social interaction (which must be the reason why he is hanging around Barricade, since no one ever actually willingly hung out around him before, and especially nobody hangs out with Prowl).

Things keep happening that try to kill "Barricade". But luckly clumsy Meiser is right there to "accidentally" shoot the problem right in the processor. Barricade does not remember Meiser having a gun on him. Or a knife. Or that feral of a smile. But anyways he has places to be and a mech to see.

Prowl intends on turning in Meiser-the-spy or just ordering the death of Meiser-the-idiot once he gets back to Megatron. Especially since through this adventure, Prowl has learned that Meiser will listen to a long thought out and perfect plan, then immidiately go do his own thing, so he can't be used as some disposable pawn in one of Prowls plans.

Evnetually Prowl gets back to Megatron. It is unfortunate that this regrouping happens on an open battle-field, but Prowl predicts that the decepticons will have to make a hastly retreat in 27.8 joors and does not want to miss his ride home. He expects to be welcomed by Megatron, updated on all battle field data, and then sent to the safety of the back of the lines to go sip a cube and win this battle.

Except Megatron has noticed that decepticons tend to have more friendly fire where ever he sends Prowl. And Prowl has already given him predictions and battle maps and troop movement plans for the next 100 vorn. And honestly? Megatron has wanted to punch Prowl for a while now.

So he does just that. One moment Prowl is clearing his vocalizer to get his attention while he is OBVIOSLY busy beating up an autobot. And the next moment Prowl is 12 feets away with a large fist-sized crater in his chest. Serves that nerd right.

Prowl goes offline. Not from the injury. But from the glitch that spawned when Megatron didn't welcome him back and start a much needed debreif.

Anyways, Prowl wakes up in the autobot medbay.

HELP, oh you all really don't like Prowl and want him punched ahagsgga

In my mind it's hard to turn events to that. You see, I think Megatron would treat Prowl like autobots treat Ratchet. Megatron is ruthless in the way he treats his warriors, they fight for "freedom" so someone's life is worth it. Prowl always gives 99% successful plan with minimal risks. And these plans work because Megatron accepts them. Decepticons can say nothing but they hate "Prowl" behind all these plans, because they can see that they are turning in even more bugs than they were before. Before it looked at least like a live or die battle. Now it is a straight order of dying in their cases. But hey, ahah, who is this "Prowl"? There is only Barricade and a possibility of his hidden identity leaking, it's just Megatron can't keep his optics on him 24/7 so making him second identity is a good way of preventing him from instant death. I actually want to think of the ways Starscream could switch his attention to Prowl and not like him because he can't be bribed. "With such tactician even I can be a leader" and Prowl just "-_-".

Prowl is left without voice, tracking, comms, everything is done to not let Megatron find him, but he will search for him even if everyone tells him he is dead. Prowl just need to fix everything and not let others find any info on him and somehow leave to send a signal. So I bet there are much more layers to all of that. For Megatron to want to punch him he needs to be like Starscream or be a Sentinel Prime.

Pffht, imagine you see a very beaten up Decepticon, clearly beaten up by his own people. Everything that allows to track you is ripped off. What does it mean? They wanted to get rid of him while making it look like he died of accident in the end, they got all they needed from him and left him to suffer. Means he had something valuable within him and clearly will be more anticipating in the interrogation with autobots. Revenge takes a place, wouldn't it? So even if Jazz is in a good condition and finds him, he clearly will bring him to Autobot base right away. Prowl will not search the way on his own, he will be thrown out where it is impossible to get out by his own, Junkion, so his priority also will be to get saved even if go with autobots with the possibility of revealing his identity and he will make everything to not let it happen

[shearingsheeps]

science team-tober day 8: misfire

(you can read the accompanying fic for today's prompt here!)

prompt list | science team-tober sideblog

[jessicas-pi]

I did another "pick a fic snippet" poll, and the results are in! Therefore, and without further ado, I present a snippet of the next fic in the Teenage Rebellion AU!

~~~~~

Wren took his hands in hers and squeezed them gently, looking at him with painful pity.

“Don’t take this the wrong way, but you look awful right now.”

“You don’t. You look like a goddess.” He curled his knees up to his chest and bowed his head, resting his forehead on her knuckles. “I’ll worship you, if you’ll let me, Wren.”

She huffed. “Now you’re just being dramatic.”

“No, I’m not. I think I worship you already. You’ll be my patron goddess. The shadows—the shadows have claws, sometimes. You’ll protect me, won’t you?”

“Did you hit your head when you fell off the roof?” she demanded, ignoring his perfectly reasonable question. “Because if you did, the last thing I am letting you do is go to sleep right now. Do you have a concussion?”

“No.” He laughed miserably. “I’m so tired, Wren. Maybe I’m insane.”

He didn’t look up at her, but he could feel her presence tense in suspicion.

“Youngest Brother,” she said, full-naming him authoritatively like First Sister did sometimes. “How many days has it been since you slept?”

“I dunno. Five and a half. No, six. Six and a half days. Or maybe just six. I—I can’t remember. It doesn’t matter, does it?”

Wren didn’t answer him. She just gently pushed him down to lie on his side, after a moment’s pause, and smoothed the blanket over him again. Then, she knelt down beside him, clutching one of his hands in hers.

“I’m going to stay right here,” she told him firmly, even as she slipped her hand out of his and ran it tenderly through his hair. “And I’m not moving until you’re asleep.”

“Won’t you?” he yawned, blinking as his vision blurred briefly. “That’s nice.”

“You’re welcome,” Wren smiled, knowing what he meant even if he hadn’t thanked her aloud. She was divine, like that. “Now, go to sleep.”

“I’ll try. I think—I can, here. It’s so quiet. Not like in Headquarters.” He shuddered. “I can hear them crying in Headquarters.”

Wren’s tender hair-stoking ceased as she went still, and he tilted his head forward, pressing into her touch so she would keep going.

“You can hear… crying?”

“The girl. Fifth Brother brought her. And a baby. I can hear them crying in the night. They’re going to be broken. It—it hurts to be broken.” He nudged her hand with his head again. “Don’t stop. I liked that.”

“Is that why you can’t sleep?”

“I wasn’t sleeping b’fore then. But I was trying not to. Now I wan’to, an’—I can’t.”

“You will now.” Wren sounded shaky, a little, as she said it, but his faith in her didn’t waver. If she said so, it was true. “Shut your eyes. Just rest.”

“I love you.”

“Shh.”

“Marry me?”

“Go to sleep, Youngest Brother.”

“But—”

“Go. To. Sleep.”

[write-it-motherfuckers]

Person A: "Are we even allowed to be in here?"

Person B: "I don't know, I stopped caring about their bullshit rules after they repaid my loyalty and devotion by framing me for their own misdeeds."

Person A: "...What if someone recognises you?"

Person B: "Recognise me? Ha! I was nothing but a faceless tool to them, I might as well have been part of the wallpaper! Honestly, I could probably walk right up to them and introduce myself with my former name and those fools still wouldn't realise it was me."

[cowboylikeyouu]

i have such a way with words 😍

[vinelark]

happy friday! here is a little bbts chapter 5 proof of life

When Tim comes down again his mouth is full of blood—bitten cheek—and his whole head throbs, an almost fizzy numbness flooding through his jaw in the sudden absence of pain. He struggles through another wheezing breath, wincing at the familiar sensation of torn muscles around his rib cage. “Ah,” Checkered Shirt is saying. “There does seem to be a localized paralytic effect. That last placement may have been counterintuitive; my mistake. But as we discussed, that’s the beauty of mistakes in a setting like this. The opportunity to learn from them.” Tim tips his head. Clumsily spits a mouthful of blood on the metal floor—evidence, he thinks hazily, if he moves me—and finds his tongue. “Funny how you still haven’t gotten what you want,” he half-slurs, “considering how many opportunities you keep having.”

[yujeong]

Time was at a standstill. Vegas was holding his breath without noticing, and continued to hold it when he did - he was afraid of what would happen if he exhaled loudly enough to draw attention to himself. His gaze was shifting between Pete and the man who was standing before them in the doorway, blocking their entrance. Vegas had never seen him before, but even so, he recognized Pete in him enough to know who he was. A dangerous aura surrounded him. There was an edge to his presence that Vegas would only come across people of certain circles. He was a fighter. A muay khao. Pete's father. Shame coursed through Vegas' body, smearing his skin, settling in his lungs, rendering him speechless. I thought he was dead, he wanted to tell Pete if he could. He wanted to scream at him, I thought you killed him. Pete was the one who broke the stillness. As if awakened by something, he took a half-step back and made a motion with his arms, almost raising them to his chest, but not quite. In an instant, Pete reverted into the pet Vegas had been keeping at the safehouse, bound by handcuffs and afraid of his belt hitting flesh and drawing blood. A lump formed in Vegas' throat. "Have you stopped practicing? Your form is off." The uncanny similarities between Pete and his father appearance-wise didn't mean a thing when it came to their voices. Vegas shivered. Was this what Pete would sound like in a few decades? (Were these the condescending words he'd choose to spew? Was Pete going to embody his father? Was Vegas embodying his?) "What are you doing here?" Pete whispered. "They let me out for a few days, so I came here to collect some money. Imagine my surprise when I found out my offspring left the job someone found him worthy enough of doing to... do what exactly? Yaai didn't want to tell me." He crossed his arms, waiting for an answer. Vegas didn't know what he was allowed to say. If he was allowed to say anything at all. "It's none of your business." "I'd say it very much is my business, as well as yaai's business who was dependent on the money you were making being some rich asshole's human shield." A choked sound scratched Vegas' throat. He didn't like getting reminded of Pete being the main family's bodyguard, even though he stopped being one mere months ago. Especially like this. That was the first time Pete's father stopped looking at his son and turned his head to look at Vegas. For a moment, there seemed to be recognition in his eyes. Did he know who Vegas was? Did he care? A snort came out of his mouth. He leaned on the door. "Oh, I see how it is." He laughed, scratched his neck. "I never expected you to whore yourself out for money. Tell me, is it preferable to the path I carved out for you?" Vegas could sense the disgust in his voice. He could also see it on Pete's face. He was too astonished to share it, but not enough to be unable to speak. "Khun, there has been some misunderstanding-" "Don't bother. I can recognize a faggot when I see one." Pete's movements were too fast for Vegas to stop him. A direct jab to the nose; his father fell like a pack of cards, groaning like a wounded animal. Surprisingly, no blood - Pete held back. Vegas didn't know what to think about that. "That was a pathetic attack, even for you." "Get up." "We're not in the ring, son." Pete growled. Vegas could see his hands trembling as he was keeping them in the air, maintaining an offensive stance. "That never stopped you before." "You were too young to understand what I was doing back then. What I was preparing you for." Pete was silent. "The world isn't kind. It'll fuck you over one way or another." He got up, spat on the ground. "You still haven't learned a thing. You're too old to afford being naive." He turned around, and without sparing a look at Pete again, said: "Now get the fuck out of my house." (For @musictooth, whose posts about Pete's father have reignited my passion for this specific concept and for @wretchedamaranth, whose comments on my writing are always lovely and precious ❤️)

[gremlinshatephilosophers]

I wrote this one about a week ago and decided to put the first chapter out now!

So let them talk

Summary: Phil wants to watch the process of Dan transforming into Sister Daniel, but having only done it alone off-camera or quickly backstage, Dan’s not quite sure how to go about it without feeling burned out and just done with the whole concept. But with a little bit of time, patience, and letting go of old habits, creating a new persona without the pressure of performing for cameras and lights might just open up new possibilities and bring back the energy he felt that first night in Nashville.

Rating: T • Chapters: 1/2 • Words: 1,105/?

The longer second chapter will come out at some point soon-ish for the more drag-focused part of the story and there may or may not be a little something else after that, we'll see 👀

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Outdrawn

f/f contemporary romance

two cartoonist who’ve been rivals since uni, and now have competing webcomics online, have to work together on the relaunch of a cult classic at the comic press they both work at

they both struggle with art-related physical and mental health issues, and complicated families

[arsenicflame]

Hornigold's Izzy was the worst, of course. A version of himself that never escaped that terrible place, who lived his life as little more than an object. He still has nightmares about all the things Baz told them, about all the things he didn't.

It doesn't really surprise him, after the first ones, not at its root. To be Izzy Hands is to be someone's after all, though seeing his own face on someone so fundamentally different to him never gets less weird. The people who these other Izzys attached themselves too often left him with more questions than answers. Jack's Izzy, he can understand, from a certain view, though the man himself felt like a fever dream. The less said about Stede's Izzy the better, he's never going to forgive him for the ideas he put in his Stede's head.

Then there was Sam's Izzy.

The first thing anyone noticed about him was that he was happy. He smiled and laughed without thought, and went through life with an ease Izzy didn't think he had ever felt. The crew took to him immediately, accepting him in a way they never did the other Izzys, and certainly not their own. They prodded him and asked him endless questions, and he took every touch without a flinch and answered every question without a hint of a grumble. This Izzy was free. He was open, unburdened, trusting. He was happy.

Sam's Izzy was the one that hurt the most to see. He could accept the worst that Hornigold could've offered, that he would have suffered and been broken. It was infinitely harder to see that he had a chance to be this happy. That it slipped through his fingers.

He's never looked back before, but now? Seeing what might've been? He can't stop himself from considering the possibility that maybe he made the wrong choice back then, going with Ed.

[thisapplepielife]

All Across the Universe, a new time-travel fic by @thisapplepielife.

Coming soon.

[bedlamsbard]

500 words written today which means I actually made word count and I may, perhaps as soon as tomorrow, move on from this god damn scene. I could honestly probably do it tonight but I can feel the voices starting to go. (Also I really need to do a characterization check anyway.) Ugh, I am burned out in general and yet do not get an actual break despite this week being the last week of classes. (Conference next week, WHO scheduled Kalamazoo for the worst time of the entire school year? Why is Leeds always over the Fourth of July (because it's British, but obvs it's not great timing for Americans). Why is the SCS always the first week of January? Why are all three major conferences in my field at the worst three times of the year?)

Snippet from Of Home Near chapter 21.

“No, you’re right,” Steve said, with a little grimace of acknowledgment.  “There were other options before; those options went out the window when Secretary Ross showed up.  And I think people…people need something.  It doesn’t have to be us, but we’re here, so – I think it’s better if it’s us than anything else Ross or the President might come up with.”  He hesitated, then admitted, “I want it to be us.” Natasha glanced at him.  Steve Rogers knew more about controlling his own image than anyone ever gave him credit for, both in 1945 and in 2018.  He was better at it than she was, that was for sure.  There was something Howard or Peggy or one of the Howling Commandos – maybe even Irina – had said once back at the SSR, that the only reason there was a Captain America at all was because Steve Rogers had wanted there to be one.  Not the Captain America from the USO’s stage shows, comics, and films, but a real Captain America, one who did his best to live up to the promise of the one created by the USO and Senator Evelyn Brandt. “It has to be us,” she said.  She was less certain than Steve was that it could be anything but the Avengers, not now, not after this.

[inkedmoth]

Me: I am a serious writer

Also me:

[its-all-papaya]

💧 ps just went thru your meet the Piastris tag and CRYING . Soo cute

from here

💧 Share something romantic/hot from your wip.

we love meet the piastris. unfortunately there's nothing very romantic or hot in it yet other than the bit i originally wrote for that prompt, so i'm giving you more dad lando instead. srry. giving you one of my favorites in apology.

“Stay for just a little, please?” Lando doesn’t beg, but it’s a near thing. “Yeah, of course, for a little while.” It’s so sweet, the way it crystalizes like candied sugar in Lando’s brain. He’s got no choice but to kiss Oscar again about it. And again. (And again – at the door, when Oscar’s gathered his things and they’ve already said goodnight a dozen times on the way over. He presses Oscar against the wall in the hallway, and when they’re parting, he sees Emma’s trainers and remembers everything at once – all of his pieces, all of his selves smushed up together in a gooey, familiar feeling rising up, up in his chest. “Thank you, Osc,” Lando whispers against Oscar’s cheek between presses of his lips, and for just a moment, he can imagine what it might be like to say three other words instead.)

[maethologies]

small, out of context snippet of what i'm working on rn

“Is it expired?”  He freezes. Bewildered, he says, “I feel like that’s a trick question.”  “Xaden,” she hisses. “Vi,” he says, “it’s still good. I promise.”