#snippets for context

[alfheimr]

the selkie sea captain and the seashell that sings a song of home.

i started this comic last year before my hand surgery and finally got around to finishing it! whew! i wanted to finish it in may because i intended this as a sort of mermay thing but now im realizing im not sure if selkies count for that. well, they do in My Heart.

[butterflyscribbles]

Adrenaline⚔️

Starting to try and puzzle piece the lore together with some in between doodles. Tang and the gang (Sandy and Pigsy) have to go rescue baby MK from Spider Queen after a surprise ambush leads her to capture him and Wukong.

These two comics lead to this point [X][X]

The aftermath [X][X]

[charming-doodles]

Happy Holiday Truce @jackdaw-sprite !!! (And a happy new year~)

I kinda smushed two Lost Time prompts and was inspired by two posts you tagged as Lost Time for inspiration since I've never really written or drawn art exploring Danny and Clockwork's relationship before. (Hope that's ok xp) I hope you like it ><

Danny raced through the Zone, struggling to reach Clockwork's lair as ghost after ghost delayed him, picking a fight with what Danny's core quietly noted was motivated by desperation.

Desperate to what? Beat him to the ground?

No, that wasn't it.

His core hummed with... discomfort??? Unsatisfaction??? None of these ghost were giving him what he wanted.

What did he want?

Danny didn't know. Didn't have time to think as he blasted away one of his rouges, confusion bubbling when Pandora of all ghosts seemed to bow at her defeat. Although, it wasn't like she was putting much effort into their fight. She seemed only amused. A quiet acceptance lingering in her eyes as he slowly floated away from her.

"I understand I can't have you. Not with how your cores call for each other."

...what?

He didn't stick around for an answer. A desperate need like no other pulling him towards Clockwork. Idly, as he finally reached Clockwork's lair, a conversation he had with Clockwork resurfaced.

"Ugh, that's the third time this week that Skulkers broken his promise not to attack during school hours! And it's only Tuesday!" Clockwork simply smiled in amusement as Danny ranted about his day.

"But as I recall, you've successfully ended the fight before the Fentons showed up with minimal damage. You're improving. What is there to complain about?"

Danny snarled but pulled back, startled at his harsh reaction, hands slapping his mouth closed. Where did that come from?

"Sorry, it's just that..." He growled softly, flexing his hands into fists, "Lately these fights have been feeling so... UGH lame!"

"Lame?"

"Yeah! Lame." He huffed, looking away from Clockwork, knowing he was laughing at his childish insult.

"Poor thing." Danny's core bubbled at the insult. Clockwork raised his brow towards Danny, the ghostling's irritability easy to read with how little control he has in hiding his core's projections. "Is the lame fights to blame for your irritability or does the baby ghost need a bedtime?"

"BEDTIME?!" He stuttered at the offense, his core surged at the insult. He groaned. "Don't tell me you want to pick a fight, too! That's what everyone seems to want from me lately! At least you'll be a challenge."

Clockwork's eyes pierced right through his soul and Danny involuntarily shivered with fear.

"Perhaps tomorrow."

"Tsk- Perhaps tomorrow." Danny mocked. "Scared you'll lose?"

"No." He smiled a little, "I'd like to see their desperation as they fight for guardianship one last time. I let this go on long enough."

Guardianship. His core hummed with recognition. Expectation.

This was it. What was it? He wouldn't be alone anymore! Since when was he alone? He just had to prove himself! But why??

He entered Clockwork's lair with a grimace, irritated and tired from all the ghosts attacking him since their last conversation. Everyone understood what they were fighting for except him. Would Clockwork even explain himself after?

He didn't have much time left to think, when Clockwork swung at him. His core hummed with excitement, wild green eyes meeting calm, piercing red.

Game on.

[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

[velvetrambles]

I'm so sorry for this

[fearandhatred]

the rapture

it's a holy thing, in theory, a glorious celebration, where those who believe rise to meet the lord in the air. it's a day of joy, in theory, and maybe even of vindication for those who have always believed.

but no one thinks about how it's like to see the dead rise again—bodies clawing their way out of bolted wood and six feet of packed earth, bodies decomposed and maggot-feasted, nails stained with rot and dirt. no one thinks about the violent lurch of their bodies being jolted into the air by the stomach, gravity flinging their heads back down to earth as they struggle in vain to find footing on molecules and gas. no one thinks about those who don't make it.

no one thinks about the screams.

crowley hadn't thought about any of these things. he certainly hadn't thought about the angels that would be called back to heaven along with the believers.

here they stand dead in the middle of absolute ruin, the promise of heaven the only thing left to look forward to on the wasteland of this earth. the sky has opened up like the eye of god, watching over her people for the very first time, and crowley's black wings against the beams of light only remind him that he doesn't belong up there with the rest of them. crowley wraps his arms tight around aziraphale, squeezes his torso like he can maybe keep aziraphale with him through sheer will or, laughably, demonic intervention. like love could ever be enough. like love could stay.

around them, the cacophony of wails and mockingly exaltant trumpets scorch the earth in their intensity, clashing and agonising even—especially—for them, and words make no sound. but they hold on to each other, even as they shrink into themselves against the noise of the undying. i don't want to leave you either, aziraphale doesn't say, but his hands dig into the cotton of crowley's sleeve, and crowley hears the words through his fingertips.

he feels a stronger upward resistance against his embrace now, and he clings tighter, steadfast, even as aziraphale's grip falters. but he knows he can't hold on forever. he knows that nothing ever lasts.

trembling with something unspeakable, he lifts his arms from aziraphale's torso and covers the angel's ears with his hands. he feels more than hearing aziraphale's resulting sob, and he spreads out his wings to wrap them around their bodies. a shield, a comfort, a goodbye.

it's okay, the gesture says in silence. i'll see you in another lifetime.

[potionbarrel]

science team-tober day 8: misfire

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

prompt list | science team-tober sideblog

[mysterycitrus]

setting up some foreshadowing and unreliable narration and slow dawning dread in a wip and feeling extremely sexy about it

[prince-liest]

Vox today: the guy who's probably fucking his secretary

Vox alive: the secretary that was getting fucked

[vaultureculture]

October kickstarter update info in the tags <3

[xxplastic-cubexx]

From the same Storm mini-series 🥹

THE FAM 🥺

[edwards-exploit]

i'll wake up in a new life (down by the seaside)

so.... guess who's been cooking up an au!

[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."

[calamitoustide]

snippet of the week

thank you @messrsrarchives for the tag <3

He can’t control his anger, and he’s so afraid of it controlling him. He wants to be a better man, and he’s sorry he isn’t. 

“I didn’t ask you to come in here,” James tells him, tightening his hands into fists. “I didn’t ask for your fucking help!” 

“I know that,” Regulus whines, “I just-” 

“No,” James cuts him off. “I don’t want to talk about it.” Something twists in Regulus’ face, an anger of his own, and James swallows thickly around it. “What the fuck are you doing?” 

James blinks dumbly, “What?” 

“You heard me,” Regulus snaps, “What the fuck are you doing?”

tagging (no pressure): @inevitablestars @starsworth @ephemeralstarss @static-radio-ao3 and @courfee

[virgil-anon]

Wipper snipper

Thank you for the tag @crowcrowcrowthing

Tagging @wretchedanddivinee and @soopsiedaisies to show a snippet of a wip

This is unpublished as of rn and I'm feeling chaotic:

“Don't call me that!” Voldemort hissed. “I'm not and have never been your boy!” Dumbledore nodded, looking withered and old in that moment. “I apologise.” Voldemort finally looked at Harry. “You've heard the prophecy, so do tell, are you planning on fulfilling it?” “No,” Harry said. “We want a truce. Stopping this is more important than this war.” “Am I supposed to take you by your word?” Voldemort sneered. “The same way I'm taking yours,” Harry retorted hotly. He was uncomfortable; he didn't want to be here. He'd never spoken so frankly with Voldemort before; it was disconcerting. Voldemort appraised him with a harsh gaze, eyeing him up and down. Harry wanted to hide from those eyes, but he stayed put, spine rigid even as his skin crawled. A slow smile graced his lips. “Indeed, Harry. Are you telling me you're going to trust me?” Anger was hot and spiking through him. “Tom,” Dumbledore cut in. “Do not antagonise him.” Voldemort all-but bared his teeth. “Trust is what you want for this truce, old man, and I want the boy to answer my question.” “No,” Harry replied. “I trust you don’t want these creatures to stick around. I trust that you don’t want anyone on your side to die, but I wouldn’t trust you with anything else.” Voldemort’s sneer curled up into a smirk. “Slytherin. I heard you were almost one of us, and now I can see it.” Harry tried not to recoil and he only half succeeded. “I'm nothing like you!”

[maethologies]

happy wip wednesday!! playing the snippet word game today (this week's word is: nerve)

Narrowing her eyes at the man, she asked, "Do you know me?" He shrugged. "I've never met you, if that's what you're asking," he said. "But you've got a pretty recognizable name." "Right," she said. Her eyes landed on the screen announcing the floor they were on—she'd be out of this box soon enough. "And so, because I'm a Sorrengail, I should know everything there is to hockey." Absentmindedly, she began to roll her wrists in small circles. They hurt; she'd been an idiot and had forgotten to bring her wrist braces with her, in her haste to get to the arena. Spending three hours frenetically tapping at her keyboard had been far from ideal, but the building had been so loud that the text-to-speech function built into her word processor didn't work properly, so she'd had to deal. Violet added, "Including the identities of arrogant hockey players." "Correct," the man said. Violet scoffed again. The nerve of him, really. "Mhm. And you won't enlighten me?" He shrugged, drawing Violet's eyes back to him. "It's not as fun if I tell you," he said. He sounded detached, but she could see the spots of gold dancing in his eyes. "Though I could text you my name, if you give me your phone number." For a single moment, Violet was tempted.