Uh

Hey y'all. Been a while, huh? Like...four years. Well! the good news is obviously I'm still writing. In fact, my dear friend Ninja and I have created an entire little transformers universe for our ocs and everything. We're working on a few different projects, the most prevalent being a novel called The Sound of Silence, which is the backstory between Shadow Stalker and Covenant.

I got accepted into college for Fire Rescue Science. I published a prose poetry book called Aphelion. I'm working on some original novels.

And! I'm still working on fanfictions! Just...really, really slowly.

So to tie you lovelies over and whet your appetites a little bit for some future projects and to see if any of y'all are actually still around here's a little drabble I wrote between our dearest sass ass Shadow Stalker and Prowl the grump nugget.

"Shadow Stalker."

The femme groaned, onlining an optic as she sat up from the reclined position she had been in. She swirled her chair around to face the mech standing in the doorway to her office, squinting. "What do you want, Prowl?"

"We need to have a talk about your...leadership, if that's even a word I can use," the Praxian huffed, striding in and setting down a datapad in front of the tetra colored femme.

Shadow Stalker arched an optic ridge. "I would like to think I'm a pretty damn good leader."

Prowl stared at the femme for an unusually long amount of time, making her shift uncomfortably. "There was a formal complaint filed against you."

"For what?" the femme sat up, her armor subconsciously puffing in annoyance.

The black and white mech turned on the data pad. "You said to a new recruit, and I quote: "You know what the chain of command is? It's the chain I go get and beat you with until you understand who's in command here!"'

"And?"

"That's intimidation."

"This is a war. They should be scared."

"It's also unprofessional."

"Have you ever known me to be professional?"

"Shadow Stalker."

"Prowl."

The two engaged in a staredown, seeing who would flinch first.

Prowl finally vented sharply, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Just, for once, try and behave. That's all I ask. The amount of paperwork I would have to do would be halved if you just weren't so..brash."

Shadow Stalker leaned back, kicking her pedes up on her desk. "That's called a trademark, sweetie. Like Jazz's is flirt. Optimus is regal cinnamon protector. Your's is cold aft. Mine is flashy, classy, and a wee bit smartassy."

The tactician could only stare at the headache inducing femme in front of him, mentally wondering when classy became the new synonym for trashy. "You've been scouring the human internet far too much lately."

"They understand my sense of humor," she shrugged, opening a cabinet drawer and pulling out a rust stick to munch on. "Is that everything?" I secretly hope you end up in Med Bay next battle.

"For the moment," Prowl's wings gave an aggravated twitch as he walked out of the femme commander's office.

"Well bye to you too, grump nugget," Shadow huffed, rolling her optics and reclining back in her chair. How dare he interrupt her nap.