#Because it was already long enough or largely OC based?

[planetformer-central]

New Oc because I have no self control! This is Null, based heavily off Bioshock's Big Daddies, he's my newest creation and I already love him.

Lore and rant below the cut.

Null was forged an Outlier. His unique ability? The nullification of other Outlier abilities when they are within a certain radius. However, this power has not been without consequence. His spark produces his nullification field by producing a severe excess of energy. This doesn't hurt him in the slightest since the energy seeps right out of him as he goes about his business. But for those around him? Their sparks can desynchronize or otherwise become unstable due to the influx of outside power. Interacting with him can cause sickness for normal Cybertronians and even death through prolonged exposure.

For these reasons, the Council took him when he was still very young and melded him with a suit they created for him. The suit is now as much a part of him as his original frame and it takes all his excess power and stores it within the canisters on his back while keeping him from remaining a walking biohazard. With his suit, he can control how much power he exerts and when he does so. Additionally, he can turn his excess energy into fuel for his inbuilt blasters, powerful weapons that are practically military grade. The cost of this is that he is incapable of interacting with the world normally and occasionally has aggressive fits due to being unable to project his excess energy normally. He desperately needs time outside of his suit, but he is forbidden to exit the armor, and so has largely dealt with his bursts of aggression by taking it out on anyone who looks at his wards wrong.

He had the Council on his side to give him free reign to do as he pleases so long as he fulfills his function.

To make use of him, Null was made into the Outlier Overseer. His entire function is to watch over Outliers, specifically the young ones, and keep their powers under control. They do not suffer from the usual side effects of his ability due to their similar level of oddity and instead find him soothing to be around since they naturally absorb the power he emits without issue. Null has been shadow played to be obsessed with his role, so much that he does not care for any faction. His only function is protecting Outliers. While intelligent and fully aware, he is so dogged in his duty that he can and will fall into bouts of what could be considered insanity when on a mission. The younger the Outlier, the more protective he will be.

Surprisingly, he does not mind in the slightest when his wards decide to leave of their own free will. He only acts when they are taken from him forcefully.

With that said, He can and will go on murderous rampages against anyone and everyone who tries to harm an Outlier. This has led to many sticky situations where, with the rise of the war, Null has found himself protecting Autobot and Decepticon alike. He refuses to take a badge, instead wandering in order to better care for his wards and keep them safe from harm. Even still, there have been several occasions where he has protected Tarn from a few stray missiles, Soundwave from a reign of bullets, and strangely enough, Prowl, from oncoming enemies.

(His care for Prowl raised many MANY questions. To this day, the Autobots chalk Null's behavior up to assuming Prowl's processor augments were the work of an Outlier ability.)

Null wears an Autobot badge, but kind sparks on both sides of the war have helped him with repairs he cannot do himself from time to time. They know he is a victim of the Council, and so long as he is left alone, he is a peaceful being. The only times factions have actively made use of him where during the final years of the war while it remained on Cybertron. The Decepticons lured Null in with an Outlier and actively placed the Outlier in front of an incoming Autobot assault. Null was quick to protect who he saw as his charge.

He fought well, but was overwhelmed. His injuries were severe, but the Autobots had no desire to kill him, and so placed him in stasis. He has only awoken again now that the war is over, and he is trying to return to his role in a healthier manner with the help of medical professionals and quite a bit of aid from what little data Shockwave left behind.

He's really quite a softie, albeit very very cautious of his proximity to others. Well of course, right up until someone touches one of his wards.

[itsclydebitches]

Does everyone know that one found family post going around that's something like, "What do you MEAN they all go their separate ways after the journey??"

That's how I feel about Ted going back to Kansas.

To be clear, I'm not arguing that it's an unlikely ending to the series. I think it's very likely, especially when I consider a lot of the cool meta people have been writing lately, but that likeliness leaves a sour taste in my mouth because what's waiting for Ted in Kansas? "Henry!" the fandom cries and yes, obviously, but that doesn't feel like enough to me (which I realize sounds like a callous statement regarding a father and son, but hear me out). The only other things Kansas has are an ex-wife, a horrifically unprofessional step-dad in the making, and a long line of comforts that Ted has outgrown. I've noticed that this season in particular Ted has been moving away from his American roots: he misses his BBQ sauce but manages to find a perfect replacement in Amsterdam, he's finding solace in paintings for temporary homesickness, he's using "football" and "maths" naturally in conversation, many of his speeches lately have been about how he once WAS this American so-and-so but has changed significantly since then. From a canonical perspective, Henry is the only thing in Kansas that's good for Ted anymore and even if we put that aside for a moment (which I don't think we should) it seems quite significant to me that Ted has spent three successful years parenting from across the pond.

Is that ideal? No, but Ted Lasso hasn't gone out of its way to paint this separation as a failure, or a crippling blow to Ted or Henry, despite them obviously missing each other a great deal at times. I'll admit that this aspect is absolutely colored by my own bias. As someone who doesn't want kids herself, I dislike the implicit message that a parent must give up everything they want/need in order to be 100% available to their child. I'm of the belief that there's a big difference between loving/raising your child and lacking a life outside of them because Every Aspect of Your Existence Must Serve Their Direct Needs Until the Magical Age of 18, so I've never jived with the "Ted is a horrible father who abandoned Henry!" takes. Not just because I think the show has made it clear that Henry doesn't feel abandoned, but because it tells viewers that parents can't have anything for themselves once they've brought a life into this world... which feels pretty shitty to me. Thus, that whole Henry-based argument rings as unpersuasive both from my biased perspective and a canonical perspective: "In order to be labeled a good father Ted MUST go back to Henry in Kansas, leaving behind every bond he's formed here, despite the fact that he's spent a significant amount of time making this long-distance relationship work really, really well."

Putting Henry aside and going back to my original point above, sending Ted to Kansas requires the audience to imagine up a life for him that has never existed on screen. Sure, we can assume that Ted will form new bonds and rekindle old ones there, but that would exist entirely off screen. Like the story that asks you to ignore the family that's been built right in front of you in favor of the headcanoned one that the characters are separating for, a Kansas ending would ask us to toss aside three seasons worth of family, community, and still developing relationships for... whatever it is we'd personally imagine up post-series. Audiences (by and large) don't WANT their protagonist to end up with [insert OCs here], they want them to stay with the developed cast, whether that's a romance, a friendship, or a family. To me, there's nothing satisfying about imagining Ted in a location the series has never explored with people who don't exist yet except for, as said, an ex, a man who justifiably makes him incredibly uncomfortable, and his child whom he already has a fantastic relationship with in the community where Ted is happy.

There are a lot of other reasons why this ending would be a big disappointment to me, most notably the rejection of untraditional forms of parenting + the message that Ted was always destined to "reset," returning to precisely where he started out, like he's just a hope dispenser who isn't allowed to significantly grow himself. Sure, you can divorce and get better about managing your anxiety... but making a permanent, positive life change? Nah, let's act like this is an episodic show and toss you back to the beginning. I've seen a couple of people compare Ted to Mary Poppins and while a part of my does like that connection, another part cringes at the idea of him playing the role of magical benefactor, his own future happiness deemed insignificant compared to the lives he's already changed. Thanks for the help, Ted! Hope you manage to find some more happiness for yourself back among everything you've spent the series leaving behind. Open your umbrella and let the wind take you; wherever you land and how hard the fall is doesn't matter because the show is over.

So there's a lot going on for me, however, the found family bit is where I'm truly stuck. You're really going to build up this community and Ted's place in it for three seasons, moving him from "wanker" all the way to beloved coach, only to pack him back to Kansas after he's finally carved out a place for himself? Kansas, the place the show has consistently argued has nothing to offer Ted except for the child he hasn't actually lost? Yeah no, sorry, I'm not a fan.

Which doesn't mean I think Ted Lasso is going to become a terrible show if they choose this - again, very likely - ending... but I will personally be pulling a Nick Fury about it.

[mortuarywriting]

Okay. So.

This post, right? I had this vivid bit come to me based on the deli comment + Pic combo. I do not plan on writing more. Free to a good home someone else take this I would NOT have any idea where to go with it oc or insert live your best life

You didn't usually come by this way, and frankly if there hadn't been closures for some infrastructure work you still wouldn't. The extra 10 minutes this unforseen detour was causing meant your entire schedule was thrown off balance. It was only by happenstance that plans got moved an hour back while you were already on the way. Normally you'd be more upset that shit got shifted while you were already on the way but you figured a solid "fuck it" was warranted and you should get yourself something to eat really quick.

You figured a new route would mean new restaurants, and had you decided this anywhere along your usual route or even before your turn down this detour? You'd be so right. You knew there were tons of little places you made notes to go back and try the ever nebulous sometime.

This would be an awesome sometime if it didn't mean trying to turn around and backtrack and the way the construction area had been? That was not appealing.

This road had a surprising lack of food options, and between the idea of gas station snacks or a little corner deli? You were gonna pick the deli first. Why not, good to try new things after all.

Only as soon as you walk in you see the guy behind the counter. Well, more leaning between the counter and the front, he's obviously tied enough to the place that he's talking to the only other customer in there, but someone else is actually making the sandwich while he chats with the guy waiting.

You were ready with a polite smile as you looked at the menu but something about the guy made you do a second glance and-

You knew of that neck tattoo. The long sleeves and pants he wore covering the rest of his skin suddenly felt a lot less sensible for the weather and a lot more like brush hiding something dangerous. That hammer might as well have been a sign saying 'this is not a place of honor', it was a warning and a potential threat all in one and you were not gonna ignore that.

You'd normally just turn on your heel and slide out, quiet and unnoticed, except he had noticed you.

"Welcome," and if that didn't feel like a bold faced lie to you but you keep a pleasant smile even as the fuckoff huge other customer, also very large, also very white and also very covered up- face mask, beanie, sunglasses in hand and hints of tattoos peeking from his sleeves- turns to look at you as well.

You try so hard to keep your polite smile and distinctly not make eye contact as you look over the menu. Your appetite is so far gone you don't know if you're gonna eat for the rest of the day, you weigh the odds between being able to just make your escape versus buying a drink and mentally trying to figure out if you had enough loose change to get a water bottle because you did not want these people to theoretically have your name. Not with that dogwhistle on his fuckin neck you didn't.

But you've never been so glad for your friends serial texting, your phone chiming four times in rapid succession in your pocket.

You fish it out and, well, damn, if that isn't one hell of a meme. You let your brow furrow, "oh son of a-" you look up and offer an apologetic smile, "so sorry, have a good one," and you beat feet and make a hasty retreat.

You dial that friend in question as you make your way out, "hey, yeah, I know you just texted me but I need to be on the phone really quick? Yeah uh," you do a bit of a look around and behind you, making sure your coast is fairly clear before you lower your voice and continue, "might've. Just accidentally walked into a white supremacist place?"

"HOW DO YOU ACCIDENTALLY-"

"It's not like they hung a swastika on the window," your tone creeps back up with exasperation, "the guy- manager or owner I dunno- he had the fuckin- the hammer on his throat! And he was too covered for me to check for iron crosses and with his only other customer being another giant white guy I wasn't playing the odds! Anyway, whatever, I'm almost there just. Hang out with me on the phone. Where the hell did you find that meme?"

--------

Look I'd cut back to where it goes back to the guys bantering here but like. I'm running out of steam and Price doesn't cooperate with my writing at the best of times.

Just know Simon absolutely makes the joke that pretty birds leaving is what happens when you let Roaches around your food. Roach just flips him the bird.

Gaz was absolutely walking down the street and heard some of that phone call. Absolutely finds it hilarious.

Anyway please if you want this take it free to a good home I do not need this freeloader

[s4ndg3m]

COMMISSIONS! FROM ME! YAY!

Status: Open!

okay, gonna start this with.. i have no idea how to make a comms info post. i was going to try and make a carrd but it's... a lot! so, under the cut, i'll have some examples and prices and some info on what to expect! (LONG POST) (YE BE WARNED)

Rules! (and some general info)

because we need that

Don't haggle with me. I'm not selling you old furniture, you're paying me for my time and effort.

For smaller commissions, I require pay up-front

Larger commissions (over $30) can be paid half up-front, and half later. For both ours' insurance!

I can do cashapp, zelle, or paypal.

Time taken on each piece will vary, of course, and I can give you an estimate when we hash out details. I can provide updates as well! Don't be afraid to check in whenever! I won't feel rushed or hassled if you just want to know how progress is :)

If you have literally ANY questions. ANY OF THEM. at all. just message me. Even if you're not sure if you want to commission, or don't intend to at the moment. Have a curiosity? My dms are open, friend. And my ask box too, if you'd rather. I'm so open to questions it's unbelievable. I am almost begging you to ask... If you have something to ask.

YAY / NAY / MAY(or, what i will and won't do)

YAY!

Furries

Humans

Roblox avatars/characters

Fandom

Oc

Light/medium mech

Ships (including selfship)

Suggestive

(Artistic) nudity

Multiple characters

Whatever's not on my "no" list! Please please just message me and ask if you're unsure. Even if you're not sure about commissioning and just want to see if it would be possible! I won't bite, I promise. :)

NAY!

Nsfw

Fetish (even if not explicit)

Heavy mech

Heavy gore

Anything proship/comship/whatever the hell they're calling it. NO KID DIDDLING! OR INCEST!

Anything vivziepop related. I don't like her or anything that she makes.

Celebrities (actors in a role, sure, but just the guy? the plain dude? just some guy on our earth who works a job? a real person with a life? no.)

MAY! (or, things I'm on the fence abt)

Horror

Minor gore

Large scenes (not my strongest skillset)

Whatever! I'm okay with stepping outside of my artistic comfort zone, so long as you're okay with the result varying in quality (and possibly taking longer, depending on what you ask for) Again, and I CANNOT say this enough, JUST ASK ME!!

WHAT I HAVE TO OFFER!

Okay, so, as shown here, for a standard commission i'll have 3 sizes, along with 4 stages of completion.

The stages are sketch, line art, flat colors, and render (shading/lighting)! sketch is the cheapest, and render is the most expensive. I'll list some prices for each size below :3

Head

Sketch - $5

Line art - $7

Colors - $10

Render - $15

Half

Sketch - $10

Line art - $15

Colors - $20

Render - $25

Full body

Sketch - $20

Line art - $25

Colors - $30

Render - $50

Add-ons!

Background (any commission automatically comes with a simple one, free, to be pictured in examples) - $15

Extra character - $7-$20 depending on what you're getting! just ask

COMPLEX object (like a weapon) (simpler ones r free) - $5-$10 (again, depending. just ask)

Anything that would take me more time and effort than usual, really. Time and effort is what you're paying for! I try to keep most of these pretty cheap, cus you're already paying for the drawing itself lol. Just ask if you're unsure.

Other kinds of stuff I'll do!

Icons! (or emojis, they're very similar)

These are basically just the head w/ colors, so $10 If you want an emoji set (or icon set, i guess?) it'll be +$5 for each additional one!

Reference sheets!

These are fun to make! They'll include 2/3 full-body shots of your character (front, side, and/or back), 1 head shot, flat colors, and some spaces for info! You can add in the info yourself, or have me add it in for you (no additional cost). They'll run you around $50 (however, you can add/take away stuff to change the price.)

Character page!

I will just. draw the character a bunch of times. $30 base price (sketch quality) can go up to $70 if you want them VERY spruced up (full render)

FINALLY. What we've all been waiting for... Examples!

These are fullbodies! (with their categories and prices in alt) (First is a commission of one of my friends ocs, last one is moff, @/sneablebeable 's character!)

these are rendered pieces w/ backgrounds! (though pokémon like these, I would consider chibi, making them a slightly lesser price.)

Reference sheets! Highly customizable, these are 2 I did for art fight a lil while ago :)

sketches! (with complex background, with extra character) For these, I can include basic values to help with composition, but usually done just cus i feel like it. (no extra charge if I do).

Half body (in the style of a valentines card)

Icons!

Thanks for considering me! or... just checking this out! reading this far! whatever!

[violet-moonstone]

Heathers Part 4: Rogue Heather and Conclusion

Part 3

This is my favourite option, which is why I saved it for last. This route focuses on skills Heather could much more believably pick up on her own—in fact, these are skills we already see her exhibiting in RoB. This version of Heather is very much like Arya Stark—minus the combat training—specifically, Arya when she’s in Braavos. She’s good at hiding, sneaking around, pickpocketing, etc. She would rely on changing her behaviour and appearance to fit the situation and slowly build her arsenal of disguises as she improves her skill and has more resources at her disposal. One day, she might appear as a raggedy street urchin; the next, a bawdy barmaid; then, a haughty noblewoman or cunning hunter.

Her primary use of this skill would be survival—blending into the background or standing out without people knowing her true identity—but this would also be strategic. She could get information either from being a fly on the wall no one considers being cautious around, or by being charismatic and charming people into trusting her. In more extreme situations, she could slip poison into the drink of a bar patron, set fire to the room of someone who thinks she’s their servant, or (in a version of RTTE with a more mature rating) stab someone once they’re in her bed. (I’ve written a fic about this)

I think this option makes the most sense, because it requires no retconning of her backstory and includes the most believable skillset for someone without any training. I also think that with a heavy focus on stealth, it wouldn’t make sense for her to have a large, armoured dragon with reflective scales (once again, sorry Windshear). Instead she could have a small dragon that could help her with fetching things, being on watch for danger, and shooting fire at close range. I’m thinking a Terrible Terror or something similar. Although a small dragon with similar traits to a Changewing would be really cool, like a winged chameleon of sorts—but maybe instead of becoming invisible, it just mimics different colours and textures.

In terms of costumes for Rogue Heather, it can really be anything. She’d probably need a base outfit for when she’s not in disguise, in which case, I’d go for something like the redesigns all the dragon riders except Hiccup got, which was basically putting them in the same clothes as in RoB/DoB but with different colours. I think the outfit Heather’s wearing in RoB is pretty good for a rogue type character already—just use a slightly different colour scheme that’s still faded, and keep the hood from her current design. Her disguises could be much more dramatic and could include wigs and makeup as well.

I have a headcanon that she has a favourite disguise though. Due to all the danger and insecurity she’s faced, she’s become ruthlessly ambitious—not just for revenge, but for wealth and power. She never wants to have to worry about being unsafe or scrounging around to survive. I think her favourite roles to play are rich and powerful women. In these roles, she gets to wear something beautiful—I’m thinking a deep green gown that brings out her eyes. It could also be a reference to serpents and envy, which goes hand in hand with her use of poison and her desire for the finer things in life.

I love this version of Heather. I’m currently in the early stages of writing a very long fic (that will probably just include regular Heather because the story already has a lot of OCs and moving parts), however, if I get enough inspiration, I might write some one-shots here and there about her.

Some ideas for her more fancy/aspirational disguises:

From left to right: Labyrinth (2012), BBC’s Merlin (I always thought Katie McGrath would be a great grown-up Heather)

(Some more historical Norse looks)

And a more everyday look:

(From Voriagh)...tell me this model isn't LITERALLY HEATHER. I think it's the murder in her eyes.

(Arya in Game of Thrones, tunics from Dark Knight Armoury)

Conclusion...After a Note About Combat and Women in Fantasy

Before I finish, I want to briefly touch upon another issue I have with Heather’s character. You may have noticed that the latter two options I gave have a much stronger emphasis on her intelligence and/or social skills than her physical prowess – I did this intentionally because I find that RTTE lacks characters who are not combat focused (Even Johann turned out to be a skilled knife-thrower. I miss when he was just a friendly and knowledgable���though talkative—merchant). While I appreciate that the female characters in the show are shown to be capable fighters, they don’t all need to be. I think fantasy and sci-fi writers tend to forget that making women into combatants is not the only way to make them strong, empowered, or interesting. There are so many ways that characters, regardless of gender, can have agency and be integral to a plot; these ways don’t have to include putting a heavy weapon in their hands. I’ve briefly discussed this in another post, but I think the dynamic between Viggo and Ryker would be much more interesting if Viggo were not physically strong and had to depend on Ryker’s strength just as much as Ryker depended on Viggo’s wits. And while Hiccup’s sword fighting abilities are commendable, let’s not forget that his first great achievement would never have been possible without curiosity, intelligence and empathy—the three things required to befriend Toothless—not physical strength. I love Race to the Edge, and I understand the combat-heavy focus (because “Vikings”) but I do wish there was just a bit more variety when it comes to the way characters navigate dangerous situations.

Alright, so there you have it: My 3 Heathers. I’m very tempted to draw all three of them, to get a clearer image of what their designs would look like. Which one do you prefer the most? The revenge-fuelled warrior, the unhinged alchemist, or the ambitious assassin? Let me know, and thanks for reading!

[love-nlove]

anyway...

this is my twst oc, monte (mon-tay)

(is lazy but this is all you're getting from me.)

this image was haunting me so i /had/ to draw it

monte (mountain in spanish, since he is a mountain lion)

1st year at NRC, 17 yrs old, 7'2" (220 cm)

he/they, ace-spectrum, asd, touch averse

he is based off a Canadian mountain lion

his hair is thicker and longer since he lives in colder temperatures, they have natural reddish spots in the hair

weighs 80 kg (176 lbs), average for colder temperature cougars, tail is 2'4" (72 cm) long

he is most likely scarabia or ignihyde, not really into the "pack" behaviour of other beastmen.

he has excellent vision, but uses reading glasses to be safe,

he is very athletic naturally and loves gymnastics and track. he doesn't join clubs because they get uncomfortable in large groups for long periods of time

also enjoys mountain climbing and climbing in general. goes on long walks and hikes, runs into jade sometimes (he's a bit iffy at first, but gets along well enough with him)

does not eat vegetables, meat lover through and through, tolerates mushrooms (because of jade)

often wears headphones due to his sensitive hearing, has sensory issues, and prefers lighter materials like rayon and linen, loves oversized sweaters but can bear the cold, again, doesn't like people in his personal space for too long (except grim).

cannot be in close proximity to leona for too long (territorial), extremely uncomfortable due to feeling predatory instincts when he sees jack or ruggie (any canine beastmen)

went to the botanical garden to nap (loves trees), and avoids it because leona already claimed it first sigh

loves and coddles grim, who they see as his cub, but occasionally sends grim away due to predatory instincts..

okay that's it . i'm gonna stop here

[prince-liest]

This may be an odd question, but I believe you mentioned you got into writing because of rp(or at least into fanfiction?) And I was wondering how you transitioned into writing solo? Most of my writing is/was with a partner, but I've been trying to write on my own, and I've found it incredibly difficult. I'm told that what I write is still good regardless, but I've a hard time both finding enthusiasm for it without a partner to bounce off of or finishing whatever I'm working on.

This might just be a me thing and more to do with being self-critical, but if you have any advice, I'd really appreciate it. I just want to figure out how to enjoy writing again without jumping through weird hoops for motivation.

(You may have already been comfortable writing even before rp and if that's the case, feel free to disregard this question.)

I'd tried to write a bit of fanfic before my RP days with limited success motivating myself, so it really was very much RP that got me the skills and ability to be able to write full-form fics!

But more than mechanical skill, mostly I think the issue you face is very similar to what I struggled with for a while when swapping to writing fanfic, which is that a lot of the reason RP is so easy and rewarding is because it's such a profoundly social activity. You write a few paragraphs and then you get social feedback immediately from your RP partner in the form of chatting about it and/or the RP response you get! With fanfiction, you have to write a whole damn piece or chapter, post it, and then hope that you get comments if you want engagement - and then those comments are inevitably going to be a little bit less personal if, like me, you RP OCs that you put a lot of yourself into rather than pre-existing characters!

The problem with doing things for the sake of extrinsic motivation is that it kills your intrinsic motivation to do those things. This isn't a moral flaw, it's a documented psychological effect! Nowadays I write primarily because I want to see the things I put into the world, but that's fucking easy for me to say when I also have a large reader base and really enthusiastic commentors, isn't it? And it took me a hot minute to figure out how to transition to motivating myself that way rather than because I wanted interaction.

My suggestion is, honestly, to find folks that hype you up! I kinda crested that barrier by getting possessed by writing demons and pounding out like 60k words of insane Hawks-centric character study in one month during the 2020 quarantine, and I was lucky enough that people really liked it and immediately flooded my notifications with the kind of really lovely, long-form comments that my writing style encourages, which isn't really a typical experience. Those folks that hype you up, it is LOVELY if they are your friends, but sometimes what you really need to do is find the small social circle of freaks that are really into whatever niche thing it is that you are writing, and infiltrate their Discord. Ship-specific groups are really good for this! (Especially for rarepairs.)

But a lot of it is really going to be finding the balance of finding supportive people who will feed into your excitement, and also finding that part of yourself that finds the process of writing to be fun. Social activity is still 100% just a necessary part of the human experience, and I myself post snippets of my writing online and on Discord all the time for the little dopamine hit of "Yay! We're enjoying this together!" but it's become something I do because I want to share the joy I already get from writing, not because I'm writing to share it!

Which also means that you should write things that you enjoy writing. ;) Write things you are actually excited about - not just things you want to read, but things you think would be fun to write, and if there are boring parts that you're getting stuck on? Fucking skip them! I am not kidding! You think anybody thought it was a loss that I literally never even mentioned how radiostatic got together for the first time in 666? If they did, nobody's mentioned it, because it wasn't necessary to the story I actually wanted to tell. Literally so goddamn many of my fics start with cold opens because I don't like to bother with exposition until things have already gotten rolling. Fanfiction especially is GREAT for this because people are already familiar with the world you're writing in!

You are writing to entertain yourself! If it's not entertaining, don't fucking write it! Or figure out what about it is boring you, and then write it differently. This will have the splendid side effect of teaching you how to write transitions and also making a fic that is more fun to read. >:)

Anyway, this has gotten quite long, so: I'm sorry that I wasn't able to offer a great deal of advice, because I relate deeply to what you're experiencing but I basically got to speedrun the transition phase. I hope that it was at least a little bit helpful!

[mydemonsdrivealimo]

Halloween (chapter 1)

Book: Open Heart

Chapter: 1/7

Pairing: Multi (Bryce Lahela x Jensen Valentine (MC), Jensen Valentine x Original Characters)

Characters: Jensen Valentine, Bryce Lahela, Aliyah (OC), Aurora Emery

Rating: Teen

Words: 1266

Summary: A collection of moments throughout Jensen's life, focused on his struggles and accomplishments because of and, more importantly, despite the one relationship he can't seem to let go of. Inspired by Halloween by Noah Kahan.

A/N: This is the most future-based part of the fic, and it actually addresses some hcs I haven't mentioned publicly yet. As I post more chapters, they will go in reverse chronological order, and the relationship in reference will become more clear

Lyrics:

But the wreckage of you, I no longer reside in

And the bridges have long since been burnt

The ash of the home that I started the fire in

It starts to return to the Earth.

The snow pummeled into the ground, large clusters of snowflakes settling on his shoulders and hair. Jensen tucked one of his gloved hands into his pocket as he hurried inside. 

He caught the door with his elbow, greeted by the familiar smell of alcohol disinfectant and lemon cleaner. Patients and doctors milled about the lobby as he headed for the elevators. After a few floors, the doors slid open, the floor relatively empty save for a few nurses chatting around the small station just off from the elevators. 

“Aw, Valentine, d’you get us something?” one of them—Samara—asked with a grin. He glanced down to the takeout bag in his hand she was referencing. 

Continuing down the hall, he replied, “Nope, sorry. Just Bryce and I today.”

“Wow, favoritism, I see how it is,” she said with a sarcastic eye roll, Jensen giving her a quick smile before continuing towards the diagnostics office. 

The lights flickered on to a steady, fluorescent glow, Jensen dropping his pile of things onto the center table. The others had coats, bags, and charts spread out here and there, most with patients or out for lunch themselves.

Checking his watch proved that Bryce was five minutes late. He gave him until he pulled their food out of the bag, spreading the takeout boxes across two adjacent seats before pulling his phone out of his pocket. In the time it took him to type out something and press send, the door gently creaked behind him. 

“Hey, sorry,” Bryce said, giving his waist a quick squeeze before unceremoniously flopping into one of the chairs, the force sending it back enough that Jensen had to pull him closer.

“You’re lucky I didn’t lock you out and eat it for you,” Jensen said with a quick wave to the food in front of him, taking a seat in his own chair. “M’fucking starving.” He was already shoveling crab rangoon into his mouth, ignoring the steam coming off of it.

“I can tell,” Bryce offered with an exaggeratedly judgemental look. Jensen kicked his chair, sending him rolling away once again. Laughing, Bryce scooted himself back to the table.

He got a grand total of three bites in before he was telling Jensen about his surgery from that morning. Jensen was happy to see him excited about it, especially knowing how slow it had been with mostly post-op check-ins and consults for the last couple days. 

By the time they were both nearly done, Jensen had his feet propped on Bryce’s lap, head resting on his arm over the back of the chair as he listened to Bryce talk about his schedule for the next couple weeks. He happily nodded and offered input where necessary, but, as per usual, he was content just listening to Bryce talk, turning off his brain for the first time all day.

The only thing that stopped Bryce was his pager going off, Jensen giving him a sigh and a look as if it was his fault. Bryce smiled and started to clean up just as the door opened again.

“I think my face is still frozen,” Des said as they approached, wrapped up in winter gear from head to toe. 

“Not quite Florida, is it?” Jensen asked, receiving a glare in return. Des had only moved up a few months ago, but they were settling into the team just fine. Maybe not the weather, but definitely the team.

“Okay, I’m not saying this on record, by the way,” Bryce said, stopping at the large glass wall of windows, “But honestly it is pretty with the snow.”

Jensen shook his head as he walked over next to him, tossing the empty containers in the trash. “Wow, really? It’s almost like I’ve been telling you that since we were in Boston,” he replied, entirely deadpan.

Bryce gave him a mocking expression, Jensen smiling as he followed his gaze out to the icy Lake Michigan, snow piled up along the edge of the water. Chicago winter could keep even the most dedicated runners inside, a notable lack of movement outside. The trees and ground were white, but the walkway along the water was twinkling with festive lights, entirely lit when night fell.

Bryce gave him a quick smile before scooting past, giving Des a wave before heading off.

“Oh, Tara told me to invite you guys to the Tavern tonight, by the way. We’re going pretty late, but if you get time you should stop over for a drink,” Des said as they arranged their things at their seat.

“We’ve got plans tonight, thanks though.”

“Shit, you literally said you had dinner plans, right? I forgot.”

Jensen nodded and waved it off before grabbing a few charts from the desk, thumbing past a few pages. He collected the necessary things before heading off to grab some results for their most recent case.

The midwestern-based diagnostics division had been his most dedicated project for the past four years. Doing split time for the first two was hell, so many flights and so many nights away from home, one he nor Bryce really enjoyed. But, now, he was content. They were content. Him, Bryce, Barry, and Corn all comfortably settled into a downtown apartment, able to enjoy the bustling city nightlife, events, and opportunities.

Jensen met Bryce at home later that night, Aliyah already comfortably settled in the kitchen awaiting his arrival. Corn didn’t even bother to greet him, too worried about the potential of a chip falling off the counter from the bowl Liyah and Bryce were both picking at.

Bryce greeted him with a smile and a quick kiss to the cheek, Jensen giving Corn a look. “At least someone missed me,” he said. 

“She just likes me more,” Liyah said with a smile, Jensen rolling his eyes and shedding his many winter layers on the way to the bedroom. 

On his way back, he scooped Barry out from under the bed, holding him up in the air as he meowed in protest. Bryce was happy to give Barry shit for nothing in particular with him, Jensen finally dropping him into his arms, carrying him like a baby towards the living room.

Their couch was dark green, adjacent to their tête-à-tête sofa. The room was doused in cool yet natural colors, light boxes keeping it bright despite the early winter darkness. Their Christmas tree in the corner brought some warmth to the room with yellow lights and a messy mix of ornament types. Out the main windows was the familiar sight of a glittering Chicago night, lights scattered throughout the surrounding apartment buildings and shimmering against the falling snow. 

Jensen set Barry onto the cat tower overlooking the street, watching him settle in before returning to the kitchen.

The door opened before he could get there, Aurora and her partner, Z, both entering with dishes of food. Jensen was quick to help them, setting out the food along the dining room table with the dish Aliyah had brought, as well as the filler he and Bryce covered.

It was part of their monthly routine, one dinner where they get together and all make something different. The rest of the night was spent talking and drinking and lounging around in the living room after dessert. And they could do it comfortably. With nice furniture, and with plenty of space for everyone, and no worry of cost or rent or food or just fucking surviving. He was comfortable, with the people he cared the most about, and doing what he loved. And that was all that mattered.

tagging: @jerzwriter @cariantha @kyra75 @gutsfics @inlocusmads @choicesficwriterscreations

[wheeljack-boom]

I'm not really a blogger, but I figured I would dump some writing here. Also can be found on AO3 here for previous chapters.

This is a mixed alternate AU, where I'm kind of just pulling things from G1, TF: Prime, maybe Earthspark, other fandom headcanons.

Wheeljack x Human AFAB OC, fully platonic and SFW. Just a sappy, fluffy sweet relationship.

Chapter after the cut.

//

Evenings on this planet were the hours that the Autobot’s resident medical officer had come to appreciate the most. There was a darkened stillness in the atmosphere that wasn’t present on Cybertron, even before the war. Their homeworld had always been overdeveloped and loud, cities and infrastructure covering large swaths of the planet, leaving little room for growth. What Cybertron had left in the way of “frontier” wasn’t much more peaceful, especially after the chaos had begun. The magnetic winds were only background noise compared to the constant roar of battle in the air and on the ground. It had been a very long time since Ratchet had experienced peace and quiet. Every nanosecond was spent running from one end of an infirmary to another, constantly on the edge of collapse while having to focus on saving the lives of the catastrophically damaged and maimed; victims of a war that disgusted him. 

This planet, while not home by any means, had finally offered a desperately needed respite from all the horrors that they had fled. Their circumstances were not ideal; their situation was quite dire actually, but at least the evenings in their environment were quiet. 

Humanity, for all its faults, had at least managed not to destroy everything yet, though they were hurtling towards their own ruin at a breakneck pace. It just so happened that the Autobot’s fleeing ship had crashed in the middle of land their institutions were still making an effort to protect, so that meant it was wild and unpopulated—by humans at least. They were too deep in the dense growth of forest, buried nearly all the way into the base of a dormant volcano, for any human to really come near. Apparently Cybertronian construction was more resilient than the Earth’s geological constructs. There was local wildlife, but their presence tended to keep them out of the area.

That meant everything stayed quiet and, perhaps somewhat guiltily, Ratchet preferred this to what they had left behind. He missed home of course; was desperate to return to it because he knew what was at stake. Not everyone on board the Ark shared his feelings, which was understandable. This was not home. The only exception might have been Bumblebee who was more adaptive, but Ratchet knew he would get over it once he got older. Ratchet was far too old to harbor misguided notions of sentimentality about their temporary habitat, especially when there were still so many left on Cybertron that were dying and suffering. But, he had already sacrificed so much, so for the time being, the Autobot medic savored the opportunity to rest. 

It was why he tended to prefer watching the monitors in the evenings, having volunteered to do it when they were first abruptly woken from stasis by Teletraan-1 decades prior. The ship’s AI had detected increased geological activity in the area which had triggered the emergency systems. Core personnel had been woken first, with the rest of the Autobots still in stasis in the depths of the ship. Amazingly, they crashed with no casualties, though the ship suffered significant systems and hull damage. Repair was not an option, at least at the moment. Their resources were limited enough, which tended to happen when you were literally chased off your planet with no time to prepare.

So for now, Ratchet watched the perimeter at night. Teletraan-1’s security sensors and cameras were still functioning, and the AI was usually the only thing that kept him company. Thankfully, the algorithm was not very talkative. With Optimus Prime and Prowl offsite, he was technically the only authority around, and that meant the others spent time goofing off somewhere else in the parts of the ship that were still habitable.

That was except for Wheeljack, who along with Ratchet was one of the older Autobots in the primary squad of derelict ship custodians. The Autobot engineer was usually more focused on his scientific pursuits with the aim of keeping them alive, while also alternating smaller repair projects around the ship. He was generally in Ratchet’s vicinity more, considering his technical lab and personal quarters were right next to the infirmary, which also meant there was more opportunity for their engineer to get on his nerves. That said nothing about his ability to somehow land himself in the infirmary through sheer negligence alone, quite often. Wheeljack called it experimentation, while Ratchet called it stupidity. 

To his credit, Wheeljack had been taking less risks lately, considering how much energon it would require to put him back together after one of his projects went wrong. He could at least be responsible with his wonton damage when he needed to.  

Despite how much of a profound pain in the aft Wheeljack was, he was invaluable, and also a deeply close friend. Because they were practically attached at the hip during the war, Ratchet knew how Wheeljack’s processor worked better than anyone else. That was why when he found out where their meager supply of an energon equivalent was coming from, he hadn’t been quite as upset with Wheeljack as he probably should have been. Wheeljack thought he was doing the right thing, and truthfully, Ratchet had needed the energon—synthesized or not—more than he needed to take a moral stand against petty theft. 

Optimus Prime would not agree, but Optimus Prime didn’t need to know. Ratchet certainly wasn’t going to tell him. It would take a massive slip-up for him to find out.

There was a silent understanding between them, where he would let Wheeljack know that it was time. He wouldn’t need to be terribly specific, because the engineer seemed to always know what he meant anyway. So far, they had been lucky and hadn’t been caught by the humans, and none of the other Autobots really wondered specifically how Wheeljack was able to keep them supplied. They just trusted that he knew what he was doing, and he did, just not in the way that they thought when it came to their energon stores.

So when Ratchet saw Wheeljack’s signature returning on their monitors that night, he wasn’t surprised. He had been expecting it, because he had told Wheeljack himself—nonverbally—that they needed more energon, and he didn’t ask questions. Sideswipe had needed extensive repairs on a dislocated shoulder and pectoral plate rupture after finding out that rock slides generally didn’t appreciate an audience. It used up everything they had. 

However, as he watched Wheeljack’s approach, it suddenly became apparent that something was wrong. The Autobot was moving faster than normal—certainly faster than any normal human vehicle would be able to move, especially without drawing unwanted attention from authorities. Since the forest roads were secluded, and were largely defunct from Ratchet’s understanding of the area’s history, there weren't any humans patrolling it anyway. That didn’t make it any less suspicious however, and Ratchet’s anxiety immediately started to prickle at the back of his neck.

“Wheeljack, what are you doing!? Are you being chased?” Opening a com link, Ratchet was immediately met with a startled wall of emotion, almost as if the occupant on the other end wasn’t expecting to be contacted.

“No.” The reply was immediate, and abrupt. It was obvious something was wrong, but Wheeljack was hesitating. The tension apparent on their communication channel made Ratchet’s proverbial hackles raise. “But we have a problem.”

“Who’s we in this scenario?” Ratchet fired back, feeling the heat of his temper flare from just this simple back-and-forth. Wheeljack was being frustratingly cagey about why he was traveling at speeds he wasn’t even sure a Cybertronian would deem safe outside the race tracks. 

“I need your help,” Wheeljack clarified, and it was at this point Ratchet knew something was really wrong. His tone of voice, usually much more… manic, sounded wrong. So much for his quiet evening.

“What did you do? Are you hurt?” Ratchet wasn’t sure if he should be angry just yet, because it was entirely possible that Wheeljack was gravely injured and he just couldn’t tell on the scanners yet. He said he wasn’t being chased, so what could possibly have Wheeljack so rattled—wait— ”Wheeljack why is there an organic signature on you?!” It was hard to detect initially with Teletraan-1’s scanners, but it was there; faint, beneath Wheeljack’s own personalized spark trace, but now unmistakable. 

“Just wait—” Wheeljack was finally off the road, and had arrived through the Ark’s broken loading bay. Ratchet immediately left the monitors to meet him, and at first he wasn’t sure what to think as Wheeljack looked fine, except for the way he frantically transformed to his feet in a stunted, awkward manner that he had never seen before. The medic’s first assumption was that he was injured, possibly by a human, and the traces of an organic reading on him meant that the hapless creature had picked a fight they wouldn’t win. It was a short-lived thought as soon as he saw why Wheeljack had been so delicate in his transformation. Now he was just livid.

Livid, and for the first time completely out of his depth as he stared with cold fear at the human that Wheeljack currently held in his hands. From what he could tell with cursory scans, the human was alive, just unconscious, but there was something else that had Ratchet alarmed.

It was the active energon he could sense on it.

“What happened?” Ratchet quickly recovered from his disbelief and wasted no time motioning for Wheeljack to follow him to the infirmary. One of the perks of all the other Autobots tending to avoid being in his company meant that the infirmary would be empty. One didn’t tend to hang out with the medic, because that typically meant you were with him for a reason. They wouldn’t be bothered, and absolutely no one else could know about this. 

“I.. I don’t know…” Wheeljack faltered, and already Ratchet could hear the guilt in his words. “The energon cube…” He trailed off distantly as he followed closely behind Ratchet nearly at his heels. Wheeljack not knowing something wasn’t necessarily out of the ordinary, but it had never instilled such an oddly distant emotional response in him. He was usually excited about the prospect of finding some new obscure knowledge to fill his processor. This was different, and Ratchet had to know exactly what had happened to cause this. 

“Put the human here,” Ratchet said curtly in an attempt to redirect what he knew to be Wheeljack’s racing thoughts, rounding around a medical berth once they made it into the infirmary and motioning for him to put it down.

It was not unnoticed by Ratchet how carefully and delicately Wheeljack figured out how to lay the unresponsive human down on a surface generally reserved for much larger Cybertronians. The Autobot was practically wilting right before Ratchet’s optics, and for a microsecond the medic wondered if he was going to have to treat him too. He had never seen Wheeljack so completely slumped in defeat, armor panels hanging slack off his body as if he was going to fall apart right in front of him. While they had been able to keep petty theft from the humans a secret from Prime for this long… bringing an actual human into their midst—an injured human to be exact—posed a whole new set of problems that were going to be very hard to avoid.

Ratchet would have to think about that part later, because first there was the issue of the human’s injuries needing his attention. He had no idea where to begin, seeing as this was his first time even encountering a human in this type of setting. There was never a need to know how to treat a human, so he was pretty uncomfortably blind. When it became apparent that he was hesitating, Wheeljack said without even looking up.

“Internet.” He was staring down at the human with a concerning level of grief, arms hanging limp at his sides. “She hit her head when she went down.” What the Pit happened?!  

Right. That question remained on Ratchet’s thoughts as he quickly tapped into the planet’s Internet database through Teletraan-1’s remote connection, mining it for whatever he could on human anatomy and physiology.  The entire process took mere seconds, and he now had a basic grasp of what it meant to treat a human; something he had hoped it would never come to. Ratchet wished for a lot of things that he couldn’t have, but he wasn’t going to dwell on it. He wasted no time with initial scans to see what he was dealing with: Blunt force trauma to the head, which matched Wheeljack’s very vague retelling of what happened. Superficial bleeding at the site of impact where there was a large laceration that would need manual mending. There were no other signs of internalized cranial trauma above or below the skull, but the inflammation pattern and tissue damage suggested an impact at a fairly high velocity. That meant—

“Wheeljack, this human should be dead.” That significant of an impact to the skull, itself a meager protection for the squishy, organic brain beneath, should have meant instant termination. It was all so fragile and almost pointless from an evolutionary standpoint that it almost made Ratchet mad thinking about how inefficient it all was.

Wheeljack jolted at Ratchet’s analysis and immediately his optics snapped up to meet his. He looked nervous, now rubbing his hands together as if he desperately wanted to do something with them to keep his processor distracted from what was currently going on. 

“I didn’t...” The engineer started to say, and Ratchet frowned, realizing that Wheeljack probably thought it looked like he had intentionally caused this. That idea never even occurred to Ratchet, because it was unthinkable. Nevertheless, something happened and Wheeljack knew. 

“I know you didn’t, but you need to tell me what happened.” Ratchet said, reverting his attention back down to the human who was deteriorating. Its breathing was more rapid than he knew it should be, and its blood pressure kept dipping; it was an odd physiological combination that had no other explanation other than the energon. The energon would need to be dealt with somehow, but the injury was more urgent. Trying to lift the human’s comparatively small head was an exercise in restraint, but it was immediately apparent that Wheeljack, and his scans had been right. The back of its head was soaked with the red fluid that was human blood, matted and congealed within the organic hair fiber creating a mess. At first Ratchet considered shearing it all off to get it out of the way, but something told him that would be a mistake. This human’s hair was... long and unnatural to the extent that he had to assume it was intentional, which meant it was probably something of great significance. The last thing he needed was a human yelling at him; assuming it survived at all.

“She found me. Knew where I was somehow. I got careless and lingered too long and she confronted me and—” Wheeljack started to explain, and it was incredibly distracting.

“—Are you telling me that this human confronted you? It wasn’t terrified?” Ratchet clarified without looking up.

“She.” Wheeljack corrected. “Her name is Allison.” Ratchet winced in annoyance, wondering why the identity of the human was so important. How did he even know the human’s name? Wheeljack didn’t elaborate further and turned his back, appearing to want to change the subject. Ratchet could see him surveying the supply shelves in the periphery of his vision as if he was trying to formulate his own potential treatment solution for an organic creature that shared no physiological similarities to their own kind. “The energon…” Wheeljack trailed off, lost somewhere out in the cosmos and Ratchet knew he wasn’t going to get any more answers out of him right then and there. That wasn’t his priority anyways.

“This wound needs to be cleaned,” Ratchet muttered to himself, faintly realizing that he wasn’t sure if he had the right chemicals and materials to clean and close the wound. With delicate fingers, and an incredible amount of practiced precision, he was able to pull apart the clumps of fiber to reveal the chaotic damage pattern of a blunt-force wound through the human’s skin. It was still slowly oozing fluids, but there wasn't significant enough blood loss to be a threat. The skin was swelling around the tear, but any major bleeding had stopped. Concussion was still a likely possibility, but the human was already unconscious. Infection was a major risk, so it would need to be sanitized properly.

This was the moment that all of Wheeljack’s pent up terror finally exploded in a manic energy, directed at none other than Ratchet’s dwindling medical repair supplies. He was tearing things off the shelves, looking for what he assumed to be anything they could use as an antiseptic chemical. Finding this highly alarming and counterproductive, Ratchet stopped what he was doing and intervened.

“Wheeljack, stop tearing apart the infirmary! You aren’t going to find what you need by throwing everything around!” He was just fast enough to stop him from potentially destroying a very large containment vessel by dropping it in his haste—something which Ratchet very much needed.

“Hydrogen Peroxide!” Wheeljack blurted as he spun around. His optics had gone wide and he froze, waiting for Ratchet’s judgment. He sounded incredibly stressed, more so than usual. 

Hand still grasped firmly around the engineer’s wrist, hovering between them where Ratchet had stopped him as he was turning around—he could not trust Wheeljack wouldn’t impulsively throw said item in an effort to expedite the process—the medic finally understood what his outburst had meant. Hydrogen Peroxide, a disinfecting agent, and Wheeljack was holding it aloft between them.

“That’ll have to do,” Ratchet grunted, letting go of Wheeljack’s arm so that he could hand it over properly. It was possible that Ratchet ripped it out of his grasp a bit more forcefully than he should have. “You still haven’t answered my question,” the medic called over his shoulder as Wheeljack followed him back to the table, his prior outburst fizzled out and depleted. In the interim Ratchet subspaced an anti-static cloth, typically used to stem energon loss on wounded Cybertronians, and began to clean the human’s head. “What happened? ”

“...I told you. She found me.” Ratchet couldn’t tell if Wheeljack was now being intentionally obtuse, or he was really that oblivious under present circumstances. 

“Let me ask a better question then, who is this human, and how did this happen?” 

Wheeljack looked to the side, clearly avoiding Ratchet’s gaze. “Technically that’s two questions…” “Wheeljack.”

There was a very prolonged pause where the light behind Wheeljack’s optics dimmed, before shifting as the engineer looked at everything but Ratchet in the room. He was stalling, but rather than press him in that moment the medic was more concerned with the actual job he needed to do. 

Eventually Wheeljack faltered, air cycling through him as he formulated a response. 

“Eh—well—remember that time some cycles ago when you caught me stealing?” Wheeljack was still looking sideways, avoiding Ratchet’s withering glare as he looked up from his task. “The first time I mean.”

Ratchet leaned forward over the prone, unconscious human, hands braced against the berth as he looked at the other Autobot square in the optics. There was no way. “Wheeljack. You’re not telling me this is—” Of course Ratchet remembered what Wheeljack was referring to: the first of many times the irresponsible fool had snuck out behind everyone’s afts to steal energy from the humans. Something else had made that particular time different from the others.

“Yeah… it is.” Wheeljack practically caved in on himself, guilt and shame making him nearly fold over into a posture of submission and despite his utter annoyance, Ratchet hated to see him this way.

“This is the human that saw you.” Ratchet didn’t know how it was possible, so many years later that Wheeljack would just happen to blunder into the same human twice. And of course, it would be Wheeljack to do something so monumentally careless. What were the odds? Unless—

“She found me.” Wheeljack finally said, looking down at the floor in defeat. “I think… she figured out what I was up to because she… remembered; came looking for me.”

—Unless the human had the sense and knowledge to be able to find him on their own… but how?

Ratchet also distinctly remembered telling Wheeljack to deal with it when he’d revealed that a human had seen him. He hadn’t meant for him to terminate it of course, but Wheeljack had never shared exactly what went on that night. When he’d returned to the Ark, he’d certainly noticed that Wheeljack had been… bothered by something, and it was so out-of-character for the Autobot that Ratchet had actually asked him what he’d done. All he’d said was that he’d handled it—and it wouldn’t be a problem. Maybe, Ratchet should have pried a bit more, to ask him what exactly had transpired, but he’d trusted that Wheeljack would resolve the issue without compromising their safety, and his morals.

He’d certainly done one of those. Whether or not there was any reason to be concerned for their safety now was up for debate.

“What happened that night?” Now though, to get a better sense of why he was trying to figure out how he was going to stitch a human’s head wound—the very same human that had run into Wheeljack decades prior—Ratchet needed some answers. Specific answers.

It was suddenly as if a dam broke. Wheeljack unfolded from his slumped position and went completely stiff as he stood straight, armor panels flared in distress.  “She was just a child Ratchet. I wasn’t—I couldn’t just leave her there alone—” Wheeljack’s explosive defensiveness seemingly out of nowhere hinted at some repressed guilt the engineer had been hiding for some time. All Ratchet could do was raise a brow plate at him, silently allowing him to get out whatever it was he needed to. “—She… she wasn’t afraid of me… she was actually excited to talk to me, and Primus I just stayed and… talked to her for a little while and she was so happy, until I had to go because—” His voice had gotten incrementally quieter as he continued, the memories that it seemed he’d been holding in for some time quite literally taking him back to something that had clearly had a great deal of an effect.

“—That’s enough, Wheeljack.” If Ratchet hadn’t cut in, he ran the risk of sitting there listening to Wheeljack explain himself for an eternity. 

“Her father eventually came to retrieve her. Didn’t see me. But I didn’t talk to her again after that. Kept my distance.” He stopped, as if collecting himself for the moment, and as he continued to speak the words were slower and much more deliberate. “Eventually, stopped checking in on her to… make sure and figured I’d never see her again. I guess I underestimated human memory…” Wheeljack didn’t need to finish that thought, because it was clear what had happened.

A lot of things were starting to make sense now: Wheeljack’s withdrawal when he’d returned, lasting for some time where now something Ratchet had suspected was confirmed. He had been checking on the human, presumably to make sure she hadn’t put them all at risk and that it was safe to not escalate the situation. Eventually, satisfied or otherwise, Wheeljack had stopped disappearing for prolonged periods of time. 

Wheeljack hadn’t wanted to, because he had been lonely and wanted to feel like he had a connection, even if it remained from a distance and unseen. The short time he had talked with the human child had been meaningful enough to make him linger, and that confirmed a number of Ratchet’s fears all at once. 

“Until she found you.” All Ratchet could do was vent air, wincing as he realized he’d done so directly onto the human in front of him. The human… her body didn’t react, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t inadvertently do damage without really trying. For the first time Ratchet… hesitated, an uncomfortable pulse in his spark making him interpret some foreign code impulses that he knew he shouldn’t be feeling. He was annoyed; so annoyed, but also… scared.

“I was careless and the humans got a photo of me,” Wheeljack started, raising his hands to stave off the almost immediate expletives as it sunk in for Ratchet what that meant. “It was my alt-mode, no need to blow a gasket. But, I think she saw it and figured out where to find me. Smart.” Ratchet thought he detected a hint of admiration in that statement, but he was more upset with the fact that Wheeljack could have compromised their entire existence. If he had been caught in bipedal form instead…

That status quo hadn’t just been changed, it had been completely overthrown into disarray.

“So let me get this straight. The same human from all those years ago found you, and the energon cube caused this?” Ratchet evened his tone, now more focused on productive results rather than dwelling on things he couldn’t change.

Wheeljack shrugged before crossing his arms across his chassis, his optics scanning the ceiling as if to recall what had happened. “I got distracted and the cube overloaded. Couldn’t stop it in time and it fell. It bounced, and when it got close to her it reacted like it was reaching out. Never seen that before. The amount of energy it discharged was—”

“—More than enough to kill her. Or should have anyway.” Ratchet added, putting the final piece together himself. The implications were troubling but they would have to investigate that later.  

The statement hung between them in silence while Ratchet worked. Wheeljack’s silence meant that he was deep in contemplative thought, perhaps already trying to piece together the technicalities of what had happened and why. That wasn’t Ratchet’s area of expertise, though he was not completely ignorant to the physics behind energon storage and production. What Wheeljack was explaining should not have been possible, unless they’d simply never encountered the right conditions to actually test such a reaction. 

Ratchet didn’t really have the presence of mind to scold the Autobot, who was skillfully avoiding looking at him, intentionally or not. Wheeljack had put them all in so much danger, but for some reason he couldn’t bring himself to really blame him for what had happened. It seemed like he was doing enough of that himself already, because they both knew something like this was inevitably going to happen anyway. Ratchet supposed they were at least lucky in this case it had been the same human, as statistically improbable as that was. 

Wheeljack, unique as he was, was not an anomaly. Prime had noticed it too, and had spoken to Ratchet about it in passing out of concern. The other Autobots were… restless. Isolation and seclusion was not agreeing with any of them, and the younger amongst them in particular were showing the most severe signs of loneliness. They were growing curious, fascinated by the humans and yearning for some type of contact if only to satiate their increasing desire to know more. By nature, they were social creatures, so the escalating carelessness and diminishing fear of the planet’s native inhabitants meant that eventually… the fortified, secure bubble that had been carefully cultivated around them for decades was going to explode in a spectacular fashion. Someone was going to make contact first, intentional or not, and somehow, it was not all that surprising that it was the Autobot standing in front of him.

“I don’t have suture material,” Ratchet mumbled, and he sensed Wheeljack relax near him, perhaps with the possibility of setting on something more productive. “Might want to start stealing that too.” His sarcasm was not lost on Wheeljack who finally smiled then, the action quick but nonetheless obvious as his optical lids narrowed in companionable amusement. 

“I knew you’d thank me eventually.”

“Well right now we need to stop wasting time. Hand me the…” Ratchet’s processor cycled through hundreds of possibilities at once. He had a collection of different monofilament materials typically used to repair delicate energon tubing within a Cybertronian’s endoskeleton. “... Polypropylene-sterite thread spool over there,” he gestured in the general direction of a partially broken cabinet against the wall, knowing Wheeljack would know what to look for. It was a material that could be absorbed by a Cybertronian’s physiology and simply be cycled out as waste. For a human, while it was a material similar to something they would use for their own medical sutures, it was not something they could absorb. That meant eventually they would need to be removed, which also meant…

“The human will need to stay here.”

“Eh—what?”

“At least until I can remove the sutures—”

“—Pretty sure a human doctor can do that…”

“If this human walks into an infirmary with expertly applied sutures and no prior documentation to explain them, that is bound to raise questions. We can’t risk it, and furthermore we have no idea what the immediate effect of the energon exposure will be.” Ratchet could tell that Wheeljack had nothing to argue with, because he loved to argue with him. That meant one of two possibilities was happening: Wheeljack was far more interested in the data that could be collected regarding human exposure to energon to be worried about his blunder being exposed, or he wanted the human to stay. There was nothing stopping both from being true.

“About that energon…”

“Right. Do you have the energon cube that reacted to her, or did you leave that behind for all of humanity to find?” Ratchet had finished closing the wound with great care, having a number of needle options at his disposal and one just small enough to be useful. They were generally used for delicate internal Cybertronian physiology and electrical stimuli for therapeutic reasons, but he was able to manipulate one thin enough so as not to damage the skin further.  

“There’s no need to be rude, I got it right here.” Wheeljack subspaced the glowing energon cube and held it aloft. Ratchet could tell it wasn’t completely full, probably because it had expelled some of its stores when it… exploded. 

“I think we can use it to get the energon out of her. Hand me that EM absorption array, will you?” Pointing once again to a long, hand-held de-ionization module that was typically used to reverse electro-magnetic build-up. It was a long shot, but he thought that it might be able to pick up the energon—itself a highly charged energy—from the human’s body and convert it directly into the cube as something usable.

“You think—” Wheeljack started, the lights behind his optics glimmering as an idea began to fully form. Ratchet was admittedly surprised that Wheeljack hadn’t thought of it sooner. “I can modify the cube to interface with your little medical thingy—”

Ratchet scoffed. “—It’s not a thingy, it’s a very critical piece of equipment that I’ve had to use on you multiple times when—never mind, we need to move fast because the human’s blood pressure is dropping again.”

Without needing to be asked twice, Wheeljack placed two fingers on the facing edge of the cube and swiped sideways, revealing the command module where lines of glyphs rapidly filtered across the interface. He typed in several lines of code, the cube making a rather unpleasant squawk twice when he made mistakes, until finally he nodded at Ratchet to indicate that he was finished.  

“Is that thing going to work on a human?”

“Unclear,” Ratchet said, holding the module aloft by the handle and placing it over the human’s body. He sensed a spike in energy when the warm glow of the leading edge spread out over the small organic form, and taking that as a good sign he passed it down the length of her. It was working—slowly, but as he initiated a stabilized scan he could detect a release of sorts, not unlike a valve loosening pressure as the energon slowly siphoned out of her.

The operating word being slowly, Ratchet knew this was going to take a while. Wheeljack had been watching the cube itself, a manic glee passing over him as he shifted his stance excitedly. “It’s working… oh, this is going to take forever…”

“No kidding.” Ratchet grunted, noting that his joints were probably going to get sore after all this. “I hope you have nothing better to do, because you aren’t leaving my sight right now.”

There was the matter of what to do when the human actually woke up, so Ratchet supposed they had plenty of time to think about that.

///

[theravequeen]

Hey gang

I made a horrifying symbiote AU where my shapeshifter OC, Raven, gets caught mid shift by Widow, a symbiote, and I'm the process they both absorbed Peter and made a terrifying amalgamation :)!! And then Harley has to find them like this and he and Stephen have to figure out a way to fix it :))

.

Anyways enjoy the read and the experimental art I'm stupidly proud of!

TW FOR: BODY HORROR, EYE CONTACT, GORE

Harley couldn't believe he was doing this.

The old Hydra base was completely run down, crumbling beneath itself. Hazard signs and sharp fences were put all around it, like some sort of nuclear fallout plot.

Something was in here that Hydra didn't want them to see.

But this is where his siblings disappeared to. Everyone told him Hydra killed them. That they were killed in the midst of Armageddon by Schneider and his horrid organization of criminals. Of sick and twisted beings.

Nat had said they dissapeared one day, never coming back home. It was Hydra, Harley had found out.

Now here he stands, face to face with the building that apparently was his siblings' tomb.

Wish a deep, shaky breath in, he began to walk into the crumbled building, flashlight gripped tightly in his hand.

Traveling through the beginning of the Hydra base, he didn't find much else other than the broken down walls and shattered glass of the facility. Occasionally he'd find traces of an odd substance, purple, and almost gel-like, though he dare not touch it himself.

Soon, he reached a large, open room, with machinery and equipment everywhere. Some broken off from the ceiling, leaving dead wires dangling down. Others, large computers and control panels, smashed to pieces and torn apart.

The floor was covered with a smelly, black sludge, the same purple gel, and lots and lots of dried blood.

Harley's stomach churned. The only beast large enough to do this that he could think of Hydra getting their hands on was Raven, if she was made very, ::very:: angry.

Something deep down inside of him was trying to tell him that she was already gone. That all of this is just a lost cause. But he pushed past it, because he had to. Because he still felt like they were still out there...

The farther he traveled, the more the building became destroyed, to the point where he was having to climb over rubble, ducking and squeezing through tight cracks just to continue.

His mind was ***screaming*** for him to turn back, but he couldn't stop now.

He made his way through a thick wall of rubble, only to be met with the very distinct smell of rotten flesh that almost made him throw up there on the spot.

He gagged, pulling the mask he had brought with him up over his face, before continuing. What in the *world* could be the source of that smell??

As he looked around, shining his flashlight over the floor, he got his answer, jumping back at the sight of it.

What had to be at least ten Hydra guards lay on the floor in front of him, flies and maggots crawling all over their bodies, now rotting away after being left for too long, hollowed out sockets and rotten eyes staring back at him.

Harley turned, most definitely going to be sick. He had to turn around--- *he had too*. This was too much. Too dangerous.

Taking one last glance, he noticed a number of the bodies had massive chunks taken out of them, wounds only teeth from a massive monster could cause. Something had been *eating them.*

His previous hypothesis as to who that "beast" could have been flashes in his mind, and he fights down more bile, quickly turning away and beginning to try to escape.

But that's when he heard the breathing.

A deep, shuddering sound. Rattling around in massive, laboured lungs.

Harley froze, before swallowing and turning around, despite what his muscles were *screaming* for him to do. He's seen enough horror movies-- this is the part where you *run.*

But God, he was so curious-- ***what if it was her?***

He shone his flashlight around, until suddenly his light landed on something that looked like eyes. He jumped, almost dropping the flashlight.

He began to back up, eyes never leaving the hollow, *human* eye looking back at him, towering above him in an impossible hight.

Surrounding the eye was the same purple substance, forming a body around it. As his shaking light went over the thing's body, he noticed at least one arm sticking out of the thing, which was mostly a pile of sludge.

The thing's mouth hung open, gaping jaws filled with sharp, canid teeth, as well as human teeth stretched into the skin around, in unnatural and uncomfortable looking positions.

Then, it *moved.*

It pulled itself towards him, the breathing echoing in his ears. As it moved, a sickening, squelching sound reverberated around the room, as it's body morphed and changed to grow more limbs.

He had to get out of there.

He quickly turned and began running, hearing the thing screech in protest as he did. Heart thundering in his chest, he scrambled for the wall of rubble, squeezing back through it as fast as he could.

Just before he got out, his jacket got stuck, trapping him in the rubble. He could hear the squelching of the thing getting closer, as tears began to form he pulled at the jacket, frankly not caring if it tore.

And then, a weak, haunting voice echoed throughout the room, one that froze Harley's blood solid.

"H...ar...l.e...y?"

It knew his name.

***How did it know his name???***

He pulled free finally, and began backing away, gasping for air as he did. He looked around, as the sound processed more in his brain.

Why did that seem so familiar. Why was the voice so familiar????

Eyes widening in horror, he quickly began to realize what was happening.

That mutant abomination---that. Amalgamation of parts and pieces, an alien of mutation---

***That thing was his siblings.***

[coffeewithcutcaffeine]

Glance, face, alternate. For Vlad and Catalina

Cee! Thank you so much for this! Coming up with the answers was so much fun, and I also used the opportunity to dush off Canva for a while, which I appreciate immensely. I also apologise beforehand for endless rambling — I hope the mass of information will not be tedious! Sending you a big, big hug. ❤️️❤️️❤️️

glance: At first glance, what stands out most about your OC’s appearance? What’s their distinguishing feature?

From a greater distance, the first noticeable thing about Vlad’s appearance is his overall build. He is definitely not tall (more of a Short King™; he is the shortest of the Drăculești brothers) and could never really look down upon many men. However, his sturdiness compensates for it — he naturally has the tendency to gain musculature quickly and lean towards the bulkier, stockier side. The fact that he is a soldier, always physically active and on the move, keeps him in great physical shape.

From a closer distance, everyone immediately notices his eyes first. They have a rich green colour, are quite large and expressive. It is impossible to stand in front of him and avoid his gaze.

In Cătălina’s case, people tend to notice her hair first. It is long, reaching her waist, and because she is not married to Vlad, she does not have to veil herself, as she is by law an unwed woman. Even though she is a brunette, her hair tends to catch a reddish hue in sunlight, which makes for an extraordinary colour. She takes pride in it and diligently cares for it, so people immediately notice it. She also likes to play around with hairstyles; sometimes she wears two braids, sometimes one, sometimes she has it pinned up, and she likes to wear it loose in private settings.

face: Describe your OC’s face. What’s their smile like? Are their orbs cerulean? What would someone notice first when looking at them?

Vlad grows up to be the perfect copy of his late father. The most unique and distinctive trait he has inherited is his eyes. I have already described them a little in the previous section, but I have a very specific type of colour in mind whenever I describe his eyes — a very rich, vibrant moss green that makes them impossible not to look at (and his black hair makes them stand out even more). Something like this:

He has an aquiline nose (that sits nicely in his face), nicely shaped full lips that are partly hidden by a thick black moustache (this he wears throughout his adulthood), high cheekbones, strong and prominent square-shaped jawline. Overall, he is definitely a handsome man, but the handsomeness lies in a certain kind of ruggedness. (And besides, it’s his younger brother who is called “Radu the Beautiful” to this day.)

His smile tends to vary depending on the situation or who the smile is directed to. In general, the way he smiles can be very expressive and reveal a lot about how he feels towards the other party — if one is clever enough to read the subtle hints, they know where they stand. With his family or his love, it can be very soft and kind. When he laughs, it is usually wide and open. Sometimes there can be a sharpness to it, especially when he indulges in a bit of sarcasm or banter. It can also turn cruel, and that is the kind of smile no one wishes to see on his face.

Cătălina is, in many ways, the exact opposite. For the general vibes, I would say she is the Soft Dramatic type based on the Kibbe system, so soft and statuesque with a kind of diva essence — lush and curvy, with softer features in her face. This definitely shows in her lips, which are very full and a little heart-shaped. This might be one of her most noticeable features because a lot of people get fixated on her mouth. Although she has high cheekbones, she has rounder cheeks, and they always get a little fuller when she is pregnant (and during postpartum). She has a nice nose, small and narrow. Her eyes are a little smaller and sharper than Vlad’s, and dark brown. She also has a freckled complexion that gets more noticeable during the warmer months, so that is another thing people immediately notice.

As for her smile, it also greatly depends on the environment she is in. In public, it tends to be more reserved and controlled. In a private setting, she does not feel the need to control and compose herself so much, so it can get a little toothier and more unrestrained.

alternate: What would your OC’s alternate universe look be? If they’re a fantasy character, what’s their modern look? If they’re sci-fi, what’s their fantasy look? What AU would you want to see your OC in, and how would they dress themselves? Bonus: Prompt an AU!

My dearest Cee, I am kissing you softly on the forehead! I actually squealed when seeing this one because Voievod Modern-Day AU has been a real brainrot for me since summer. I have not had a chance to finish my very extensive HC post, but I am excited to dip my toes into it at least in this manner.

Before I show the AU “lookbooks”, I want to give a brief outline of the modern-day AU, and what Vlad and Cătălina are up to in the 21st century:

Vlad is an F-16AM/BM Block 15 MLU fighter pilot of the 53rd Fighter Squadron at the 86th Air Base near Fetești (his call sign is “Voievod”). I have decided to keep him in the military as a reflection of Vlad’s historical warrior persona — to this day, he is so well-known for that aspect of himself and his rule, so this is a very significant link. At the same time, Vlad being in the Air Force is quite symbolic of the historical one’s family name. His father was “the Dragon”, after all, this magnificent creature roaming the skies, and the name of the family branch — the House of Drăculești — comes from that moniker. When he retires from his military duties, he has a kind of epiphany after years of being frustrated with the state of national politics and successfully runs for presidency. (This is just a little nod for the “Țepeș pentru președinte!” slogans — and this poll from 2016 shows that Romanians would apparently welcome Vlad’s comeback.)

Cătălina is a very successful and established attorney with specialisation in family law. Her historical counterpart feels quite deeply about injustices of all kinds, but she is particularly vocal — as much as she can be, given the times — about those committed against families, women, and children, all structures and people that cannot defend themselves as well as men do as individuals. This deep sense of justice and willingness to aid spills over into her modern-day version, and now, she can actively do something about it and use her education and profession for that.

And now, onto their looks!

Vlad’s homewear (loungewear?) usually consists of sportswear. This is something he will definitely wear during the warmer months; his homewear winter style is usually a hoodie paired with sweatpants or tracksuit pants (sorry not sorry — the three stripes are a staple and you can pry them from my cold, dead hands). It makes him feel comfortable, and it is practical and suitable both for staying at home and running out for an impromptu task like a supermarket visit.

His day-to-day style is pretty standard. He is a guy who likes to be dressed nicely while feeling comfortable and at ease. His wardrobe consists of well-fitting jeans and slacks, cotton tees, and sweaters. He also tends to put on a classic shirt in case he wants to look a little sleeker. He is very fond of leather jackets, especially nice aviator bombers. He is a bit of a minimalist when it comes to accessories, but he does love good leather belts.

His workwear is pretty specific and varies depending on his duties. Pictured above is the operational wear for flying missions and training. This includes the flight suit, G-suit, and all associated gear (helmet, oxygen mask, gloves, etc.). Air Force pilots also wear standard service uniforms consisting of a dress shirt, tie, trousers, and polished dress shoes — this is usually reserved for when the pilots are on administrative office duty. Another type is the ceremonial dress uniform including a tailored jacket (with all the medals, ribbons, rank insignia, and unit patches), dress trousers, and highly polished shoes. The ceremonial uniform of the Romanian Air Force is navy blue.

Of course, more formal or special occasions call for a nice suit. In this case, he prefers to stick to old and trusty classics.

As for the looks looks, Vlad’s modern-day version has to wear his hair short because of the service protocol. (cue sounds of crying)

Just like Vlad, Cătălina prefers her homewear to be sporty. Her go-to item is a pair of good-quality leggings — she very much prefers the thicker, more opaque workout style. She tends to pair it with a tank top or a tee, and if it's cold outside, she throws on a yoga jacket to keep herself warm. This is ideal for both keeping herself comfortable at home and not having to worry about changing clothes when she needs to run errands quickly.

I imagine Cătălina’s style to be chic and modern while sticking to classics and timelessness — she prefers pieces of great quality and nice fit that will look good on her even when she wears the basics. She is not very fond of wild colour combinations, so she usually sticks to trusted neutrals and tones such as navy or khaki. Because she is a brunette, she also tends to go for splashes of beige, brown, or orange. If she does happen to put on something more colourful, she does not overdo it. Her usual casual outfit consists of a pair of nice jeans, a classic tee or a shirt, perhaps a nice-fitting sweater during the colder months, and a coat. Depending on the level of casualness, she either sports a pair of sneakers or pairs her outfit with heels and more prominent jewellery pieces. (This is also something she might wear for mundane office days or more casual meetings with clients.)

In this case, by “workwear” I mean the days Cătălina has to be at court or has more important meetings. Here, she likes to dress up nicely. She has a part of her wardrobe reserved for work-style clothing — well-cut suits that she can wear together or as two separate pieces that she pairs with different things, or business-casual dresses of various colours. She always, always wears skyscraper heels, either in the form of pumps or boots for the colder months. In this case, she does not like to overdo it with jewellery and prefers wearing several subtle pieces over one prominent piece.

Her formal attire is usually very elegant. She prefers timeless cuts over gowns that are too bold or revealing, as those simply do not align with her style. Instead, she opts for classic designs with one or two unique details that make the outfit stand out and feel special. In these occasions, she likes to go all out with the jewellery, especially with bigger and sparklier pieces — she has a long and graceful neck, so she really likes dangle earrings.

Cătălina’s modern counterpart also enjoys experimenting with her hair and taking pride in it, although differently than her historical version. As a 21st-century woman, she is quite adventurous with styles — she typically prefers a shoulder-length cut, but once shocks her family with a bold pixie cut. She regularly changes her hair colour too, favouring reddish-ginger hues in summer and darker shades in winter.

[littleapocalypsekitten]

I just want to say how much I am ENJOYING my new / revived old fandom! I mostly keep my fandoms to sideblogs now to keep them from being muddled up in too much randomness (or stray American Politics fandom-wranklings. The American Politics fandom has been WILD lately)! Anyway, I made a secondary sideblog for one of my fandoms, a very silly Askblog in the tradition of those animal-welfare blogs where people can ask species-experts if "cute animal videos" and pictures / interactions they spot are wholesome or cruel / sketchy . I made one for a fictional species where we have some worldbuilding, but it's all very loose in the various canons and I can largely make stuff up, fanfiction-style. It's been up for 3 days and I've already got over 100 likes/reblogs/various asks! The fandom is ENGAGED! (And it's been like a year since new material has been put out! - Actually, most of the material / base material is OLD - as in - made in the late '90s up through the '10s). For those who shared She-Ra and the Princesses of Power fandom with me, it's kind of like the clones, except I'd say that Trigun's Plants have a wee bit more worldbuilding around them. What I am really enjoying about this particular endeavor is that people in this fandom are very... chill? About each other's headcanons? There's no big collective consensus "how to detail out this species," nor is there stepping on each other's toes and accusations of stealing headcanons when people thought there was mutual sharing involved. I just answered an ask regarding a fandom somewhat-famous someone's OC Plant - just a character that does a cute thing related to one of the main character's favorite foods that is featured in some fanfictions. I just made up some programming-protocol junk off the top of my head and there's a lovely thread now. By the way, my Askblog features me pretending to be a woman in STEM canonical character that I enjoy writing fanfiction about to begin with. I also think that I am getting along well in this fandom because I'm less... personal? With most people in it. There's only one person in the fandom that I chat with / bounce fanfiction ideas back and forth with regularly. I'm not on any Discords (I erased my Discord account long ago. I hung out in a nice Spop com for a while, but the one Trigun place I was in got erased due to manager-being-busy-with-life and I just wasn't using it). The Trigun fandom is also large enough that while there are pockets of people who know each other, it's not one of those "everyone knows each other" fandoms. There are prevailing headcanons that I do not share / have unpopular opinions on, but there just isn't a lot of fighting. I also (because I have learned) am slow to "make friends" in fandom and all of my mutals are great people, but all a little at arm's-length. We aren't dumping our traumas and personal lore on each other. I think it also helps that it's a more mature fandom (in tone, the first anime is teen-stuff while the manga / second anime is VERY bloody and has complex themes) - and we all accept that if we like the villains in it - that we openly like serial killers and all-human-life-genociders AS CHARACTERS and that, no, we don't support that stuff in real life. No whining that "this teaches toxic relationships!!! OMG!" We all know that Knives is an utter toxic waste dump of a brother to Vash, haha.

[pentuppen]

WIP Wednesday

I have been tagged by the rather talented @littleplasticrat

In turn I shall shove @alcidence because I have seen some awesome work from her the past few weeks.

I don't actually have too much to share as I already finished an art exchange part 2 fic involving everyones favourite ascendant and @alcidence 's lovely OC Cerese, which can be found here

But I have just started chapter 41 of my long running fic Unleashed so I'll throw in the first few paragraphs.

~o0O0o~~o0O0o~~o0O0o~~o0O0o~~o0O0o~~o0O0o~

He couldn’t seem to keep still, a nervous tension had settled over him as soon as they had flown down through the forest’s canopy and he couldn’t put his finger on why. He suspected Mol’baran could have told him why, but she’d been indisposed since the previous night, when she had sat down without a word amidst a ring of trees and closed her eyes. She had been like that for several hours now, sometimes chanting softly under her breath, but otherwise still and quiet. Twice he almost worked up  the courage to ask what it was she was doing. The second time had been when he felt the dawns creeping light, and he’d begun to feel that old panic that returned to him like a familiar and unwanted pet.

That rat-like furtive feeling of trapped fear had climbed its way up his back and dug its worming fingers into his brain, reminding him how it had felt to burn helplessly beneath the sun. It had gotten worse as the shadows around them began to lighten and he found himself almost frantically searching the forest for its deepest shadows. But the Forgotten Forest was thick with tall, reaching oaks, dense walnut and shadowtop trees that stood like dark giants amongst the rest, blocking out most of the sun's reach. Still, there were enough stray rays of golden light breaking through the canopy, that he had backed himself up against the base of a large oak, his bow drawn.

Nerves or not, he sensed something important happening in that unnatural silence, the sporadic lines of old elven tongue the old woman murmured sounding ancient, almost ritualistic. The way she rested withered hands on the forest floor reminded him of the times he’d watched Verlaine ‘talk to the forest’, a concept he understood, even if he couldn’t wrap his mind around trees having anything worthwhile to say.

[practically-an-x-man]

Gazooks! There's been a lab breach, and the zombie apocalypse is upon us! Which of your OCs are surviving?

Oooooh fantastic question!

(fun fact one of my little brain games when I'm bored and waiting somewhere is to imagine how good the building I'm currently in would be as a bunker in the zombie apocalypse. I've concluded that a movie theatre would make a fantastic home base and I could tell you why but that's a separate post)

Rae: Oh she's making it through. She's smart, well-versed in multiple languages and travel (i.e. less language barrier with other survivors and she won't get stuck to a place bc of sentimental value), and she has her shields to protect her from the zombies themselves. She's golden.

Robin: Would last a good long while, she's smart and resourceful, but sound-based powers aren't as useful against the undead. Breaking their eardrums with a sonic shriek deafens them, but it's not painful like it would be to a human. Not to mention, she's still got the handicap of being deaf. She can use her ability as a hearing aid, but she's still more likely to be snuck up on. My verdict? She'll survive just fine in a group, but wouldn't do as well alone since inevitably there'd be a rogue zombie that sneaks up on her.

Madison: Disappears into the wilderness and only emerges once the apocalypse is over (or... as over as it can be). She's just fine. Her one concern would be if Alex or someone close to her got bitten, since that would hit her hard, but from a pure survival aspect she'd do just fine.

Ophelia: Would struggle with the fact that her technology's shot (either by a classic apocalypse EMP or simply because the people running the cell towers and power stations are now zombified), but would make herself a bunker with all kinds of MacGyvered traps to protect her from the outside world. She'd be your stereotypical "antisocial but wickedly clever hermit scientist" character

Jasper: Look, I'm sorry, Jasper's so done. For one thing, they live in a very crowded city (New Orleans). For another, they'd get incapacitated by their empathic abilities so fast. Imagine it: the already-overwhelming battery of emotions suddenly becoming mangled and warped by the undead, the emotions too sharp and too angry and just not right all around them? Maybe they could survive if Kyle takes the lead (he already got brought back to life once, he can't exactly be turned into a zombie) but other than that they're sunk.

Quinn: I love Quinn very much, but she's very very dead. Her skillset is brilliant in the living world. She's clever, quick-witted, and can disappear into a crowd like it's nothing. But she can't run, and she's used to living in cities (crowded places, with few survival skills needed). If she finds a colony, she could maybe get by as a medic, since she's stitched so many wounds back in their old crew, but that implies she's got the good fortune to escape the immediate horde.

Kestrel: Very much depends. On the one hand, their shapeshifting means they can fly over battles as they crop up, and largely avoid the worst of the fighting. But on the other hand, their main defenses come from shapeshifting into a more powerful animal... and powerful animals can still get bitten. If any one of those zombies manages to nick an elephant's hide, or draw a bit of blood when Kestrel's fighting them off as a bear... they're done for.

Katherine: Dead. Sorry. She's got magic and that's great, but she just doesn't have enough hard survival skills to make it through. She's an artist, for crying out loud.

Eris: Would slaughter hordes of zombies and grin while they did it. He'd probably bring about the end of the apocalypse single-handedly, just because they're such perfect fodder for a good fight. The only problem would be if something happened to Rick - Eris can't get zombified since they're a metahuman, but he's always been the chink in their armor.

Nikoletta: Is more accustomed to social survival than true survival, and would probably struggle a bit in the early days. The good news is that she knows how to scrounge for food and shelter, and she can disappear into the shadows to avoid a zombie fight. But once she made it into that first rough patch, she'd come into her stride and end up not only surviving, but becoming the lead of her own survivalist colony.

[wizardofrozz]

OC Introduction

I finally decided to make a reference sheet for my oc in my current wip To Be Free. (technically this is kind of an introduction to this fic as well lol) 

*the very quick art is mine*

Name: Nali Bosac

Nicknames/Codenames: Red, GZFC45426 (slicer code)

Species: Zeltron

Time Period: First Order/Resistance Era

Birthplace: Zeltros

Age: 28

Gender/pronouns: female, she/her

Occupation: Slicer for the Resistance

Myers-Briggs’ Type: INTJ - The Mastermind

And because I have no self-control and I’m excited, here’s a little sneak peek of To Be Free 🫣

         Nali sighed through her nose, sneaking a look at Mak over the top of her cards. His face was wrinkled in concentration, eyes trailing over his cards for the thousandth time as his free hand traced the shape of one of his dark horns. This was why she fucking hated playing sabacc with him.

         “Maker above, Mak, I’m gonna keel over before you take your turn,” she groaned, flopping over the back of her chair. 

         “Hey, I don’t rush you, now do I?” he countered primly. Nali groaned again, reaching up to scrub at her face, pressing her cards against her forehead. Mak hummed quietly and she had the urge to kick him in the shin until the soft rumble of Ren’s voice caught her attention. Ren’s office was large enough that they could sit at the small table in the corner opposite his desk and struggle to hear his conversation if he wanted privacy. Ren’s soft greeting piqued her interest and she let her hands fall away. Even from her inverted view, there was no mistaking the blue-tinted holo of General Organa. 

         “Okay, go ahead,” Mak cut in, sounding pleased with himself.

         “Shh,” Nali snapped, sitting up fast enough to make her head spin. She twisted around in her seat, pulling one leg up as she very obviously eavesdropped on the meeting taking place. The general’s back was to her but she’d become an expert on reading Ren’s lips over the years. 

         “Wonder what she wants?” Mak mumbled, leaning across the table and making it groan quietly under his weight.

         “Poe told me Leia sent him to pick up someone interested in joining,” Nali explained, squinting at her adopted father figure. She definitely didn’t jump when clover green eyes darted in her direction. Mak hummed in acknowledgment, blatantly staring at the conversation taking place; the pair shared a look when the general’s head turned slightly. She looked…amused from what they could see of her face, however, when the feed cut off, Ren didn’t look very happy. 

         “You two are insufferable,” Ren grumbled, leaning back in his chair and untangling a knot in the fur under his chin. Nali tried to arrange her face into something resembling guilt but Ren knew it was a facade. “You know, there are certain things that you two may not be allowed to know.”

         “‘Course,” Nali chirped, sliding off her chair and making her way across the room to perch on the corner of his desk. Mak followed close behind, dropping into the chair opposite Ren. “You just never tell us to leave.” Ren rolled his head in her direction, pinning her with an unimpressed look that only made her smile. 

         “What’s goin’ on?” Mak asked, folding his hands behind his head.

         “General Organa asked me to keep an eye on someone,” Ren explained, rubbing at one of his bloodshot eyes. Nali wondered how long it had been since he’d actually slept in his bed.

         “Why?” the Devaronian pressed, his forehead wrinkling.

         “The new medic,” Nali realized out loud, looking to the old Bothan for confirmation. “Makes sense; we’re on base regularly. Well, at least Mak and I are so she wants us to show him around, right?”

         “Him?” Mak hummed and Nali didn’t like the glint in his eyes when he turned his head in her direction. He grunted when the toe of her boot landed between two of his ribs, one large hand immediately coming down to cover the area.

         “Kids, play nice,” Ren said absently, already preoccupied with something on his datapad. 

         “Wonder if he’s cute?” Mak mused, holding out a hand to protect himself when Nali pulled her leg back to kick him again. “Who told you about him?”

         “Probably Dameron,” Ren cut in, side-eying Nali.

         “You two are like catty Jawas,” she hissed, rolling her eyes. Ren shrugged but she didn’t miss the way his snout wrinkled with a half-smile; Mak on the other hand unabashedly shot her a toothy grin. She really hated them sometimes.

         “Are you gonna greet them at the landing pad?” Mak teased. Nali immediately bristled, baring her teeth; she took a tiny bit of pleasure when the bulky Devaronian shifted in his seat. For some reason, she loved the big idiot too much to ever actually hurt him but knowing he was at least a little scared of her almost made her smile.

         “Calmak,” Ren warned with a sigh. 

         “I’m just wondering!”

         “No, you’re picking on her,” Ren huffed, pressing his knuckles into one of his eyes. 

         “That’s what brothers are for,” Mak chuckled, nudging Nali’s leg with the toe of his boot. She turned enough for him to see her eye roll but it only made his smile grow wider. Asshole.

         “Well it’ll be a little while before Dameron’s back with our new mystery medic,” Ren informed, blowing out a harsh breath through his nose. He sucked in a clean breath and propelled himself to his feet; Nali and Mak bit back their smirks when he groaned, reaching for his lower back. “Get out of my office, fuckin’ laserbrains.” 

         “Old man,” Mak and Nali chorused, although they sounded far too fond for it to be an insult. Ren grumbled under his breath, playfully bumping into Nali as he moved past her and she leaned into him, forcing him to stop or let her tip off the edge. Ren huffed and puffed about dealing with the pair constantly but they knew deep down that the old Bothan cared more than he wanted to admit. Ren made a familiar growling sound, one Nali knew was meant to be affectionate, and she smiled to herself. Nali was pushed forward slightly by Mak’s extra weight when he leaned against Ren’s other side.

         “Love ya, old man,” Mak sighed, resting his chin on the top of Ren’s furry head.

         “Yeah, yeah, love you both too,” Ren grumbled but Nali could hear the warmth in his voice. She leaned heavily against him and let herself enjoy one of the few moments of peace in their hectic lives.

A/N: Even though he isn’t in the snippet above, this is a Kix/OFC fic that includes two of my other OCs Calmak (Mak) Jemman and Ren Fay’limi (Nali’s found family). This fic has been consuming my thoughts for so long and the fact that my writer’s block is in full swing is killing me 😭

[highwaytothedangerzone502]

Ghost Story - Chapter 17

Pairing: Rooster x Female OC

Word Count: 3355

Warnings: None

Summary: No one will miss a ghost. It'd been a running joke for as long as anyone could remember, something Ghost herself started, and she always said it with a smile on her face or with mirth in her voice. The untouchable stealth pilot in every sense of the word, no one could've predicted the depth of her turmoil over recent events, nor the extremes she would go to in order to protect the man she loved, not even those closest to her. Now, all that was left of the young aviator for Maverick, Hangman, and Rooster were the memories of the past, which would slowly fade with time. She'd come into their lives and made an unforgettable impression, and then, like a ghost, she was gone... Then again, ghosts can't die a second time.

Notes: The chapters/large parts in italics are flashbacks.

Chapter Songs: The Story of Us Think of You Knees

****

Ghost

She had stared at the text more than she cared to admit, her finger hovering over the keyboard to type out an okay but never touching the screen. Ghost couldn't bring herself to do it. What good would come of talking? Sure, Rooster would apologize, and they'd make up and go back to being friends, but how could either of them pretend that they didn't know the other liked them? That they reciprocated each other's feelings? How could they ever go back to being what they were? 

They couldn't.

So Ghost ignored the text, telling herself distance was still the best policy, even though, deep down, she knew it was because she didn't want to get hurt more than she already had. Ghost had to protect herself and her feelings, especially with such a critical mission to focus on right around the corner.

Ghost planned on sleeping and enjoying some much-deserved time off, but someone else had other plans. At nine a.m., an unannounced presence knocked on the door. When Ghost opened it, Bryn said, "I'm not letting you hide from everyone just because you and Rooster got in a fight. You're joining us for dogfight football today, or so help me God, I will have Maverick and Hangman drag your ass to the beach."

Ghost blinked. "Good morning to you, too. Any other threats you want to hurl at me?"

"No, but I will throw in the fact I feel really out of place without you there, and I miss having my best friend there," Bryn admitted shyly, handing over an iced chai latte. "I even brought you a bribe. Please? For me?"

Ghost groaned but conceded. "Fine, fine. I guess I don't need sleep anyway..."

Bryn grinned and sat on the couch while Ghost dressed in her closet. From the living room, Bryn shouted, "So, are you ever going to tell me what this argument is between you and Rooster? He said it was nothing, but it's been over a week, and neither of you has reconciled nor spoken a word about it to anyone. What gives?"

"I'd really like this to stay between Rooster and me. It's bad enough everyone is getting caught in the crosshairs of our tension as it is. I don't want them getting involved in the actual argument," Ghost said, purposefully leaving out the part of her and Rooster confessing their love to each other after all this time. "I'll say this, though. He said some pretty hurtful things, and I don't want to talk to him right now. I have a mission to focus on and-"

"I knew it wasn't simple training exercises!" Bryn exclaimed, pointing victoriously at her friend when she entered the room. "Let me guess: stealth?"

"What else am I good at?" Ghost countered with a small smile.

"Everything when it comes to flying? You're kicking ass at the dogfights."

The comment stunned the aviator. She figured they'd seen her most recent one yesterday judging by the text from Rooster, but more than that one? That was news to her. "You've seen them?"

"Oh, yeah. The Daggers and I have figured out the schedule of the dogfights, so we usually take residence on the overlook for the base and watch from there. I missed yesterday's because of an appointment, but you had them terrified, thinking you were going down. Is that pilot all right?"

"Yeah, he got kicked out of the tournament, though. Not because of his accident but because even though he was the last man standing next to Maverick and me that day, his course run time knocked him out."

"What's your standing?"

"Number one, but Hollywood is keeping me on my toes. He's only two points behind. I got him out early yesterday, so that helped. Everyone's pissed I keep using Maverick as my wingman when things are odd-numbered, but Cyclone keeps letting it happen."

"Because Cyclone has a soft spot for you," Bryn said with a grin. "Ever since you bought his lunch after he'd had a rough day. He didn't find out it was you that did that for how long?"

"Three or four months. Cyclone's a softie once you get past that cold, hardass exterior." Ghost shouldered her beach bag. "You ready?"

"Yep!" Bryn jumped up from the couch. The two girls headed to Bryn's cute little BMW and hopped in. Ghost enjoyed the sun on her face and the smoothness of her friend's driving, glad to be in the passenger seat for once. That peace disappeared the moment they pulled up to the Hard Deck, and Ghost saw Rooster tossing the football back and forth with Maverick like father and son. Her presence would interrupt that bonding time the two so desperately needed. All those years of hard feelings wouldn't disappear over the course of a few weeks or months, but they were a hell of a lot better than they were before.

"Come on. This will be good for you two," Bryn said, squeezing Ghost's shoulder reassuringly. "You'll get past this. After all, you're Rooster and Ghost."

"What does that mean?"

"He's got you through your worst times, and from what I've heard, you've done the same for him. Whatever this argument is, I don't think it'll be what breaks you two apart for good."

Ghost smiled appreciatively at her friend. God, if she only knew what the argument had been about, she wouldn't be saying any of this. "Thank you, Bryn. Have I ever said how grateful I am to have you as a friend?"

"You don't need to. I already know. Let's go!"

The two girls exited the vehicle and stepped onto the cool sand. The moment Bryn walked a few paces ahead, Ghost diverted herself to the picnic table to drop off her stuff and prolong the inevitable face-to-face with Rooster.

"Hey, Ghost," Bob said quietly, stopping next to her with his own bag of belongings. "It's good to see you here."

"You too, Bob. How've you been?"

"Good. Missed having my fellow stealth around to disappear with."

Ghost's heart went out to sweet Bob. "I'm sorry. I've gotten called back for some training exercises and-"

"I know. And you and Rooster are fighting."

"Oh God, does everyone know about that?"

"No, but a few of us have picked up on it. I also overheard you talking to Maverick at the bar last week. I went up to the bar behind that other guy- Hollywood, I think- so you didn't see me. I didn't mean to eavesdrop, but you disappeared so quickly, and then you've been MIA since that night, I figured that's another reason you haven't been coming."

"You're not wrong. Who else knows?"

"From what I can tell, outside of you and Rooster, it'd be Bryn, Phoenix, and probably Hangman. And Maverick, of course."

"That's better than I thought it would be... I am sorry, though, Bob. I'm not meaning to avoid you and the team; it just happens since Rooster is always with y'all."

"I get it. You gonna be okay playing today?"

"Yeah, I'll be fine," she promised. Then, standing up, Ghost slung her arm around his shoulders and said, "Come on, stealth. Let's go kick some butt."

Bob put his arm around her shoulders, and the two trudged over to the huddle. They stood behind Phoenix and Hangman while Maverick named the teams. He pulled out Ghost's name from the bucket and said, "You're on my team."

"When did you get here?" Fanboy asked incredulously when Hangman and Phoenix parted to let Ghost and Bob through. 

"A few minutes ago with Bryn. Honestly, I intended to catch up on the sleep I've missed the past week and give my body a rest from all the flying, but I was threatened within an inch of my life if I didn't come today."

Bryn rolled her eyes. "I threatened you with Maverick and Hangman."

"I don't see the difference in what I just said."

"It's good to have you here, Ghost," Rooster commented, the softness of his voice causing her heartstrings to tug painfully in her chest. How could he be so sweet yet so destructive at the same time?

"Good to be here, Bradshaw," she responded. His last name slipped off her tongue before she could comprehend what had happened, but it did not go unnoticed. Rooster tensed at the sound of his last name, and out of the corner of her eye, she saw Hangman's head snap in her direction. If he hadn't known something was going on between her and Rooster before, he did now.

Maverick continued naming the teams, and Ghost forced herself to keep her eyes on anyone and anything but Rooster, afraid if she allowed herself one glimpse, it would remain there forever, seeing what had been and what could've been, seeing the love they'd shared and the hate they'd exchanged, the fights and the makeups. Ghost would see everything that had formed their relationship, and she didn't want to. It would hurt more than help, and Ghost needed to focus on the upcoming mission, not on Rooster.

Rooster ended up on her team, meaning she wouldn't have to face him down, not this round, at least. Bryn stood on the opposing sides, and they stuck to defending each other. Ghost, the more athletic one, thanks to her military training, managed to block Bryn from getting the ball and even managed a few interceptions, but Hangman had Bryn's back and would be there to tackle Ghost whenever the opportunity arose. Whenever he did, Hangman would do what she called 'The Hulk Out,' where he flexed his muscles to high-heaven and looked too good doing it. Ghost got back at him by tickling him when he least expected it, causing him to let out a high-pitch yelp every time, a far cry from his usual masculine demeanor.

Then the teams got switched up. Ghost remained with Maverick, along with Rooster, who she ended up next to in the huddle, their arms slung around each other's shoulders. Her skin burned under the contact of his arm, a mixture of his heated body and the electrical currents rippling through her body at his touch. His fingers mindlessly gliding up and down her shoulder blade did nothing to help. All it did was force memories of the two of them entangled in the sheets together, her head on his chest and him dragging his fingers along her back exactly like he was doing now while they talked about sweet nothings.

Ghost couldn't escape the huddle fast enough, and her mind spiraled toward how to talk to Rooster for the remainder of dogfight football. They had to if merely being in his presence and a simple touch sent her body and anxiety into overdrive. But when? And how? Should it be before or after her mission? If it happened before and didn't go well, then she'd be dealing with that on top of the stress of the mission? But what if she waited until after the mission but didn't survive? Ghost didn't want Rooster to think she hated him when that was so far from the truth. 

I hate this. I wish Ghoul was here... she'd have an answer for me, even if it was locking Rooster and me in a room together until we sorted this out. Ghost smiled softly- and a little sadly- to herself. She missed Thea 'Ghoul' Winchester more than words could say. If only she were here now...

"Ghost? You good?" Maverick asked, his brow furrowing with concern.

"Yeah, yeah, got a little light-headed, is all," she lied, not wanting to drag Maverick down with the truth of her thoughts. Ghost hated when her reflections went down the rabbit hole of sad nostalgia, and it seemed to be happening more and more often.

Forcing her focus back onto dogfight football, Ghost continued playing, but her heart was no longer in it. Thankfully, it didn't last much longer after Fritz landed on his foot wrong and undoubtedly snapped something in it. Omaha and Halo departed to take their friend to the doctor. Harvard and Yale left not long after for some of their own appointments. The rest of the Daggers took a seat on the beach. Ghost refused to leave, not wanting to lead anyone else to the conclusion that she couldn't stand to be around Rooster. Enough of them knew already. 

Ghost wouldn't do it sober, though, and the others seconded her idea to get some drinks. She offered to grab them, and Hangman volunteered to join her before Rooster could even open his mouth to do the same. The two entered the Hard Deck, and Hangman pounced. "What the hell is going on with you and Rooster? The only time I know you to call him Bradshaw is when you're mad at him or being sarcastic, and that was not a sarcastic comment earlier."

"Nothing," Ghost replied, pulling out a couple of twenties and handing them to Tom the bartender. "Nothing I want to talk about."

"Hey, you've been quiet lately, and you've been leaving whenever he comes around," Hangman said gently, lacing his fingers with hers. "Even today, it's like you can barely stand to be around him. What did he do to you?"

"We had an argument, and that's all I'll say on the matter, okay? It's complicated."

Hangman nodded and looped his arm around her neck, pulling her into a hug. He kissed the top of her head. "Whatever it is, you always have me, all right?"

"I know," she breathed, wrapping her arms around his waist. She did know Hangman would always be there for her. No matter when she called or texted, he would answer her, and if he didn't, it never took longer than an hour for him to call back. The day he stopped doing this would be the day Ghost knew she was truly fucked, but she couldn't think of anything that could make that happen. If they could survive breaking up twice and still be there for each other, she couldn't fathom what could break them now. 

"Here's your beers and a triple of whiskey," Tom said, sliding the drinks over to the pair. 

Hangman raised an eyebrow at Ghost. "A triple?"

"I only ordered a double?"

Tom smiled. "Third is on the house. Seems like you could use it.

Oh, great, my turmoil is that obvious. I need my poker face to kick in. Wincing, Ghost took a large gulp of her drink. The whiskey burned her throat and numbed some of the pain. She'd have to be careful not to get too drunk tonight, especially if Cyclone decided they'd fly tomorrow after all.

Hangman and Ghost returned to the Daggers with drinks in hand, passing them out. When they sat down, she found herself opposite Rooster. He had his glasses on, but Ghost swore she could feel the weight of his gaze, which sent the hairs on the back of her neck standing up. Maybe the whiskey triple would come in handy after all...

Ghost listened to the other Daggers talk, sipping on her drink and chiming in if asked something. Only after she finished her drink, and Bryn and Halo ran off to get more that Coyote asked, "So, Ghost, how do you like flying with Maverick?"

The pilot beamed at the highly-decorated captain. "It's an honor. Truthfully, I'm just glad I can keep up."

"You keep me on my toes," Maverick told her, grinning. "I'd say you could give me a run for my money if we went up against each other."

"Oh, I hope that day never happens. I'll take my bets against Hangman, but not you, Mav."

"Hey, now!" Hangman protested. "Might I remind you who has confirmed air-to-air kills?"

"The museum piece for the Cold War doesn't count. I'll give you the fifth-gen fighter one, though. Besides, Rooster and Mav both have air-to-air kills as well."

"All right, if we're going off that," Payback started, motioning at Rooster and Hangman with his beer bottle, "who do you think is the better pilot?"

"Oh, no, no, I'm not getting involved in that debate," Ghost replied, shaking her head. "I know better."

"Oh, come on, you know them better than the rest of us. If anyone would know, it'd be you."

"Maybe I do, maybe I don't, but I wouldn't say even if I did," Ghost responded. "But if you want an answer, I think they're both a good ride."

The words slipped off her tongue before she could consider their implication. Rooster and Coyote choked on their drinks, and Hangman nearly snapped his neck in two, turning to look at her. In a desperate attempt to recover from the unintended innuendo, Ghost hastily added, "I mean in the air, idiots!"

"I know, I know, but the way you phrased it-"

"Yeah, I think that's my cue to call it quits," Ghost said, standing up and brushing the sand off her pants. "Before I stick my foot in my mouth anymore. I don't know what Tom gave me, but it had a kick. Whiskey doesn't normally get me that tipsy that fast."

"Oh, come on, Ghost, we're just messing with you," Fanboy said pleadingly. "Please stay?"

"I know, but I need to catch up on some sleep before training resumes. I'd never admit it to them, but they're giving me a run for my money. I'll catch up with y'all later, okay?"

"You need a ride home?" Rooster asked, sitting up straight. 

"Nah, I'll walk. It's not far, and it'll sober me up. Mav, I'll see you at training?"

"You can count on it."

Waving bye to everyone, Ghost shuffled to the Hard Deck with the intent to drink a small glass of water before she headed home, but Hangman calling out her name stopped her. She turned around, dreading what it could be because he didn't sound thrilled.

"What's up?" she asked casually.

Hangman's green eyes were dark, and the words that came out of his mouth were what she'd expected. "Did you and Rooster sleep together?"

Ghost involuntarily cringed. "Yes."

"Before or after we broke up?"

"After the first break up and before we got back together a second time, and-and a few months ago."

"It's been multiple times?!" 

"Yes." Ghost shifted uneasily on her feet, noticing the unspoken question in his eyes. "And for the record, it never happened when I was with you. I could never cheat on you or anyone, for that matter, and if you even think that I'd be capable of something like-"

"I don't, but I knew you liked him, and we weren't exclusive for a while, so I wondered..." Hangman dropped his gaze from hers, shifting it over to the crashing waves. "I'm not mad. Who you sleep with is up to you, and you're not obligated to tell anyone, but it still kind of hurts knowing you slept with him so soon after we broke up because he shipped out not long after I did, so it's not hard to figure out it was a quick turnaround. It's stupid for me to feel that way since we've been broken up for so long, but-"

"We loved each other, Jake. We still do. That history will always be there, and parts of it will hurt us even after all this time."

"Yeah..." He locked eyes with her again. "So, does Bryn know you and Rooster slept together?"

"I do now," Bryn said hotly. Hangman whirled around, and Ghost's heart nearly stopped. Of all ways for her friend to find out the truth... Hangman faced Ghost again, 'sorry' written all across his face.

"I- should I-"

"Go? Yes," Bryn said, glaring at Ghost. "I need to speak with Annalise privately."

Hangman turned to Ghost for confirmation this was all right, and she nodded, even though she didn't want to be alone with the fuming Kazansky. Reluctantly, he walked off, and Ghost took a deep, steadying breath, preparing for the onslaught of accusations she absolutely deserved.

****

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