#but you need to be open to the idea of people who are a little confused but have got the spirit

[foreverdolly]

Intolerance cannot be beaten with tolerance. 

I have always written and read as a means to escape from my day to day life, even before the struggles of adulthood was even a blip on the horizon. This blog is a safe space for me. I love hearing that my writing, despite the fact that it is nothing but fanfiction (for now, at least), helps people escape for a little while as well. Whether you’re reading before bed in order to silence your mind for long enough to get some shut eye or pulling up tumblr during a rough and emotional day, somewhere along the way you found your way to me. I cherish the fact that our paths have crossed like this. 

Right now, more than ever, the world feels like a very terrifying place. I hate the idea of lifting the finely tuned veil that I have tried to cast over this blog, what with it being my safe little corner of the internet, but silence is complacency. I refuse to be complacent to what is going on right now in the United States of America. When I woke up on November sixth there was an impending sense of dread. As a woman who had listened to the vitriol from the other side, I was naturally terrified. Waking up and seeing “your body, my choice” plastered on every social media site was nothing short of horrific. There is no woman or girl in this world that has not been violated in some way by a man, whether that be physically, verbally or emotionally. 

I look at the hateful rhetoric disguised as Christian love- pastors preaching about eradicating the queer community. About taking away a woman’s bodily autonomy. About ripping children away from their parents. They paint the progressive thinkers to be monsters. To that I say: who are truly the monsters?

We are more worried about banning drag queen story times than protecting our youth who are being killed whilst trying to do something as innocent as receive an education. Our people are living paycheck to paycheck and we're more focused on stripping people's basic human rights away from them than uplifting the impoverished.

This country takes away social media platforms or buys them out all together as a means to monitor the speech and behavior of its people. It dictates how we will raise and teach our children all while forcing them to assimilate to a consciousness of their own design. Women are dying every day due to health complications. Transgender youth and adults would rather eternally sleep than put up with the constant harassment and erasure. The gay and lesbian communities are having their way of life threatened. . . and for what? 

The states have never seemed this divided. It is no longer a difference of politics but a difference of morals. Beyond even that, it is a total lack of empathy. The vocabulary being thrown around by that side is eye opening: “eradicate”,“purge”,“the reckoning” etc. 

Fear mongering is something that I absolutely abhor, but I truly mean it when I say that these next four years are going to be rough. I am certain that the rules and regulations that will be put into place will affect us for many years to come. We are going backwards- back to a time where people of color were terrified to leave their own homes because of the threat of violence. A time where people couldn’t love who they wanted. A time where women had rights stripped away from them and were seen as little other than cattle. 

If there was ever a time to fight then now would be that time. We all have a voice, no matter how quiet. Use it. 

Reject racism. Reject sexism. Reject classism.

This blog is a safe space for those that are genderqueer, queer, and of color. We are trapped. The fire is coming from inside of the house and sadly we can no longer save those that are throwing themselves into it as kindling. 

If you are scared and need someone to talk to please message me. I will give you my personal discord so that we can chat regularly if you need someone on your side right now.

If you feel alone please know that you are not. 

[daenerys-apolog1st]

Something I've seen Team Green bring up is the idea that we should all feel bad for Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena because they weren't "welcomed into the Targaryen family" and were "ostracized from the family" or whatever, but like...the only people holding them apart from "being true Targaryens/being apart of the Targaryen family" are the Hightowers, namely Otto and Alicent.

In Season 1 we saw glimpses of how Alicent's kids and Rhaenyra's kids interacted when left to their own devices: in one episode we see Aegon actually getting along with Jace and Luce and joking with them, in another episode we see Jace dancing with Helaena while his siblings watch and smile, and all the "bullying" TG brings up Aemond facing is just like...standard kid stuff- (and was led by Aegon, I might add) -not really anything particularly bad, and I say this as someone who was bullied---it doesn't make it right, but it's what kids and siblings tend to do. There's even a deleted scene where Rhaenyra dotes on Aegon and bonds with him, and in the books Rhaenyra refers to Helaena as her "sweet sister" and said she'd welcome her brothers with open arms if they bent the knee. Not to mention that Viserys constantly reminds everyone that they're family and they need to stand together.

(Driftmark is an entirely separate thing that I'm not gonna comment on here, I'll make another post about it later, but essentially it was an emotionally charged, high-stress, situation---but clearly an accident and something outside of the norm for EVERYONE)

In short: for the most part, they seem to get along pretty well. Yeah there's disagreements and they sometimes don't like each other, but that's standard family stuff---sometimes you hate your family a little bit, sometimes you feel like they hate you, but it passes and in the end you all love each other. You're still family.

The separation doesn't come from the Targaryens, it comes from the Hightowers.

Alicent, in like one of the first scenes we get with her actually interacting with her children, tells Aegon that he can bully Aemond in private but in public they need to stand together because it's them against everyone else---she tells Aegon that Rhaenyra will kill him to secure her inheritance and doubles down after Aegon says that he doesn't want the throne/won't challenge her. We also see through Aegon and Aemond's conversations with each other that this is sentiment she's expressed before to ALL of her children.

Alicent, when Rhaenyra tries to make peace by betrothing Jace and Helaena together, basically spits in her face and refuses before telling Viserys that it'd happen over her dead body---once again, separating the family. Alicent and Otto were plotting usurpation since Aegon was born and even BEFORE, and that clearly spread into how they raised Alicent's children---hereby separating them further.

Even before Rhaenyra had children of her own, Alicent showed distain for Targaryen culture saying- "you Targaryens do have queer customs" -which separates her, and then her children by proxy, from being Targaryen---and later on we see this taken further when she and Otto remove all the Targaryen cultural items and decor from the Red Keep and replace it with their own religious items. This continues to separate her children from being Targaryens by separating them from their history and culture.

All of this separation doesn't come from Team Black or Rhaenyra or even Viserys---Otto and Alicent are the ones doing everything they can to keep Aegon, Aemond, and Helaena separate from their Targaryen family/heritage, and everyone suffers for it.

If TG wants to feel bad for them for being kept separate from "the Targaryens," have at it, but place blame on the people who actually ostracized them instead of just pretending Viserys/Rhaenyra/whoever were the ones who did it.

[carrotcakecrumble]

Talking to anyone in the UK that is dismissive of the things Trump said in his inauguration speech because ‘it’s Trump, what do you expect?’:

If an American president had acted the way Trump has/is acting say, 15 years ago or something, it would be being made a much bigger deal of over here in the Uk than it is being made of today. It would be unthinkable that a Labour government would cosy up with a world leader who incited a coup and disrupted the peaceful transition of power, yet we have Kier Starmer intent of having a relationship with the Trump administration. And hardly anyone bats an eyelid. No one expects anyone to bat an eyelid.

I hear people talking about the ‘Gulf of America’ thing and, for the most part, calling it crazy. But partnered with crazy I keep hear again and again & hand in hand, ‘it’s hilarious’

is it?

Overtons window is the idea that (as I understand it) a political leader will act within a certain window of what the majority public deems as acceptable. Over the last decade, a lot of us have been watching hopelessly as misinformation and propaganda push this window further and further right. Widening and widening it until it’s just a gaping void full of Elon Musk’s sieg heiling on national television and American presidents disregarding repeatedly the rule of a law they evidently have very little understanding of. A lot of the events that spurred this migration right was met with laughter and disbelief in this country.

After Roe V Wade, do you still disbelieve ?

When we laugh at how insane Trump / Musk / Vance is, we dilute how serious the situation actually is, which in return allows this soft-core fascism to enter our mainstream. Someone with that much power opening their mouth and consistently, unintentionally making us laugh should shock us so much more than it is??? A president openingly stating he is willing to disregard current science and research and cut funding to thousands (millions?) of Transgender American citizens should see other progressive western countries angry, intervening, doing something. A billionaire thrusting out a Nazi salute towards the American flag at a presidential inauguration should incite something close to riots. An American president openingly declaring the country an Oligarchy should be on front pages everywhere!!! For weeks!!! For months!!! Yet it’s been days and the buzz around it is already starting to die out. Trump said something 🤪🩷crazy and 🫣😅laughable again so now that’s all we can talk about, of course.

We need to remember that as shockingly unbelievable the things Trumps says are, that it is still reality. It’s not a joke. It has real world consequences. He means it. A lot of American people want him to mean it. A lot of people in this country want him to mean it. We must remember to challenge these things when we hear them, remember to make it clear how dangerous it is. Make a fuss. Make a noise. Make it unacceptable once again.

Most importantly, we must remember: It is not funny.

They (fascists in all their forms) want you find it funny, because then you’ll hardly be able to believe it’s actually happening until it’s already far too late. We should never laugh so loud that we fail to hear the real threat being whispered beneath.

Take everything he and his henchmen say with sincerity and, for god’s sake, act like it’s the most powerful men in the Western world saying it.

[idontactuallyremember]

Squid Game- Thanos x Fem!reader

Day 3 on this island and you're withdrawing- bad. Thanos offers to help but only if he & Nam-Gyu get something in return. Only, they start bickering and Thanos decides to show everybody who's in charge.

Pairing: Fem!reader x Thanos

(Nam-Guy slightly involved but him and Thanos don't touch)

CW: mentions of withdrawal symptoms, unprotected sex, a lot of cursing, substance use, Nam-Gyu watches you and Thanos, use of the nickname "daddy"

Authors note: If you are only interested in the spicy parts & not the backstory; it starts at the pink paragraph!! This is longer than I wanted it to be but I love this lil story

NSFW BELOW THE CUT- MINORS DNI

You wake up sweating, even though you feel the cool air on your face. It's only your second (maybe third ?) day locked away with these strangers- strangers that would likely all be dead within a few more days time.

You would care, only if you could get something to take this edge off.

Your bones and joints hurt.

As you shift in a sitting position in your bed- you realize there still aren't any lights on. How much longer you would have to sleep is up in the air, as there is no clock or windows indicating what time it is.

You try to place what time it could be and you guess there's only an hour or two left of darkness.

You would go back to sleep. You would, only, your sheets and pillow are covered in sweat. Your back hurts and your hands are shaking. Your stomach turns over as you rub the sleep out of your eyes. The nausea is starting. Your legs are restless.

Your thoughts are eating away at you. If only you had just one pill, one hit... anything. You're obsessed with how badly you feel, it's all you can think about.

Only then, in the darkness, do you hear soft whispering.

It distracts you from your pain. You decide to eavesdrop.

"No, just one, greedy fuck..." A low voice says.

You close your eyes to focus better.

"I still need enough to last the next few days- Just until we get out of here with our money." The voice carries on, the person he is speaking to stays silent.

You decide to peak over the edge of your bed to see where the voices are coming from.

In the darkness, you can vaguely make out two men sitting on a bottom bunk.

The first one is Thanos. You only remember his name because it's so unusual. As is his appearance. The other man- you have no idea what his name is.

A lot of people tried recruiting you, introducing themselves to you. At first, you didn't mind. But the longer you go without a high, the more belligerent and annoyed you feel yourself becoming.

Although it was obvious, it didn't occur to you what the two boys were doing until you see them place something in their mouth.

Immediately, without thinking, you climb down your bunk and start over to them. You don't even think about what you're going to say- you only know you need to get high. And you'd do whatever you have to if it meant you could just feel a little less weak and nauseous.

They hear you before they see you- Thanos wildly looks around to see where the noise is coming from.

As you approach, you see Thanos scramble to hide what is in his hands.

The only thing your withdrawing brain can think to say is, "Hey..."

You would mentally smack yourself if you weren't so desperate right now.

"Hello, pretty." Thanos says. You see the other man open his mouth to speak but says nothing.

There's a moment of silence.

"I'm Nam-Gyu." The man finally decides to say.

"I'm Y/N." You say, even though you don't like the idea of anyone knowing your real name.

Thanos looks you up and down. He sees you shaking, itching your arms. He sees the pool of sweat around the collar of your shirt.

"You don't feel too good, huh?" He notices.

"No, not really." You say, weakly. You were hoping he offered something to you so you wouldn't have to ask.

"Sit down." He orders.

You do as you're told, even if you don't appreciate the bossy tone.

"You want one of these?" He asks, his hands holding the cross emerging from his hiding place. You didn't like the connotation behind his voice.

"Yes, if you can spare one. I'm withdrawing bad..." You say.

"Aww..." He says and grabs your hand, "you wanna feel better?"

"Yes, I do." Is all you say, his flirtatious tone does nothing but annoy you.

"Just give it to me, dude. Not in the fucking mood." You think to yourself.

"Well..." Thanos looks at Nam-Gyu. You sense they are having a silent conversation with their eyes. A conversation in a language you don't understand.

"I can give you one, if you really need it." He offers.

"Thank you." You say, expecting him to say more.

He pulls out the necklace under his shirt and opens the cross. Sitting there are multiple, colorful, small tablets.

"Here:" Thanos grabs a random one, "Take it."

You open your palm to him, waiting for him to hand it to you.

Only, he doesn't. He pops the pill in his mouth, instead.

"C'mere, fast." He directs. You're unsure of where this is going but, again, do as you're told anyway.

As you scoot closer to him, he grabs your face. In a second, he is kissing you. With his tongue, he passes the small tablet to you in your mouth. He kisses you for a few more moments.

As he pulls away, you chew the already dissolving pill and swallow.

"You'll feel better soon, okay?" He says, as if he didn't just force his tongue in your mouth, "it hits fast."

You don't have much to say. While you're grateful you will feel less sick today- the kiss left you stunned. It was unexpected. And maybe a tiny bit hot.

"Thanks." Is all you say and you get up to return to your bunk.

"No way, senorita, you stay here." Thanos says, grabbing you around the waist. He forces you back sitting in his bed.

Part of you already knows what direction this is heading. Part of you can't care- you're finally going to be high again for the first time in days.

"Show some gratitude, yeah? He just saved you from withdrawals." Nam-Gyu says, the first words he's uttered since introducing himself.

You decide to say nothing in response.

As the minutes go by, you wait for it to kick in. You're praying it does work fast- like Thanos promised.

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Thanos asks you.

"I got in a lot of debt from my addictions. Gambling, drugs, drinking.." you say.

"Mmm, not good. You're too pretty to be doing those things." Thanos hums, absentmindedly.

You start to feel a little woozy. You notice your pain is slowly getting better, your mood lifting a little.

Somehow, by your body language, the two boys notice, too.

"You feel better already, see?" Nam-Gyu says. You nod in agreement.

As if waiting for the perfect moment- the moment you started feeling it, Thanos asks: "So what do I get in return for making you feel better?"

You were waiting for this.

"What do you want?" You ask.

You know his answer before he even tells you. The look in his eye, his shit-eating grin. You see what he wants.

"Well, I made you feel good. You're gonna make me feel good, too, right?" Thanos smiles.

You are silent for a minute. If you don't agree, you were scared he would do it anyway. Plus, with the drugs kicking in, you felt much more care-free, maybe even a little horny.

You thought Thanos was attractive but his personality wasn't exactly all he cracked it up to be.

They might be jackasses, but Thanos did at least help you- even if it was truthfully for his own benefit.

"Okay" you agree, "I'll make you feel good."

His smile only widens, "Good girl, I knew you wouldn't disappoint me." He scoots closer to you.

Thanos grabs your face to kiss you, again. You comply; letting him take dominance.

"I knew from the moment I saw you... I was waiting for you to come begging for a high." He whispers, between kisses.

He pauses for a moment to lay you down, your head falls in Nam-Gyu's lap, unexpectedly.

You look up at Nam-Gyu, then back at Thanos.

"He wants to watch us, okay? You can pretend he's not there." Thanos says, running a hand down your face.

You get a little embarrassed at the thought of someone watching you but it sort of turned you on.

You say nothing. You decide ignoring him might be the best course of action, even if it intimidated you.

With Thanos still on top of you, he kisses your face softly. He nibbles your neck and earlobes. Maybe it's the high, but it feels like fucking magic. You put your hands in his hair as he teases you, continuing to kiss you everywhere he can.

He puts his hands under your shirt and gropes at you, rubbing circles around your nipple over the thin fabric of your bra.

In the midst of the moment, you look up at Nam-Gyu, just above you, your head still laying in his lap. He paws at himself through his pants but doesn't say anything. He doesn't touch you.

Thanos sits you up for a moment, taking off your shirt and bra. The cold air makes your nipples hard and Thanos licks his lips before latching himself to one of them, sucking hard and swirling circles with his tongue.

You groan, quietly.

"This is what you've been hiding under these baggy clothes?" He asks, "So fucking sexy..."

You feel Nam-Gyu move nearer towards Thanos' side of the bed, you assume, to see you from his perspective.

Thanos doesn't even give him a glance. He pretends he isn't there at all. His attention is only on you.

He lays you back down, and messes with the waistband of your pants. A shiver runs through you.

Thanos takes off his shirt in one quick motion as he grinds against you- pulling it over his head. It made your knees weak to see him shirtless- his necklace swaying back and forth just above your head. Your eyes are all over him.

"Don't look at me like that, not yet." He warns.

"Like what?" You ask, a cheeky smile peaking through your attempted deadpanned gaze.

"Like you're begging for it..." He kisses your stomach, "be patient..."

Nam-Gyu silently watches, listens to your conversation. He hungrily paws at himself- his hips bucking in anticipation. It makes you wary to say much but as the minutes pass, the relief that you're not withdrawing anymore is overwhelming. You were scared you'd do anything Thanos asks, out of appreciation.

"Get on top of me." He orders.

Before you straddle him, already shirtless, he hums, "Let's take these off, too, okay?"

He gently slides off your pants, but when he sees a pair of cute, lacy panties, he pauses.

"Fuck..." He stares at the intricate, purple lace, "You're a fucking dream to me."

Before you get on top of him as requested, he quickly removes his sweats & boxers, letting you see everything.

Once on top of him, he groans as you rub against him. You lean down to kiss Thanos, your ass in the air.

Nam-Gyu swallows thickly; he has a perfect view of you here. His hands fumble with his waistband as he slowly begins to properly touch himself.

Thanos' hands are all over you. In your hair, scratching your back, gently squeezing your throat, down your hips as you grind against him. You kiss his neck, his chest.

"You wanna ride me, Princess?" He asks.

You nod and he quickly reaches down and slides your panties to the side.

You make quick work of lowering yourself down perfectly, letting only the tip graze against your wetness.

"Do you feel how much I need you?" You ask.

"Fuck... yes... yes, I do." He manages.

Only when you let him enter you completely do you get your first real moan from him.

He groans, loud and then, "C'mere." He grabs your throat, "you're so fucking tight for me... treating me so good.." His hips thrust into you as you ride up and down slowly.

He stops, suddenly, reaching for the cross around his neck. Still inside you, he opens it, places a red pill on his tongue and then says to you, "Open..."

He pops another pill in your mouth. Nam-Gyu's face goes pale.

"Dude, are you fucking serious?" He asks.

"What?" Thanos asks, looking at you slowly ride him, smiling and nodding as you chew and swallow.

"You're gonna give her another one just because she let you fuck? You're so fucking easy, man. You're a fucking pushover. I asked for another one and you said yo-" Nam-Gyu starts but is interrupted.

"I said 'no' because last time I fucking checked these belong to me. I decide who to give them too. How many I give. How many I take. That's up to me. I'm no pushover- you think you deserve more than what you do. That's not my fucking problem, man. I don't have to give you fucking ANY, you realize that? I don't owe you. I protect you in here- you owe me. If you sucked my dick maybe I'd give you a few extra, too. Everyone can see who's in charge here. Respect that or go somewhere else..." Thanos says, then- directed to you, "Tell me who's in charge, baby?"

"You're in charge" You say, playing his game.

"Who's the boss, princess? Tell me."

"You are"

"What's my fucking name?" He thrusts inside you, hard, gripping your hair.

"Thanos, fuck!" You moan out in response.

Nam-Gyu sucks his teeth but says nothing more.

"I wanna be on top, now." Thanos says, flipping you over.

Your hair sprawls out around you and Thanos makes a show of taking off your panties now that you're laying down.

A show seemingly for Nam-Gyu. Almost as if to say, "Fuck you, you wish this was you, huh?"

Just as he begins to fuck you again, he turns to Nam-Gyu.

"Move off the bed, you're in the fucking way." Thanos orders.

"Where do you expect me to sit, then?" Nam-Gyu questions, clearly annoyed.

"Sit on the fucking floor for all I care, I don't give a fuck- move."

Nam-Gyu chews his lips, "I don't want to sit on the fucking floor like a dog."

"Don't act like one, then! Your options are you sit on the floor or you go sit in your fucking bed. Either way you have to stop bitching. Decide -fast- and shut the fuck up." Thanos says and a muscle in Nam-Gyu's jaw tightens. They are both irked.

"You think you can just talk to me however the fuck you want?" Nam-Guy says.

"Yeah, I do. And you're not gonna do a fucking thing because I give you drugs and you're a fucking junkie." Thanos laughs.

He continues to fuck you, slowly at first but speeds up as he hears your feedback.

Nam-Gyu is silent but the energy is different.

"You're a junkie, too. You chose drugs over your fucking career, man. Don't act better than me." He finally says.

Thanos snaps, "Did I not tell you to sit on the fucking floor, bitch? Did I not fucking tell you that?"

"What makes you think I have to do what you say?" Nam-Gyu starts, "I'm over it. You think you're God's fucking gift to this earth when in reality you are a freak."

Thanos shoulders him off the bed and to the ground, "The shoes I came in here with cost more than your fucking rent, don't talk to me like that again."

Nam-Gyu stays on the ground but sits up. He rubs his shoulder, where he hit the ground.

"Should we show him how much of a freak I am, baby?" He asks, smugly, back to hovering over you in an instant.

He enters you, again. This time: no distractions.

He fucks you hard and deep; he's using you like a toy. His colorful nails dig deep into your hips, directing your every move.

"Fuck, Thanos..." You say and he digs his fingers into your soft skin harder.

"I love when you say my name." He groans.

You turn your head, Nam-Gyu sits on the floor, pathetically grabbing at himself.

Thanos grabs your head, harshly, and faces it back to him so you are locking eyes, "Don't pay him no mind, baby. Think about how good my cock feels, okay? Be a good girl now..."

"Yes, Daddy" you say, accidentally. Thanos grips the sheets in reaction.

"Fuck! Call me that again. Who am I?"

"Daddy... please..." You moan.

"Please what, baby?" He purrs

"I'm close..."

His pace quickens at your soft pleading as he hits the same spot over and over. Your legs are shaking soon, your knuckles white- gripping his hair.

You hear Nam-Gyu making soft noises beside you, straining his head to get the best view.

"Show me how good it feels, Princess." He says, he's fucking you so hard a bead of sweat drips off his jaw, splattering on your cheek.

Uncontrollably, it comes to you. You cry out, loud. This does nothing to slow him down.

"Yeah, baby? It feels that good?" He smirks.

When you finish, he doesn't stop, he continues, ruthlessly.

He only slows to lift up your legs so they're resting on his shoulders.

Nam-Gyu's pumping gets more reckless, he sits on his knees and moans softly after you finish.

You ride out your orgasm as Thanos grows closer. Your moans are meaningless streams of words now.

"Fuck... c'mon, baby... I'm so close." His eyes roll back.

"Please, cum inside me, Daddy" You beg.

With that, he's finally tipping over the edge, his thrusts getting sloppier as he fills you up.

"Yes, Princess, fuck... You're perfect..." He says, finally slowing down. He remains inside you only long enough to lean down and give you a quick kiss.

"That was fucking... amazing..." he says, out of breath. You both fall asleep right there, neither worried about Nam-Gyu.

[infinialtairs]

Jade and Pey'j are always ready to fight back! Mess with one of us? You're going to have to mess with both of us! 📸🐗

Sily artwork of them hanging out! but also I have a little surprise for all jade and pey'j fans... I have finished write a full google document for Jade and Pey'j characterizations! along with backstory and trivia for my own version of designs for them ^^ Keep in mind that I'm not a writer and I won't claim as such, I simply wanted to write down my own interpretations and ideas onto them. I'll just copy down ALL 7 PAGE texts onto here so...If you don't want read any of it, feel free to skip

Captain Laserhawk: Jade and Pey’j Rewritten

! Disclaimer ! 

This takes both Beyond Good and Evil version and Captain Laserhawk version into one somewhat coherent version of them as I’m not a fan of how Jade and Pey’j were treated in the series and I simply just write my own takes on the characters and ideas of more in depth into their characters. You can disagree, or dislike my takes on them and you can also give a suggestion or your own opinion on them. I only seek to approve my skill in writing my thoughts and ideas through words.

Synopsis

Jade and Pey’j - the only remaining part of a family who are striving for a fulfilling life in a dystopian world with many deceptions easily hidden behind closed doors and TV screens. They both managed to live in a garage where Pey’j does the repairs of vehicles and as well as creating his own little projects of inventions of which he never shared them into the public eye, only to Jade.

Jade

Jade is quite a spontaneous journalist, martial artist, cyclist, and a person with so many side hobbies that she sometimes pursues, even if she’s not exactly good at a lot of them. She can be a gal friend at parties or a cry on the shoulder when someone’s in need, she's a little too empathetic at times with how she reacts with others struggles and often feel the need to always be helpful and supportive. Despite all the hobbies she has been trying out, she isn’t the best example of a patient person, she will always try to learn everything in a single day and then getting overwhelmed or frustrated when something doesn’t go her way. As a journalist she often writes articles about covers essentially what the Face of Eden Rayman talks about in his show, but with a Jade’s touch - her own perspectives and opinions. She also covers smaller topics that seem to fall deafen on people’s ears and some conspiracy theories that she may not entirely believe in, but she's a very curious person and fascinated by those out of reach theories.

She’s very close with Pey’j ever since her parents passed away in the Wasteland war when she was a teen, and with how much her parents trusted Pey’j - a boar hybrid against all odds, she knew she wouldn’t be alone in the cruel world of Eden. She often helps Pey’j with the repairs and sometimes even does the work for him whenever Pey’j gets sick or overworked. One thing she always does and loves on a daily basis is taking photos of everything she comes across as interesting, maybe mostly taking funny pictures of Pey’j in his vulnerable state. She wants to keep memories with Pey’j as she regrets never taking any photos of her parents and wishing she could remember her memories with her parents. But as long as she and Pey’j are there for each other, She’s content with the family she currently has as Pey’j adoptive uncle.

Pey’j

Pey’j is opposite of Jade in a lot of ways - he’s stubborn, grumpy and often disrespectful towards strangers. He just gets tense around people who he doesn’t know and especially his promise to Jade's parents to always look out for their daughter, it only made him more overprotective towards Jade. Beneath all of the tough and blunt manner, he’s caring and sympathetic. Pey’j will open up about his personal upcomings as a boar hybrid, his family, his hobbies, and of course bragging of Jade’s talents, he’s also the pure example of terrible but in own charming ways of humor, somewhere between dad jokes and dark comedy. Pey’j has always dreamt about becoming an inventor for Eden, inventing technologies to help those in crisis instead of relying on a government that seeks more of the loyal and control than provide support for the citizens. But alas he has a lot of difficulties and responsibilities to even begin chasing his dream, so he’s sticking with what he has been doing for decades - repairing vehicles and gadgets for cheap prices for good qualities. 

Pey’j often cooks meals and gives out supplies to the homeless people as advised by Jade, since she’s always busy and staying up late writing journals and cases and in her own words “You gotta work with your communications too, old fart!”. Pey’j hasn’t all been too interested in relationships or even had a mind crossed about “marriage” and “having his own kids” due to his own fears of not being able to offer enough on the table, Pey’j believes that he has better things to do in his own opinion. Beside doing mechanics and inventing his small projects. Pey’j is also on occasion curious with hobbies, in particular chess has been his favorite pastime, usually he plays it with Jade or sometimes his acquaintances if in a right mood. Pey’j will deny being competitive about chess but each time he loses a game of chess, he will insist for another round until he personally wins! It can take from another 30 minutes to many hours depending on his bad luck.

Backstory

Jade’s parents as any others who were previously citizens of the USA see their country turning into a dystopian country now known as “Eden”, with no longer 50 states but 5 Mega Cities divided. They weren’t thrilled or accepting of the changes, with far advanced technologies and AI intelligence. Despite it all Jade’s parents made sure that their first born child would have a good life in a very new world that they also have to navigate through together. Jade’s parents were working hard in their jobs as one unexpected day coming across a troubling boar man hybrid out in the streets, clearly in some distress Jade’s parents decided to help out the hybrid and upon learning about the boar hybrid name “Pey’j”, they weren’t sure about this so called “Pey’j” with the news uprising about “Hybrids will take care of your pesky workflow and we as Eden community are grateful for that!” but they gave the benefit of a doubt as they were the only family remaining and alone with their daughter Jade. Maybe perhaps they could use some help.

Jade’s parents and Pey’j came along very well, with Pey’j skilled talent of repairing their old equipments around the house and become quite like a uncle figure to little Jade which gave Jade’s parents a relief that they could be a family - a fullfit family that may not seem big or exciting but all it mattered that they weren’t going to leave each others behind. Jade was quite a reckless child for both Pey’j and Jade’s parents, always hyperactive and was more into sports, bugs, and many other interests all at once! But Jade studied pretty alright at minimum in school and even took an extra class of material arts, both her own choice and a skill that Jade’s parents thought Jade would incredibly need in the future. Around the time Jade entered into High school, Jade’s parents had been fired from their original jobs due to some complications and the terms of services that they didn’t agree with. They have hidden that fact from Jade and Pey’j to avoid any unnecessary stress on their family, so with desperate attempts and tired of Eden’s corporate policy, they joined the DedSec organization to protect against corrupted ways of Eden. Jade’s parents both worked as hackers in coding into TV stations over Eden before eventually the event that they all were expecting for… ”The Wasteland War” as Eden militaries sent out missiles and soldiers towards wasteland and so Jade’s parents were rushed to quickly message to Pey’j about the situation and ask for a promise to protect their daughter Jade if they weren’t making it out alive. As the news broke out about the now abandoned Wasteland all across Mega Cities, Pey’j knew that Jade’s parents sadly didn’t make it due to no contact or logs ever since that sudden text and so Pey’j made sure to take care of Jade and support her as much as he can in his garage. Jade knew that they couldn’t afford to attend any college or universities but Jade did lots of freelance commissions on photography specifically before then switching to write journals and articles of niche topics around Eden. Jade and Pey’j were living somewhat sustainable living conditions despite all odds until an unexpected interaction with unidentified individuals in the alley not far from Pey’j garage as they were trying to capture Pey’j and Jade with Pey’j fell first defeated. Jade tried her absolute best to fight back but quickly grew weak and got cornered before getting knocked out cold.

Jade and Pey’j woke up in odd white room with a wrestler trying to break a metal locked door and a cyborg still sleeping out cold on the mattress, with absolute no clue where they were or what to do before eventually a woman walked in or “Warden” as they later found and that they were all being held captured and hidden from outside of the world in Supermaxx, with needing to obey the missions at hand or else their head explodes with discovering they do indeed have bombs inside their heads. Jade and Pey’j along with the others into a group as Warden calls it “The Ghosts”, they knew the stakes they had in a sudden shift of lifestyle but currently Jade and Pey’j will work it as long as they are always sticking by their sides.

Trivia

(This is mainly trivia about my own design version of Jade and Pey’j and doesn't always match up to either Beyond Good and Evil nor Captain Laserhawk versions so keep that in mind.)

The brown jacket that Jade wears is gifted by Pey’j as a first present she ever got from her adoptive uncle. It used to be too big for her before eventually once growing up she’s constantly seen wearing that jacket.

Pey’j red eyes gadgets were invented by himself to read and analyze better as once he got older, his eyes just weren’t as good in eye sight as in his youth.

 Jade has two different styles of fingerless gloves. Her left glove is green, more geared up for cycling and her right glove is a simple black thin fingerless glove. She did have at one time both green geared up finger gloves before during once in her practice of learning to ride a bike she lost her right fingerless glove upon falling over and Pey’j gave her a replacement for a simple black fingerless glove.

Pey’j has a right cut off tusk due to one intense gang fight he had along before he met Jade or Jade’s parents. He always loves re-telling that tale and expresses his anger.

Jade and Pey’j have almost shared birthdays. Jade’s birthday is 24th of May and Pey’j - 23rd May. They do an annual special two days of sharing both of their birthdays together and as such both receive presents twice as such and make trips. Their favorite go-to place is carnival.

Jade’s camera is borrowed from one of the commissioner’s job but later was gifted by them and such Pey’j has added features into Jade’s camera to make it one of its kind including ability to zoom in and out almost infinitely, loads of filters built in and one of Jade’s favorite - a stunt that gives anyone within her range a temporary blindness, although comes with limit of usages she can do.

Pey’j’s wrench has been modified and had different looks many times to make the perfect wrench with multi-purpose as ever! Currently his wrench has been modified to weigh slightly heavier than average wrenches to carry a heavy and quick swing. Pey’j’s wrench has even functionality to act as a power source for example to use as a flashlight, to charge up equipment, without a lot of storage of power. He’s still in development for that perk.

Funny story. When Jade was 16, she asked, begged even Pey'j for earrings for “that cool rad look to show off!” Jade’s own quotes. Pey’j reluctantly agreed but he was at first adamant about putting the earrings himself and so he tried to do his first practice to his own ears. It didn’t go well as planned with him having two permanent little holes in his ears and he eventually agreed to let Jade go to the professional. Jade still make jokes about it to these days, not of one Pey’j’s proudest moments.

Jade’s hairstyles had so many iterations before she settled in her now iconic bottom shaved pixie cut. She has only let her hair grow once when she was around 8, Jade's parents weren’t looking carefully and Jade was messing with lighter and managed to burn half of her hair. To say Jade’s parents were mortified and angry would be an understatement. Jade later had to shave her whole hair for six months.

Pey’j boots are actually jet boots that he modified way more recently than his wrench, allowing him to float a few centimeters into the air - before then falling down, but this comes in handy for combat for ground pounding!

If you have read all of this...holy shit that's insane of you and I really appreciate that you took your time about two characters that I just wanted to give more love for them... ^^' Feel free to write your feedback, suggestion, idea or even mistakes if I have made any about it! Like I said before I want to improve on writing down ideas and thoughts into words more coherent and clear in the future.

Thank you for reading once again! 🫶

[beastgoddk]

State of Harley 2025

Talked about it before but I’m most likely going to be quitting my full time job. The plan, at least in the short term, is to work on art; I wanna make more games, and possibly open up commissions in the future (not soon, sorry). Frankly though, right now, I want time to work on my problems, have new experiences and be around people I care about, new and old. Lately I’ve been feeling some of the worst depression I’ve ever felt in my life. I cannot stop thinking about killing myself. Sorry, I’m a fraud, I know I wrote about telling you all to live. I want to be better. I want to embody what I talk about. I want to believe I can avoid stagnating or falling further into a spiral, and that we all can. I’m tired of feeling so alone and disconnected. I feel like I was only born five years ago. When I look at so many of the people around me I feel such a vast disconnect, watching them exist so effortlessly. I’ve spent so long ignoring these problems and feeling isolated that I feel like I need time to focus on fixing those things, more than a 9-5 job allows anyway. 

I’ve also wanted to focus on creating art for a long time now and felt dejected about being unable to do so. I’ve felt more and more disillusioned about the idea of ever being able to do art in the “industry”, or wanting to for that matter. The things most games are doing are just not something I really care that much about. And that’s if I could get stable, paying 2D art jobs. For a long time it felt like watching my dreams melt in my hands. I can’t wait any longer, I have to make a real attempt at this. I have to try making things I at least care about a little and see what happens. If I fail, at least I tried. I’m prepared to take that risk.

I’m scared. I know it’s risky, but I feel good about finally having the capability to actually attempt this. I look back 10 years or so to when I started learning to draw and I feel ok saying; I’ve worked hard to be in a spot where I can even consider doing this.

Anyway. Exciting things coming soon hopefully. Or maybe not, who knows. Maybe I’ll just spend the whole time being kidnapped and beaten up by other women, that’s fine too.

[calderasletski]

Eyes Do Not Decieve

The first time Y/n encountered Suo was when she was trying to escape a weirdo trying to flirt with her….

The first time Suo encountered Y/n was when he was out on patrol and he discovered he had a girlfriend he never knew he had….

“As I told you I’m here with my boyfriend,” squeezing Suo’s arm, she said to the person who Suo presumed was bothering her.

He could’ve intervened with his skills in martial arts but he didn’t. He wanted to see how this would play out.

“Darling, is he bothering you?” he asked her effortlessly playing along.

Y/n faltered a little at how compliant he was being. Though only for a little while.

“Oh yes. I was waiting for you when he came over. I told him I had a boyfriend but he… didn’t believe me.” She gave him a look that said ‘am I doing this okay?’

Suo shot back a ‘who knows’

But the creep was not convinced. “Are you sure you know him?”

“Yea, why would I approach him if I didn’t,” she said, crossing her arms to prove her point.

“I know it’s unbelievable to you that a lady as beautiful as her would date me but you’re being rude,” Suo remarked.

‘Damn, he’s smooth,’ Y/n’s thoughts screamed.

“Okay then what’s his name?” the creep asked her, pointing to Suo disbelief still evident in his eyes.

………...

............

“...zuko…”

……….....

………......

“That’s it! You don’t even know this dude!” he yelled, stomping towards her.

Before he could register what was happening, he felt the world spin and when he opened his eyes and looked up, Suo was looking down on him shielding Y/n behind him.

“Whether I know her or not is none of your business but I’d rather not see you bothering her again,” he said dangerously.

This scared the shit out of him, making him run  away.

Y/n on other hand was fawning over how cool Suo looked pulling off a move like that. “How did you do that?”

“You see, there’s a spirit sealed under this eyepatch. I can borrow its power to do some special moves,” he said seriously.

Y/n knew whether to take him seriously or not. “So you get possessed by the spirit sometimes.”

“You can put it like that,” he replied. He was enjoying this.

“Thanks for helping me,” Y/n said smiling at him.

Suo has never seen anyone smile so brightly at him. Maybe he was starting to develop a crush, maybe his mind was playing tricks on him.

“It’s nothing. You can come to me anytime you want. After All, I’m your boyfriend,” he joked.

Y/n felt her cheeks burn so she tried to cover her face with her hair.

Suo was enjoying getting a reaction out of her.

“I’m Y/n L/n. What’s your name?” Y/n asked unexpectedly. “In case you become my boyfriend again I’ll need your name.”

It was rare for Suo to get a taste of his own medicine. Regardless, he chuckled and said, “Suo Hayato.”

~

The next time Suo saw Y/n he found out she knew Sakura….

The next time Y/n saw Suo she found out he was friends with Sakura…..

And Sakura was weak to teasing. And when you place him between two people with the same energy in one room which is basically Kotoha’s cafe…

“I missed you so much,” Y/n said dramatically.

“I kept thinking about the day when I’d see you again,” Suo matched her freak.

Kotoha, Nirei, Kiryu-everyone knew they were faking it.

Sakura on the other hand felt like he was gonna combust. “Will you two just cut it out?! D-do this where people can’t see you!”

~

It turns out even he needs her help too…. And she’s happy to help him out and maybe show him off….

Two girls was asking for Suo’s number. He declined but they were relentless.

“My girlfriend wouldn’t like the idea of you asking for my number like that,” he said loud enough for Y/n to hear when he saw her approaching.

“Like it?” Y/n said as she stopped beside him and hooked her arm with his. “I’d hate it actually.”

And then she proceeded to brag about him. Even though Suo had no idea when they went they went out to hunt spirits at night he stared at her affectionately and nodded to her every word.

Even if the girls didn’t believe her, eyes do not deceive.

Sakura knows it too. He’s scowling at the spectacle unfolding in front of him with his face beet red. “Damn it! I’m leaving!”

~

Y/n asked Suo to teach him how to punch creeps in style…. Suo suggested he teach her how to slap creeps in style….

“Can’t you just go easy on me?” Y/n said getting up from the ground after Sou gently tripped her.

“You told me to give it all you got,” he remarked.

“True…” she said pouting.

“How about you come at me again. I promise I’ll go easy on you this time,” he said without any hint of teasing in his tone.

Y/n scanned his face for signs of mischief.

“Okay… on the count of three,” she said skeptically.

However she launched at Suo just as she said “three!”

Suo, already accustomed to her antics, was used to this. He blocked her effortlessly and as she was about to fall back he grabbed on to her, their faces inches from each other.

“You said you’d go easy on me,” Y/n said grabbing onto his shirt.

“I did go easy on you,” he said smugly. “I didn’t let you fall this time did I?”

“Wow you deserve to be rewarded for your efforts,” she said, her face heating up.

Before she could process her actions, Y/n grabbed the side of his head and placed a kiss on his cheek.

Suo stiffened his hold on her as he forgot whatever words of retaliation he was gonna say.

“Are you feeling shy?” Y/n said although she was barely holding herself together. ‘Why did I have to go and do that!’

“N-no,” his voice cracked. No  one ever heard his voice crack.

Y/n pushed herself away from him. Not that he was holding her too tightly. “I guess the training’s over now… I should head back,” she said and turned to leave.

Before she could run away, Suo grabbed her arm and pulled her towards him. “W-what?”

“Would you mind if I ask you to stay?” he stated clearly.

Releasing the breath she didn’t know she was holding, she turned around to face him. Suo was staring at her with a lovestruck expression. And her expression probably mirrored his. The same facial expressions that Sakura often caught a glimpse of when they were supposedly faking it to rile him up. Before they themselves realised it Sakura knew they were in fact not faking it.

~

The next time they met at Kotoha’s cafe Suo confidently approached her, taking her hand and kissing the back of her palm.

And Sakura could confirm that his eyes never decieved him.

[toxicanonymity]

get to know people

ty for the tags @milla-frenchy, @sunshineispunk, @iamasaddie, @tateypots 💛. I'm tagging you 🫵 and no pressure tagging 10 of you: @dark-scape @quaritchscupquake @whateverloomis @megangovier @xdaddysprincessxx @covetyou @romanarose @aurorawritestoescape @bitchesuntitled @noxturnalnymph sorry if you already did it.

I feel kinda vulnerable (and yet boring at the same time) talking about myself, but one of my goals is to let people know me as more of a person. 🩷

what's the origin of your blog title?: I have a taste for toxic characters, and i was hastily picking a url that would give me more anonymity. this old buzzword floated into my head from 15 yrs ago--I get a kick out of buzzwords that fizzle out so fast they become associated with a very specific point in time. I got the URL on an impulse and figured I could change it once I thought of the perfect url.... Meanwhile I've had plenty of asks and stalkers who themselves embody the old buzzword's meaning: the way a veil of anonymity emboldens hate and toxicity. I just wanted my veil to write porn, man.

favorite fandoms: impossible to say. too many factors.

OTP(s) + shipname: Michael Myers & Corey Cunningham (cunningmyers). it's a deep and fucked up bond, very dark and sexually charged. (Cue father figure 🎶) In my HCs I don't imagine anything soft, affectionate, or monogamous. it's pining and worship from Corey, dominance and dark energy from Michael and his monster cock. And when they kill together, god I love that.

favorite color: depends. My electronics & cases are blue, and I like to wear soft blues. also brown and olive green to wear. Black & salmon/peach: god tier combo.

favorite game: scrabble, trivia, jigsaw puzzles, nyt spelling bee, W.E.L.D.E.R., crosswords, guessing games. I've been trying to learn how to play poker which is great entertainment for @dark-scape.

song stuck in your head: none but I make up songs for my cat and I was singing one earlier about how sweet and nice she is. update: take me to church by hozier

weirdest habit/trait?: idk, really.

hobbies: lounging, research and learning, going to movies, watching miniseries, walking, writing but mostly in my head, taking elaborate baths, reading. getting organized this yr, minimalizing, donating things I don't need. would like to get back into candle-making and painting or clay sculpting.

if you work, what's your profession? Pass. I do work, though.

if you could have any job you wish what would it be? It would be cool to make a living off writing. But, ideally get rich with minimal effort and then financially support an animal sanctuary so I could go chill with the animals whenever I want. also, publicize & investigate missing persons cases that don't get enough attention.

something you're good at: finding four leaf clovers. Cobbling together cosplay from thrift store finds. having ideas. character development & world building.

something you're bad at: socializing, but I want to do better. I'm shy to begin with and some of my experiences here haven't helped. But I promise I don't bite. I'm also bad at staying focused, keeping an uncluttered mind, second-guessing my story plans and not ending them.

something you love: having a pet. I feel so lucky to have a (not so) little furball who enjoys my company and has a personality and lets me take care of her.

something you could talk about for hours off the cuff: not usually super talkative. hmm. predictions about the year ahead - love to hear peoples' thoughts on this (sports, pop culture, archaeology, food & makeup trends, etc.). unsolved mysteries.

something you hate: I don't wanna get anyone worked up with a rant so I'm just gonna say canned spinach. Haven't had it since childhood but I can still taste it

something you collect: I'm not sure I collect anything. I keep a lot of greeting cards received with photos.

something you forget: what I came in the room for, why I opened the app, just about anything.

what's your love language?: little gestures (gifts/acts of service), praise

favorite movie/show: here's my letterboxd

favorite food: fresh pasta w/ olive oil and fresh parmesan

favorite animal: too many to list

what were you like as a child? pensive, curious, loved the circus and Halloween. my mom likes to tell the story of when I was 18 months old and an old friend of hers came to meet me and I explained what a parallelagram was and it freaked her out.

favorite subject(s) at school? English and Spanish

least favorite subject? anything that was straight memorization. But I wish I tried harder.

what's your best character trait? I care about people

what's your worst character trait? easily distracted and forgetful, can be slow to respond, recovering perfectionist

if you could change any detail of your day right now what would it be? That I had to do any work at all

if you could travel in time who would you like to meet? a big, hot guy who captures me but won't kill me if I escape to come back to this timeline.

recommend one of your favorite fanfics (spread the love!):

hounds of hell by @aurorawritestoescape and @milla-frenchy 🐨🙏

some more favorites

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[skimmingmilk]

Hi, thanks again for answering my first ask about Tails and Shadow and Sonic! Similar question here, do you have any headcanons/ideas/musings about Tails and Sharp that you can share? I love their dynamic in the Sharp Edges collection you wrote, and I'm a sucker for any Sonic Prime AU where Tails is the one who interacts with other versions of Sonic. Thanks!

Hi! No problem, I love answering questions where I can and talking things out :)

Ah! I'm so excited you want to know more about Sharp and Tails! :D That's so cool, thanks for being interested! I also really love Tails getting to interact with other versions of Sonic, so I'm happy to do my part to add to it <3

Sharp is (only a little) reluctantly following along with Tails's scheme under the guise that he just needs to make sure the kid keeps a low profile and doesn't end up back on Satine Rouge's radar while they're in Rogue's Row. He can't have his reputation damaged, after all, it's what allows him what little freedom he has to help people. But it's also exciting! Helping Tails on these missions gives him a boost of adrenaline that he's been kinda missing. And he doesn't even have to pretend to kill anyone!

The two of them are very similar to how Nine and Sonic are, they bond quick because they work well together and because Sharp is so similar to Sonic, just a little... sharper. They're also pretty snarky with each other, which they both enjoy, but Sharp will downplay Tails's accomplishments without remorse in a way Sonic would never. Sharp isn't as sensitive to striking an insecure nerve because he doesn't know it's there.

Tails can handle it for the most part, since he's a little more aware of Sharp not being Sonic than Sonic was of Nine not being Tails. He's taken aback occasionally by Sharp's bite, especially when it's anger that's directed at him. He can handle sarcastic quips and even the threats of violence (because he knows he won't follow through), but sometimes things get a little raw and feelings are hurt. But there's still so much Sonic in Sharp that Tails can't help but care about him. Just like it's so easy to forgive Sonic (almost annoyingly so), Tails forgives Sharp as naturally as breathing.

And Sharp's not used to that. It's every rogue for themselves where he's from. And while he's done his best to make sure others have a chance at a fresh start, no one's ever returned the favor. No one's ever cared.

So Sharp and Tails butt heads more than Sonic and Tails do, especially once they leave Rogue's Row to search for more of the prism shards. They're not completely in sync. Mostly because Tails believes Sharp can be more than what he lets himself, and Sharp doesn't want to be told who he is by someone who barely knows him. He also doesn't want to be responsible for anyone other than himself, but is frustrated by how easy it is to want to look out for this lost kid. And how much this kid's opinion of him matters. He tries to resist the attachment at first, but just like Nine found hope and happiness in Sonic, Sharp finds the same meaning in Tails. His bond with him opens him up to become someone that will eventually be the person Nine needs (and Nine's going to get a bit of an extra journey to complement that, too).

Tails will also get to interact with two other Sonics in that AU, too! Drift (from No Place) and Snare (from Boscage Maze), though Snare's name might still change... His bond with both of them is still special, too, but when they meet Sails and Mangey, they're able to bond with them much sooner than Sharp is able to bond with Nine. Sharp and Nine don't really connect until the very end of the adventure, since both of them are too attached to Tails and Sonic, respectively.

Sorry, this totally got away from me! I have so many feelings about my Prime AU and every intention to write more of it if I wasn't so behind on Picket Fence stuff. I'll leave a little snippet of Sharp and Tails chatting though as a treat <3 I can't remember if I've ever shared it before, so sorry if I have, but it takes place a bit after "Keep a Sharp Eye."

Tails sighed at his Prower Paradox Prism Position Predictor Mark 5 when it showed no sign of there being anything remotely like the energy signature of the Paradox Prism nearby. "It's gone." "Told ya it was still busted." Tails ignored him. "But my calculations were precise. Nothing else gives off any kind of energy readings remotely similar. Something had to have triggered it. Or at least had enough of a disruptive frequency to confuse the P.2.5.P." "Weird. Maybe it has something to do with the other you I just saw." Sharp cupped his chin, foot tapping thoughtfully. Tails's attention snapped to him so hard he nearly gave himself whiplash. "What?" "There was another you up in the trees. Right when your gizmo thing stopped working." Sharp twirled his index finger in the direction of the P.2.5.P. Tails gaped at him. "Why didn't you tell me?" "Well, it looked like he was kinda trying to kill you. Like everyone in this city," Sharp reminded him, an edge to voice befitting his name, before he leaned back with a shrug. "Thought it was better if you didn't know you were being actively sniped." Tails could still only stare at him slack-jawed. There were plenty of times Sonic had rendered him speechless over the years, but the dissonance of what he knew about these two versions of his best friend and all their other friends was thoroughly giving his processing capabilities a run for its money. He needed an aspirin. "I thought you said you'd never seen another me in this dimension?" Tails finally ground out. Sharp narrowed his own eyes at his tone. "I hadn't. You're the first you I've ever seen in my life. That guy up there was the second."

[gosuckseamonkeys]

Arid Melancholy

Summary: Rafayel is captured and endures brutal torture at the hands of an agent of EVER Group intent on exploiting his people’s secrets.

Zayne, Xavier, Sylus and Rafayel must confront their deepest fear, losing you, and fight against an enemy whose ambition threatens their survival.

AN: Apologies in advance for the angst, I've been looking for similar heart wrenching fics on here for a while now before I decided to write my own. Then an evil little idea formed and pulled me reluctantly out of writing retirement.

Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, ....

Chapter 1 - Approx. 2pm

Jealousy

"I think that's enough for today. We've been at it for hours," Xavier said, wiping the sweat from his brow and stepping back, sheathing his practice sword. "I don’t know about you, but I’m exhausted."

“You’re always exhausted,” you groaned, letting your sword fall to your side. “I think I’m getting better, though!”

“You certainly are. I’m looking forward to our next mission together.” A faint blush spread across his cheeks as he ran his fingers through his damp silver hair, brushing it out of his eyes. “I think you deserve a reward for your excellent swordsmanship. How about dinner on the way home? Our usual hot pot place—my treat.”

“I don’t think anyone loves hot pot as much as you do, Xavier,” you teased, packing up your belongings for the walk home. “I’d love to, but I have a date tonight with Rafayel.”

“A what now?” Xavier froze mid-step, his eyebrows shooting up in surprise.

“His exhibit is tonight. I’m sure you’ve heard about it—Thomas has been working overtime promoting the event. It’s all over the news.”

“Who is Thomas?” Xavier picked up his pace to walk alongside you, his expression tight with frustration.

You smiled and turned to face him, gently raising your hand to cup his cheek. “No one you need to worry about.”

Caught off guard, his tense demeanor softened as he leaned into your touch.

“I doubt that… but as long as the whole city is also invited to your ‘date,’ I think I can stomach it,” Xavier muttered.

“You’re adorable when you’re jealous, you know that?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he scoffed, grasping your hand and continuing toward your apartment building.

Your phone buzzed, and you reluctantly let go of his hand to retrieve it from your pocket. Seeing the picture on the screen, you grinned, and Xavier’s frown deepened.

“Hey, Rafayel! How are the preparations going?”

“There she is…” Rafayel’s voice carried a note of relief. “I was starting to worry when you didn’t respond to my texts. You didn’t forget about me, did you?”

“With you reminding me every hour on the hour? Not possible,” you chuckled. “I’m almost home. I just need to shower and change.”

“I have something for you,” Rafayel said, his smile evident in his tone. “Hurry up—I’m terrible at surprises, and you need to open it ASAP.”

“See you soon, guppy.”

“Guppy?” Xavier echoed, arching a brow. “Will I see you tomorrow, at least?”

You turned to Xavier, catching his dejected expression. “Tomorrow should be—oh, shit.”

Your sudden exclamation startled him. “What? What is it?”

“I forgot to reschedule my appointment with Dr. Zayne.” You hastily texted your physician, bracing yourself for the inevitable lecture about last-minute cancellations. “He’s going to kill me!”

“I’ll take that as a ‘no’ for tomorrow, then…” Xavier sighed.

The Gift

Rafayel paced outside your apartment, gently swinging a bag containing your gift. He’d been imagining you in it for weeks. The gown was tailored to match the colors of his suit for the event, and he was eager to see you wearing it.

The elevator chimed, and Rafayel’s heart leapt. His excitement dimmed slightly when you stepped off—with Xavier in tow. Wonderful.

You dashed down the hall and threw yourself into Rafayel’s arms. He dropped the bag without hesitation, scooping you up and holding you close. He breathed in your scent, missing you terribly, despite only being apart for a few days.

“I thought we were meeting at the venue!” you exclaimed before trailing off, noticing Xavier looming behind you.

“Xavier,” Rafayel greeted with a forced smile.

Rafayel's greeting was ignored as Xavier bent down to kiss your cheek. “I’ll see you later this week, okay? Let me know when you get home tonight.” His tone carried a warning as he cast Rafayel a sharp glance before striding back to the elevator.

“Who spit in his seabed?” Rafayel asked, raising an eyebrow.

You shrugged, looping your arm through his and opening your front door. “Xavier can be… overprotective.”

“Possessive,” Rafayel countered.

“Something like that.”

“He should learn to share.”

“Says the man who wants to see me every waking hour.” You quipped.

Rafayel smirked, picking up the bag and following you inside. “I’ll take the sleeping hours too, if you’re offering.”

Walking inside, you set your things down on the coffee table and headed toward the bathroom. Rafayel caught your hand as you passed and pulled you close.

“Oh no, you don’t,” he murmured, tilting your chin to make you meet his gaze, his ever-changing eyes mesmerizing. “I missed you.”

“I missed you too,” you whispered, your noses almost touching.

Rafayel couldn’t resist as he guided you backward until your back met the wall. Threading his fingers through your hair, he buried his face in the crook of your neck, his lips trailing soft kisses down your throat.

“Wait, Rafayel! I’m gross—I was just working out!” you squealed, squirming in his grasp.

“You’re never gross to me, cutie,” he rasped, his lips brushing against your ear before capturing yours in a slow, sensual kiss. He tugged gently at your lower lip, teasing with his teeth. “Do you need help getting out of your clothes before your shower? I don’t mind getting wet if you want company,” he whispered suggestively.

“We don’t have time for all that—we’ll be late!” You laughed, slipping out of his arms and darting toward the bathroom.

Rafayel let out a dramatic sigh, his voice loud enough to carry through the door. “I could make time,” he teased before muttering to himself, “or just skip the event entirely after I see you wearing the gift I’ve brought...”

After a few minutes, he knocked lightly on the bathroom door. “Cutie, I’m hanging your present on the doorknob. Get dressed and come out when you’re ready.”

“Rafayel, what did you do?” you called out suspiciously.

“You’ll see,” he replied with a playful lilt, sauntering back to the couch and sprawling across it as he waited impatiently.

About fifteen minutes later, he heard the soft click of heels against the floor. He sat up eagerly, his anticipation building. When you stepped into view, his breath caught in his throat.

“How do I look?” you asked, spinning slowly to show off the dress.

“You’re… stunning,” Rafayel whispered, his gaze locked on you in awe.

The gown was a masterpiece, its top half a deep midnight blue that seamlessly transitioned into a rich royal purple near the hem. The silk shimmered with hues reminiscent of the ocean’s depths, and a high slit on the right side revealed just enough of your thigh to make his pulse quicken.

The strapless design left your shoulders bare, a perfect canvas for the delicate necklace he’d chosen. Holding the back of the dress together, you turned to him shyly. “Do you think you could zip me up?”

Rafayel rose slowly, savoring the sight of you. He moved behind you, his fingers brushing yours as he zipped the gown closed with deliberate care.

From his pocket, he pulled out a long silver necklace adorned with a small oyster-shaped pendant cradling a pink pearl.

“You’re enchanting,” he murmured, draping the necklace around your neck and fastening the clasp.

“Rafayel, this is too much,” you said, your voice tinged with awe as he reached for the matching pearl bracelet and earrings.

“It’s nowhere near enough,” he replied softly, his reverent gaze fixed on you. As he fastened the bracelet around your wrist, his tone turned teasing. “These are just little accents to highlight the real treasure by my side tonight.”

“These must have cost a fortune,” you protested, your cheeks warming.

“Don’t even think about it. They’re yours, freely given, with no expectations. All I care about is seeing you happy. Do you like them?”

“Of course I do!”

“Good,” he said with a wicked smile. “Because I can’t wait to unwrap you later.”

His lips claimed yours in a searing kiss that left you breathless. “The sooner we get to the exhibit, the sooner we can leave—and I can have you all to myself,” he murmured against your lips.

“I’ve been dying to see your exhibit! Thomas refused to tell me anything. What did you say to him?” you asked.

Rafayel shrugged, holding the door open for you. As you stepped out of the apartment, he bit his lip and glanced up at the ceiling before quietly closing the door behind him.

“Maybe Thomas is onto something. That dress is going to torture me all night long,” he murmured. His eyes drifted to your exposed thigh, and he rested a hand gently on your soft skin. “We really need to do this more often.”

“You know you don’t have to bring your gun everywhere, right? We hired private security for the evening, so you’re officially off duty tonight, Miss Bodyguard,” he added with a teasing smirk.

You tugged your dress down slightly to ensure the holster strap on your thigh remained hidden. “Wouldn’t you rather have it and not need it than need it and not have it? I feel naked without it.”

“So tempted to make a comment,” Rafayel grinned, “but I’m trying to be a gentleman here.”

The Security Team

Thomas opened the back door of the gallery, greeting four imposing men dressed in all-black suits. One by one, they entered the facility at his invitation.

“Gentlemen, thank you for being here today. Normally, Mr. Rafayel has a smaller security detail, but for an event like this, I insisted on something more formal.” Thomas let out a relieved sigh.

“Of course. You’re Thomas, correct? We spoke on the phone,” said Marcus, stepping forward and gesturing over his shoulder, "meet my team."

He introduced the guards and gestured to a man with similar features and build. “This is my brother, Bennett.”

"Family business?" Thomas remarked with curiosity. Bennett nodded in acknowledgment.

“We came out last week to map the facility layout,” Marcus continued. “We’re familiar with the building, but you should walk us through the event details.”

“Wow, you’re thorough,” Thomas replied, visibly impressed. “You came highly recommended by the agency, and I’m beginning to see why.” He motioned for the group to follow as he began walking them through the venue.

Marcus strolled calmly at the front, his sharp eyes taking in the exhibits. “We handle many protection details for high-profile clients and look forward to safeguarding Mr. Rafayel tonight.”

“We appreciate it,” Thomas said. “This is Rafayel’s largest gallery show yet. It includes his work spanning decades and various mediums, all centered around Lemuria—a recurring theme in his art since, well, forever.”

Marcus’s expression darkened slightly as he studied the pieces. “Some research suggests he might be Lemurian himself. Any truth to that?”

“Hardly,” Thomas scoffed, brushing off the question. “He’s just a little more sensitive and eccentric than most. The public likes to paint him as otherworldly, which, of course, I encourage. Free marketing,” he added smoothly, the line rolling off his tongue like a practiced mantra.

Yet deep down, Thomas couldn’t ignore the signs. How could he have worked alongside Rafayel for so many years and not know he was… different? Though Rafayel had never explicitly claimed to be anything other than human, there were too many signs to dismiss.

“My brother will double-check the more restricted areas—the catering hall, lavatories, and employee break room,” Marcus said, snapping Thomas out of his thoughts. “You can never be too careful.”

Marcus glanced over his shoulder and nodded at Bennett, who silently split off from the group and retraced their steps. “My men and I will remain with you to cover all ancillary details. What’s the final count for attendees?”

While Marcus kept Thomas occupied, Bennett slipped outside to the van, pulling a set of keys from his pocket. Climbing into the driver’s seat, he glanced back as he fastened his seatbelt.

The real security team lay unconscious in the van’s rear compartment.

Bennett smirked wickedly, turning the ignition. As he backed out of the parking lot, he glanced at the figures sprawled out behind him.

“Sorry, boys, but this was the path of least resistance. Don’t worry, you’ll be found in a few weeks. At least your families will get a chance to say a proper goodbye.”

Humming along to the radio, Bennett tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “I’m not a complete monster. Unlike my brother.”

Target Acquired

Rafayel led you into the gallery, trying to shield himself as photographers swarmed outside the venue. Thomas greeted you both in the lobby, looking frazzled.

“You’re late!"

“I’m actually right on time, thanks to this one,” Rafayel said, draping his arm around your shoulders and pulling you close.

“You’re going to put me in an early grave, I swear! I needed you here an hour ago,” Thomas huffed, shoving a stack of documents into Rafayel’s unoccupied hand.

Rafayel rolled his eyes, “accidentally” dropping the pages into a nearby trash bin. He grabbed your hand and followed Thomas deeper into the building.

“You weren’t kidding about giving me the night off,” you remarked.

“I prefer your exclusive protection, of course,” Rafayel replied, flashing a grin. “But this way, I get your undivided attention. Your only job tonight is to enjoy yourself, Miss Bodyguard.”

“Hurry up!” Thomas scolded as he led you into an overcrowded back office. Inside, four broad-shouldered men dressed in sleek black attire stood waiting.

“Mr. Rafayel,” Marcus greeted, stepping forward. His pale green eyes locked onto Rafayel like a predator spotting its prey. “Good to finally meet you. My team will be managing security for the event tonight. I’m Marcus. Let us know if you need anything.”

“I feel safer already,” Rafayel said, pulling you closer. “Just make sure her safety is a priority too. I can’t live without her.”

You blushed, gently elbowing him in the ribs. “Nice to meet you,” you said, trying to sound professional. “But really, you don’t have to worry about me. I work for the Hunter’s Association, so please focus on his well-being. I can handle myself.”

“Of course you can, cutie,” Rafayel teased.

“I mean it,” you insisted.

“No, she doesn’t. She’s a terrible bodyguard,” he retorted with a smirk.

“Rafayel,” you growled, “if you don’t quit, they’re going to need to protect you from me.”

“So feisty. Love that about you,” Rafayel quipped. “Let’s go grab a drink before the mob outside rushes in. I can’t wait to meet all of Thomas’s little wallet-weasels.”

“They’re donors and patrons, Rafayel,” Thomas groaned. “Be on your best behavior, or I swear…”

Rafayel ignored him, pulling you out of the office before Thomas could finish his lecture.

The Halls of Lemuria - Approx. 5pm

Rafayel spent about thirty minutes mingling with guests, shaking hands, and pandering to the crowd before he slipped an arm around your waist, gently steering you toward the double doors of the exhibit hall.

“Rafayel, wait! You’ve barely scratched the surface of your list. You’ve only spoken to about ten people so far!”

“My social battery is officially empty, and I need a break,” he grumbled. “Besides, you haven’t even seen the actual art yet.”

The transition from the gallery lobby to the exhibits was marked by enormous floor-to-ceiling curtains in rich oceanic hues—deep teals, bright blues, and majestic purples. Rafayel chose a spot in the draped fabric, parting it to invite you under his arm.

The first sight inside took your breath away. Vaulted ceilings were illuminated in soft, swirling colors of cerulean, lavender, and pale blue, mimicking the mesmerizing depths of the sea. Small bubbles descended gracefully from hidden mechanisms in the ceiling, adding to the immersive experience. It felt as though you’d been transported to Rafayel’s long-lost kingdom—a world erased from the planet centuries ago.

The walls showcased paintings in various mediums: sprawling white palaces, lush underwater gardens, coral clusters glowing in vibrant hues, and graceful sea creatures. Yet, the sculptures stole the show. Many appeared suspended, floating on transparent wires above the crowd, as if swimming through the air.

At the room’s center, elevated on a pedestal, stood the exhibit’s centerpiece—a striking sculpture of you. The figure depicted you as Lemurian royalty, complete with an elegant tail and delicate fins. Serene and regal, the sculpture held the emissary of the sea in its hands. Its detail was stunning, from the curve of the tail to the expression of wisdom and grace.

You covered your mouth in shock, overwhelmed by emotion as you took in the artistry. Your eyes finally landed on the inscription at the base of the pedestal, engraved in shimmering gold:

“Property of Mo Art, not available for auction.”

Rafayel’s arms slipped around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder, nuzzling close. “I’ve been working on her for years,” he whispered, a proud smile in his voice. “And I’ll be damned if I let her go home with anyone else.”

Your cheeks flushed as you leaned into him, pressing a soft kiss to his cheek. “I don’t even know what to say…”

“Then don’t,” he murmured. “Just stay here with me for a moment. The next room is… intense. I want to savor this with you.”

He inhaled deeply, committing the moment to memory. “I can’t take you to Lemuria, but I tried to bring a piece of it here for you.”

Behind the next set of thick blue-grey curtains lay a strikingly different scene. This time, you stepped through first, Rafayel following close behind.

The atmosphere shifted immediately. Fishing nets and the bones of sea creatures draped the ceiling, lowering the room’s height and creating a claustrophobic effect. The walls were adorned with paintings—violent, chaotic depictions of Lemuria’s decimation. Abstract oceans were streaked with blood-red carmine and rust.

Life-size ruins littered the space, forcing patrons to step over and navigate around the destruction to view each piece. The lighting deepened, with crimson and shadow replacing the softer lavender tones of the previous room.

At the room’s center was a towering mound of strung pearls, meticulously fastened together into a monument that reached your waist. You clutched Rafayel’s hand tightly. Each pearl represented the tears of Lemuria’s citizens, shed over centuries of devastation. The weight of their sorrow pressed heavily on your chest.

“These were created during one of the darkest times in my life,” Rafayel said softly, his voice heavy with emotion. He squeezed your hand and pulled you closer, his warmth a reassuring presence. “I haven’t felt the need to revisit those memories since you’ve been with me. I hope it stays that way.”

Without lingering too long, Rafayel guided you toward the final set of curtains—billowing white linens that barely contained a bright, inviting light. “C’mon,” he said with a small smile. “Just one more room.”

As you stepped through, the sensation underfoot changed. Sand. It stretched out in soft mounds, leading to an expansive mural on the far wall—a stunning sunrise painted in vibrant hues of orange, pink, and gold. The air felt warmer here, reminiscent of a coastal morning.

The shoreline stretched down the hall, dotted with smaller sculptures of seashells, crabs, and seagulls. Some of the birds hung suspended from the ceiling, frozen mid-flight.

The sand transitioned into a shallow pool of crystal-clear water, complete with gentle waves lapping at the edge. Beneath the surface, an enormous sculpture depicted the ruins of Lemuria in breathtaking detail.

At the water’s edge stood lifelike sculptures of mourners, their faces cast in grief. One figure, draped in black, stood waist-deep in the water, dissolving into the sea as if returning to the kingdom’s ruins below.

Rafayel’s gaze turned somber as he watched the figure. He held your hand tighter, his eyes reflecting the light of the simulated sunrise.

“What do you say we move on to the dining room?” Rafayel suggested softly, attempting a smile. “I could use a drink—or three.”

You wrapped your arms around his neck, kissing him sweetly before nodding. Together, you left the exhibit, hand in hand, as wealthy patrons and critics marveled at Rafayel’s masterful portrayal of beauty, sorrow, and resilience.

Closing Time - Approx. 7pm

After hours of entertaining, you and Rafayel stood by as Thomas ushered the last patrons out of the dining room. With a sigh of relief, Thomas closed the door behind them, a triumphant smile lighting his face.

“Well done, Rafayel,” Thomas said, raising a champagne flute. “Nearly every piece is sold! Mrs. Hildebrant alone claimed a third from the first room.”

Rafayel raised his glass with a playful groan. “Couldn’t have done it without you, Thomas. But I’m starving. Can we puh-lease go now?”

You giggle at his dramatics mirroring his eagerness, both of you ready for the dinner he'd promised. The only people left in the building were the three of you and the hired security detail.

“Yes, yes, you miserable fish. You’re free to go.” Thomas says with a smile, waving his hand dismissively. “I’ll be at your studio tomorrow to sort out—”

Before anyone could move, Marcus struck Thomas, knocking him unconscious. Chaos erupted as the security team turned on you and Rafayel.

Bennett snatched you from Rafayel’s side, twisting your arm painfully, pressing a gun to your back. “Rafayel!” you shouted as he summoned his daggers. In a deadly display of skill, he swiftly eliminated one attacker but was forced into battle with Marcus and another guard.

Desperate, you fought back, elbowing Bennett and retrieving your hidden pistol. Firing, you hit one guard and barely grazed Bennett before he retaliated with a brutal blow, sending you sprawling.

Rafayel watched Bennett’s boot descend out of the corner of his eye and raised his hand, Evol roaring to life, setting Bennett ablaze in a fiery rage. The boot barely connected with your ribs before Bennett howled in agony, engulfed in flames.

Managing to recover and scramble to your feet, you raise your pistol to put Bennett out of his misery, but Marcus beat you to pulling the trigger.

Rafayel’s unearthly scream tore through the gallery as he raced to you. His eyes are wide in terror and cries of anguish unlike anything you’ve ever heard before tear from his lungs.

In that moment the pain hit and you collapsed to the floor. Vision tunneling, you clutch at the hole in your chest unable to staunch the flow of blood. Some small part of you finds it funny that after all these years your end wouldn’t be at the claws of a Wanderer.

Falling to his knees, Rafayel cradled you, tears forming into shimmering pearls as they hit the floor. “Stay with me,” he begged, pressing against the wound. “Please, don’t leave me.”

The muffled sounds of struggle soften and you fight to remain conscious, but it’s a futile battle. Rafayel called your name over and over until the darkness claimed you.

Capture

Rafayel would remember the sound of that shot for the rest of his long life. He tried to get between you and the bullet, take it for himself, but he wasn’t fast enough.

“NO!” He cried out, scrambling desperately to your side. As you fall to the floor Rafayel feels his heart fracture. No, please, no no no no.

It took him a moment to realize that the screams echoing through the halls weren’t yours but his.

Falling to his knees, he cradled you, tears forming into shimmering pearls as they hit the floor. You were barely conscious.

“Hey, Cutie. Can you hear me?” His voice was just above a whisper. The eyes he loved so much moved over him in faint recognition.

“There she is,” he wept as he pressed against the wound. “Don’t you dare go anywhere. Please? Stay,” Rafayel begged. “Stay with me.”

Your faint smile was his only solace before your body went limp. The bond between you stalled, and Rafayel’s heart shattered.

Marcus, forgotten in the chaos, reloaded his weapon with tranquilizer rounds and fired. Twice.

Both shots struck Rafayel, but he curled around you protectively with a whimper, defying the drugs coursing through his veins. It paled in comparison to the pain of your flickering bond.

You were leaving again, abandoning him to a world without you in it.

“Will you really die without her?” Marcus drawled, walking toward the couple intertwined on the floor. “That would be terribly inconvenient for me.”

Rafayel felt something grip his collar and yank, but he refused to let go. “Please…please…don’t. I n-need…” He moaned in pain. “Someone, please h-help….”

“Go to sleep, fish,” Marcus sighed in irritation and injected Rafayel with another round. “It will all be over soon.”

Rafayel fought against the tide of sleep dragging him out to sea. He didn’t want to go, but he was fighting a losing battle. His last words were your name as unconsciousness claimed him.

𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆｡𓆞˚ 𓇼 ˚𓆝 ⋆｡𓆟 ⋆ ｡𓆞˚

Cross posted on AO3 under "holywaterbucketchallenge" for those of you who prefer that platform. Looking forward to your feedback!

[vrischlatt]

I DO NOT LIKE WILBUR. I may not like shubble either, but here the thing even if i dont like her...

Im not a fucking wilbur supporter.

Wilbur is a shitty person, and the fact it took Shleby, a person whos had a LOT of holes poked into her story, but probably still was abused in the same way Wilbur abused everyone around him, ESPECIALLY TOMMY AND QUACKITY.

Ive had people tell me theres a lot of suspicious patturns of behevoir in the dynamic of Tommy and Wilbur that scream heyyyy Tommy, especially when he was a minor should NOT be left alone with this Wilbur guy! The extents of which we will NEVER know, because while its easy for Tommy to dunk on Dream, he could NEVER dunk on Wilbur.

Shelby was a wake up call for Tommy. Tommy probably needs to go to serious fucking therapy after stepping back and reexamining his dynamic with Wilbur. Because the abuse is subtle and incased DEEPLY into Tommy's psyche. His humor is of im better than you, im richer than you, woman arent funny, drugs, is EXTRMELY influenced by Wilbur's own "humor" and shitty behvoir, which people are quick to call out, but conviently ignore when Tommy does it.

Its too the point that early showings of the how to be a millionaire had hints that Wilbur was ACTUALLY meant to be refrenced in the show, by name, but the drama dropped and he probably was hastily written out of it, implying the show was based off his quote book, which he co wrote with wilbur he makes an appearence in the book but it was his book first and formost.

Like that one clip for example, of Wilbur barking at Tommy to shut up, and instead of protesting or cracking a joke like he would do with ANYONE ELSE, he... shuts up. Uncharacteristically, shuts up. Apparently further context was he may or may not be talking about something he and Wilbur did, and Wilbur refused to let Tommy spill the beans on what happened and NO ONE TO THIS DAY KNOWS WHAT HE WAS GONNA SAY BUT HIM AND WILBUR.

Also obviously the smashing the hand with the foot, and he was oddly harsher if not out righr crueler when he didnt think he was on live stream with Tommy, changing his tune when he realized thousands of people were watching him.

Its got a lot people wondering what hes like off camera honestly and KNOWS hes off camera.

Its so bad its lead me to believe Wilbur... wasnt roleplaying in the skilled actor who plays a facade way, but was playing as a self insert, as himself, and could avertly be more open about who he was by playing it off as a character.

Speaking of him as a roleplayer he was NOT good to his fellow CCs as roleplayers, and was nortious for trying to force ideas on them- sich as fundys character being a girl because he wanted a daughter irl apparently that was the reason i guess so he forced fundy to be his kid for some reason and to be his daughter, which Fundy wanted very little part in, hence where him being trans orginal came from, it was him trying to met part way with Wilbur, and even protested to having his character be a minor.

Which yknow, some of the fandom FUCKING IGNORED.

Hes also done similar to Quackity, plus some. Hes honestly an ass friend to Quackity. And i feel so fucking bad for Quackity.

Also if he cant be the one writing the lore, or cant control other peoples lore he generally looses interest. See point: as DSMp continued and more CCs took control of their stories, he kinda either left and generally stopped streaming or gave his character generally less to do.

Also he generally refused to the show up for Karl's side series, a series even SCHLATT who killed off his character showed up for. So. Yeah. Also on QSMP? Basically abandoned it, even after Quackity lore baited him to join SO HARD MAN. I honestly do NOT like Tallulah and hot take dont think she should ever been added and is a mistake on Quackity's part. She was ALWAYS doomed to have been abandoned by wilbur and everyone should have seen it coming. I hold no sympathy for those who genuinely thought he was ever coming back.

Sorry not sorry, minus Quackity. Im sorry to him because unlike fans he was personally affected by this, even if i seem fit to critize him for it, i do so gently and knly hold sympathy for him on this matter. No one else. Minus the egg who yknow played the egg, and got played by Wilbur. Even if i dont like the egg, being in that situation where you have to be the bait to get wilbur with his self centered short ass attention span fucking ass is NOT a fun postion to be in. Your fucked from the start and they didnt even seem to realize it until too late either.

Wilbur is just generally a bitch, and im glas i never joined the fandom for Lmanberg. I joined for Las Nevadas, for the eggpire for Manberg, not jokeass over here.

And look, im not here to bash on his music. I like his music and i do not give two shits if you still listen to his music. Either through him directly or from someone else reuploading his works or a remix of it or whatever. Look i get it, his music is like the one redeeming thing about it, even if its not a good enough of redeemingly quality to ignore and forgive all the fucking assholary this man gets up to.

Hes EXTRMELY dickish, and whether or not you believe shleby or not should not subtract or distract you from the fucking fsct hes NEVER a good person, hes just a likable person who is good at charming people.

Worst still is hes probably actually happy all of this happened because he doesnt have put up a facade and "deal" with people he clearly has no respecr for and never did, and treat them like accommodations he has to put up and he ignores as his own convience.

[ahotmesswithprivilege]

Yes. It was my first and I was so goddamn nervous about it because I had zero idea if I actually am doing him justice. I know how loved he is by a lot of my mutuals so I put more pressure on me than I probably should have XD I hope that I did your request justice :)

And thank you so much for the reblog and the long comment. Those always make my day. So let's get to it, shall we?

Honestly, I thought that even if I don't make Bob work, at least I have Jake and Brad down. I was really proud at the way I wrote them. Brad is the loyal friend who won't let go because he lost too many people in his life, so he is even more attached to the ones he has while at the same time pushing the boundaries of his promise to keep quiet because heaven knows you need the help. And Hangman is like more direct, more willing to do something about it because he's done watching and I feel like his loyalty to sunshine is so much bigger than the one to Bob, so he gets on the wrong side of his anger. And Hangman being Rooster's "worse half" was probably one of the things I was proudest of when I typed it. I felt like I had kind of a moment there.

And now to our two idiots in love. I love the mutual pining and the fact that neither of them sees the obvious affection the other holds for them while at the very same time, seeing the other for real. Sunshine knows Bob, not just his drink order and the nuts but also the way they talk. He never feels like he has to filter or pretend or watch what he says. She just gets it and for Bob, she's an open book. Who else would have noticed across the room that the smile on her lips wasn't genuine? All they needed was a nudge in the right direction. Or well Hangman practically shoved him over to her, but that's beside the point XD

Thanks again for taking the time and hopefully you'll like the next request I write just as much (The Bradley one you sent in back in October. I didn't forget it, I just feel like I have to add a little more there. I think I have another gold moment in there and I cannot wait to hear what you say about it :) )

Ocean Eyes

paring: Bob Floyd x female!bartender!reader

wordcount: 2642 (scandalously short for me, I know)

prompt: “It’s like you never really see me. I’m standing right in front of you and you don’t see me!” requested by @gretagerwigsmuse (I am sorry this took so long. I hope it was worth the wait)

note: I couldn't write so I started cleaning up my WIP folder and I found this. I forgot that it was practically done and so I thought, let's share my Bob debut with the world. I hope you'll enjoy it.

Trigger Warning(If I forgot something or you want me to add to the list, my inbox is wide open. You are responsible for your media consumption, so proceed with caution, you know the drill): none, I think. Unless you consider canon Hangster one. Also idiots in love.

|| Masterlist ||

divider by @sweetmelodygraphics banner by @firefly-graphics

Reblogs, comments and constructive criticism are always welcome

!!!Minors do not interact; empty/ageless/minors will get blocked!!!

You love Bob Floyd. It’s pretty obvious to anyone who has eyes. At least that’s what you always hear from your best friend and yet he showed never any interest in you at all. There is a part of you that realises that this could only mean one thing but acknowledging the hard truth would hurt more than anything. So you ignore it and keep living in the blissful illusion that maybe one day Lieutenant Robert Floyd will wake up and finally see you.

That is until tonight when that hope should be shattered for good. The night at the Hard Deck when you are dealt the final blow.

“Is that Baby on Board in that booth? Flirting with a woman?”, Hangman is leaning against the bar waiting for you to get a fresh round of drinks ready. The question is directed at Rooster to his right and your gaze follows his and you see Bob sitting in a booth with an absolutely gorgeous redhead.

“Yeah. Phoenix set him up with her old college friend”, Rooster answers, giving you that kind of cautious look that he always sent your way whenever he thought you were in a fragile state and could implode any second. And as if to justify his worries you slam their beers down a little harder than intended and when your gaze meets his, all you see is pity in his pretty brown eyes.

“Rooster”, your voice is barely there, more a growl rumbling in your chest than anything else. It's a warning for your best friend to keep his fucking mouth shut and leave you be.

Not that it would help.

It's something you both love and hate about Bradley Bradshaw. He was not someone who gave up on people. No, he stayed even when shit got hard and you knew he'd be right there by your side through it all, holding your hand and keeping you close because that's just who he is.

And considering the look you get from his worse half, you know the same is true for him. The irony that fucking Jake Seresin would one day be one of your best friends was not lost on you. Especially considering how the two of you started off, but having Hangman cover your back was apparently a perk that came with being Rooster's best friend.

"Don't"

But Brad just lifts his hands in surrender and then they head over to the pool tables where the others are already waiting for them, leaving you behind the bar with the feeling that the shards of your shattered heart were just digging deeper into your flesh with every breath.

“Hey, sunshine”, your head snaps to the side and there you see him sitting at the end of the bar smiling at you the way he always did. The way that made your heart skip a beat and you hated that fucking traitor of an organ. And then your brain intercepts and reminds you of the images of last night. The way she had her hands all over him, turning him into a blushing mess as they stumbled out of the bar.

You have to shake your head or you'd lose focus and you cannot afford that. Not on a Saturday night.

It's not like you need to wait for him to order something, you know it all by heart, so you set his usual virgin drink in front of him and put some nuts in a bowl. Both containers are hitting the bartop a tad bit harder than necessary and before he could get another word in you were already gone.

Your behaviour took him off guard. His eyes are still following you when you already busied yourself with the order of another patron at the other end of the bar as if you wanted to get as much space between you and him as you physically could and he couldn't help the unsettling feeling that crept up on him.

This was so not you. There's a reason why they call you sunshine and that's not just because Rooster introduced you like that. You were always sweet and kind and won over the position of the patron’s favourite from Penny within the first week. You always had a lovely smile on your lips and a nice comment for everyone.

But the thing he had always liked most about you was how protective you were, looking out for the people around you. You were just the kind of person who truly cared and didn't just turn it into a performance.

The longer you are lingering on the other end of the bar without giving him even as much of a glace the more uneasy he becomes ultimately deciding to pick up his things and make his way over to the quiet corner by the pool tables that had been dubbed his even back during his Top Gun time. And from over there he has the perfect view of the bar without the hustle and bustle that would only distract from his actual mission. Figure out what was wrong with you.

You seemed tense and your interactions were colder than usual even with people that he knew you loved to bits.

Dave, one of the veterans who frequented the bar had made it a habit to propose to you whenever he saw you. It was a running gag between the two of you but even he couldn't bring an honest smile to your face.

That sure as hell was a first.

Maybe something happened?

Had someone hurt you?

Or did something happen with your family?

The best way to find out was to talk to Rooster.

He was your best friend after all and if someone knew what was going on, then it would be him.

So, Bob waited patiently until he took a break from the pool game before approaching him.

“Is something wrong with sunshine?”

Rooster arches his brow at the question, stops drinking mid-swig and puts his bottle back down.

“What should be wrong with her?”

Bob tilts his head while he studies the other's features.

He couldn't be serious about that question. Rooster always claimed to know you best of them all and he honest-to-goodness wanted to tell Bob he didn't see what was going on.

“She’s curt and tense. She didn’t even smile at Dave's proposal”

Rooster’s brow arched even more.

God for someone as observant as Robert fucking Floyd he was pretty goddamn blind when it came to you.

“Even if there was something it wouldn't be my story to tell”, he raises his bottle back up and takes a sip of his beer, watching Bob’s mind running  100 miles an hour while he tried to figure out how to proceed.

“If you wanna know what’s going on there is a simple solution”, he prompts him. He had sworn to keep his mouth shut about your feelings for Bob but helping him figure it out on his own was not breaking that promise.

At least not in his book.

“And that would be?”

“Fucking ask her, Baby on board”

Jake groaned over from the pool table and rolled his eyes.

He was so done with this kindergarten bullshit. Watching you and Bob was worse than his dance with Rooster pre-uranium mission and he knew they had been unbearable to watch.

His boyfriend shoots Hangman an angry look as if to remind him of their promise but he just rolls his eyes and sighs.

Hangman likes you, a lot. Some might even go so far as to say he loves you. Very much platonic but it's love nonetheless.

You were a major part of Rooster’s life and therefore you became a fixture in his and if he had to listen to you crying yourself to sleep one more goddamn night over fucking Baby on Board then he’d be the one going on a bloody rampage.

So Jake stalked over to Bob and stared him right in his blue eyes, his green gaze cutting like a knife.

“That wasn’t a suggestion Floyd”, he growled, nodding over to where you handed out drinks at the bar, doing everything within your power to not look their way.

Bob had no idea why the other ganged up on him like that but he couldn’t remember the last time Hangman had been this mad. With his gaze flittering between the two men and you at the bar he decided it was indeed probably smartest to talk to you as soon as possible.

“Can you please get a box of whiskey from storage?”, you barely hear Penny’s voice over the constant chatter of the bar and the music coming from the jukebox when she hands you the key.

You had tried to keep your brain busy all night and lucky for you, the Saturday had provided you with enough to do to grant yourself a small reprieve from the pain that had settled in what was left of your heart after last night.

You nod at Penny and weave through the crowd in front of the bar, attempting to smile at the patrons that greeted you but you knew that this was just a facade and considering the many concerned looks, they knew too.

When you finally got to unlock the door of the storage closet stepping inside and pulling the door closed behind you as you were heaving a sigh the muffled sounds of the bar were still echoing in your ear. You loved this place and the Hard Deck had always felt more like home than the house you shared with Rooster and Hangman. You close your eyes and take a deep breath. The air was stuffy and full of dust but it was the closest to a break you could get just about now.

That was until the sudden creaking of the door made your heart rate pick up.

"This is for staff only", your eyes are wandering around to find something to use as a makeshift weapon just in case one of the guys got so drunk he forgot his manners and basic human decency. You find a large vodka bottle, pick it up from the shelf as you turn around, almost dropping it when you are met with blue eyes.

"Fuck Bob, you scared me", you place your free hand over your heart, putting the Vodka bottle on a small table.

"I'm sorry, sunshine", your eyes wander over him and it's only then that you see how he's not really daring to look into your eyes and he's fidgeting with his hands.

"What are you doing back here Bob?", you are crossing your arms over your chest and take another step back from him, almost making you hit the shelves full of liquor behind you.

He had never seen you so distanced and borderline standoffish around any of the daggers. You were someone who needed to be close, someone who thrived on touch and physical forms of affection, but you were fleeing from him and he couldn't have imagined something as simple as a step back to hurt that bad.

"I... I was wondering...", he started and then you were the third person today looking at him with an arched eyebrow and he felt like a first grader who's supposed to take his SAT.

"What were you wondering?", you said, the tense edge still audible in your voice sent a shiver down his spine.

Bob had never met this cold version of you and he hated every second of it. He loved your warmth, the way you were lighting up even the darkest room. You were the embodiment of a sweet summer day, full of sunshine and blooming flowers with enough of a breeze to make it perfect but right now you rivalled the worst arctic winter.

"Why are you so cold with everyone?"

"I am not"

"Of course you are. You didn't even smile at Dave's proposal", he sees the way your eyes get wider for only a moment before you put that facade back in place. So the real you was hiding somewhere behind that mask you put on.

"Yes I did"

"No, you didn't. Not for real"

The fact he had actually noticed took you by surprise, but the dull ache in your chest reminded you that just because he happened to notice one thing today it didn't mean that anything changed.

The silence hanging between the two of you was deafening and the longer it lasted the more nervous Bob got.

You two had never had an issue with talking. You were probably the one person he always felt like he could talk to even if he didn't feel like interacting with anyone else. But now it felt like you were two ships in the night, drifting farther and farther away apart.

"Please. I just want to...", his voice sounds pleading and the way he reaches his hand out for you prompts you to take another step back. You cannot handle his touch, that much you know but in your desperate attempt to keep the tears from running down your cheeks you forget that you have a mouth too.

“It’s like you never really see me", the words are spilling from your lips before you even realise it, hands flying to your mouth to stop yourself. The tears that were pricking at your lashline before began to run down your cheek when you see the way his eyes widen mouth opening and closing a few times before he finally finds his voice again.

"There hasn't been a single day when I didn't"

You force your eyes shut to stop the tears from running, shaking your head as you hear him take step after step closer into your space and crowd you against the shelves.

"I don't think I couldn't"

"Then why does it feel like I’m standing right in front of you. and you don’t see me?”, your voice is small and quiet, almost drowned out by the muffled sounds from the bar but once they sink in, Bob's eyes are darting all over your face, trying to figure out what you truly meant.

You open your eyes, tears still glittering as you look up at him. He sees so many emotions swirl in them ranging from pain and fear to something softer. Something he never dared to dream of finding in your eyes when you looked at him. And then he caught your eyes wandering from his to his lips and back up.

It was not much more than a flicker, something easily missed if he had blinked at the wrong moment.

"I always see you, sunshine", his voice is soft as he takes another step closer and leans down, slow and cautious as if he's trying to gauge if he had gotten what you implied right, but you stayed frozen in your place, closing your eyes again until you feel his nose brushing against yours and your foreheads touching.

"And what about last night?", you feel like you are caught up in a dream, fearing the moment your alarm would go off and you'd have to get up and back to a reality where Bob dated someone else and you were damned to only stand there and watch.

"Jolene is nice but all she's ever seen is the uniform and the glasses. She never bothered to really look at me. She didn't see me", he lifts his hands and rests them on your cheeks, thumbs gently caressing your skin as his eyes search yours for any sign that you do not want this.

"Not the way you did when we first met", you feel like you are getting lost in the endless blue of his ocean eyes, warm breath fanning over your face as you lean in to kiss him.

reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated as always

If you want to read more you can find my masterlist here

[itstobias149]

Little Macs Sibling Lore dump

Hey guys! Today I bring you a post made up of a collectionon of random lore drops about Marie through the eyes of Little Mac! I had a lot of fun, I'm sorry its such a long post. I hope you all enjoy it though.

This post contains stuff about my oc, if you don't like oc stuff this post may not be for you and that's okay! This is also based on my own Headcanons and ideas! Everyone has their own interpretation of the boxers and their stories and personlives and that's okay!

“Alright, so Marie’s like, my older sister or whatever, but I swear, she’s basically an old lady trapped in a chubby cutman’s body. She’s out here knitting scarves for nobody, like just endless scarves that pile up in her closet. She’s got this thing for baking cookies at 6 AM—6 AM!—like who wakes up thinking, ‘You know what the world needs right now? Snickerdoodles.’

Oh, and don’t get me started on her tea collection. It’s massive. She’s got every flavor you can think of, like she’s preparing for a tea apocalypse or something. You open her cupboard and BAM! It’s like a botanical garden exploded in there. She’s always watching those weird crime shows too—like, if you ask her about “Murder She Wrote,” she could probably write a dissertation on it.

And you know what really gets me? The puzzles. Marie will sit there at the kitchen table doing jigsaw puzzles for HOURS. Like, she’s got all these guys fawning over her, and she’s over here acting like a grandma just waiting for bingo night. It’s weird, but it’s Marie, y’know? Her card game obsession is just the cherry on top. She’s always trying to rope people into playing Gin Rummy or Canasta. If she doesn’t have anyone to play with, she’ll sit there doing solitaire, shuffling the cards like she’s in a Vegas casino. And don’t even think about beating her—she’s ruthless, calling out rules you’ve never heard of, like, ‘Actually, you can’t play that card because it’s Thursday.’

Marie also has these old-school habits that just make her seem even more like an old grandma, and I mean that in the funniest way possible. First off, she’s always trying to feed everyone. Doesn’t matter if you’re hungry or not—she’s like, ‘You’re too skinny, you need to eat.’ She’ll whip out a full meal in five minutes like it’s a magic trick. Fighter? Coach? Cameraman? You mention you are hungry and she just appears with food, where does it come from? Her big beehive?

And the food—oh, the food. Marie’s kitchen always smells like she’s been cooking for a village. She’s making kugel, latkes, stuffed cabbage—you name it. She even learned how to make her own challah, which she insists on braiding perfectly, and don’t even get me started on her chicken soup. It’s practically a cure-all. Got a cold? Soup. Bad day? Soup. Sprained your ankle? Guess what? Soup.

And the guilt trips? Oh, man. Classic Marie. Like if I don’t call her when I’m out late, she hits me with, ‘Don’t worry about me, I’ll just sit here and wonder if my little brother is alive or in a ditch somewhere.’ I’m like, ‘Marie, I went to the store for five minutes!’ I get it I'm short and I'm only 17, but I've beaten guys that are three times my age and height.

Then there’s her obsession with coupons and deals. She’s not even strapped for cash, but if she gets something full price, she acts like she’s personally betrayed her ancestors. She’s all about ‘Why pay $5 when you could pay $4.75?’

Oh, and holidays? Forget about it. She goes ALL OUT. Passover, Hanukkah, you name it—she’s dragging me to synagogue, making matzo ball soup, and lecturing me on traditions like I’m in Sunday school again. But honestly, it’s kinda nice. Makes things feel like home.

Marie’s just got this old Jewish lady energy, even though she’s… y’know, Marie. It’s like she’s channeling generations of bubbes, but in her own chaotic, lovable way.”

“Oh man, don’t even get me started on Marie’s house. It’s like stepping into a time capsule. She’s got these old decorations everywhere—like, actual antiques. She’s got menorahs that look like they came straight out of the shtetl, ceramic pomegranates, and a hamsa on every other wall. There’s even this weird old clock that doesn’t work, but she won’t get rid of it because ‘it has character.’

And then there’s the singing. If she’s cleaning, cooking, or just puttering around the house, you know she’s gonna be singing something in Yiddish. It’s like she doesn’t even realize she’s doing it half the time. She’ll be scrubbing a pan and humming ‘Tumbalalaika’ or ‘Bei Mir Bistu Shein.’ Sometimes she gets into it and starts belting out like she’s on stage, and I’m just sitting there like, ‘You good, Marie?’

It’s honestly kinda comforting, though. Like, it’s chaotic, but it’s her. I mean, yeah, she’s got this whole grandma vibe, but it just makes the place feel warm and alive. Even if she’s singing so loud the neighbors can hear.”

“Okay, so Marie’s list of grandma activities is endless. Like, she collects random jars and containers. Doesn’t matter if it’s an old pickle jar or a tin from cookies—she’ll clean it out and say something like, ‘You never know when you’ll need a good jar.’ Now her cabinets are full of ‘em, and I swear, half of them are empty.

She’s obsessed with gardening, but not, like, normal plants—she’s growing herbs and weird flowers that I’m convinced nobody’s even heard of. She’ll come in with dirt on her face like, ‘Look, Little Mac, my rosemary’s thriving!’ Meanwhile, I can barely keep a cactus alive.

Oh, and she’s got this thing with handwritten notes. Like, she refuses to use her phone for reminders. Instead, she’ll write down recipes, to-do lists, or random thoughts on little scraps of paper—and they’re everywhere. You’ll find ‘em in her coat pockets, on the fridge, even in the bathroom.

Then there’s her perfume collection, which is wild. She’s got these vintage bottles that look like they came out of a 1920s department store. And the scents? They’re super flowery or musky, like classic grandma fragrances. She’s always dabbing it on her wrists like it’s a ritual, and if you say it’s strong, she’ll just shrug and say, ‘That’s how you know it’s good.’

And her dishes—oh boy. Marie’s got the fanciest plates and bowls, but they’re so old-school they’ve probably been passed down for generations. She’s got these blue and white porcelain plates she only uses for special occasions and some glassware that’s so delicate she practically makes you sign a waiver before touching it. Meanwhile, she’ll serve you cookies on a little tray that looks like it belongs in a museum.

Marie’s collections are a big part of who she is—they tell stories of her past, her culture, and her unique personality. Walking into her apartment is like stepping into a cozy, lived-in museum of sorts. It’s a collection of memories, keepsakes, and things that hold sentimental value. But at the same time, it feels like home, a space that’s warm and inviting despite all the stuff packed into every nook and cranny.

First, there’s her collection of old religious items. You can’t miss them. She’s got candles, menorahs, and even an antique silver kiddush cup that’s been passed down through generations. When she talks about these objects, you can see the reverence in her eyes—they’re not just decorations; they’re links to her family’s past, to the traditions her grandparents carried with them from Europe. She’s got prayer books in Yiddish and Hebrew, their pages yellowed with age, some of them with notes written in the margins. It’s clear that every item in her collection has a story, a memory attached to it.

Then there are her trinkets—lots of small figurines and dolls from different cultures. Some are from her travels, like the little wooden figurines from Slovakia or the hand-painted pottery she bought when she visited Romania. They’re scattered around her living room, on shelves or in glass cabinets, like little time capsules. Each one seems to have a story of where she’s been, who she was with, or something important that happened in her life. Some of the pieces are quirky—like the hand-carved wooden clown from a street market in Prague—but others are so intricate and beautiful, I can’t help but admire the craftsmanship.

Marie also collects vintage cookbooks. Old ones, some of them falling apart from how much she’s used them. She’s got this one cookbook that’s a hundred years old, and she’s used it so much that the pages are stained with grease and food marks. She said it belonged to her grandmother, who taught her how to cook all those old-world recipes. Every time I look at it, I can’t help but think about how much history is packed into those pages. You can tell these aren’t just recipes; they’re part of her family’s identity. Whenever she cooks, she’s connecting with her roots, with the women who came before her. It’s like she’s passing the knowledge down, one meal at a time.

There’s also a whole section of her home that’s dedicated to vintage postcards. She’s been collecting them for years—mostly ones from different places she’s been, but also some old ones she’s found at thrift stores or flea markets. They’re mostly from the early 1900s, showing cities, landmarks, and scenes from long ago. I remember her showing me one of New York from the 1920s, and she told me that her great-grandparents used to live in that exact neighborhood. It’s amazing how these little postcards capture a moment in time—like frozen memories of lives that were lived long before we came along.

And then, of course, there’s the collection of old dishes and teacups. She’s got this collection of mismatched, delicate porcelain teacups—most of them from different countries. There’s one that she’s really fond of, a cup with little roses painted on it that she got from a shop in Vienna. She says it reminds her of when she visited the city with her mother, back when things were simpler. Sometimes, on quiet afternoons, she’ll pull out one of her favorite cups, brew a pot of tea, and we’ll sit and chat, letting the time slip by. It’s like she’s recreating those small, intimate moments of her past, making new memories with each cup.

I’ve noticed how Marie’s collections aren’t just about having stuff; they’re a reflection of her life, her history, and her connection to both her Jewish roots and the cultures she’s grown up around. Sometimes, when she’s showing me her collections, it’s like she’s telling me pieces of her story without saying much at all. It’s in the way she talks about the items, the pride in her voice when she tells me the history behind them. It’s almost like these collections are her way of holding onto the past while moving forward—an acknowledgment of where she’s come from, and a way of keeping it all alive.

The coolest part, though, is how she’s started teaching me about her collections, how she’s opened up about the stories behind each item. I’ve learned so much from her—about her family, her heritage, and her way of seeing the world. She’s passed along some of the old cooking techniques from her family’s recipes, the way they used to stretch a meal and make everything from scratch. And every time we cook together, it feels like I’m adding my own little piece to her collection—like I’m a part of her story now, too.

Marie’s collections have this way of connecting the past and present, of honoring where she’s come from while she builds her life here and now. And even though I’m not really a collector, it’s hard not to get caught up in the magic of it all—the way she looks at each item, the pride she takes in preserving these pieces of her life. It’s not just about the things she owns; it’s about the memories they hold, the people they’ve connected her to, and the legacy she’s continuing. It’s a big part of why being with her feels like being part of something so much bigger than just the two of us.

Marie’s collection of old quilts and handmade clothes is probably one of the most personal and heartfelt parts of her home. Each piece is like a patchwork of memories, not just fabric, but moments in time, stories of hands that sewed them, and the love that went into making them. I’ve always been amazed by the way she talks about her quilts—how each stitch feels like it holds a piece of her family’s history.

The quilts are incredible. Some of them are centuries old, handed down from her great-grandmother and others from her mother. They’re faded now, the colors soft and worn, but they’ve got this warmth to them—almost like they still carry the imprint of the hands that created them. I remember the first time I saw them, spread out across her bed like a tapestry of the past. The designs are intricate, sometimes even abstract, and Marie can tell you exactly where each one came from. Some are made from fabric scraps, leftovers from clothes that her family wore, while others are more meticulously designed patterns that took hours to stitch together.

I think what really strikes me about the quilts is the level of care in each one. Marie says her grandmother made them during the tough years when they didn’t have much. They used whatever fabric they could get their hands on—old dresses, scraps from coats, bits of whatever they could salvage—and then she’d sew them all together into something beautiful and functional. It’s not just about making something to keep warm; it’s about creating something from nothing, something that could be passed down, that would be there to tell the family’s story.

Marie’s not only a collector of these quilts—she’s a maker, too. She’s shown me how she still hand-stitches some of the smaller repairs or adds new designs to the older quilts, kind of like preserving them, but also giving them a little life of their own. She told me that it’s part of how she connects with her family, with the women who came before her. Each stitch she adds feels like she’s participating in the same tradition, carrying it on in her own way. I never really understood how something like that could feel so personal, but when you see the care and attention she gives to each piece, it’s hard not to feel the love in it.

And then there are the handmade clothes. Marie’s always been into crafting—knitting, sewing, crocheting. She has this incredible collection of vintage sewing patterns that she’s gotten from all over the world, some dating back to the 1930s. I’ve seen her pull out these old patterns with these beautiful, detailed drawings of women’s dresses, coats, and even accessories, and she’ll talk about how she wants to try them out one day. She’s made everything from wool cardigans to hand-sewn dresses, each one unique, each one a work of art. The fabrics she uses are often vintage, too—like old silk from her travels or linen she picked up at a market in Spain—and she’s so particular about every little detail. I’ve watched her sew late into the night, her hands moving over the fabric with this incredible focus, like she’s channeling the spirit of all the seamstresses in her family.

One of the most special things she’s made, though, is a sweater she knitted for me. She gave it to me last winter, and when I first saw it, I couldn’t believe how much care she’d put into every stitch. The yarn was this deep blue, soft and thick, perfect for the cold weather. I don’t know if she meant for it to be anything more than a simple sweater, but when I put it on, I felt like I was wearing a piece of her heart. I wear it all the time now, especially when it gets cold, and it always makes me feel close to her, like I’m wrapped in her warmth.

What I love most about Marie’s quilts and handmade clothes, though, is how they represent her dedication to the people she loves. It’s not just about creating something beautiful—it’s about making something that lasts, that can be passed down through the generations, just like the quilts and clothes from her ancestors. It’s like she’s making her own legacy, stitch by stitch, and with each quilt she adds to her collection, each sweater she knits, she’s making a piece of history for the future. Even though she’s modern, her love for these handmade creations feels timeless, as though she’s carrying a tradition forward that might otherwise be lost. And every time I see her working on one of her projects, I’m reminded of how much of her heart goes into everything she does.

Then there’s her knitting addiction. She’s making blankets, socks, and hats for everyone. And she doesn’t just stop at knitting—she crochets too. Sometimes she’ll call me over and be like, ‘Try this on,’ and it’s some oversized sweater that I’m not even sure fits me.

Oh, and Marie LOVES writing letters. Like, actual letters with envelopes and stamps. She’ll sit at the table for hours with her fancy pens, writing to people who probably won’t even write back. She says it’s ‘more personal.’

I’m telling you, she’s basically 80 years old in a younger body. It’s kinda hilarious, but also weirdly comforting.”

“Okay, so I get it—Marie’s an immigrant from Germany, and her late family was super traditional. She’s told me the stories a million times: how they kept kosher, how her mom would light candles every Friday night, and how her dad used to lecture her about the importance of keeping traditions alive. Like, I know where all her quirks come from.

But sometimes I look at her and think, ‘Marie, we’re not in the old country anymore.’ Like, I’m pretty sure nobody else in the WVBA is sitting down to hand-roll kreplach or yelling at the TV in Yiddish when the news is on. And yet, there she is, making gefilte fish from scratch and humming old folk songs while she does it.

I get that her upbringing made her who she is, and I respect it—I really do. But Marie takes it to a whole new level. She’s out here sewing patches onto my clothes, like it’s 1935 and I can’t just buy a new jacket. Or she’ll tell me things like, ‘In my family, we always did this,’ while setting the table with enough food to feed the entire league.

Okay, so yeah, Marie’s got all these old-school habits, but honestly? She’s been teaching me a ton of stuff that’s actually useful. Like, she’s a master at stretching a dollar. I used to think meal prepping was just for fitness buffs, but nope—Marie’s out here making meals that last a week, and they taste better every day. I’ve learned how to make a mean pot of chicken soup, and now I’m the guy everyone calls when they’re sick.

She’s also big on fixing things instead of throwing them out. My gloves were falling apart, and I was ready to toss them, but she showed me how to sew them up. I know, sewing doesn’t sound tough, but you’d be surprised how handy it is when you’re training and gear gets worn out.

And her cooking? It’s like a crash course in survival. She’s teaching me all these recipes that are cheap, filling, and taste amazing—latkes, kugel, even braided challah. She says it’s about ‘taking care of your people,’ and now I feel like I could feed an army if I had to.

She’s even teaching me some Yiddish phrases, which is great for trash-talking in the ring without anyone knowing. Marie says, ‘If you’re gonna call someone a nudnik, at least do it with flair.’

So yeah, she’s old-fashioned, but it’s like having my own personal life coach. I don’t just get a sister—I get a survival guide, a tailor, and a chef all rolled into one.

It’s like she’s stuck between being this old-world Jewish bubbe and a modern-day cutman, and somehow, it works for her. It’s just… sometimes I have to remind her that we’re in New York, not a little shtetl in Germany. It’s funny how people can look at Marie and think she’s just this old, traditional lady, but they don’t always know the full story. I’ve heard her talk about her parents, and honestly, it’s a bit heartbreaking. Her mom and dad, they were born and raised in Germany, and they had that old-school, strict mindset that a lot of people from their generation carried with them. You know, they had lived through a lot—survived the war, rebuilt their lives—and they were determined to keep their family traditions alive, even if that meant keeping a tight grip on Marie. They weren’t bad people, but they were overbearing in a way that you’d only understand if you were raised in a time and place like that.

She was expected to follow the rules, do things the “right” way, and stick to their ideals. It was all about preserving the family name, the old customs, the way things had been passed down from generation to generation. And I get it—her parents went through things most people can’t even imagine. They lived through the worst of history, and their experiences shaped how they viewed the world. They probably just wanted to protect Marie from the chaos that had torn apart their lives and their home. But that didn’t mean she had to stay trapped in that mindset forever.

Marie’s always been this independent spirit, though. She’s got her own opinions, her own ideas about how things should be, and as much as she respected her parents, she didn’t agree with a lot of the things they pushed on her. She loved them, no doubt, but she needed more than just their way of living. It wasn’t until after they passed that Marie felt like she could truly breathe, like she was finally free to make her own choices and live her life on her terms. I think that’s when she really came into her own. That’s when she left Germany and came here, looking for something different, something that would allow her to be herself.

It wasn’t easy, though. Coming to a new country, starting fresh, and breaking away from the expectations her parents had set for her—it was all a huge challenge. But that’s Marie. She’s never been one to back down, and even though she didn’t agree with the way her parents had raised her, she understood where they were coming from. They’d lived through the worst times in history, and for them, that kind of control was just a way of coping with everything they’d lost. But for Marie, it was suffocating. She wasn’t going to live a life defined by fear or by the shadows of the past. She came to us, to America, for freedom—freedom to be who she truly was, to make her own path, and to define her own future.

It wasn’t like she rejected everything they taught her—she still holds onto parts of her heritage, her culture, and the values that shaped her. But she learned that she didn’t have to live under the weight of their rules, and that’s something she’s always fought for. She believes in embracing the past, but she also believes in moving forward, in creating a life that’s her own. That’s why she’s so willing to learn from others, to hear different perspectives, and to understand people from all walks of life. It’s her way of reclaiming her own identity, and I think that’s what makes her so special.

She doesn’t talk about it much, but I know that leaving Germany wasn’t just about escaping her parents—it was about finding herself, finding a place where she didn’t have to live in anyone’s shadow. And when she came here, she didn’t just step into the world that awaited her; she built her own life, on her own terms. It’s something I admire a lot about her—she took the lessons from her past, the struggles she went through, and used them to shape the woman she is today. She’s proud of her roots, but she knows she can’t be confined by them. That’s Marie—always pushing forward, always staying true to herself, no matter where she came from or who tried to hold her back.

But outside of her old ways her opinions are pretty modern. She is for the people, for the minorities. You know, sometimes Marie comes off as old-fashioned, especially with the way she carries herself. She’s got her routines—like making sure everyone’s got enough to eat, or making time for her old-school traditions, like keeping the house cozy with homemade quilts or sitting down with a good book. People might look at her and think she’s just this sweet, old lady who’s stuck in the past, but they couldn’t be more wrong. She’s actually one of the most forward-thinking people I know, especially when it comes to social justice.

It might not always look that way, but Marie’s got this fire inside her. She doesn’t just sit back and accept things because “that’s how it’s always been.” If she sees something she thinks is wrong, you can bet she’s going to stand up for it—no matter the situation. She might be the one sitting in a quiet corner at a dinner party, but when it comes to speaking out, she doesn’t hesitate for a second.

I’ve seen her go toe-to-toe with people who try to put others down, especially when it comes to injustice. Whether it’s racism, discrimination, or people being treated unfairly, she’s never afraid to call it out. It’s not always dramatic—she doesn’t make a big scene—but you can feel the power of her words when she does speak up. I remember this one time when a few of the boxers were making some off-hand remarks about someone’s culture, and Marie didn’t let it slide. She didn’t lecture them, but she calmly told them how those kinds of comments were hurtful, how important it was to respect every person’s background, no matter where they come from. The room got quiet, and for a moment, I think everyone realized how much they’d been missing—how easy it was to fall into ignorance if you didn’t stop and think.

Marie’s not the kind of person who makes a big deal about it, but when she stands up for what’s right, people listen. She’s never one to shy away from a conversation, especially if it means standing up for the underdog. I’ve seen her defend workers in the stores she shops at, the people who’ve been overlooked by others. It doesn’t matter if it’s someone cleaning the floors or serving food—Marie sees people as people, and if she feels like they’re not being treated right, she’ll speak up. She’s taught me that being kind and respectful isn’t just about showing love to people who are easy to love—it’s about standing up for the ones who might be forgotten or mistreated, too.

I think part of it comes from the way she was raised—growing up in a tough time and learning that you’ve got to fight for what’s right. It’s a different world now, but Marie’s sense of justice hasn’t changed. She was taught that you stand up for the people who don’t have a voice, that you make sure everyone gets a fair chance. She doesn’t just fight for others when it’s convenient or when it’s easy. She does it because she believes it’s the right thing to do.

And even though she’s old-fashioned in some ways, it’s clear that she’s got a modern heart. She understands the struggles people are going through today, and she’s got a strong opinion about how things should change. Whether it’s talking to one of the boxers about their behavior or stepping up for a cause she believes in, Marie is never one to back down. She may be gentle, but she’s got a backbone made of steel.

It’s honestly kind of amazing to see someone so rooted in tradition still push for progress. She reminds me all the time that standing up for others doesn’t have to be loud or flashy—it’s about doing the right thing even when nobody’s looking. That’s the real power she has: making sure people are treated with dignity and respect, no matter who they are or where they come from. And to me, that makes her more modern than a lot of people I know, despite the fact that she’s into old quilts and listening to language tapes. She’s got a wisdom that comes from experience, and I can’t think of a better role model.

“I mean, I’ve always been Catholic, y’know? It’s kind of in my blood. I’m Hispanic, so that whole church thing was a big part of growing up. Sunday mornings meant heading to church with my mom, and then there’d be the whole family afterwards for a big meal, and of course, we’d say grace before we ate. It’s just… tradition. My mom would make me sit still through the whole mass, even when I wanted to run around as a kid, and she’d always say the rosary with me at night before bed, counting the beads like it was a ritual. I’d pray to the Virgin Mary and Jesus, asking for guidance. It was something I didn’t always get, but it was comforting, like it grounded me in a way. Even if I didn’t understand all the words or the history behind everything, there was this peace in it. Church was a space for me to reset, y’know?

Then, there’s Marie. She’s Jewish—born and raised, and her family’s super traditional. I know she grew up with a lot of the same values, just with a different foundation. Every time I stay with her, I learn a little more about her culture and her faith, and she’s always open to hearing about mine too. I don’t think I ever realized how much I didn’t know about her traditions until she started explaining it. For example, she told me about Shabbat, how every Friday night, she lights candles, says a prayer, and makes everything peaceful for the weekend. It’s such a simple but deep thing, right? She said it’s about setting the tone for the rest of the week—something like that. Honestly, I was kind of surprised by how similar it felt to what we do, except ours is on Sundays. She also explained how lighting the candles is a way to honor the Sabbath, and I thought that was powerful. She said the prayer in Hebrew, and I couldn’t really catch all of it, but the way she said it… there was this calmness to it. I wanted to understand it more.

One night, I asked her about some of the prayers she says before meals, and she told me about the bracha, the blessing over bread. That was something I had never heard of. She said, ‘Blessed are You, Lord our God, King of the universe, who brings forth bread from the earth,’ and she explained how it’s this deep connection to what the earth gives us. I liked that. It felt really… connected, you know? Like, appreciating where food comes from, where life comes from. I actually started saying a little prayer in my head after hearing hers, kind of like how we do grace before meals. It wasn’t exactly the same, but the feeling behind it—being thankful, taking a moment to appreciate what we have—it made sense to me. It’s not that different when you really think about it.

She’s even asked me to teach her some of the Catholic traditions, like the rosary. I showed her how we pray with the beads and how the Hail Mary and Our Father are part of our routine. At first, she didn’t really get it—like, ‘Why do you have to repeat so many prayers?’ But as I explained it to her, she seemed to find it interesting. She said something like, ‘It’s kind of like meditating, right? Repeating the words to focus your mind?’ And I guess, in a way, she’s right. It’s not just about the words, but about the mindset. About putting your trust in something bigger than yourself, taking a minute to just breathe and let go.

It’s funny because sometimes we’ll sit together, each of us in our own little world, practicing our faiths in the way we know how, but we never judge each other. Instead, it’s like we’re both learning from one another. I’ll catch her lighting candles, and sometimes, without even thinking, I’ll say a prayer to myself. Or we’ll sit down for a meal, and she’ll say her bracha while I quietly say grace. There’s no conflict, no “this is better than that.” It’s just… respect. We’re different, but there’s a shared understanding that both of our faiths are important parts of who we are.

I remember one day, I was feeling kind of off after training, and Marie noticed. She looked at me and said, ‘Maybe you should say a prayer for strength.’ She didn’t know what I usually do, but I felt like, for once, I didn’t have to explain. I just said, ‘Yeah, I think I will.’ And we both took a moment, in our own ways, to connect with something bigger than us. I said my rosary prayer, and she said one of her own, and it was like, for just a moment, we were both in the same place spiritually.

Honestly, the more we talk about it, the more I realize that faith isn’t just about the specifics of the tradition. It’s about believing in something, having that foundation to stand on when life gets tough. And Marie… she’s shown me that while our religions might look different on the surface, the core of it is the same: love, family, tradition, and a deep appreciation for the life we’ve been given. And, I guess, in that way, we teach each other, without even trying.”

“Man, when I think about how Marie and I have blended our cultures together, it feels like it’s more than just about food or traditions—it’s about a deeper connection. We’re from different worlds, right? Me, with my Hispanic background, raised in a Catholic household, and her, with her Jewish upbringing, coming from a family that holds onto traditions like they’re a lifeline. At first, I didn’t think we’d have that much in common when it came to holidays or meals or anything like that, but as we started sharing more of ourselves with each other, I realized it’s all about finding that space where both of our worlds can exist side by side.

I remember the first time I went with Marie to her family’s Shabbat dinner. It was so different from anything I’d ever experienced. The candles, the prayers, the way everyone gathered around the table to share the bread and wine—it felt intimate, spiritual. I had never been part of anything like that before. And I’ll admit, I didn’t fully understand all the prayers or the Hebrew, but I could feel something deep, like this connection to the past, to her ancestors. It was like they were carrying on something that meant so much, something that had been passed down for generations. There was such a reverence in the room, a respect for tradition. I felt like an outsider at first, but Marie, she didn’t make me feel that way. She just told me to do what felt right, and that was enough.

And then, she started asking me about my own traditions. I remember the first time I talked about Día de los Muertos with her. She didn’t know much about it—how we honor our loved ones, set up altars with candles, marigolds, and pictures, and how the food, like pan de muerto, is a symbol of life and death coexisting. I could tell it really resonated with her. She asked a million questions, like she was trying to understand the whole concept—not just the rituals, but what it meant to me, how it shaped my perspective on life and death. And I think that’s when I realized: it wasn’t about just explaining a holiday; it was about explaining a part of myself. Sharing that with her felt like we were connecting on a deeper level than I ever imagined.

When we decided to merge our two cultures for Christmas last year, that’s when it really hit me how much we were growing together. I cooked up some tamales, and she made her famous latkes. I swear, she was more excited about my tamales than I was—she was curious about every little detail, asking how I wrapped the masa, what kind of fillings I liked. And when it came time for dinner, we sat down together, and it wasn’t just about eating—it was like a celebration of both our families, both our histories. I didn’t realize it at the time, but that meal was a symbol of us coming together in this space we created—our own little mix of everything.

But it’s not just the meals or the holidays. It’s how we’ve both started weaving bits of each other’s cultures into our everyday lives. Like when Marie would teach me the Yiddish words her grandmother taught her, and I’d throw in some Spanish phrases she didn’t know. Or when we started making room in our lives for both the rosary and the Shabbat candles—one for the end of the week, the other for the beginning. It’s small stuff, but it feels monumental, like we’re building this bridge between us, brick by brick, until the difference between us doesn’t feel so different at all.

And the best part is, we don’t feel like we have to choose one over the other. It’s not about me abandoning my roots or her abandoning hers. It’s about realizing that the beauty of our relationship isn’t in our sameness, but in how we’ve learned to respect and embrace each other’s differences. It’s like each holiday, each meal, each little ritual, is a way to say, ‘I see you. I understand where you come from. And I want to be a part of that.’

We’ve built our own traditions now—ones that mix the old and the new. Like, this past year, we decided to make a whole bunch of different dishes for Thanksgiving. We had the turkey and the stuffing, of course, but we also had marinated brisket, challah bread, and tamales. It was a weird combo at first, but when we sat down to eat, I realized that this—this was the new tradition. It wasn’t just one holiday, one culture, or one history; it was a reflection of both of us, coming together and carving out something that was uniquely ours.

And the deeper I get into all this, the more I realize it’s not about any one meal or prayer—it’s about what those things represent. It’s about learning the sacredness in each other’s customs and realizing that, even though we’re from different backgrounds, we’re both carrying pieces of something bigger. That’s what’s made this whole journey with Marie so special: it’s not just about learning from each other, it’s about creating something new together, something that honors both of our pasts while looking forward to the future we’re building.”

Marie’s always looking for ways to connect with people, even when it’s hard. She’ll invite the other boxers over for dinner or lunch, and it’s not just about feeding them—it’s about sharing something, learning from each other, and seeing if they can break through the barriers that sometimes exist between them. I’ve seen it firsthand. No matter how different the boxers are, or how much tension might be between them, she’ll set a table for everyone. Whether they’re from different parts of the world, speak different languages, or come from different cultures, she’s always trying to create this space where people can connect.

Marie doesn’t expect miracles. She knows she can’t always get along with everyone, and she knows that sometimes, people aren’t going to suddenly become best friends just because there’s food on the table. But she tries anyway. She makes an effort to make sure everyone feels heard, even if it’s not easy. I’ve seen her with Bald Bull and Soda Popinski—those two can barely stand each other, but somehow, at one of Marie’s dinners, the tension fades a little. It’s not like they forget their differences, but it’s like they understand each other a little better. They’ll start talking about their hometowns or their favorite foods, and even if it’s just for that moment, the rivalry takes a backseat.

She’s got this deep need to get to know people, not just as boxers but as individuals. She’s always looking for common ground, always trying to understand where someone’s coming from. It’s not always about speaking the same language; it’s about making the effort, showing respect, and being curious. That’s why you’ll find her listening to language tapes in the car on the way to the gym or before bed. I don’t think she ever stops trying to learn. She’s always listening to lessons in German, Yiddish, Ladino, or Spanish, working on something new to help her communicate better. It’s one of the things I admire most about her—she’s not content just knowing what she knows. She wants to understand more, and she’s willing to put in the work to bridge those gaps.

And even though not everyone gets along, she still believes in the value of that connection. She knows there are going to be days when the boxers clash or when there’s a rough atmosphere in the gym, but that doesn’t stop her from trying to build something different. If she can’t make them all get along, at least she can try to give them the tools to understand each other better. She’s not a miracle worker, but she’s definitely a bridge builder. It’s something small, but it has a big impact. Even if they don’t always see eye to eye, I think they leave her dinners with a little more respect for each other and the cultures they come from.

Sometimes it’s the smallest gestures that mean the most. She doesn’t ask for much in return—she doesn’t expect anyone to suddenly speak fluent Yiddish or learn all about her background in a day. But it’s the effort she puts in, the conversations she sparks, that slowly starts to change things. I think it’s part of who she is—this belief that no matter where someone’s from or how different they seem, there’s always something you can learn from each other. It’s not easy work, and sometimes it feels like it’s not making much of a difference, but she’s always at it, trying to make the world a little smaller, one dinner at a time.

Oh, man, Marie’s definitely had her moments with the language barrier. It’s actually kind of funny how hard she tries, and how sometimes, it just doesn’t go the way she plans.

I remember this one dinner with a few of the boxers—Bald Bull, Soda, and a couple of others. Marie was really excited because she’d been studying a bit of Turkish for a while, trying to connect with Bald Bull more. She had this whole plan to surprise him by speaking a little Turkish when he arrived, and she’d been listening to language tapes for days. So, she’s all pumped, right? The food’s ready, and she says to Bald Bull, “Hoş geldiniz!” (which means “Welcome”), and she’s smiling real big, waiting for his reaction.

Bald Bull just stands there, blinking for a second, and then he says, “What’d you say? Is that a new kind of soup?”

Marie’s face went from excited to totally confused, and we all just started laughing. It turns out she’d gotten one of the phrases wrong. She’d meant to say something welcoming, but it sounded like she was offering him a bowl of something. Bald Bull wasn’t upset, though. He actually laughed, too, and started teasing her about being “fluent in food, not language.”

It was funny, but it also showed just how hard she works to make that connection. She could’ve easily just stuck to speaking English, or German, or whatever she knew best, but no—she’s always pushing herself, trying to speak someone else’s language, even if it doesn’t come out perfectly. And honestly, even though it didn’t go as planned, it meant a lot that she tried. After that, Bald Bull was actually way more open to talking to her, even teaching her some Turkish words. He got a kick out of it, and by the end of the night, everyone was joking around in a mix of languages—English, Yiddish, Turkish, even a little Spanish from me.

Marie’s always learning and pushing herself, but she doesn’t take herself too seriously when things don’t go perfectly. The language barrier’s still there, but she doesn’t let it stop her. That’s just Marie. She’ll stumble, but she’ll keep going, even if it means saying something that makes everyone laugh.

Oh, Marie’s always so thoughtful about these things, so before she gives anyone a hug or that European cheek kiss, she always checks with the management first. She doesn’t want to make anyone uncomfortable—she’s just naturally affectionate, you know? She’ll ask them, “Is it okay if I greet him this way? I just want to make sure it’s not too much.” She’s got this polite, considerate side that’s honestly kind of funny considering how enthusiastically she greets people.

But sometimes, it doesn’t always go as smoothly as she thinks. I remember one time, Marie had just been told by management that it was fine to greet this new boxer from Eastern Europe with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. They’d said it was cool, so Marie went for it—no hesitation. She walks up to the guy, big smile on her face, arms open wide, and as she goes in for the hug, you could see the panic in his eyes. He looks like a deer caught in headlights.

He tries to awkwardly sidestep her, but Marie’s already there, giving him this big warm hug, and then she quickly plants a kiss on his cheek, like it’s the most normal thing in the world. But here’s the thing—this guy doesn’t even know how to react. He turns bright red, completely flustered, and backs up a little like he’s trying to get his bearings. At first, he’s just standing there, looking around like he’s trying to figure out if he’s supposed to do something in return. Is he supposed to kiss her cheek back? Hug her again? What was happening?!

Marie, not missing a beat, just smiles at him and says, “There, see? Wasn’t that easy?” as if it’s a casual, everyday greeting.

But this poor guy? His face goes even redder, and he starts mumbling in a mix of broken English and his native language. He’s flustered, trying to explain he’s not used to the whole European cheek-kiss thing. It wasn’t that he didn’t like her—it was just, well, a cultural shock. He looks over at the other boxers like he’s hoping for some guidance, but everyone else is trying to hold in their laughter, not wanting to make it worse.

Then, just to add to the comedy of the situation, one of the other guys (who’s seen Marie do this a hundred times) leans over and says, “It’s okay, buddy. Just wait until you get the full Marie treatment—you’ll get used to it!”

It wasn’t that the guy didn’t appreciate the greeting, but the suddenness of it caught him totally off guard. After that, he made a point of giving Marie a little wave every time they passed by, but still kept a bit of a distance—like he wasn’t quite ready for the full embrace yet.

Marie, though? She just laughed it off, completely unaware of how flustered he was, and continued to ask management about the next person she’d be meeting. She never wants to make anyone uncomfortable, but she’s definitely got that big, heart-on-her-sleeve attitude that sometimes takes people by surprise.

Man, when I think about Marie, there’s a lot I could say. She’s definitely not perfect—nobody is, right? She’s got her quirks, her old-school habits, and sometimes, she comes off a little… overbearing. But in a lot of ways, that’s what makes her who she is, and honestly, I wouldn’t change a thing.

She’s a hugger(sometimes), always going for those big, warm embraces, and the European kiss on the cheek greeting is so her. I’ve seen her catch people off guard with it—guys who aren’t used to that kind of thing. She’ll greet anyone like they’re family, whether it’s Bald Bull, Soda Popinski, or some new guy we’re training with. Sometimes, they’re flustered or confused at first, but they come to appreciate it. She doesn’t judge people, and she doesn’t care where they come from. She just wants to make sure they feel welcomed. And that includes asking management if it’s okay to greet someone that way, making sure no one’s uncomfortable.

Marie’s got a lot of old traditions—she loves her Yiddish, her German roots, and her ethnic foods. She cooks like you’re at your grandma’s house, and she’ll make sure you know every single ingredient in that dish, even if it’s hard to pronounce. And don’t even get me started on how she’s always trying to learn new languages—she’s listening to tapes in the car, studying words late at night, just so she can connect with the guys better. She knows it’s not always going to work, but she tries anyway. Even when there’s a language barrier, she’s trying to make that bridge. It’s like she believes that communication, no matter how imperfect, is key.

She’ll invite boxers over to dinner, even if they’re from different cultures, just to get to know them. Sometimes it’s awkward, sometimes it’s a little weird, but she makes it work. I’ve seen her do it—making those cultural exchanges happen, finding something in common, and trying to break down those walls. Even when they don’t get along, she’s there, working her hardest to build some kind of understanding. She doesn’t let differences keep her from trying to make people feel at home, even if it’s a battle sometimes.

Now, I’ve seen the way she handles things with her family, too. Her parents were strict, real traditional—especially with her being Jewish and growing up in Germany. They had a way of thinking that didn’t always mesh with Marie’s need for freedom. She didn’t agree with everything they said or did. When they passed, she left for the U.S. She came here for a new life, for more opportunities, and for the chance to live on her own terms. She didn’t let anyone hold her back, and that took a lot of courage.

She’s got a big heart, but she’s also a fighter in her own right. She stands up for social justice, even when it’s not popular. You don’t always see it, but she’s got that fire. She might not be loud about it, but she’s quietly pushing for what’s right, helping people out in the ways she can.

But yeah, she’s not perfect. Sometimes she’s overbearing, sometimes she’s got her own ways that don’t always make sense to everyone, and sometimes she makes things awkward with her affection or language mishaps. But that’s what makes her Marie. She’s real. She’s stubborn, kind-hearted, and she doesn’t stop trying to make the world a little better—whether it’s through food, hugs, or just taking the time to learn about people. And to me? That’s enough. She’s family, and I’m proud to have her as my sister.

P.S. If you ever find yourself at one of her dinners and you see her pull out a dish that looks like it came straight out of a history book, just smile, nod, and eat it. You’ll be fine—unless it’s one of her experimental Yiddish-Slovak fusion dishes… then just pray you survive the taste test.

P.P.S. If you’re ever wondering why Marie insists on giving you a hug and a kiss on the cheek every time you walk through the door, just remember: it’s not because she thinks you need it, it’s because she’s convinced that if she doesn’t, you’ll somehow forget that you’re loved and appreciated. She’s like a walking, talking emotional safety net.

P.P.P.S. And if you’re one of those boxers who’s not into hugs or physical touch? Don’t worry—Marie’s got a backup plan. She’ll give you the warmest, most awkward air hug you’ve ever seen, complete with a look like she’s praying it doesn’t freak you out. Or some cheesy joke. It’s her way of saying, “I respect your boundaries, but also… I really want to hug you, just so you know.”

[dykedvonte]

I hate the stretch lines in the front of Curly's uniform because that means the devs rushed to make a model in like a month or so and thought "They gotta at least know he has huge knockers, gotta know he's got back pain." Cause like what is the thematic importance of his tits having overhang?

What responsibility is that representing? Breast reduction? It shows an inherent greed in his character due to the excess and heshouldletmeholdone and that he clearly is blinded cause if he tries to look down his damn ladder all he's seeing is his own cleavage.

[jaxihammer]

You will never convince me that Isabel Lovelace is not disabled post-canon. Think about it.

Of everyone in the crew, she's spent by far the longest time in space. Sure, she's probably been exercising, but that isn't going to fully stop her muscles atrophying. Her bones are going to weaken. Not to mention the fact that she went into the cryo chamber, which we know isn't GREAT for you (I know Eiffel is kind of an outlier but still. Even once is gonna fuck you up at least a little).

Then add to THAT the fact that the body Lovelace has now was created by the dear listeners. Not only are they recreating a body that's already undergone almost a thousand days of the trauma of space; they're doing it with zero existing knowledge of how a human body functions in Earth's gravity. The clones are almost perfect, but there are notable differences in internal organs, and I wouldn't be surprised if Lovelace was put back together with some inconsistencies.

All this to say, I think Lovelace would become a mobility aid user when the crew lands back on Earth. Everyone on the crew would probably end up in physical therapy, but the damage done to her body would be by far the most extensive. Whereas I don't doubt Jacobi, Minkowski, and Eiffel could regain most if not all of their mobility, I think Lovelace would use a wheelchair, and eventually with PT could use crutches or a cane some days. Even if she were to regain muscle function, she would probably have some sort of chronic pain that would necessitate mobility aids!

In conclusion Let Her Be Disabled thank you for coming to my TED talk

[teddywesworl]

ok elaborating on this. trying to explain what i mean by a cipher. because it's about tone and genre expectations, but it's also more than that.

your first paragraph (or two) is the framework through which the rest of the work is interpreted. consider:

these four lines of text provide the following information:

this is an "Illario forgiven" fic

Lucanis and Spite have been arguing about this decision, but

"pieces are moving into place," i.e. there is a plan afoot which Spite is allowing to proceed without resistance out of respect, but

other Crows are causing trouble in a way that tells Lucanis they don't respect him.

the scene is set. however, this information leaves us with the following questions:

why did this version of Lucanis forgive Illario?

what plan is afoot? what pieces are moving into place?

which Crows are causing trouble? and how?

and these questions are the basis for the rest of the fic. if you are reading at all closely, you will have them in the back of your mind from the very start. you will be waiting for answers. you will, hopefully, be looking for answers before they are explicitly revealed. you may even clue in to the idea that each question may be answered in more than one way, and some answers may only be implied. the important thing is that a skilled reader is primed to look.

the 'cipher' here, the key that you are being asked to use to decode the rest of the story, is the very presence of unanswered questions about action and plot.

this is an appropriate cipher for this fic, which is structured like a heist or an intrigue. think of the way heists are often intercut in ways that withhold information in a way that is immensely satisfying to watch when the information is eventually revealed.

consider:

this opener presents, in some ways, a much simpler cipher. the first sentence is a classic "hook," a snappy little one-liner which is then expounded upon in the following paragraph. questions are left unanswered (who was that guy? and what exactly did he do to 17 year old ashur?), but they are questions about character beats, and they land differently.

the point of this opener is less to ask questions and more to provide an emotional foundation for everything that follows. this is the story of a man who has been hurt in a very specific way. this wound will affect the way he acts and the emotional catharsis he achieves for the rest of the story. this single paragraph is the key to understanding this specific character. you will get more out of the story if you hold this paragraph in your mind throughout.

this is an appropriate cipher for a slow-paced character study with less focus on plot and more on emotional beats. think of a prestige drama that starts with a prologue that might feel disconnected from the main storyline, until the story progresses and characters reveal more of themselves.

consider:

this is a heavy worldbuilding opener, which can be appropriate for dense high fantasy if there's a good enough reason to provide that information from the jump. do we need this info right now? is this info useful context to interpret what follows?

without spoiling my entire novel, the most important sentence in this paragraph is the last one: "There was no written record to corroborate such a claim, only the oral tradition of the local grandmothers."

that's the cipher; that's the key to understanding everything that follows. i want you reading this novel with the knowledge in the back of your mind that a conquered people has an oral tradition which is in conflict with written records.

these are obviously just three examples, and there are uncountable ways to effectively begin a story. But: that first paragraph establishes much more than you may realize, and it colors your reader's interpretation of everything after it. Take advantage of that opportunity to say something about the story you're writing and put up some damn set dressing. peace and love

honestly the most life changing bit of writing technique i've applied to my work in the last few years is: first paragraph as thesis statement. or maybe first paragraph as cipher? or lens? in any case, the very first paragraph (or page, or chapter) has the power to prime the reader to interpret the rest of the work in a certain way, with an eye out for certain elements.

likewise, if you are a skilled reader, you can pull a lot of information out of a well-crafted first paragraph, and you can take that information with you as you engage with the rest of the story.

this is why it drives me sort of insane now when a story starts with dialogue or a character waking up in the morning or similar. experienced writers harp on about the importance of the first sentence as a hook to get the reader invested, but it's just as much about (hello sorry im obsessed with the psychology of storytelling) influencing the way the reader engages with everything that comes after it

anyway happy wip wednesday here's the beginning of first talon lucanis fic

and the beginning of the ashur pov companion to other masks

and the first paragraph of the novel (im not fully 100% sold on this one but it sure does provide the cipher)

call this an invitation to post first paragraphs for wip wednesday, if you wannaaaa