#doc: building success

[whoregaylorenzo]

BUILDING SUCCESS (11/?): breakfast at home with Tom

[writers-potion]

Writing Mad Characters

Okay this is a bit awkward because I had this question copypasted into Google Docs I use to draft my answers, and I realized I've lost the question in my inbox (which is being flooded).

So...I'm so sorry for whoever asked this question. Sorry for the delay because I was struggling with life in general for the past month and definitely SORRY for losing your question (－‸ლ)

Q: I'm writing a story where a major character is slowly spiraling into madness where small details kinda hint into the downfall right before the bigger details appear and then it the floodgates open. Is there anything I should avoid? Anything that I should keep in mind? Anything that I should research?

Things to Avoid

“Mad” or “Insane” is too general. Writing a cliched ‘crazy’ character who randomly talks to imaginary people and lashes out at strangers, you’ll offend a whole bunch of people who've gone through/have mental illnesses. Read up on existing mental conditions (schizophrenia, bipolar disorder, post-traumatic disorder and borderline personality disorder, etc.) to see what your character might have. 

Words like “mad” “crazy” or “insane” aren’t enough when you’re describing their status. As mentioned, these words hardly mean much when it comes to providing a clear description.

Contradicting yourself. Throwing random unhinged symptoms here and there wouldn’t work. In fact, you must have a clear arc on which they’re traveling and ensure that your “hints” are all getting at something.

Making the character overly destructive or harmful to others (when nothing really justifies it)

Justifying damaging behavior with this “madness”. Mad or not, your character will still have motives and goals that drive them forward. 

Making them look incompetent just the fact that they have a mental condition that makes them appear “mad” to others shouldn’t prevent them from achieving success. In fact, they may be even more cool-hearted and logical when it comes to their obsessions/goals. 

Research Tips

Narrow down the mental conditions your character experiences. Even if it’s a fictional condition, try basing it on existing ones and building on top of them. 

Take some time to study characters and/or real clinical cases that resemble the kind of madness you’re going for. 

- Anxiety Disorders: excessive fear and dread (ex. phobias) - Mood Disorders: persistent swings in mood or persistent feelings that interfere with daily life (ex. Depression, bipolar) - Psychotic Disorders: disordered thinking (ex. schizophrenia) - Eating Disorders: extreme emotional attitudes toward food (ex. Bulimia, anorexia) - Impulse Disorders: unable to resist urges (ex. Kleptomania, pyromania, gambling) - Personality Disorders: extreme inflexible personality traits (ex. Anti-social disorder, OCPD) - Past Traumatic Stress: persistent, frightening memories leading to emotional numbness 

Does your character have empathy?  

A sociopathic kind of madness is different. 

General Writing Tips for Spiraling into Madness

Establish a Baseline 

A lot of factors (stress, family history, innate personality, trauma, etc.) can contribute to madness, but it is not going to happen in a week. Define the existing mental and physical conditions your character has, and start from there. 

If you’re aiming for suicidal tendencies at the end, you want to start with symptoms of depression (a condition that may lead to suicide) - growing apathetic, erratic sleeping patterns, irritability, etc. 

This is also the stage where you want to plant some triggers that’ll go off later.

Trigger Events

A perfectly sound character suddenly spiraling down the madness route due to a single accident or traumatizing event isn’t convincing. 

A madness “snap” denies the reader the experience of watching the character’s journey into madness and how they feel about it. 

Internal Conflict (antagonist in himself) 

You must remember that madness is incurable. If someone could “cure” themselves by eating healthy, exercising and taking a few pills, it wouldn’t be much of a madness, would it? This means that the worst antagonist is going to be the character themselves, or the part of them that’s been taken away. 

Show how they are frustrated with themselves, scared of themselves, angry at their “alternative self”. The experience of not knowing yourself is a whole journey of its own.

Physical Manifestations/Quirks

If your character has a routine, show how they break down. 

They might develop habits that they otherwise would never allow themselves to have, perhaps as an effort to “keep this madness out”

Deteriorating Relationships

Depict how the character’s madness impacts his closed/loved ones. In the earlier stages, those close to him might be faster to notice and accept the signs of madness, even if the character denies it him/herself.

The first signs of madness might show when the character is trying to deal with difficult relationships - like losing patience and being unable to pick up subtle social clues.

Choosing Obsessions Over Primal Urges 

For these characters, obsession can take over a person’s normal urge to eat, sleep or even live. This can lead to, more or less, suicide. 

Example: In Black Swan, Nina’s obsession with becoming the perfect ballerina drive her to insanity, to the point where she doesn't mind dying on stage for the show.

[imsofreakingtired]

Sevika x mascfem!reader headcanons 💙

(haven't seen anything like this on tumblr before so i needed to be the change i wished to see in the world 😔)

ANYONE WHO KNOWS THIS ARTIST'S ACC PLS LMK SO I CAN TAG THEM

~~~

spotting her at the gym only to get distracted by her thighs

(and she in turn getting distracted by your abs)

thrifting together, she has a hawk eye for exactly the type of oversized band t shirts you like

her being confused as hell by your skincare products (she uses a 3-in-1 but her skin is fucking flawless)

"why is this shampoo in a petri dish" "sevika my love. those are moisture pads"

her making fun of how short you are but following you around in bookstores in case there's a book on a top shelf you want

you making fun of the way she always hits her head on low hanging stuff (you kiss it better after)

listening to her nerd out over some car mechanic thing (you dont know what the fuck the difference is between a straight and inline engine cylinder but at this point you're too afraid to ask)

her listening to you rant about the gay subtext of the classic novel you're reading (she tried to read it but got bored by the monologues of "a pathetic straight white man")

begging her to try on one of your baseball caps with some shit like "MILF" printed on the front (acts like she's annoyed but you saw her smirking at herself in the mirror) (baby knows she's finee)

walking in the park together and she swings you on her arm like a baby monkey

the foyer is just a mess of doc martens and converse (yours) and her timberlands boots

sevika gay panicking over you on the days you decide to put on lip gloss

"do we have to go out? with you looking like that?" "i know sevi, try to control yourself"

and then you absolutely losing it on the days she wears a tux

"call me a bond girl the way i-" "no."

watching gay shows like Killing Eve and yelling at the tv together like dads during a football game

(neither of you know how the show ends because you started making out in the middle of it and one thing leads to another and,,,)

sevika running her fingers through your long hair after a shower (she says it relaxes her)

you tousling her short hair like she's a puppy (you are the only person she allows to do this)

beer cans and monster energy drinks in the fridge

she can cook like a 3 star michelin chef, you can make successful fried eggs on a good day

"baby, just sit down and let me do it" "i swear i didn't burn it last time!"

sevika picking you up and tossing you over her shoulder to carry you to bed when you're exhausted from working late

"i need to finish this in three days-" "will you finish it? because it looks like it's finishing you"

sevika losing a bet and having to let you put eyeliner on her (jokes on you, the second you see her in eyeliner you're a gay puddle on the floor)

(wheezing) "babe get up" "HGNNNGGGHH NOOOO what have i DONE" (still dying from laughter) "whats wrong with you" "you're too hOTTTTTT!!!!!!"

you being sevika's impulse control on her endless woodworking ambitions

"you are not building a raft in our living room!" "you say that now, but what if there's a flood and we could be the only ones safely out while everyone else is waiting to be evacuated."

sevika wearing your hoodies and you taking pictures because it's fucking adorable how small they look on her

watching something sad and comforting her when you hear her sniffling (she swore she never cries at movies)

cackling together outside the supermarket after the cashier lady calls sevika your husband

she keeps getting cuts on her hand that she doesn't feel and never remembers how she got them but she likes how you fuss over her and bandage her fingers

she is endlessly confused by your jorts

"why can't it be jeans or shorts?? like pick one" "yk you like how i look in them mama" "..."

also is confused by why you Need to wear Only Flannels during the first week of October but she's supportive <3

grumbles that she misses your hair after you get a wolf cut but then you catch her staring at you when she thinks you're not looking with the softest most lovesick puppy dog look on her face

sevika making rings and necklaces for you out of scrap metal but she hates making a big deal out of giving gifts so she just leaves them at random places where she knows you'll see them

you ask her about them ("sevi did you make this??") and she'll quickly be like "no idk where the hell that came from" and then not a minute later she'll be like "...do you like it?"

yea......sevika x mascfem reader.....

[thorns-and-rosewings]

(Behold what happens when I have ideas that far surpass my skill level... ^^; Here we have tall-ish Lunar, roughly Bloodmoon height, only taller if his hat gets counted. And this universes versions of the Gemini twins)

Okay so this needs some explaining; this here is Asylum AU's version of Lunar and the Gemini twins. I didn't put their information on my last post about this AU because:

A. I genuinely enjoy these guys little side tale so much I wanted to attempt to give a good visual to go along with their bit.

B. I thought it was long enough already.

So I'm gonna write their whole little bit below, as with everything I write it's gonna be LONG, but hopefully a fun read.

Enjoy ^_^

.

Lunar: As with all this universe's characters, he started off life built by Eclipse to assist him... But the main difference was that this Lunar was treated infinitely better than our Canon Lunar was right from the get go. Not to mention that he had his Star Power right from the beginning as well...

How did he have that you may ask?

Simple... Doc Eclipse acquired some meteorites that contained an unknown alloy. And he genuinely went 'What the hell, why not?' and used it to build Lunar's body. Which apparently contained some residual Star Power and thus, this Lunar has his powers.

Right from the beginning, Lunar didn't want to fight with Sun and Moon and he began trying desperately to get everyone to stop fighting. So to make a very long story short, eventually, he was successful in getting the fighting to actually stop because Sun and Moon grew to care about Lunar like a brother. Although the fighting didn't stop until there was significant damage done to the motor control of Eclipse's left leg... There's an uneasy peace between the two halves of Lunar's family as the result of this.

Free to choose what he wanted to do with his life, Lunar took his love for games to the next level and started a gaming company. (But also made Beanbag chairs as well) Lunar's commitment and genuine love of the games that the company made reflected in their products and it didn't take long before Lunar's company not only became successful, but a MAJOR name in gaming.

By the time Asylum AU starts, Lunar's gaming company, Starfall Games, (The logo being the blue star emblem Lunar is creating and has on his clothes) is considered the number one gaming company in the world. Their claim to fame is their games quality. As they have never once released a game with any major bugs. Lunar is a very good boss and although he demands a great deal from his employees, but he is never unreasonable. And he regularly rewards his staff who go above and beyond.

He's a tough, but fair boss.

Lunar owns a huge tower in the middle of the city, which he lives in. It's so advanced it would make Tony Stark jealous. He lives in the penthouse on the upper stories while the lower stories contain the main headquarters for his gaming company. His tower is seemingly crafted from obsidian, with neon blue lights running throughout it. The dress code for the staff actually follows a similar theme, with everyone wearing bright seemingly neon colors. Or have some sort of celestial, space or star theming.

Lunar's powers in this area also 98% mastered, with the problem 2% to be addressed in a bit. Like Canon Lunar, he has electricity. But this version, rather than weather powers, his focuses on electricity, lightning and electro plasma. He actually powers his entire tower with his abilities and is in negotiations with the city to possibly power the entirety of that as well in the near future. His lightning powers are incredibly deadly if used in combat, but fortunately he next to never needs to use them offensively. In the rare instances he does need to fight, he is skilled enough to actually manipulate the electrical currents in a human body and essentially short-circuit a human temporarily. It's even more potent against animatronics.

But it's his plasma powers that he is actually the most fond of, as he's so skilled with wielding them that he can literally craft various things out of the plasma and then dissolve them on a whim. He can literally create tiles or stairs that allow him to walk in the sky. It's not uncommon to see him stroll across the sky near his tower at any given time...

But his favorite thing by far to create is his Plasma Cycle. Essentially a futuristic Tron-esque motorcycle that can reach nearly unfathomable speeds and drive over every type of terrain and even drive in the sky with him creating a plasma road below and in front of the bike to drive on.

(Essentially like this but in a brilliant blue)

Ultimately this Lunar has a very good grasp on things, but there are still some... Drawbacks...

Lunar didn't get to where he is in life without having to deal with A LOT of shit. With the one thing he has grown to value THE MOST in people is loyalty and honesty. He has endured many betrayals and been in the midst of liars and he finds people who partake in these negative things to be the lowest of the low.

He's not crazy and understands small lies and fibs can be understandable, even necessary. As he regularly lies about how good his Suns homemade 'Mint Sugar Cookies' are... They're damn near inedible, have the texture of a mix of toothpaste and sand, but nobody has the heart to tell Sun.

Aaaand then there's his family and that often deeply uncomfortable situation...

The thing Lunar loves the most, more than his company or anything else, is his family. His deepest wish and desire is for them all to stop hating each other and get along. Which is the one thing he wishes for every year on his birthday, when he invites everyone to either his home, or another location to spend the day together...

And every year without fail...

It's a total disaster...

It would seem Moon and Eclipse, in spite of their love of Lunar... They can't not fight for even a single frickin hour. They will fight, Sun will cry, Solar Flare will try to make peace, Bloodmoon stays the hell out of it, aaaand things proceed to fall apart before they can even have dinner. Let alone cake...

Every year Lunar just endures this. His heart breaking a little more each time... A tiny part of him wondering if he means so little to his siblings that they can't just get along for him for just a few hours. But, he just buries it and smiles and says that next year will be different. The stress of his family fighting is the only thing that can cause him to lose a grip on his powers. Sometimes leading him to short out an area and have to pay a hefty bill to repair the place he accidentally wrecks.

...fortunately he has his best friends, Castor and Pollux, by his side whenever these nightmares happen...

...the two people he trusts most of all...

...yeaaaah...

.

Castor and Pollux: In this dimension, the Gemini twins were drawn to the bizarre Star Power usage on this planet, eventually tracking it to Lunar when he was at his company. And they came with literal perfect timing, as Lunar had just started wandering through some of the floors of his company and they just appeared there.

One thing about this Lunar is that he is more than a little... Oblivious...

So oblivious in fact that he didn't notice the two clearly inhuman beings in his presence. But, to be fair, his companies dress code could have allowed a normal person to make such a mistake for maybe the first time... Not consistently every day for several years.

Now Lunar was in work mode, so he was wandering through the halls and checking in while being flanked by these two who were trying to talk to him. All while he initially thought they were just trying to pitch an idea to him, something that happens a lot. But as they continued to dog him, (And growing more frustrated at Lunar brushing them off) It finally occurred to Lunar that their behavior wasn't like someone trying to pitch a game idea... And then it dawned on him...

They had to be the new assistant the agency sent over...

Although why would the agency send two people and not just one?

Castor, decently annoyed by everything going on and seeing the opportunity to at least get the information that they need, doesn't exactly lie pre say... he merely says that they are there to 'Observe and offer help as need be.' And how they were a two-for-one deal.

Lunar just shrugged and went with it...

So over the course of the next few years, Castor and Pollux are by Lunar's side nearly constantly. They had to learn a fair bit about games and paperwork, but fortunately they are incredibly fast at learning and adapting. So they went from just being the assistants that Lunar admittedly went through fairly quickly... As a lot of them got too comfortable and got a bit powermad having access to the bosses attention. The two Astrals not only became invaluable in helping Lunar with his day to day responsibilities, but also became his closest companions and friends. To the point that they literally moved into his penthouse with him, updated their respective wardrobes with more human-esque clothes (Lunar actually crocheted them their scarves and added the star logos) and they are even so joined at the hip to him that he now instinctively manifests a pair of sidecars onto his Plasma Cycle which allows his companions to join him on his fun high speed insanity.

...at first they were just doing their jobs, observing Lunar and assessing if he was a threat or not...

But after a while things drastically began to change...

Lunar had a very good handle on his abilities. Had the good sense of when to use them. But more than that... He was giving, kind and just overall a nice guy who did everything he could to bring joy and happiness to the people around him.

And he succeeded in ways he couldn't imagine...

Lunar had somehow, made Castor and Pollux feel overwhelming joy and happiness. Given that Astrals don't feel emotions like mere mortals can... It was a jarring experience when Lunar somehow brought these emotions out in them and it made them realize that they actually, genuinely, cared about Lunar. A LOT...

But given everything...

They were now stuck in a bad spot...

While they never 'technically' lied to Lunar, they sure as hell know that they haven't been honest. Telling him the truth about themselves, about the Astrals in general, star power, his powers, everything... Given how Lunar values honesty and loyalty...

Oh yeah, they know they are in deep shit...

Not just with Lunar either. As they have been deliberately misleading what involvement is required of them to the other Astrals. While stating the situation is under control, but being extremely vague about what it even is. Aaaand even doing a few things to keep their fellow Astrals distracted from asking too many questions...

...like sending Scorpio an entire industrial roll of bubble wrap for them to stab with their tail...

...Giving Aries multiple wool pillows for them to rest comfortably on while meditating and using their dream powers...

...and last but certainly not least, sending Leo a beanbag chair completely packed full of catnip...

Courtesy of these little distractions, they have managed to avert deeper questions regarding what they have been up too. Except for Taurus who is getting suspicious about what exactly is going on down on earth. The only thing that has prevented him from heading down there to see for himself is with how busy he's been trying to track Rez.

But back to things on earth; given the closeness that the siblings have with Lunar it is now understood that in the company, they now wield as much power as Lunar himself. Referred to as Lunar's right and left hands respectively. They do, subtly, lead Lunar to occasionally have days where he takes some time off to just trains his powers. Pointing out one can never have too much control over such powerful abilities... They usually convince him to do this with the promise of having a picnic and just having a day to chill and unplug from everything. They have made an effort to do this every few months ever since they witnessed one of the hellish fiascos that Lunar's birthday turned into...

That was a horror show...

Made worse by how having his whole family together for a day was the only thing Lunar could talk about for a whole week...

Pollux: (Her hands clamped over her mouth as everything just spiraled out of control. So completely stunned still)

Castor: (In disbelief and his eye twitching) What is happening here?

Bloodmoon: (Surprisingly staying out of it) Not sure. But we're about a minute away from stuffing our pockets full of shrimp and getting the hell outta here...

Everything was over in under an hour, leaving Lunar heartbroken and usually a venue wrecked. The Bloodtwins at least making sure that Lunar got home alright, to which the Gemini twins then took it upon themselves to cheer Lunar up, always being sure to have a little 'Backup Party' ready to cheer him up.

And this has just become a solemn tradition...

Lunar gets his hopes up for a happy time with all the people he loves the most, it gets ruined, the twins take him back home. They handle the incoming apologetic phone calls that follow, Castor swears at them... a lot... Then they watch movies, play games and have some ice cream cake.

And Lunar asks how he got so lucky to have them in his life...

And they feel that knife of deception twist in their proverbial hearts...

[reasonsforhope]

"A young entrepreneur is using 3D printers to create cheap school campuses in rural Madagascar.

It takes just $40,000 and 18 hours to build a “Thinking Hut,” as they’re called, and founder of the project Maggie Grout is aiming to get the cost even lower before handing the reins over to local professionals.

GNN previously reported on Maggie Grout’s idea in 2021 during the pandemic. It was then that she and a San Francisco architect came up with the idea of making them honeycomb-shaped so that additional modules could be added seamlessly.

And indeed, the first completed campus is called the “Honeycomb.”

Madagascar is one of the most challenging places in Africa to develop, but also the most opportune owing to a lack of any armed conflicts and a government welcoming of foreign workers.

But extreme poverty, lack of infrastructure, terrible roads, and a delicate, priceless natural ecosystem all pose challenges to anyone seeking to implement large-scale development projects.

Instead, Grout brought her 3D printers over in a single shipping container and has now printed a school in the town of Fianarantsoa, a city in south-central Madagascar with 200,000 people.

“From that first project, I really learned how to streamline the logistics,” Grout told Fast Company. “I learned how to put together the supply chain when there’s not a lot of locally available materials. And then I learned how to work in harmony with the local people.”

Local people are the key—lack of institutional presence in rural areas means that almost any economic activity has a foundation built on years of trust between community individuals. When foreigners come in, building trust is often the biggest challenge to getting a project off the ground in Madagascar.

However, from the onset, Grout said she wanted to rely on the locals as much as possible. During the first project, she learned how to best manage a team of cross-cultural partners. She used local people to install traditional windows and doors, and worked with the Madagascar Ministry of Education to bring in teachers.

“We do think through the holistic collateral impacts of what we’re doing,” Grout says. “We’re really just aiming to be a stepping stone for [the community] to be successful on their own… We don’t want them to be dependent on us.”

Her long-term goal is to establish Thinking Huts in many different countries."

-via Good News Network, June 9, 2023. Video via 60 Second Docs, July 18, 2022

Note: A bit older but still good - and still ongoing! This year they started a formal partnership with the Madagascar Ministry of Education and are working on a new campus, The Honeycomb Project.

[xoxorealitygalore]

Trust and Believe

Trust and believe me

You're gonna need me

Trust and believe me

She'll never be me

Authors note: I’m nervous as hell! This is my first time writing…well I mean publishing one of the many stories that I’ve written in my Google docs on here. This is one of my goals for 2025. So let’s see how it works out for me. Enjoy.

summary: Keyshia and Joe had a seemingly perfect life together after marrying in 2010. However, as their careers grew, so did the strain on their relationship. When Joe cheats on Keyshia. The emotional fallout from the incident leaves their relationship hanging in the balance, with Keyshia questioning if they could ever recover from the betrayal.

TMZ EXCLUSIVE

KEYSHIA ANOA’I

ARRESTED FOR ASSAULTING WOMAN

In Roman Reigns's Penthouse

Keyshia Anoa’i spent a not-so-pleasant Monday morning in jail ... after allegedly assaulting a woman who apparently spent the night with Keyshia's husband WWE wrestler Roman Reigns.

Keyshia showed up at the swanky penthouse building in Miami at around 5 AM. We're told she came to Miami to surprise her husband after being on tour for two months.

Our sources say ... she got into the penthouse and she saw another woman and went nuts.

We're told Keyshia attacked her ... leaving scratches and knots all over her face. Cops were called ... and Keyshia was arrested for battery.

She was just released on $46,000 bail, which her husband paid.

We called Reigns and Keyshia's reps ... so far no comment.

Keyshia Anoa'i, a soulful R&B singer with a string of chart-topping hits, had always prided herself on her relationship with Joe Anoa'i, better known to the world as WWE wrestler Roman Reigns. Since their marriage in 2010, they had built a life together—one that, from the outside, appeared perfect. On the surface, they were the picture of success and love, navigating the pressures of their high-profile careers while raising a family. But as the years went by, the cracks in their relationship began to show. The more their careers flourished, the more the distance between them seemed to grow.

Joe’s career as Roman Reigns had skyrocketed. His fame and schedule with WWE meant long stretches of time on the road, and his larger-than-life persona brought both admiration and envy from fans and fellow wrestlers alike. Keyshia, on the other hand, had continued her journey as a chart-topping artist. Touring, recording, and engaging with her fans had become a huge part of her life, but it also meant being away from Joe for extended periods.

The couple's physical separation, driven by the demands of their respective careers, slowly became emotional as well. What started as occasional misunderstandings soon evolved into deeper issues. Trust, communication, and intimacy—key components of any relationship—were fraying at the edges. Joe’s long absences and late-night workouts at the gym were often coupled with his refusal to share much about his personal life. He bought a penthouse in Miami without consulting Keyshia first, something that, in hindsight, symbolized the growing distance between them. He would justify it as his need for space, a private place to unwind after a grueling schedule. Keyshia didn’t think much of it at first, but deep down, it only served to fuel the quiet fire of suspicion she had begun to feel.

Over time, those suspicions grew. Keyshia had always trusted Joe, but there was something about his behavior that began to feel off. His late nights, his constant phone calls, and his cryptic responses when asked about his time away made her wonder if there was something more going on. It was the kind of feeling that gnawed at her insides—a woman's intuition that something wasn’t right. She had asked him about it a few times, but each time, Joe brushed her off, assuring her there was nothing to worry about. But Keyshia’s gut told her otherwise.

On the night in question, Keyshia had just finished her twentieth show as a part of her five-month tour, Trust and Believe Tour, and decided to surprise Joe at his Miami penthouse. She was exhausted, but her mind was consumed with thoughts of reconnecting with her husband, of finding a sense of closeness that had been missing for so long. She’d gotten a few days off and felt it was the perfect opportunity to show him how much she still cared. However, what she didn’t know was that Joe had been keeping secrets—secrets that would soon be laid bare in a shocking way.

Keyshia arrived at the penthouse, a place she had visited only occasionally over the years. She felt a flutter of excitement as she stepped out of the car and walked toward the building. She imagined the surprise on Joe’s face when he opened the door to see her. Perhaps they would have a romantic evening, catch up on lost time, and rebuild the emotional connection they had once shared. But as she approached the door and inserted the key card, everything changed in an instant.

Keyshia stepped into the penthouse and froze. The sight before her took the breath right out of her chest. There, in the living room, was Joe—her husband—sitting on the couch with another woman. The woman was leaning into him, and Joe appeared to be speaking to her in a way that was far too intimate for a simple friendship. The woman’s eyes widened in shock at the sight of Keyshia, and Keyshia’s heart dropped. The floor beneath her seemed to disappear, and all at once, years of confusion, pain, and suspicion crashed down on her.

Her first instinct was to confront Joe, but the anger that surged within her was overwhelming. She felt her fists clench at her sides, and before she could think, she marched toward the woman and pushed her away from Joe. In the heat of the moment, words failed her, and all she could do was physically lash out. She slapped the woman’s face, threw punches, and clawed at her in a fit of rage. The betrayal, the hurt, the disbelief—all of it culminated in an uncontrollable outburst. Keyshia wasn’t thinking about the consequences; she was thinking only about the woman sitting with her husband, a woman who had crossed a line that Keyshia had never expected.

The woman screamed in surprise and tried to back away, but Keyshia was relentless, shoving her toward the door, her hands swiping and scratching. "Stay the fuck away from my man," Keyshia spat, her voice dripping with venom. "I better not evee catch you around my husbans again! Slut bucket!"

In the chaos, Joe stood up, trying to intervene, his voice raised in an attempt to calm the situation. But the damage had already been done. A neighbor heard the commotion and called the police, who arrived shortly afterward to find Keyshia still at the scene, her emotions running wild. The officers quickly subdued her, arresting her for misdemeanor battery. The police report would later note that Keyshia had struck the woman multiple times and caused visible scratches on her face. As the cuffs were placed on her wrists, Keyshia’s mind was a swirl of emotions—confusion, anger, and heartbreak. It wasn’t just the sight of Joe with another woman that cut her so deeply, but the years of tension that had been building up between them. This, she realized, was the breaking point.

At the police station, Keyshia was left alone in a holding cell for what felt like an eternity. The time felt like a blur, and every second she spent behind those bars was another moment for her emotions to spiral. She had always been known for her composed and graceful persona in the public eye, but here she was—gripped by raw emotion, fighting to make sense of the man she had married, the man who had been her partner for over a decade. Joe had always been her rock, her protector. But in that moment, he had shattered her trust in a way that felt irreparable.

Hours later, Joe arrived at the police station to bail her out. He appeared tired, his usually sharp features softened by concern and frustration. His presence was both comforting and maddening. He had been the one to create this mess, yet now he was here, trying to smooth things over as though nothing had happened. When Keyshia saw him, her anger flared up once more, but she fought to control it. She had no idea what she was supposed to feel at that moment—anger at Joe, at the woman, at herself—or a combination of all of it.

"Keyshia, you can’t keep doing this," Joe said softly, his voice strained as they walked out of the police department together.

"You’re telling me what to do? You’re the one cheating while I’m on tour, Joe!" Keyshia snapped, getting right up in his face. Her voice was trembling, but it was also fierce. Every word she spoke was filled with pain. How could he do this to her? To their family? She had trusted him, loved him, and this was how he repaid her?

Joe sighed, his frustration evident. "Chill, we ain’t even leave the police department yet."

Keyshia’s heart felt like it was breaking all over again. She wanted to scream, to hit him, but instead, she just exhaled deeply, the fight leaving her body as quickly as it had come. She felt drained, emotionally and physically. She had never imagined that their love story would end up like this, not in a million years.

The drive back to Joe’s penthouse was silent, filled only with the sound of the engine humming in the background. Keyshia stared out the window, lost in her own thoughts, while Joe kept his eyes on the road. There was no quick fix for what had happened, no simple apology that could erase the betrayal Keyshia had felt. But as the minutes passed, she couldn’t help but wonder: Could they find their way back from this? Was there still hope for them? Or had the damage been done beyond repair?

For Keyshia, the road ahead was uncertain. The life she had built with Joe, a life she had once believed in so fully, now felt like a house of cards, teetering on the edge of collapse. Would they find a way to rebuild, or would this be the end of their story? Only time would tell.

[typewritingyip]

The Arcturus Missions

Part Twenty Three - Worrying the Medic

Part Twenty Two

———

Most mech suits were initially designed to have remote pilots, to not have a human being in the cockpit of the suit, hoping effectively for a drone. Clearly, that was not successful and the first countries to get functioning suits were ones who did not initially plan for that. Several other countries attempted that as their main strategy and in turn were delayed by the lack of progress. 

Those suits went on to help with modern design for perception and maneuverability for the use of pilots. 

Now, because of those designs most pilots have a widened visual perception, easier maneuverability, and enhanced UI. Unfortunately the new connections leave the pilots with the feeling of body dysmorphia. Both from the physical connection to the suit through their implants but also the visual, audial, and mental connection.

Scientists are still currently studying the effects of this on pilots, it is not currently in consideration to reduce the enhancements back to previous renditions for safety reasons, but new options are being considered for the sake of the pilots.

It’s unknown what this would do to pilots that have the ability to retire since the new generation of suits came about. 

—

Cosmic rust was not taken lightly among Cybertronian’s. Whenever it was mentioned around Hound or Breakdown it would remind them of the diseases that would run rampant through military units, but this was a lot worse than the flu. It was spoken about in revenant tones, more akin to cancer. 

Hound’s skin crawled and his implants burned. 

Megatron was the first one up and stepping lightly away, “Alright, we know what the regulation states. Medic smells or sees rust then everyone gets checked. Knockout?” With a deep sigh, Knockout nods, “Of course, so, whose first?” Hound glances up and that was the wrong thing to do, “I see I’ve got a volunteer.” He gestures and starts to walk away.

At first, Hound stayed put before Mirage gave him a look, “He meant you Hound.” Sighing slowly, Hound pushed off the bench and started to follow the medic. Even back on Earth he hated going to the medic let alone a doctor. 

Ducking slightly at the doorway, Hound moved into the medical tent, “You’re going to have to tell me if whatever I do is uncomfortable or dangerous Hound, I can’t read a person's visor, I’ve never been able to.” Nodding slightly, Hound moves and sits on one of the medical slabs, “Neither can I, Doc.” Knockout pauses and cracks a bit of a smile, “No one calls me doc anymore, they haven’t since the end of the war.” Hound tried not to smile, nodding a bit.

”And what do you mean, neither can you? Every single one of your kind, at least that I’ve met, has visors.” Hound chuckles lightly and shifts a bit, “Call it a feeling, we can tell in other ways how someone is feeling.” Nodding a bit, Knockout turns back around with a swab and dish, “Like an EM field, except you don’t have those either.” “Can’t say we do.” Knockout chuckles as he started to swab plating, frowning a bit after trying to get a seam.

Hound tries not to kick his feet, tries to sit still but it felt like he was back in the physical he had to take before the mission.

—

The room was white, not grey or blue but white except for the almost checkered floor. It looked like any normal doctors office but how could you call a doctors office one building over from where giant mech suits were stored normal. 

Hound shifted on the examination table, wearing his working uniform, after all he was just on loan to MECHA from the army, as much as he might like it here. 

Boots were shuffling through the hall and there were plenty of people talking outside, slowly he leaned back against the wall and closed his eyes for a moment. What he wouldn’t give to be back in his suit, it had been almost a month since it went in for the upgrades it would need for the Arcturus mission and pilot 2162 was covering his region. She was a fantastic pilot and doing her job well but he’d be more comfortable handling his region.

Then again, space wasn’t exactly his region and that’s where he’d be in a few months time. Sighing, he opened his eyes when there was a knock, “Come in.” The door opened and an older man came in, clipboard in hand and white coat swaying, “Oh thank god.” Hound sighed a bit and Ratchet looked up, rolling his eyes, “Third time I heard that today. Has Shockwave really gotten so bad you’d rather have my medical advice over his?” “Yes.” Ratchet rolled his eyes again.

Although Ratchet was a bio-engineer by trade, he did get his nursing degree before that, which was better than Shockwave and his medical school to any pilot. 

“Alright, well, your chart looks good and your vitals are typical.” It was hard to define anything about a pilot with the quantifiable normal anymore, “Everything else is consistent, I understand they have taken you off your SSRI and ambien?” Nodding a bit, Hound shifts, “Yes sir.” Ratchet hummed and tapped his pen against the clipboard.

Shifting a bit, Hound clears his throat, “I’m feeling fine and sleeping well, my side effects have been limited.” Ratchet hummed again before pulling up the stool and sitting down, grabbing Hound’s wrist for a pulse reading, “Yet, your resting rate is high.” Hound couldn’t help but chuckle, “Yes sir.” Barely sparing him a scowl, Ratchet grabbed the ear and throat light.

They went through the motions, Hound responding to statements or answering questions and Ratchet kept referring back to the clipboard, scowling deeply before rolling backwards to look at Hound square on, “Why do you want to go to space Hound? Hmm?” Hound chuckled slightly, “What do you mean?” With a glare, Hound held his hands up.

Sighing, Hound shifts and fixes his shirt sleeve, “I want to end this damn war Ratchet, I mean look at me. Look at all the pilots, what we go through, what we put our bodies through. The sooner it's over the sooner we stop getting put through the blender.” Ratchet’s gaze softened, “Hound,” “I’m serious Ratchet, this shit isn’t removable and we’re pilots till we die or move up, most of us don’t want to move up.” Ratchet gave him a look and Hound sighed.

“Don’t you think I of all people know that the technology isn’t removable?” Nodding, Hound runs a hand through his hair, “Ratchet, the list of pilots grows every day and there is a longer list of dead ones than active ones.” They hardly could look at each other, but Ratchet sighs, “I don’t want to see your name on the longer list Hound.” Cracking a smile, Hound shrugs a bit, “Come on Ratchet, don’t you have some faith in me?” “In you, yes. In those lambo twins? Never.” Hound laughed.

The room shifted a bit, turning from bright to nearly dull, ”Now, can you shift your weight to the other side for me?” Shifting on the table, Hound sighs a bit, “Sure Ratchet.” Everything was coming back into focus now, no longer was the same doctor's office on Earth but an oversized medical tent. 

“My name isn’t Ratchet,” “What?” Hound glances up and nearly startles at the sight of Knockout. Glancing around he cut the microphone to swear before turning it back on and clearing his throat, “Sorry, Knockout. Uh, Ratchet was my medic back on Earth. Has been since I became a pilot.” He nodded a bit awkwardly.

Humming, Knockout lifts up his tablet, “I’ll mark him down as your primary care then Even if he’s thirty lightyears from Cybertron.” Hound chuckled weakly and adjusted in his seat, shifting on the slab just enough, Knockout looks up, “Alright, base plating shows nothing, mind if I check the under plating?” It took a moment before Hound tilted his head slightly, “I’m sorry?” Knockout smiled, his smile even when kind was wicked looking.

He turned the tablet towards Hound, “Your under-plating, from Jazz’s schematic.” TO be fair, it almost looked similar to the blueprints for the suits back on Earth, but missing the cockpit entirely, “Do you mind if I take a look?” Shaking his head a bit, Hound shifted on the seat again, “Uh, no. Go ahead.” He cleared his throat as Knockout went around to the other side of him.

It was harder to not move when Knockout was behind him and prodding him, while pulling at his— at his suits plating. 

“Alright, I’m going to be removing pieces to scan them, is that alright?” Hound shifted a bit, “From back there, yes, you won’t be near anything terribly vital.” Knockout hummed and gently started to pull the plating away with precision only a medic or engineer could have. Hound was still sitting perfectly still, leaned back against the piloting seat.

All of that had been disorientating, just another symptom, another side effect that he now had to deal with. Rolling his shoulder a bit, he sighs before getting the alert to the missing piece of plating, “You got it doc?” Knockout hummed again and activated his scanner.

It was quiet for a minute.

“What in the name of Primus is this?” Hound tried to shift to look but Knockout had moved away from the direct cameras and was holding his plating, gawking at it, “What?” Knockout came around and showed him a piece of his plating, which was stamped with ‘Property of the United States Government’, “I have a translator for written language, why does this proclaim the plating property of your government?” Hound stared at it, the stencil familiar and sprayed on most military machinery.

It was hard to explain why it was sprayed on the inside of his plating, “Uh,” Knockout nodded before storming out of the medical tent, shouting, “Lord Megatron!” And Hound stayed put. 

He was still wracking his brain when both mechs came back in, Megatron was holding the piece of plating and had pretty well crushed it, taking a breath Megatron’s hands were shaking, “Why is this piece of plating attached to you?” Hound slowly sighed and nodded a bit, “It was a repair.” His voice was a little quiet, Megatron’s fist hit the wall, “Don’t you dare lie!” Hound jumped, he couldn’t help it. 

They stayed in silence for a moment, Hound stared at the pair before deflating slightly, “It was a repair, but it’s part of being a pilot. The numbers across our chests, the paint, all of it is for identifying the pilot in the armor.” Megatron nodded slowly, “Armor?” “It’s not removable, not after the testing, but because I was a military pilot it is technically owned by the US government. Same as any materials I needed in the army.” Hound was recording the conversation and sending it to Jazz, it wasn’t the best of stories but he was no writer or actor. 

Megatron moved over slowly, “So, these people own the plating you wear, put you through apparently incredibly painful testing, launched you into space without a way home, and expected you to die for data. Is that all correct?” Knockout leaned in, “They also reek of iron oxide, for a reason I have yet to find.” Hound’s implants itched, “That would be some of our lines, I’ll attend to the repair myself but it’s likely I have a small leak to my internal system.” Megatron threw his hands up before throwing the chunk of Hound’s plating across the room.

Wincing slightly, Hound sighed as Megatron turned back towards him, grasping his shoulders, “This was the other reason I wanted you in this unit, you don’t see your life beyond your so-called purpose and that is infuriating.” Sighing, Megatron pulled away before starting outside, “Mirage, get in here now!” For a second, Hound thought he heard a cube crack.

A second later the room went from being a medical tent to a get together just about, now Megatron, Knockout, and Mirage had joined Hound inside the tent. Sighing, Hound stood and rested his hands on his hips slightly, “What is this, an intervention?” Glancing at each other, Hound nodded slightly before starting out of the tent, “Now that the mystery of the rust is solved I’m going to get my internals to start patching the leak and get some sleep.” And he somehow made it out of there without being grabbed.

They barely had to spare a glance at each other, “Mirage, I want you to keep an eye on Hound.” Megatron’s voice was still rough with anger. Nodding, Mirage watched the mech go back over to where he’d been sitting and slump, turning off his visor, likely for fuel consumption while the internal repairs were happening, “Is he hurt?” He glances over at the two cons, frowning.

Both spare each other a look before Megatron shakes his head and Knockout shrugs, “We don’t know.” Mirage sighs slowly, “And how can he smell like rust if it’s not rust?” Knockout nods a bit and leans against the examination slab, “If what he says is true, it could simply be a mild corrosion of wires that have iron infused in them.” He shrugs weakly.

Mirage stared at where Hound was, before starting back out the medical tent and moving to sit next to the mech. His cube shattered on the ground but he really wasn’t hungry anymore.

Everyone was silent and staring, mostly worried about rust but also worried for Hound, you didn’t get visited by multiple people in medical at Knockout’s request unless you were dying. They were all sparing each other's looks, especially once Megatron and Knockout returned.

Knockout gave one glance around and swore, “It’s all clear you idiots, do you honestly think I’d let him back out here if it wasn’t?” Only a few people relaxed.

—

Bluestreak was sitting alone, the whole shuttle was lined with seats but he was sitting by himself. Maybe it was the big gun that he had leaning against his knee or the fact that most mecha wouldn’t normally be awake at this ungodly hour, while he seemed to have endless energy, but regardless Sunstreaker took the seat to his right with ease. 

Glancing up, Bluestreak’s face lit up with a smile, “Hey.” Sunstreaker smiled a bit and sat back, adjusting in his seat, “Hey yourself.” Then he sent a private comm invite, which Bluestreak joined near instantly, “I’m gonna unplug from the suit, so it’s going to look like I’m asleep but I still wanted to talk.” The visual input from inside his suit was offered to Blue, who also accepted that.

His smile was small and Blue shifted to lean back as Sunstreaker seemingly fell asleep, leaning his helm against Bluestreak’s shoulder. 

It took a second for Sunstreaker to get unplugged from his mech, removing the top part of his assistance suit and helmet before setting down near one of his internal microphones, “Can you hear me Blue?” Trying to hold back a smile, Bluestreak nodded slightly, “Yeah, I can hear you Sunny, I can see you too.” Sunstreaker smiled, “I wasn’t sure if that was going to work or not.” He brushed a hand through his curls, sighing. 

Bluestreak sat silently, waiting for Sunstreaker to get comfortable, trying to keep the smile off his face, “You disconnect cause that overuse stuff going on?” Nodding some, Sunstreaker grabs a container of food, “Yeah, Hound’s orders. It’s just to try and alleviate the symptoms.” Blue hummed and rested his hand lightly on Sunstreaker’s suit, just above the knee, “So, are you going to get some rest?” Shaking his head, Sunstreaker chuckled and opened the makeshift container.

”Nah, I’m gonna eat my lunch and talk to you. Ask about my new boss and all.” Bluestreak tried not to wince, nodding a bit, “Right, Ironhide.” He sighs slowly and Sunstreaker smiles a bit, sipping some very vibrant blue broth which was just shy of being sweet, “He that bad?” Blue bit his lip, “Uh, well, it's not really that he’s bad per say.” He sighed slowly.

Sunstreaker shifted his attention to the screen right below the camera, “But?” Bluestreak groans a bit, “I don’t think it was a coincidence that you were paired with Ironhide and Sideswipe was paired with Elita-One. Even before the last war, they were, let's say, involved with military affairs. Then during it they were Optimus’s best commanders.” Sunstreaker sighs slowly, setting down his food, “It’s because we're civilians, right?” Blue gave a barely audible answer.

Barely glancing at the camera, Sunstreaker got up to pace a bit, “Is he a hard-ass?” Bluestreak chuckled, “I’m sorry?” Sunny smiles a bit, “Is he grumpy?” “Very.” Blue continues to chuckle, rubbing his neck a bit. 

Whistling quietly, Sunstreaker shakes his head, “Damn, they were conspiring, huh?” Bluestreak shrugged a bit before clearing his throat, “Yeah, it would seem that way, but I think you got off better than Sideswipe did.” Sunstreaker glances at the screen, “Really?” Bluestreak hums, “Oh yeah, Elita is a little more rough around the edges especially to mechs over femmes. It’s not a thing but it’s about trust.” Nodding a bit, Sunstreaker hums. 

Blue shifts a bit in his seat, adjusting Sunny on his shoulder, “Sideswipe is going to be fine though, it’ll probably be good for him.” Sunny nods for a moment before shaking his head, “No, he doesn’t take to authority well. So, Ironhide the grumpy hard-ass, so, what do I need to know about him?” Blue smiles and closes his eyes, leaning back, “I don’t even know where to start.” Sunstreaker smiles softly, “Maybe from the beginning?” Blue grinned. 

“Ah well, I guess I could start with the old prime guard stories. Now, I wasn’t around for those. I wouldn’t come online for a few hundred stellar cycles at the very least.” Sunstreaker goes back to eating, smiling and nodding, sometimes it was just nice to be able to talk to someone or listen to someone without having to talk. He’d usually get that with Sideswipe but this was different and it made his smile turned from a nearly forced one to soft. 

———

A/N

So, this was not what I had planned to post today then I got busy, so it is what was done.

That does mean, on Monday, I might not be posting Part 24 but something else… we will see.

Also a bit of Lore stuff cause I posted it in a comment of the last chapter, the implants as we all know are foreign objects to the human body which our pilots bodies are at present trying to reject. So the reaction is slightly autoimmune but they are also dealing with a shock to their n system as they encounter new bacteria on all these new planets they are going to. They have some anti-biotics but nothing is perfect.

Also if you saw what was at the bottom of that comment… ☺️

Tags:

@lunarlei68 @whirlywhirlygig @loop-hole-319 @pixillandjester @alek-the-witch @not-a-moose-in-disguise @goddessofwind8water @neurologicalglitch @dersereblogger @pixel-transformers @mrcrayonofdoom @wireplaces @twilightfreefaller @original-blog-name-2 @devilangel657 @robbin-u @childofprimus @miniartistme @starwold @tea-enthusiasm @valeexpris606 @celticdoggo @bird599 @agentsquirrelsgotrobots @aquaioart @dimencreasatlas @thatwandercat @artdagz @seisha974 @starscreamloverfr @halenhusky309 @leethepiper @cat-cassette @blue-wrens @sirassban @astridkolch @cosmique-oddity @garbageenthusiast @osqindaxend @xervias @azulabutterfly @fryseem @spring-mc @echo-circuit @aghostsnail @wooblewooble @ask-glory-haddock-and-others @nonsscarpheap @magichats @iminahole247 @omgflyingderpywhale @pour1tin @thetrexartist

And once again thank you to @keferon for this amazing AU

[hollowsart]

What if I was Doc Ock?

(Acedia used in place of my name)

Spider-Man looks over at Acedia, seeing the state she is in and after hearing her side of the events and seeing the remains of the lab around them. Acedia is wearing pants and a shirt that doesn't appear to be her own. she is exposed and uncomfortable in her posture and how she holds herself. The injuries of bruises and scratches and dust on her form. The tears staining her face, her reddened eyes from her crying and outburst.

And he turns to see Norman, angry and dusting himself off with that same expression on his face that he is always sporting.. but there's something underneath it. Spider-Man can feel it. Norman walks over, his movements reading like this is nothing more than a minor inconvenience, and that he has more important things to busy himself with.

Spider-Man didn't let the man speak.

(Continued below + a ton of extra info. This is VERY LONG, you've been warned)

"Your own worker? Your own employee? You're willing to put your people at such high risks and in such conditions at this? Exposed to all the hazards and more within a lab? The first rule of lab safety is to be properly dressed. Does she look properly dressed to you?" he waves his arms in Acedia's direction. She flinches, rubbing her sore arms and wiping at her face. She winces as she hits a cut, her attention turning away from the other two, brow knitting with concern and annoyance with her own sorry state.

Spider-Man continued.

"Either you never spent a day in a lab yourself to know that, or you just don't care. And I'm really starting to believe it's the latter."

He turns to look at Acedia again, walking up to her, a hand reached out but never touching. "Look, are you alright? Do you need some help getting out of here? I can take you--" Acedia jumps, not expecting the approach. An actuator whipped around him and knocked him away out of reflex.

"AH-- I'M SO SORRY. I.. I-I don't-- I don't know why it did that-- I--?!"

Norman smiles, a small chuckle caught in his throat at the sight. It may not be a success how he wanted, but it appears the arms were a success in other ways.

"You two need to get out of my lab and out of my building before I have the authorities alerted. I need this place cleaned up. Immediately. Oh, and Acedia? You're fired. I'll have your stuff thrown out in the dumpster tonight. We won't be needing it. Goodbye."

Spider-Man groans as he stands up, Acedia gasps and looks over at Norman, shock and offense flashing on her face. Her eyes followed him as he walked casually out the door. Her expression shifted to that of hatred as the tears started to well up again, and her hands clenched tightly. Spider-Man is back at his feet. He clears his throat and speaks up again.

"..Listen, I'm.. I'm so sorry. I guess I should've said something first before..." he trails off a moment, "Will you be alright? Do you need any help? I'd offer a hand, but.. uhm.. it seems you've already got more than plenty." He awkwardly chuckles at his attempt to make light of the current situation. Acedia sniffs, looking him up and down before shakily offering her hand.

"..It's okay. We should.. get out of here. Like he said."

"What about your stuff? You want me to go get it before it's all trashed?"

"..I'm no one special, just an assistant. I don't have much. Nothing of value, anyway.. But you're welcome to." She says, giving him the directions to the lab she was assigned and shared, as well as repeating her name.

"Got it. I'll be out in a jiffy. And hey, everyone's special in their own way."

Acedia can't help the smile.

"Thanks."

"No problem. You should go get some medical help if you can. I'll meet you wherever!" And with a thwip of his web, he's gone.

-------

Prologue to ^that^ and is the initial concept:

I'm not like a proper scientist, but an assistant. I do the testing and help the proper engineers and scientists within the company. However, I got roped by convenience into some stuff by Norman and the fact I was there at the wrong time.

Being too anxious to really speak up for myself and fight back. I just get bossed around despite me not wanting to, but I REALLY don't wanna make a scene cuz that just makes everything worse.

Anyways. One experiment involves the actuators, they don't want to test it on themselves, so they make me wear it cuz I'm just a replaceable assistant, it's sorta my job.

They don't have enough power for the arms and the experiment to work, so they start to boost the power and end up pumping too much that it gets dangerous and I end up getting shocked unconscious as things explode. Unable to actually escape from the arms and the machine area. While unconscious, when everything clears and everyone thinks the whole thing was a failure.. the actuators wake up and start moving the debris and everything away, shifting around and wobbily getting "footing" to lift me from the rubble.

Norman and whoever else was present is surprised that the arms are working just fine. In fact, they're working even better than expected. Norman even boasting that it was all his work and his idea, and while he's saying this, I'm waking up, not moving, but becoming conscious enough to hear the world around me. I hear Norman say something about "removing the body from the arms," and I panic and start to move, flailing as I'm registering that I'm now hanging from the arms off the ground. The arms understand the panic and react.

Something Something Norman gets grabbed and slammed. I'm crying and shouting and trying to tell off Norman for this experiment that nearly could have gotten me killed.

During this, Spiderman comes in and stops me, but he's more understanding with me since I'm clearly deeply upset, and he hears clearly the things I'm saying in my clear distress.

---

Origin:

Assistant who is used more as a means of testing new inventions and products within OsCorp. Happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time when Norman "required" me. End up in a somewhat more secure lab within the company building that I had no idea about. Get told I need to change due to my shirt and lab coat getting in the way, get given an open back tank top instead (I feel extremely uncomfortable and exposed). Get told to get up on the platform, and I'll be fitted for the testing. They keep wording and phrasing things in a way to try and coerce me into going along. Not enough power, pumps too much power, big explosion with electricity. I'm still alive, the arms are now very much active, Norman assumes I'm dead and gives word to the others in the room to clean up and to remove me from the harness. Big freak out and outburst against Norman, putting my foot down and telling him off. This leads to Spiderman's intervention. He comes in to hear me out and get an understanding of the situation. Clearly, one side is very much in the wrong here, and it sure as heck isn't the very much upset and injured exposed woman. Not really much happens here. Get fired and told to leave. At least make some level of "friend" with Spiderman.

Follow-up:

A strange package shows up at my apartment from OsCorp. Weird goggles are inside, and I'm highly suspicious and skeptical... but also a little stupid and can't resist seeing what I look like in funny eyewear. Bing bang boom, I am now hanging off the sides of buildings screaming and crying and unable to do anything as the actuators have gone rogue and my head keeps turning on its own and it's causing my anxiety and fear to skyrocket. The actuators are causing a lot of chaos and destruction, which soon enough alerts Spiderman into showing himself. The Goggles lock onto him, and the actuators take off to attack. A long struggle on Spiderman's side ensues. He sees how distressed I am and does his best to try and get through to me so I can think and potentially do SOMETHING to stop this. He brings up the goggles when I mention how it hurts amidst my sobbing and suggests removing the goggles. I do that despite how much it hurts because I'm so tired and fed up already with this. The goggles get removed and tossed away, which causes the arms to go erratic instead of being locked onto Spiderman. This allows him to be able to successfully stop what's happening. The chip, which was found to be the source of the actuators going haywire, is also eventually discovered afterward and removed. Norman was likely at fault here once again, but with that gone, he won't be making trouble anymore.

The final thing would be like..

I get befriended and picked up into a band of other people who have more of a criminal record than me, and we create the Sinister Six. I'm the ideas department offering ideas and advice for everyone as a whole or individually.

All of this works with how I am irl, but I do still end up being deemed a "villain" tho I don't really do much that's actively villainous. I'm just a victim of circumstances.

"Master Planner" ends up being more my occupation since I do have a lot of ideas to offer everyone else. (I am no Otto Octavius fjsvsjfg)

[allieebobo]

Merry Crisis—Cast of characters

Romance-focused x Slice-of-life x Queer x Non-Euro-centric x Character-based

Demo | Features | Dev log | Back to Main Post | COG forum | Dedicated tumblr | Ko-fi

Credit: The wonderful amazing INSANELY talented @dumplingcatho made these STUNNING character portraits!! I am still reeling from how dang good she is. I swear she probably made a deal with the devil for this talent but I shall not question it.

Nat [M/F]

The soulmate/ex/best friend.

Your ex. Your parents never approved of them, but you suppose it doesn’t matter anymore. Despite the breakup, you’re still friends, and worse still - you still live with them in a tiny shoebox apartment. New York rent, man—it's hard to say no even though you know you should be moving on, and moving out.

Height: 6′2 (M) | 5′11 (F)

Nationality & race: African-American

Occupation: Post-doc fellow, working towards becoming a tenure-track professor.

Description:

Warm, twinkling eyes, and big, infectious laugh. Can swing from nerdy charm to extreme goofyness at the drop of a pin.

Loving, thoughtful, and kind to a fault. Relaxed, gentle demeanour

The kind of friend—and partner—you can trust with your life.

An incurable optimist.

Loves people, art/movies (especially talking about them with friends), food/cooking, their two dogs. 

Nat's dogs

Kiho [M]

Breed: Cairn Terrier

Age: 8

Description: Proud, small, intelligent, standoffish, with a stern grandpa energy. Apparently, a reader/player told me long ago that Kiho means "big boss" in Finnish colloquial slang and that was so perfect that it stuck. If Kiho were human he'd wear an old patagonia vest and spend his weekends fishing (not very adeptly).

Liz [F]

Breed: Border collie

Age: 3 (adopted when MC and Nat were already together.)

Description: Not exactly literal golden retriever energy but... close enough. A ray of sunshine, playful, easygoing, happy-go-lucky and a voracious eater (she eats everything), loves playing in puddles and has a special love for chewed up tennis balls.

Qiu [M/F]

The estranged first love / soulmates.

Your first-love (or platonic soulmate), from junior college. You’d not kept in touch, and now, they’re ridiculously successful. But, according to your intel, still…single.

Height: 5′8 (M) | 5′4 (F)

Nationality & race: Chinese Singaporean

Occupation: Public prosecutor

Description:

Extremely intelligent, with a sharp, cutting wit.

Ambitious, determined, and a bit cynical / jaded.

Dark, piercing gaze, with a completely unreadable expression.

Formal, a little bit stiff, and always impeccably dressed.

Aloof, almost intimidating presence despite their relatively average height/slim build.

Loves a job well done, being useful, stimulating conversation, and solving problems. Peace and quiet.

Shay [M/F]

The charismatic stranger.

Your neighbour (Auntie Pearl)'s new tenant. Sexy, confident, and unabashedly unconventional. Your mother definitely does not approve, but you might not be able to resist their roguish charms.

Height: 5′10 (M) | 5′6 (F)

Nationality & race: Chinese (Peranakan) Singaporean

Occupation: Lead singer & guitarist in a rock band

Description:

Thick, sweeping eyebrows, expressive eyes that twinkle at the edges, and a permanent roguish half-grin.

Tan, athletic, with an undeniable swagger to their walk. Has a penchant for sleeveless muscle tees. Good with their hands (and... possibly other parts of their body).

Adventurous, resilient, unflinchingly honest, and uncompromisingly true to themselves / the people they love.

Loves the outdoors (and constant motion), music (especially rock, reggae and soul), dancing, soccer, nature/plants (including gardening).

Other asks

[whoregaylorenzo]

BUILDING SUCCESS (3/?): mabio

[j23r23]

Unfinished Business

Tangerine x Reader

The moon hung low over Rome, casting a silver glow on the ancient streets. The air was thick with the aroma of Italian cuisine wafting from nearby restaurants. It was a beautiful night, but for me, it was just another job.

Or so I thought.

I made my way through the narrow, cobblestoned streets of Trastevere, one of Rome's oldest and most charming neighborhoods. The pastel-colored buildings, adorned with ivy were illuminated by warm, golden streetlights and created a scene that felt almost timeless. The murmur of conversations in Italian floated through the air, interspersed with the occasional clink of glasses and bursts of laughter from the outdoor trattorias.

I was dressed in a beige canvas jacket over a loose white shirt, paired with dark jeans and my trusty Doc. Martens. A thin golden necklace adorned my neck, its sun pendant glinting in the moonlight. My dark hair was pulled back into a ponytail, and a pair of small, discreet earrings completed the look.

As I walked, I blended in seamlessly with the crowd of locals and tourists. Aware of my surroundings, I take in every detail. I checked my reflection in the glass of a nearby shop window. My eyes scanned the people behind me, looking out for anything unusual. I adjusted my jacket, feeling the comforting weight of my guns hidden underneath it.

Walking again I turn onto Via della Lungaretta, I could see the bell tower of the Basilica di Santa Maria in the distance. The basilica's facade, stood out even in the light of the evening. I had a rendezvous at a small café just a few steps away from the church.

The café, tucked in a quiet corner, was almost hidden from view by a canopy of wisteria. Its outdoor seating area was filled with round, wrought-iron tables, each adorned with a single candle flickering gently in the night breeze. I slipped into a seat at the far end, my back to the wall, giving me a clear view of the entrance and the street beyond.

I ordered an espresso the bitter aroma mingling with the smell of freshly baked bread and simmering tomato sauce. It was almost enough to make me forget why I was here.

Almost.

As I waited, I couldn't shake the feeling that this night, this job, was going to be different from any other.

I had been summoned last minute for an assignment, an urgent backup situation. The briefing was vague, a hurried phone call from a handler I hadn't heard from in years. The pay was enough to make me pack my gear without asking too many questions.

Little did I know, this job would take me down memory lane. The very streets I walked; were the same ones I had left behind years ago. Memories began to surface—another time, another life. A mission that ended sour, and bonds broken. The weight of those memories loomed over me as I glanced around the café.

Just as I was lost in my thoughts, my phone buzzed softly in my pocket. Pulling it out, I saw a message from an unknown number. The screen illuminated with a new set of coordinates and a brief message: "Location changed."

The abandoned warehouse was a cavernous space, its corners swallowed by shadows. I stepped cautiously inside, the light filtering through cracked windows casting eerie shapes on the concrete floor. The sound of my boots echoing in the vast emptiness.

"Looks like our backup has arrived," Lemon's voice cut through the silence, tinged with his usual dry humor.

"About time," Tangerine muttered, his tone gruff and annoyed.

The moment I heard Tangerine's voice, my heart skipped a beat. Memories of our teenage years flashed before my eyes—times filled with reckless adventures, stolen goods, and countless nights in jail cells. We had been inseparable, the three of us, until everything fell apart.

We were in a seedy motel room, we had just returned from a grueling mission, one that pushed us to our limits and tested our resolve. But instead of celebrating our success, the atmosphere crackled with frustration and anger. Lemon had left to procure some essentials—food, clean clothes, and the like—leaving Tangerine and me alone, a situation that had become increasingly uncomfortable over the past few months.

I stood by the window, staring out at the neon-lit streets below, trying to gather my thoughts. Tangerine paced the room, his movements agitated, his jaw clenched in a way that signaled trouble brewing.

"You can't keep doing this," I finally spoke up, my voice low but edged with frustration.

"Doing what?" Tangerine snapped, stopping in his tracks to glare at me. "Trying to keep you alive? Making sure you don't get yourself killed because you're too damn reckless?"

His words hit like a slap across the face, igniting a fire within me. "I'm not a child, Tangerine! I can take care of myself. I don't need you constantly hovering over me, questioning every move I make!"

"You call this taking care of yourself?" Tangerine shot back, his voice rising. "You nearly got us both killed back there! If it weren't for Lemon and me cleaning up your mess—"

"You don't get to decide what risks I take," I shot back, my temper flaring. "We're supposed to be partners!"

His jaw tightened even more, a muscle ticking in his cheek. "Partners? A partner thinks about the consequences!"

"Oh, and you do?" I interrupted, standing up to face him squarely. "You act like you're the only one who cares about the consequences. Well, newsflash, Tangerine, I've had enough of your lectures!"

He took a step towards me, his voice low and dangerous. "Maybe if you listened to me once in a while, we wouldn't be in this mess every damn time!"

I scoffed, shaking my head in disbelief.

The room seemed to shrink around us. We had faced danger together countless times, but this argument cut deeper than any knife or bullet.

"You're not the same person I used to know," Tangerine said quietly, his voice rough with emotion. "You've changed, and not for the better."

His words struck a nerve. "I've changed? You just think of me as an annoyance," I said bitterly. "And the one that has changed is you! You've become controlling, possessive..."

"I'm trying to protect you!" he exploded, his fists clenching at his sides. "Don’t you get it?"

"You're smothering me," I replied, my voice raw with emotion. "I can't breathe with you watching my every move."

Tangerine looked away, his jaw working as he struggled to find the right words.

"I can't do this anymore," I whispered finally, the admission hanging between us like a death sentence.

Tangerine's gaze snapped back to mine, disbelief and hurt warring in his eyes. "What are you saying?"

"I'm saying I can't do this anymore," I said, the words tasting bitter on my tongue. "I'm done, Tangerine. I can't, I..."

The silence that followed was deafening. Tangerine stood there, his hands clenched into fists at his sides, conflicting emotions flickering over his face—anger, hurt.

"Fine," he said ultimately, his voice clipped and cold. "Go then!"

I took a deep breath and stepped out of the shadows. "What the hell are you doing here?" Tangerine's voice was sharp, filled with disbelief and anger.

I turned to face him, my eyes locking with his. "Got a call. Backup needed. Guess they didn't mention who it was."

Tangerine's jaw tightened. "We don't need you."

Before I could respond, Lemon stepped between us. "Oh, for crying out loud, can we save the drama for after the job? We're on the clock here."

I ignored Tangerine's sour demeanor and turned to Lemon, a genuine smile spreading across my face despite the tension. "Lemon!" I said, pulling him into a hug.

Lemon chuckled, returning the embrace, almost breaking my bones. "Hey darling. How are you doing?"

"Better, knowing I’m working with you." I admitted, glancing briefly at Tangerine, who was busy checking his weapon with a scowl.

Lemon sighed, shaking his head. "You two need to work this shit out after this."

Tangerine shot Lemon a glare, but I could sense his frustration. Lemon had always been perceptive, the one who could see through our tough exteriors to the complicated feelings underneath.

As we geared up for the mission, the tension between Tangerine and me simmered just beneath the surface. We moved with practiced efficiency, that came from years of working together, each of us slipping into our roles seamlessly. Despite our issues.

Between gearing up and going over procedures, Lemon found a chance to pull me aside. "You know, Tangerine hasn't been the same since you left," he said quietly, his voice tinged with concern.

I nodded, my gaze drifting towards where Tangerine was meticulously checking his equipment.

"He's not good at expressing it, but he missed you," Lemon continued, his tone earnest. "We both did."

Lemon placed a reassuring hand on my shoulder. Before I could respond, Tangerine called out, snapping at me. "How many times have you gotten yourself into trouble since you left us?"

"Not as much as you two, I bet," I shot back, unable to resist the jab.

Lemon chuckled, the sound echoing in the warehouse. "Touché."

"Speak for yourself," Tangerine muttered under his breath, though loud enough for all of us to hear.

Lemon laid out the blueprints of the building we were about to infiltrate, his finger tracing the paths we would take. While I was listening Lemon explain the plan, I checked my weapons, my movements precise and controlled.

"You still using that old piece?" Tangerine teased, nodding towards my gun.

"It gets the job done," I replied curtly, my focus unwavering. I took a deep breath, trying to steady my nerves.

Lemon chuckled softly, shaking his head. "You two are unbelievable," he muttered, though there was a fondness in his voice that we couldn't miss.

As we finalized our plan, the tension in the warehouse shifted. This job was risky, the stakes high. The mission was straightforward: infiltrate, retrieve, and eliminate if necessary. But the emotional undercurrent between Tangerine and me was palpable, a distraction we couldn't afford.

"Alright, let's do this," Lemon said finally, his voice cutting through the quiet that settled over us.

With a nod, Tangerine took point, leading us towards the back entrance of the building. The night air turned darker as we moved, shadows melding with shadows, our steps silent.

I couldn't help but feel his scrutiny as we moved through the shadows. "You still relying on brute force for everything?" he muttered under his breath, his voice barely audible over the comms.

I shot him a sideways glance, irritation creeping into my tone. "At least I don't shadow your every damn move like you do mine," I retorted, adjusting my gear with unnecessary force.

Lemon, sensing the escalating tension, sighed audibly. "Focus, both of you."

Tangerine rolled his eyes, but I could see annoyance in his expression. "You’re still as thickheaded as always," he jabbed, his voice laced with frustration.

I clenched my jaw, fighting the urge to snap back. "And you waste too much time analyzing my every move."

Lemon glanced between us. "You two are like an old married couple," he muttered under his breath, though his words were loud enough for us to hear.

Tangerine and I shot Lemon a glare. "Shut up!" We both hiss.

With a reluctant nod from Tangerine, we pressed forward. The night air grew colder as we approached a courtyard, each step bringing us closer to the heart of the operation. Despite our differences, our training took over, and we moved with practiced efficiency.

As we reached the back entrance, Tangerine signaled for us to halt. He checked his watch, then glanced around the corner cautiously. "Two guards up ahead," he whispered, his tone sharp.

I nodded, my annoyance with him momentarily overshadowed by the need for precision. "I'll take the one on the left," I replied, already moving into position.

Tangerine shot me a skeptical look but didn't argue. "Fine. Just don't screw it up," he muttered.

I smirked, unable to resist the urge to tease him. "Careful, Tangerine. You don't want me to accidentally shoot you in the foot" I quipped, before focusing back on the task at hand.

Tangerine just glared at me with annoyance.

With a silent countdown from Lemon, he and I sprang into action. The guards were swiftly neutralized, our movements synchronized despite our bickering.

We moved as a unit, knowing each other's moves without needing to speak. The emotional walls we had built seemed to soften, if only for the duration of the operation.

As we breached the targeted room, the unexpected happened—a flurry of gunfire erupted from all sides. The air filled with the sharp cracks of bullets ricocheting off metal, and the acrid smell of gunpowder hung heavy.

All three of us instinctively took cover. It was chaos, the plan unraveling. We moved swiftly, communicating in terse commands and covering each other's positions as we fought our way through the ambush.

"Cover me!" Tangerine shouted over the din of gunfire, his voice cutting through the chaos.

I nodded, providing suppressing fire as he maneuvered to flank the attackers. Bullets whizzed dangerously close, the adrenaline pumping through my veins heightening my senses. In the midst of the firefight, Tangerine and I found ourselves back-to-back, a position from countless missions past.

"On your left!" I shouted, spotting an approaching enemy.

Tangerine spun, his movements fluid and precise. With a series of controlled shots, he neutralized the threat without hesitation.

"Thanks," he muttered, the words barely audible over the continuing gunfire.

While Lemon retrieved the crucial files we needed from the secure server, Tangerine and I methodically cleared the warehouse floor by floor.

As we regrouped outside the warehouse, the agitation between us returned, like a storm cloud on the horizon. Our previous exchange of curt commands and coordinated movements had been efficient, but now we were back to our old ways.

"You were reckless," Tangerine yelled, stepping closer, his jaw clenched in anger.

"Reckless? I was doing my job," I countered, meeting his gaze defiantly. "I was covering your ass! If it wasn't for me, you'd be Swiss cheese by now," I retorted sharply, pushing my index finger against his chest.

Lemon, sensing the rising tension, attempted to intervene. "Hey, let's all take a breather here," he interjected calmly, trying to diffuse the escalating confrontation.

But Tangerine wasn't backing down. "Your "job" almost got us pinned down there," he insisted, his voice rising with each word.

I felt a surge of indignation. "And what would you have done differently, huh?" I shot back, my hands curling into fists at my sides.

"I would've followed the plan!" Tangerine snapped, his frustration palpable.

"The plan went out the window the moment we were ambushed!" I argued, my voice rising to match his intensity.

Tangerine turned away abruptly, pacing a few steps as he tried to rein in his temper. "You’re still the same!" he protested, his voice strained.

I took a deep breath, attempting to steady my own emotions. "But we made it out, didn't we?" I said, trying to reason with him.

Lemon's pointed look spoke volumes, his expression a mixture of concern and frustration. "You two need to sort this out. Now!"

Tangerine and I stood in the cool night air, as he finally broke the silence. "Why did you leave?"

I took a deep breath, the words heavy on my tongue. "Because you were driving me crazy. You wouldn't stop criticizing me, watching my every move."

He looked away, the pain in his eyes mirroring my own. "I was trying to protect you."

"From what?" I demanded, my voice breaking. "We were partners. I didn't need protecting. I needed you to trust me."

He met my gaze, his blue eyes filled with an intensity that took my breath away. "I couldn't bear the thought of losing you. Because I—" He hesitated, the words catching in his throat.

Lemon's voice cut through the tension. "For the love of God, just say it already. You love her. It's been obvious for years."

Tangerine froze, his gaze locked on mine.

The world seemed to stand still in that moment. My heart raced, emotions swirling in a tumultuous whirlwind. A statement I had never expected, hung now between us.

"Lemon..." Tangerine started, his voice thick with emotion.

Lemon stepped forward, a knowing smile on his face. "I've known for years, Tangerine. You're not exactly subtle."

Tangerine shot him a glare, but there was gratitude in his eyes. "And you never said anything?"

Lemon shrugged. "It wasn't my place. But it's about time you two figured it out."

I turned back to Tangerine, my heart pounding. "I... I thought..." I stood there, comprehending what is happening.

Tangerine took a step closer to me, his voice barely above a whisper. "I do love you. More than I can put into words."

Relief washed over me, mingled with a surge of emotions I had kept buried for so long. "Then why..."

Tangerine reached out, gently cupping my face in his hands. "I was scared," he confessed, his voice raw with vulnerability. "Scared that if I admitted how I felt, it would jeopardize everything. Our partnership, our friendship..."

"Our sanity," Lemon chimed in, a faint smile playing on his lips.

Tangerine ignored him, his focus solely on me. "But tonight, seeing you again, after so long. I can't deny it anymore. I need you, not just as a partner, but as..."

"As something more," I finished for him, my voice trembling with emotion.

He nodded, his thumbs brushing lightly against my cheeks. "Yes. As something more."

Lemon cleared his throat, breaking the intimate moment with a smug grin on his face. "Well, now that we've got that settled, can we please get out of here before the authorities decide to crash your little make-up session?"

We chuckled softly, the air around us at ease now. Together, we made our way through the deserted streets of Rome.

As we walked, Tangerine reached out and intertwined his fingers with mine. It was a simple gesture. I reciprocated the act, feeling the warmth of his touch seep into my skin.

Lemon walked a few steps ahead, occasionally glancing back with a satisfied expression. "You know," he said, breaking the comfortable silence, "I've been waiting for this moment for a long time. It's about time you two got your act together."

Tangerine rolled his eyes but didn't let go of my hand. "Yeah, yeah. Thanks for the nudge, Lemon."

Lemon grinned. "Anytime. But seriously, keep it together, I can’t handle more drama."

Something i put together on a whim...

[hermit-lover]

Hello! I love your writing so keep up the good work :D

I would like to request Ren, Doc and Scar (Separate or not) with a ftm reader, preferably platonic.

It's completely fine if you don't want to though!

(Also if you end up doing it, may I please be ✨️ anon?)

A Moment Of Calm

--------------------------------------------------

Character: DocM77 x Reader, Rendog x Reader

Type: Blurb (1.8k)

Theme: Platonic, Comfort

Summary: The grind of Season 8 and The Octagon have been wearing you thin, so you take a moment to recuperate after a great success.

TW: Dysphoria

A/N: Welcome ✨(Sparkle) Anon! Sorry it took so long, but I hope you enjoy. :)

It’s been a loooooooong couple of weeks, and that's almost an understatement. You thought joining in on Doc and Ren’s shenanigans this season would be entertaining, but didn't account for Doc’s affinity for shooting for the moon (heh). Seeing his projects in seasons past you should’ve guessed it would be equally as crazy, but something in you rationed that maybe he would take it easy. Big mistake. Considering it started with somehow creating a super-chunk of a horrifying amount of spawners. You have been endlessly grinding copper and logs to fuel the shops, hearing shulkers grumble in your sleep, and building up the centre of your new base of operations. The Octagon. It was honestly huge, with complex corners and shape lending to the mechanical aesthetic you’ve leant into this season. It wasn't one you typically built in, unlike the mad scientist, and you’d be lying if you said you didn't miss the ease of terraforming. Soft dirt and plants under palm instead of gritty redstone that has long since dyed your nails. But being part of this team was rewarding in its own right.

You settle into the wooden seat sat on the floor, grunting as your knees crack with effort, and your ribs protest. How long has it been since you’ve taken off your binder?- ah no matter. A sigh pulls from your lips at the chance to relax, a crackling campfire soothing your nerves. The seat isn't necessarily the most comfortable, but after a long day's work you were looking forward to the staple of your meetings. A barbeque. Stretching your shoulders against the tight fabric under your shirt, you look to your teammates as they arrive, chattering animatedly. Ren’s voice carries first, agreeing enthusiastically to something Doc was explaining. Ever the enabler, or hype man as he would prefer. An arm is strung across the goat-hybrid's shoulders, half tugging him into a hug. Doc responds, waving his prosthetic hand to help visualize the words- a habit of his you noticed finally being close to him this season.

“Then if we attach the redstone to the power core as shown in the blueprints-” Upon coming to the crest of the hill, Ren’s gaze catches your own, and his grin widens.

“Hey dude!” The werewolf waves exaggeratedly with his free arm, completely interrupting Doc mid-sentence. He sputters out something about manners, but rolls his eyes and nods in greeting. A rush of warmth splits your own face into a grin. It was nice to have them as friends.

“Took you long enough. I was about to dig in without you.” You tease, earning a playful swat from Doc as he moves to settle in the seat beside you, Ren already taking his place as ‘the meat master’ as he would insist the title be. Laying perfectly seasoned steaks on the grill over the fire.

“You say that as if you weren't late to our last meeting.” Doc grumbles, unable to hide his smug smirk at being able to hold it over your head. Groaning dramatically you flop further into your chair.

“It was one time! You try being on time when Scar has filled your starter base with pandas-” Ren snorts, and you shoot him a glare. Doc hums in debate, he of all people understands Scar’s menace. Doesn’t mean he won't find it funny. “We still have to enact revenge for that.” You remind the pair, causing Ren to perk. A dangerous glint in his eye.

“We should infest Boatem with those bot guys Doc designed.” He suggests, “Cover their landscape with mite-bots!” Arms swooping in a wide arc, you can picture it vividly; The tailored landscape of the builders covered in clicking, scurrying bots. Like chickens but harder to kill. Not a bad idea at all. Your so caught up in the visual it takes a second for it to click what exactly Ren has just called the bots-

“Mite-bots?”

“MITE-BOTS?!” Doc’s cry overlaps your own, so suddenly all you can do is blink. “They aren’t mites! I’ll have you know I modeled them after viruses- which happen to look very cool.” The goat’s instant defense of the odd robots makes you stifle a chuckle, especially when Ren simply flicks his tail sassily. Void, they were so childish sometimes. For as much as Doc tries to seem mature and scary, it wasn't hard to wind him up.

“Mites-viruses same thing my dude. ” The werewolf shrugs, flipping a steak casually with his bare hands. It sizzles loudly and your stomach clenches with hunger, gurgling in protest. The scent of cooking meat making your mouth water. Doc grumbles unintelligibly under his breath- but you get the gist of his complaints for ‘respect’. A common thing he insists upon, despite secretly enjoying the banter. Glancing back to Ren, his gaze is already on you, smiling slightly in knowing. “Hungry?” He asks gently, eyes twinkling with affection despite the bags. He was so chipper it was hard to tell he was as tired as you are. You’d guess having his body be mostly robotic this season meant he likely felt the effects less, but there was still evidence of wear-and-tear. His metal body was scuffed and dirty, not being polished like it should be, pale skin also covered in a thin layer of grime. The evidence of hard work across the three of you is a testament to how hard you were working to complete the project before the end of the season. It was a grind, all hands on deck as you all knew it would be a shorter one.

Blinking back to reality, you realize you’ve simply been staring back at him, neglecting to actually answer the question. You stumble to answer quickly-

“Ah- yea, it smells good.” You manage out, smiling sheepishly back to his patient look. For a brief moment Ren accepts your answer, and you all lapse into peaceful silence. The crackling of fire and sizzling meat overlaid the chirping of crickets and waves lapping on the shore as the sun descended over the horizon. You truly think you can be happy here- friends, good food, enjoyable projects- and then Ren clears his throat.

“I don't mean to nag at all my dude, but I’ve gotta ask…How long have you been wearing your binder?” You inhale sharply, suddenly aware again of your aching ribs and strained breathing. Ah, shit. Of course he would notice-

“Mm Ren’s right, I haven’t noticed you without it- or taking enough breaks for me to assume you’ve removed it.” Doc agrees, sitting up a little further to watch you carefully. The pressure from both of their gazes is almost a physical weight on your skin, prickling an embarrassed heat on your face. Deep down you knew they only cared about your well-being, but the thought of being without it- “Breathe. We wont force you to change if you truly don't want to, but it isn't safe to wear it for so long.” Doc’s reassuring rumble soothes your nerves a tad, as a clawed hand rests gently on your shoulder. Lingering just-barely there as to not spook you, but there enough to ground back to your body. Realistically you know you should change, but the thought of having to exist looking so unlike your true self-

“Here.” You tune back into the present, face-to-face with a plaid ball of fabric. There's a moment of silence as your brain lags behind- then it dawns on you what it is.

“Your shirt??” You glance mildly horrified at Ren- and see much to your relief he is still currently wearing clothing. He chuckles, waggling the shirt ball enticingly.

“You wish I was showing off my abs, baby” He teases, not taking to heart the disgust you can't stop from flashing across your face. Doc huffs a laugh at your reaction, squeezing your shoulder reassuringly. “But I don’t want to attempt to out-man the ultimate man, my dude.”

It's clear he's trying to flatter you, but you let yourself take the compliment. After all, it was clear he simply cared deeply. Finally reaching out, you grab the flannel being dangled in your face. It's impossibly soft and plush, clearly well loved. The deep red fading away slightly with how many washes it's been through. Ren smiles at that, placing both hands on his hips. “It’s even oversized on me, so I figured it would be comfortable for you to lounge in- if you want.” The offer makes your heart clench- they notice, and more importantly they care enough to try and find a solution where you can all be happy. This server is going to be the death of you- and you already feel a little choked up with emotion. After a moment of debate you nod, and Doc gently removes his hand. You miss the warmth of it, but he smiles reassuringly.

“You can change in the van, we’ll save you a steak.” He jokes lightly, and you scoff.

“You better!” Pointing a finger accusatorily at him, you rise from your seat. “This better not be a ploy to eat my share of the food.” Doc chuckles deeply, choosing to not answer as Ren pretends to look guilty. Feigning annoyance at their lack of an answer, you stalk to the van, nerves building with every step took away from them.

Stepping into the rocket-van the door clicks shut behind you, plunging you into an eerie silence. If you listened closely you could hear the fire- and the low voices of your friends just outside. If you truly wanted, you could just leave now and not change-and they would ignore it because of your emotional comfort- even if they did worry. Or…you could be comfortable physically with minor emotional discomfort. And they would be happy.

… That doesn't make it fair, huh? You pull off your shirt quickly, opting to rip it off like a band-aid. The struggle out of your binder was always a little embarrassing- but you shrug on the soft flannel in no time. It hangs on your frame, doing its job at hiding any shape of body beneath. Instead creating the illusion of one solid shape. You still knew your body was under there- but…it was as comfortable as you could get. Taking a deep breath, you step out of the van and trail back towards the campfire. Doc and Ren are talking in-between bites of food, both their gazes flicking to you at your approach.

You brace for a comment, of any mention of you wearing the flannel and accepting their offer- but Ren simply extends a hand out, holding a steak.

“Dig in! It's not getting any fresher.”

It's that simple moment of acceptance that solidifies it for you; Doc and Ren are true friends.

[what-the-whump]

The Life and Legend of Wyatt Earp Whump List

Description: Loosely based on historical fact, the series portrays the gunslinging Wyatt Earp and his successful determination for law and order.

IMDB Link - Wikipedia Link

Wyatt Earp portrayed by Hugh O’Brian

1x12 : Ran over by a horse, no repercussions. 

1x18 : Bloody knuckles from fight, no repercussions.

1x23 : Punched in the face, knocked around during a fight. 

2x03 : Wearing eyepatch throughout the episode. 

2x06 : Fight, knocked down, kicked and punched repeatedly, bloody.

2x07 : Runs into a burning building, coughing.  

2x20 : Shot in the leg, in pain, supported.

2x21 : Repeatedly shot at, falls off horse. 

2x22 : Bullet grazes arm, bloody wound, arm wrapped up, pistol whipped/knocked out, unconscious, waking up sore and disorientated.

2x35 : Manhandled, tied up/restrained. 

3x13 : Manhandled. 

3x17 : Punched in the face, knocked around during fight.

3x19 : Fight, bruises on face, split lip. 

3x22 : Knocked out/pistol whipped, unconscious, tied up and gagged, stumbles when getting back up. 

3x28 : Punched in the face, manhandled, fight. 

3x31 : Fight, kicked in the face. 

4x01 : Lassoed off horse, no repercussions. 

4x03 : Bullet grazes rib, bleeding, brief medical care, ribs bandaged up. 

4x06 : Pistol whipped/knocked out, unconscious, tied up.  

4x09 : Shot in the arm, bleeding. 

4x11 : Shot in the arm, bleeding, brief medical care, arm bandaged up. 

4x12 : Shot in the shoulder, manhandled. 

4x20 : Whipped, shirt ripped.

4x21 : Punched in the face repeatedly, fight, bloody and bruised, slapped in the face, breaks  hand fighting. 

4x37 : Rough fight, knocked down, pinned and beaten, bloody and bruised. 

5x01 : Flashback to getting lassoed off horse in 4x01, flashback to fight in 2x06. 

5x03 : Fight, manhandled, punched in the face, knocked out, unconscious, carried, bloody, medical care, waking up, headache.  

5x20 : Punched in the face, fight, bloody lip. 

5x26 : Bullet grazes cheek, bloody.

5x30 : Fake shot in the stomach, carried away, bandaged up and lying in hospital. 

6x06 : Punched in the face, split lip, fight. 

6x08 : Tied up, strangled/manhandled, fight, beaten, bloody, knocked out, unconscious, manhandled, almost thrown off a cliff. 

6x10 : Tied up and gagged. 

6x13 : Tied up and gagged. 

6x24 : Punched in the face, beaten up.

6x27 : Tied up. 

6x28 : Fight, thrown around. 

6x37 : Fight, bloody, bruised.

Doc Holiday portrayed by Douglas Fowley and Myron Healey

2x33 : Pistol whipped/knocked out, unconscious, tied up, carried.

3x12 : Sick, exhausted, collapse, supported. 

3x39 : Shot in the arm, arm in sling.

4x15 : Manhandled, tied up.

5x35 : Drugged, intoxicated, falls off horse, supported.

Shotgun Gibbs portrayed by Morgan Woodward

4x01 : Shot in the hand.     

4x04 : Pistol whipped/knocked out, unconscious, medical care. 

5x08 : Shot in the neck, medical care.  

5x17 : Shot in the arm, bandages self up. 

5x26 : Shot in the arm, bloody.

6x04 : Bullet grazes head, collapse, supported, medical care.

6x25 : Lassoed. 

6x31 : Shot in the leg, support, medical care.

Bat Masterson portrayed by Mason Alan Dinehart

1x01 : Fight, bloody lip.

1x04 : Beaten (offscreen), weak, exhausted, passes out.  

1x33 : Shot in the leg, supported, medical care, weak. 

2x11 : Pistol whipped/knocked out, unconscious, kidnapped, manhandled. 

2x12 : Manhandled, held at gunpoint. 

2x13 : Pistol whipped/knocked out, unconscious, bleeding head wound, manhandled, smacked around. 

2x26 : Fight.  

4x22 : Pistol whipped/knocked out, unconscious, dragged away/manhandled, tied up.

[she-wolf09231982]

Chapter 9-It Ain't Over

Summary: Easy is tasked to dismantle German outposts across the river and were to return with prisoners for interrogation. The mission is successful but not without another loss. When the Colonel tried to send the men back in, Winters unconventionally goes against the grain, allowing the men a night of rest instead of risking more unnecessary deaths.

A/N: Mature audience, Joe LiebgottxFem!Medic, Post Bastogne, She/Her Pronouns, Y/F/N, Y/L/N, Cursing/Swearing, Derogatory Slurs, Womanizing Comments, Aggression, Angst, Confrontation, Military Terminology, 1940’s slang, Inappropriate Nicknames, Band of Brothers References, A League of Their Own Movie References, Mentions of Weaponry, Yiddish/German language with English translation, Smoking, Crying, Banter, Pining, FOREVER FLUFF

German is identified with (g)

Yiddish is identified with (y)

*These stories may not fall entirely in accordance with the TV series timeline. I do not know the real soldiers the actors portray in this series, so please understand I show no disrespect. Some or most of historical events and character interactions in my fanfics are fabricated purely for the sake of the enjoyment of fiction*

~~~~~~~

February 1945/Night of POW Mission

American side of the river

Liebgott sits behind his M1919 Browning machine gun with his assistant gunner on a bombed-out landing at battalion headquarters right off the water, watching the rest of the platoon load into the boats on the riverbank. You sneak past the AG and sit next to Joe.

"Gams?? What the fuck are ya doin'?" he chided at you.

You roll your eyes, "Just checking on you two and seeing where the guys are." you respond quietly.

"Yeah, well, they ain't even crossed yet so get back downstairs, will ya? I don't want you out here if shit starts poppin' off." he scolded.

You sigh, "Fine, Joe, I just wanted to see you before anything happened, that's all."

You turned to leave but then hesitated. You looked over your shoulder at him with his back towards you. You return to him swiftly, grab his chin and plant a hasty peck on his cheek.

"Ich liebe dich, Joe Liebgott (g)(I love you, Joe Liebgott)." you say in a quick hush before you scamper off inside.

Joe grunted at you not knowing whether to be irritated or entertained,

"Du verdammte Füchsin (g)(You goddamn vixen)." he called after you before you could reach the stairs.

Basement of Battalion HQ

You and Doc sit together in the cellar of HQ, waiting and listening intensely for any gunfire exchange outside. Minutes feel like hours sitting there, as you sip on a tin cup of coffee.

Your leg is bouncing from anxiety, waiting for something to happen. Eugene reached across to you and grabbed your knee to stop your leg from jumping. You look up at him startled.

"You're too jittery. Lay off the coffee, Y/F/N." he said in his low soothing Cajun accent with a gentle smile.

You nod then smile back, placing your cup on the table next to you.

~~~~~~~

German side of the river

The patrol crosses the river in the inflatable boats. When they reach land, they strategically approach the building where German soldiers are posted. As Easy makes entry, Jackson rushes into the building too soon after throwing a grenade and is severely wounded.

The rest of the guys then rush the building and captured three Germans. As they retreat with their prisoners, the remaining German forces open fire. One of the prisoners is hit and is left behind on the riverbank.

American side of the river

Joe sees his platoon scattering towards the boats as smoke and gunfire erupt from the German side. He shifts his line of fire, anxiously waiting to pull the trigger.

"Jesus Christ, come on. Blow the goddamn whistle!" he yelled.

The sound of the whistle finally reaches Joe's ears. He lays heavy suppressive fire at the windows where he sees flashes from German MG-42s. He peppers the buildings back and forth, in hopes he's nailing each one dead center of their foreheads.

Basement of HQ

You and Doc hear an eruption of gunfire and shells dropping through the garden windows of the basement. You stand next to the little window listening hard for the yells and screams from your boys. Just then, you suddenly hear the faint call from the riverbank on the American side...

"WHERE'S THE MEDIC!?!?"

Alarmed, you look back at Eugene with wide, panicked eyes.

"No, Y/L/N." Doc said sternly.

He knew damn well what you were thinking, and he wasn't going to allow it. Not again.

You began to protest, "But they-"

"Y/F/N, NO!" he barked, "I'm not lettin' you run to danger again. Remember what happened in Ardennes?" He reminded you angrily.

You look down shamefully at your boots. Suddenly the basement door abruptly swung open as the platoon started scrambling in.

"Wounded! We got wounded, come on!" Ramirez bellowed.

You swept papers and utensils off the nearest table to clear it for Jackson who was being carried in.

"Set him right here!" you call out.

Johnny Martin entered, "Get the Krauts back there, shake them down! Move! Move! McClung! Get on over to CP, let them know what we got!" he ordered.

Jackson lying flat on the table, his face bloody and raw from the neck up, began gagging on his own blood.

"Jesus, what the hell happened to him over there?!" you ask overwhelmed by the soldier’s appearance.

"Grenade went off right in front of him." Ramirez reported.

"Shit, his lungs are probably hemorrhaging. He can't breathe right." you confirm aloud.

Doc gently pushed you aside and lowered his ear to Jackson's mouth.

"Light. I need some light. Give me some light." Doc requested urgently.

Grant took his lighter and flipped it on. Doc held Jackson's mouth open by the chin, observing and listening for a few seconds as the poor soldier gurgled and whimpered.

"All right, look at the flame. Look at the flame. Ok, that's good." Doc instructed Jackson.

The room became eerily quiet as they all watched Doc work.

"All right, let's get him outta here." Doc directed.

"I don't wanna die!" Jackson cried out.

He repeated these words tearfully over and over again as the platoon started to move him towards the door on a litter. Jackson started to grab at Doc, kicking off the surface as his choking worsened. The men set him down.

"He's gonna die!" one of the guys shrilled in horror.

"Hey, shut the hell up! You're upsetting him more!" You hiss over the sea of bellowing soldiers, while Jackson started to flail and kick in terror.

"Please help me, I don't wanna die!" He wallowed.

Doc tried to hold him steady on the stretcher, "Jackson, you're not gonna die! I need you to hang on!"

Jackson continued to bawl and throw an agonizing fit out of fear until the life drifted from his tearing eyes and his body fell limp. Doc sat up, dropping his helmet to his side with a huff of defeat leaving his mouth. He sat there, lost in his thoughts then looked up at you with frustration painted all over his face.

You look around the room at rest of the guys until you see Martin. You shake your head, confirming he didn't make it. You take Babe's wool blanket he wrapped himself with and covered Jackson.

~~~~~~~

The following morning, the platoon hung out in the barracks, resting up after a long night. Webster entered the room with LT Jones.

"Jackson is dead." Webster announced.

"Yeah, we heard." Joe replied from his bunk sitting above you.

"Yeah, well, they want another patrol tonight." Perconte added.

Joe shifted onto the mattress and laid against the pillow. You stood up angrily and walked out the room, down the stairs, and out the door to head to the basement back at HQ to be alone.

With most of Easy at HQ later that day, Winters, Nixon and Speirs address the same patrol from the night before to discuss the next mission for that evening. You're in attendance once again, across the room where you can see Joe as you stood next to Eugene.

Winters opened the brief by stating how proud he was of the good work the platoon did last night then added that Col Sink was proud as well.

"-In fact, he's so proud he wants you to do another patrol across the river tonight."

The men remain resentfully silent. Joe lights a cigarette then shoots you an unamused glance as Winters continued.

"Any moment now, the outpost we hit last night will go up in flames. Means we have to venture farther into town this time. Captain Speirs, you have the map, please."

Speirs passes the map to Grant to display across the table.

"We have enemy movement here and here," Winters began as he pointed on the paper, "Which means this is our new house target here. We recovered all the boats. So, we'll be setting off from the same place we did last night."

"We're not changing the plan any, sir?" Martin spoke up.

"No. The plan is the same. It will be 0200 hours instead of 0100. Is that clear?" Winters asked.

The men shifted in discomfort, "Yes sir." they acknowledged collectively.

"Good, because I want you all to get a full night's sleep tonight. Which means in the morning, you will report to me that you made it across that river into German lines but were unable to secure any live prisoners-" he instructed as he looked around the room to see if the platoon was tracking what he was saying.

Everyone looked at him in disbelief. The man was really ordering you to disobey Col Sink’s orders.

"Understand?" he pushed cautiously as he scanned the room making eye contact with each of his men.

"Yes, sir." The men replied in unison. (Some of their responses sounding like a question, unsure this was actually happening).

"Good. Look sharp for tomorrow. We're moving off the line." Winters finalized as he left the room.

The guys all breathed their first sigh of relief since Holland. A few exchanged handshakes. Joe stood up from the table to rush over to you.

"Did you just fucking hear that, Gams!?" His smile stretching from ear to ear revealing your favorite dimple on his left cheek.

You beam at him, "I did. He's a good man."

You wrap your arms around the back of Joe's neck, pulling him into a tight hug. He pressed you against him, burying his face into your neck. A couple of happy tears stream down your face.

"Can we just hold each other for the rest of our lives?" you utter softly in Joe's ear.

Joe chuckled, "That's my plan."

~~~~~~~

As the sun set that evening, Cobb distributed bottles of liquor he found in the cellar at HQ. Each man happily accepted the offer, taking hearty swigs from the bottles.

Luz hacked, pounding on his chest to soften the sting of what he just swallowed.

"Shit! *cough* What the hell is this Cobb?? Jesus Christ!" Luz choked.

"What's wrong, George? A little too strong for ya?" Cobb teased.

"This stuff will knock ya on your ass." Malarkey confirmed as he took another drink.

You walk into the room, and the entire platoon cheered. You stop in your tracks, almost alarmed by their response to you entering the room.

"What are you miscreants doing now?" you ask looking around the room at them.

"Nothin' we're just happy to see our songbird!" Babe yelled across the room.

"Hey, Y/F/N, sing us a little somethin' yeah??" Luz pleaded.

"No, George, I'm not-" you contested before all the men groaned and boo-ed expressing their disappointment.

"-I'm tired, guys! It's been a rough few days for all of us." you defended.

"Hey, Joe, come on. Get her to sing!" Babe resorted.

Liebgott hopped off the top bunk and approached you with his bottle. You deliver a look of skepticism to him as he closed in on you. He raised his eyebrow as he smiled mischievously at you.

"No, Joe." Is all you say.

"Gams, the boys just want you to sing a little lullaby so they can get a good night's sleep like the captain said." Joe justified.

"Winters never said anything about me singing you to sleep." you pointed out.

"True," Joe started, "but Webster didn't get to hear ya yet, and l’ve been tellin’ him how sweet my girl’s voice is. I wanna show you off."

You shake your head at him, "You're unbelievable."

"I know." Joe replied confidently.

You look around the room at all the expectant drunk faces of your boys.

"One song so you can sleep. Just one." you compromise.

"Don't get on a chair this time!" Luz called out.

You glare at him, then smile.

"Get comfortable you idiots." you say as you dim the lamps to set the mood.

"What are you gonna sing, Gams?" Joe whispered in your ear over your shoulder as he snaked his arms around your waist from behind.

"A piece from Laurel and Hardy's The Bohemian Girl. Thelma Todd was always one of my favorites.”

Joe hummed as he pecked your cheek. You smell the whiskey on his breath.

“Hm, ir hot aoykh a bisl shlogn di flash, tsi nit? (y)(Hm, you’ve been hitting the bottle a little, too, haven’t ya)?” You ask Joe, smiling at him skeptically.

Joe only grinned, his face glowing and his eyes droopy, sauced from drink, exhausted by the mission, and completely entranced by you.

“Ok, settle down, boys." you project through the room.

"Hey, Liebgott ain't in bed." Perconte protested.

You guide Joe to your bed and have him sit. You stand in the middle of the room so everyone can hear. Every pair of eyes and ears focus on you, waiting patiently for you to begin.

🎶 “I dreamt that I dwelt in marble halls,

With vassals and serfs at my side,

And of all who assembled within those walls,

That I was the hope and the pride.” 🎶

You serenade to your platoon, watching their heads lull and their eyes flutter. You make a round around the room to each soldier, touching a shoulder here or patting another on the head over there, making a personal connection to each one to bring a sense of comfort amongst them as you near the end of the song.

🎶 “And I dreamt that one of that noble host

Came forth my hand to claim.

But I also dreamt, which charmed me most,

That you lov'd me still the same...”🎶

You come back to Joe who is laying across your mattress zeroed in on you with adoration behind his eyes. He beamed up at you from your pillow when you start combing your fingers through his hair as you finish your song just for him.

🎶”That you lov'd me, you lov'd me still the same

That you lov'd me, you lov'd me still-“🎶

You seat yourself on the side of your bed next to him.

🎶”-the same.“🎶

The room is quiet, with the gentle snores and breathes of the guys sound asleep in their bunks. Joe took your free hand and started to pull you towards him as he sat up to meet you half way for a kiss-

“That was incredible, Y/L/N.” You hear Webster compliment from the bunk across from Liebgott’s.

You look over at him and smile, “Thanks, Web. Get some sleep, buddy.”

“Yeah, can’t you see we’re busy over here?” Joe sneered.

Webster chuckled and turned towards the wall to make his back face you.

You look back to Joe, whose face was a hair away from yours.

“That wasn’t very nice.” You giggled.

Joe nudged his nose against yours, “Any second I can get with my girl is precious, I don’t want to waste it.” He purred.

You lean forward, kissing his lips softly. Joe’s faultless ability to lock onto your lips as he tilts his head to deepen his kiss always left you craving for more. You try to pull back but he holds you in place so you don’t go too far.

“We should sleep, too, Joe.”

A devilish smirk appeared across his face, “One of these days, Gams-“ he started without finishing.

You smile coyly and laugh, “I don’t mean to get you riled up. But we’re not getting away with anything in a room full of people.”

Joe shook his head and sighed, “Komm her, du Füchsin (g)(Get over here, you vixen)."

You scoot onto the bed laying across his chest as he enveloped you in his arms. He kissed the top of your head as you nuzzle into him.

"Liebe dich sehr (g)(Love you so much)." Joe uttered to you.

"Liebe dich mehr (g)(Love you more)." you whisper back, squeezing him.

~~~~~~~

@wordsaresimple-imnot @mrs-greenside @skiesofrosie 🪖♠️🦅

[honeybewrites]

Writeblr Intro!!

Figured I should do an introduction for my little crevice of the internet! 

I go by HoneyBe, or just Honey, or just Be, or really any other name you feel like! I mostly use she/her, they/them pronouns, but feel free to use whatever. I’m in my 20s and on the AroAce spectrum. I’ve been writing on and off since middle school and I’m hoping to get better at improving my skills, because 12 year old me didn’t care about that but 20 year old me does. I’m hoping to find (or build) a little community to support and help each other with all the writing things. Mostly though, this is just me gaslighting and guilt tripping myself into thinking that by not writing and posting, I will disappoint a nonexistent audience on the internet and not just myself, because apparently that’s the only way my brain will cooperate with me. 

Couple other little tidbits about me:

Big fan of the found family trope. Literally will make me squeal at a highly obnoxious volume.

LOVE extensive world building. I want to know every detail of a magic system and how a planet operates. I will listen to you rant about lore for hours, just please let me do the same every once in a while. I am begging, please, I want to tell you all the things.

I’m a little funky photographer trying to start her own little funky photography business, mostly to give myself more time to travel and write and also to get out of my full-time retail job (it’s pure hell and I hate it with an unholy, unmatchable heat of a thousand suns).

I love flowers. They’re just so pretty and as a little honeybee myself, it’s part of my job.

If you mention dragons, you will summon me. I have an obsession with the magical creatures and it knows no bounds.

My Main WIP, or I guess world, is what got me into writing in the first place, and I’ve been messing with it for years. You’d think that would mean I have it decently fleshed out, right? Nope. Unfortunately, The Plot keeps escaping my basement and causing a train wreck. If anyone has better restraint suggestions, let me know. My neighbors are starting to get concerned.

Anywho! The whole world is called The Seven Realms, or as my docs are titled, 7R. I know, so original. She wants to grow up and be a series with little series siblings, all connected in one Big Family. Seriously, I have OCs all over this world’s history and very vague vibes, aka, The Plot, to go along with them. Here are my two main ones.

Eclipse of War Chronicles (EoWC)

Colliding Stars (supposedly book 1)

The Realms are in chaos. A war started nearly a hundred years ago, still raging today, has wrecked both sides. The original intent of the war has long left everyone’s mind; it’s now a fight over territory and unification. The Realms border on complete and totally collapse from the strain of this ongoing blood bath and neither side refuses to admit defeat.

Project Viall, created during the hight of the war, was set on creating superior fighters. After many failed attempts, two successful subjects were created from the genetic experiments.Trained side by side to be flawless and merciless loyal weapons of death, they end up on opposite sides of this vicious war. Both intent on destroying the other, while their partner and closest friend hides behind the mask. Bonds are tested. Secrets revealed. Loyalties made and destroyed as two partners threaten to destroy the entirety of the Realms in their hunt for blood.

Legend of the Ancients (LotA)

The Fallen Dragons (supposedly book 1 of another series)

A brutal war has left the dragons all but extinct. To preserve the species, the remaining dragons have gone into hiding, leaving behind a subspecies borne through the war to fend for themselves: the Tanimoriem. Generations later, no one has seen or heard of a dragon, leaving the Tanimoriem as their only remains to once was. Knowing little of their history and being hunted simply for being kin to dragons, the Tanimoriem learned how to fight viciously and keep to themselves, earning a reputation as vile, unfeeling demons.

Accepting a bounty mission, Ryuk, a seasoned Tanimoriem, gets more than he bargained for. He had been told this was another monster that needed killing. A dangerous beast. Instead he’s met with a child who finds his horns and wings fascinating. Ryuk is forced to look after the child until he can figure out what secretive plot is brewing, because it might just involved the Tanimoriem.

Of course, my goblin brain has given me plenty more snippets and random characters in different times in this world that I have yet to do much with. The world of the Seven Realms has consumed me for years and I have been shown no mercy. I’m planning to do a proper intro post to each WIP and their characters at some point… *puts twenty reminders in phone to write intro posts*

Also!! I will take all asks, tags, and DMs you can throw at me. Literally. Ask me about anything. Books, WIPs, OCs, hell, even ask about my least favorite color or my favorite bread. I do not care. I will answer. I want to be friends will all of you!! I don’t sting! I promise!!

[seat-safety-switch]

You've probably heard of the old story about the shoemaker's elves. Some dude who makes shoes falls asleep at night, tiny mythical creatures arise and finish his work for him. Everything works out, and they show the elves some gratitude which is repaid by lifelong success.

Friends: kidnapping an elf does not work at all like you'd think.

When you have a large American luxury automobile, like a Cadillac, Lincoln, or whatever it is that Chrysler makes, people will often remark on the size of the trunk. Even non-car people will tell you that it looks like a four or five body trunk. This is both because of this style of car's popularity in gangster movies, and because "trunk big" is one of those things that even the dimmest bulb can come up with in an attempt to break the ice with someone who, based on their daily driver, may actually be a semi-retired mafia enforcer.

Thing is, after weeks and months and years of hearing this from everyone who comments on your car, this intrusive thought can burrow, weevil-like, into the innermost folds of your brain. You start to plot crimes. Speeding is easy, of course, the real gateway drug, and it's achievable even if your five-litre V8 only has about a hundred and forty horsepower in a car with the aerodynamics of a sailboat. It doesn't take long from there to go "I should stop by the haunted castle and see if they have any of those elves." In my defence, I had lots of shoes that needed repair.

Of course, you all know what happened next if you read the biased newspapers, or saw the whole courtroom drama that ensued. I forgot that it was Star Trek cosplay night and shoved a couple Spocks into the trunk, then sped off. As I soon found out, despite the pointy ears, Spock has no fucking idea how to make shoes, having become dependent on replicator technology to build and maintain footwear. That said, one of the actors was willing to break character and show me how to apply a new insole, which I was grateful for until he hit me over the head with one of my own Doc Martens and fled into the yard.