#Main sources of oxygen

[wnewsroom365]

অক্সিজেনের অন্যতম প্রধান উৎস কি?

[sovamurka]

growing up in an industrial city really does something to your brain even media-wise

like, while watching arcane I didn't give a single fuck about piltover but was so rooting for zaun on every single issue without a second thought

[bethanythebogwitch]

Wet Beast Wednesday: sea urchins

As I continue the slow grind of covering every living group of echinoderms for this series, it was inevitable that I would eventually encounter the only echinoderm I've actually studied. Sea urchins are among the most iconic of marine invertebrates, but many people just think of them as part of the scenery. I'm here to show you that there's more to these creatures than just being spiny lumps on a rock.

(Image: a purple sea urchin (Strongylocentrotus purpuratus) being held in someone's hand. It is a round, globular animal with a dark purple color. Light purple spines emerge from it all over its body, with the longest being around the middle. End ID)

(image: a long-spined sea urchin (Diadema savignyi). It is a black sea urchin with spines longer than its diameter. End ID)

Urchin is an old-fashioned word for hedgehog, and sea hedgehog is a fitting name for these round, spiny animals. Sea urchins tend to be fairly small, with a diameter of 3 - 10 cm (1 - 4 in), though some species have very long spines that make them seem larger. The main body of an urchin is round and enclosed in a (usually) hard shell called a test made of calcium carbonate. The test is covered with a slayer of skin and muscle that controls the spines and small, pincer-like structures called pedicellaria. Within the test are the internal organs. As with other echinoderms, sea urchins are radially symmetrical as adults, with five segments arranged around the center like pizza slices. The two main body holes are found on the top and bottom of the animals where the segments converge. At the bottom is the mouth and at the top is the anus. Each segment also has a hole near the anus used to release gametes and one will have a larger pore called the madreporite, which is used to control the amount of water within the urchin's body. The mouth is a unique structure known as Aristotle's lantern, consisting of five tooth-like structures (one for each body segment) that interlock together and sharpen themselves. Behind the teeth is a rasping tongue.

(image: a close-up of an urchin's mouth, showing the Aristotle's lantern. It is a hole surrounded by a fleshy lip. Five spade-shaped teeth are emerging from the edge of the hole. End ID)

Internally, most of the body is taken up by the digestive tract and water vascular system. The digestive system lacks a stomach, with the esophagus attaching directly to the small intestine. The digestive tract forms a loop as it passes through the body. The water vascular system uses seawater to form hydrostatic pressure that moves the tube feet. All starfish, urchins, and sea cucumbers have tube feet, small, transparent, tentacle-like structures they use for movement. Tube feet are hollow and retracted into pores on the skin normally. To be used, they have to be inflated with water, which makes them stick out of the body, where they can be controlled with muscles. Tube feet end in suction cups that can be used to grab into structures around them. Seawater drawn in through the madreporite serves as the source of pressure needed for the tube feet to function. In urchins, tube feet cover the body and are used for locomotion, moving food to the mouth, and moving objects on or off the body. The main body cavity is filled with circulatory fluid that uses special cells to move oxygen and nutrients around the body. The nervous system is simple, consisting of a central nerve ring around the esophagus that branches into nerves that connect to the rest of the body. Urchins have no eyes (except for the family Diadematidae, which have eyespots), but are sensitive to light. The gonads are usually small, but during mating season they can swell to fill much of the body cavity.

(Image: a drawn diagram showing a cross-section of a sea urchin, with the different organs and body parts labeled. End ID. Source)

Sea urchins are found in oceans worldwide, from intertidal zones to the deep sea and the tropics to the poles. They are bottom-dwellers who feed primarily on algae, which they scrape up with their teeth. However, they will also take a variety of food, including carrion, aquatic plants, and other slow-moving or sessile animals like sponges, polyps, bivalves, worms, and sea cucumbers. Urchins can play a key role in regulating algae populations through their ecosystems, but they also rely on predators to keep from overeating necessary algae. Famously, California's kelp forests were almost destroyed by urchins eating the kelp after their primary predator, sea otters, were driven to near extinction. Urchin's primary defense against predators is their hard tests and spines. As most of the edible portion of the urchin is within the test, predators have to get through both layers of defense first. The spines are hollow and each can be moved independently of each other, allowing them to be positioned toward a threat. Many species contain venom within their spines as an added layer of defense. This venom is rarely dangerous to humans, but can cause swelling and painful reactions. Another layer of defense is the pedicellaria, which are good at removing small animals and parasites from the skin. The flower urchin, Toxopneustes pileolus, has modified its pedicellaria into flower-like structures that extend beyond the spines and can deliver a sting that can be fatal to humans.

(Image: a flower urchin. It is a pinkish urchin covered with flower-like structures that extend to the length of the spines. It has placed some bits of shells on top of it. End ID)

Sea urchins possess distinct males and females, though the differences are internal, making it impossible to tell which is which based on visual examination. During mating seasons, the gonads swell as they generate gametes. Urchins tend to reproduce in groups at synchronized times (possibly correlated with the phases of the moon in shallow-water species) to maximize the possibility of fertilization. When ready to mate, the gametes are squeezed to empty their contents through the genital pores and into the water column. Sperm must find egg in the water to fertilize it. Most sea urchins provide no parental care, but in some species, the female will retain the eggs in her spines to protect them. The eggs hatch into bilaterally symmetrical larvae called plutei that drift with the plankton. As they develop, a section of the larvae will develop into a radially symmetrical adult rudiment. This piece will eventually break off and become the juvenile urchin while the rest of the larva dies. Because echinoderms start out as bilaterally symmetrical larvae, we can infer that they developed from bilaterally symmetrical ancestors and the radial symmetry of adults is a more recent development.

(image: a series of photos showing the embryological development of a sea urchin from a single cell to a cluster of cells, to a bell-like structure, to growing several arms, to the eventual adult developing and breaking off. End ID. Source)

Fossils show that the oldest sea urchins had large, club-like spines that they walked on, with the modern spines being a later development. Most of those urchins died out with the dinosaurs, leaving the pencil urchins of order Cicaroida as the only living members. All other living urchins are Part of the clade Euechinoidea. Amongst them, there are still some oddballs, known as the irregular urchins of clade Irregularia. These urchins have moved away from radial symmetry, with less symmetrical segments and the anus and mouth moving from being on the top and bottom to being on the sides in the heart urchins. Heart urchins have gone from bilateral symmetry to radial symmetry and are now going back to bilateral symmetry. Heart urchin mouths don't have an Aristotle's lantern. Instead, they use strands of mucus to capture food and cilia to pull the strands back inside. Sand dollars, also known as sea cookies or sea biscuits, are also in this clade. These are flattened urchins with short and very fin spines that resemble velvet. They are burrowers who spend much of their time buried under sand and as such are rarely seen alive. The name sand dollar comes from their tests, which are similar to old dollar coins and can often be found washed up on beaches. While still radially symmetrical, sand dollars also have a secondary form of bilateral symmetry, with a distinct front and back end that often look different. Irregular sea urchins also tend to have fewer gonads and associated pores than regular sea urchins.

(image: a red pencil urchin (Heterocentrotus mamillatus) nestled among coral. Instead of spines, it has a series of long, thick, red clubs. End ID)

(image: a purple heart urchin (Spatangus purpureus). It is an urchin elongated on one direction and with a few rows of long spines amongst short ones. On the surface facing the camera is a large hole that could be the mouth or the anus. End ID)

(image: a group of irregular sand dollars (Dendraster excentricus) partially buried in the sand. They are round, flat animals with a velvety covering of tiny spines. The are sticking out of the sand. End ID)

Sea urchins have been known to humans for as long as people have lived near the ocean. Stings can occur when people step on them and can cause pain and irritation, but are rarely medically significant. That being said, some people can have allergies to the venom, which could be a big problem. Spines left in the wound should be removed, as they can continue injecting venom. Urchins are a food source for people around the world, specifically the gonads, which are the only meaty part of the animal. The gonads are often marketed as roe or corals and can be eaten raw or cooked. Urchins are also used as a model organism in embryology due to the interesting and well-studied nature of their larval development. Urchins are vulnerable to pollution, habitat loss, and over-predation. Ocean acidification due to climate change poses a major threat to them, as it reduces the quality of their tests.

(image: tow sea urchins served as food. They are upside-down with the bottoms removed. The gonads are visible within as five orange, spongy structures that take up most of the body cavity. End ID)

[mediumgayitalian]

Will wakes up a little bit stuck and a lot bit hot. It’s just past sunrise, from what he can see out of the mostly-shuttered window, which means he’s just past late. Fuck.

“Nico,” he whispers, trying and failing to delicately free himself, “Nico, un-octopus. I gotta pee.”

He does have to pee. Moreso, he needs to wake up and leave, but if Nico hears so much of a syllable pertaining to his abandonment he will never let go. Ergo. Will has learned some creativity.

“Mmfggh,” groans Nico, maturely. He tightens his arms around Will’s waist and buries his face deeper into the (boiling, suffering, sweating, etc) crook of his neck. “No. Suffer.”

“Nico.”

“Sh.”

“Nico.”

“Sh. I’m sleeping.” Will feels more than sees one eye opening, eyelashes tickling his skin. He can guess at the glare. “Don’t you want me to be well-rested and healthy.”

“Right now I kind of want to flick you, honestly.”

Nico hides a smile along Will’s spine.

“That’s because you’re sick and twisted.”

“Mhm. Get off, di Angelo.”

Nico pouts but, finally, relents: he loosens his hold not enough for Will to roll out but enough that he can actually fill his lungs with enough oxygen to wiggle his way to the edge of the bed. Nico, as soon as Will is not glued to him, huffs and rolls over, smothering himself in Will’s pillow.

“I see how it is,” he complains, muffled. “You don’t want me. Fine. See if I hold you next time you come in here all needy and affectionate.” He shifts just enough to glare, once he’s sure Will is looking. “I’ll close the door in your face.”

Will rolls his eyes, smiling. He’s late, but he lingers a moment, tracing his fingers across Nico’s spine, his ribs; trailing along the reddened scratches over his shoulders and ignoring Nico’s nooooo leave them leave them as he heals them.

“You’re such a drama queen.”

“I mean it!”

“Right. You meant it yesterday, too, and yet…”

“You seduced me,” Nico says, emphatically. He sits up quickly and catches Will’s hand, staring at him hard and serious — enough so that Will almost believes him, except the corner of his mouth twitches. “You — did some kind of spell fuckery on me, no doubt purchased from your various witchy sources, and all restraint — gone. Poof. And I have restraint in abundance, so obviously it was not my weakness.”

“Obviously,” Will agrees. “Not like you say my name in your sleep and wake up pouting if I so much as breathe near the door. ‘Course not.”

Nico goes pink. “I — do not.”

Will grins. “You do. Sometimes you try and kiss the air where you imagine I am.”

“You’re full of shit.”

“Whatever you need to believe, darlin’. It’s not like I’m allergic to lying.”

He leaves Nico sputtering, cackling on his way to the ensuite. It is half the reason he’s dating Nico, honestly. How come Will’s cabin doesn’t get an ensuite? They’ve got like a billion people in there. They need it more than he does.

But, well. Will needs an ensuite to get ready most mornings, because he’s up before the harpies are cleared for the night, so he supposes he will just have to sleep at Nico’s more often than not. Shame. Tragedy, really, because he is just so attached to his twin bed that is not long enough for his legs. Too bad.

“I can hear you rearranging products in there,” Nico calls, still grouchy. “Cut it out.”

Will turns the last tube of hair gel so it is just slightly off-centred from the rest of the products. He smiles around his toothbrush.

“Wouldn’t be such an issue if you didn’t have so much hair shit,” he responds, spitting into the sink.

“You should have more hair products! Look at yourself!”

Will does not. He does not have a sister who continues to look judgementally upon his mess of a head and passive aggressively but lovingly gift him hair supplies for all birthdays. He also does not have time to do his hair. Less people should maim themselves for Will to handle all day, and then maybe he’ll do something with his hair.

“You think my hair is sexy,” Will says, walking back into the main cabin. Nico harrumphs from under the covers, notably not denying it, and stares unabashedly — not that there is much to see, since it’s still pretty dark out — at Will while he changes. Will slips on a scrub top and then walks over and pinches him.

“Ow,” Nico whines, rubbing the spot as if he did not try to hide the stab wound he got sparring from him yesterday. “You hurt me.”

“Mhm. You objectified me.”

“…Only a little!”

Will shakes his head, smiling, and leans down — holding Nico’s wandering hands away from the hem of his shirt, he has places to be and has been distracted enough already — to kiss him. It’s a challenge, pressing his smile to Nico’s pout, but very quickly Nico sighs, eyes fluttering shut, and Will can kiss him properly.

“I’ll come wake you up again around noon if you’re not already up,” he murmurs. “I have to open the infirmary, but then I’m practicing for the rest of the day. You’re coming to my game, right?”

Nico tries to slide his hands up Will’s chest. Will bats his hands away.

“Yes,” he says, mournfully. “I will come watch you hit a ball around with other such interested jocks.”

“Bring your pom-poms,” Will says, cheeky, “and I wouldn’t remiss a matching skirt.”

He pulls away to Nico’s snorting laugh, wiggling his fingers in a wave as he heads to the door. He hears Nico’s quick have fun, goober as he pushes the solid obsidian shut behind him and blows a kiss at the window. He stands on the veranda, stretching, and relaxes with a sigh, staring across the common.

Gods, it is early.

And cold.

He trudges his way to the infirmary, anyway, already anticipating tonight’s koala cuddling.

———

next

[arrimorr]

Alright,

A base lore info about my setting.

Most of it was yapped away through the asks already, but I decided that it's still worth to organise this stuff in a coherent manner. This text also doesn't really touch on the character's arcs and their relationships with each other. This is more about the wider setting.

SHORT VERSION:

Tginf is a horror roadtrip game I'm planning to make. Embark on a terribly convoluted forest car ride with different local creatures hitchhiking your car.

EXTENDED VERSION:

The main character: You (are going to) play as the Nameless, a 20+ year old without a name, a concrete gender or any understanding of who to become to avoid getting crushed by a closing in adult life.

The forest:

The forest they got unlucky to travel through is a strict eco system. Everything not useful to it gets digested by it. Literally slowly disintegrated to at least feed the soil. At least this process takes some time.

The feudals:

Luckily, the forest road is ruled by three higher beings that can save unlucky travelers by giving each of them a useful (in their opinion) role to play.

The names of the feudals are:

the Oxygen, the King of the road, the Mine.

You can easily envision their domains if you split the forest space in three layers. Everything above it, everything that is on the ground, and everything below it. Every forest entity that the Nameless encounter serves one of them.

Because their territories are literally stacked on top of each other, the three don't get along particularly well and have been in a territorial conflict for centuries. For feudals, acquiring new followers through picking up the lost and stranded is another way of getting new resources in it.

The specifics of each feudal and their individual followers:

The Oxygen:

The Oxygen is physically invincible and, because of that, she never had to rely on anyone in her existence. This had a big effect on her personality. Unlike the King of the Road and the Mine, she doesn't really NEED to pick up lost and stranded to make new followers. She can create servants out of thin air, like she did with the Dummy*. She picks up travelers for her own amusement, since entertainment plays a big factor in a lot of her actions, and because the King and the Mine are invested in collecting them.

Her followers are:

The Dummy,

the Diver,

the Time Seller.

* The Dummy was created as a jab at the King of the Road's second hand - the Knight.

* The Diver is there as a statement of ineffectiveness on the King's ruling manner. He does the same type of job his followers do, but unlike them, his mind was in no way altered or modified*

* The Time seller, despite previously being human, was made into a tiger, because the Oxygen wanted to see what would happen if she fully dehumanises somebody. She likes experimenting like that.

The King of the Road:

The King of the road is very physically fragile. He needs protection, and, despite his rather gentle demeanor, time made him paranoid and fixated on the idea of control. He collects the followers to avoid any new and unpredictable variables appearing in the forest.

Through trial and error, he came to a conclusion that love is the greatest source of loyalty and motivation, so he tampers with his followers' brains to make sure they love both him and the work he gives them.

His followers are :

the Tenant,

the Radio host,

(Sorry, don't have a proper picture of her yet, since her main way of communication is...well...radio, and because I ran into Tumblr's picture per post limit, I decided to cut what I had of her imagery away)

the Knight.

*The Forest is full of eldritch, sentient and, most importantly, hungry places, such as the House, the Radio Tower and the Grand Lake. The King aims to station his followers in them, so they also stay in his area of control. The Tenant and the Radio host view their designated places as if they are their marriage partners. They love them, they provide for them.

*The King also prefers to take his time before taking a new follower in. After all, the more he waits, the more the traveler gets digested by the forest, allowing the King to rebuild his new follower to his liking. Sadly, the opportunity to wait long enough rarely presents itself because of the Oxygen and the Mine interfering all the time, thus, the only follower he got to fully reconstruct from the state of blank meat was the Knight. This made him the most predictable and by extension the most trustworthy being in the forest to him.

The Mine:

About a year ago I watched a documentary about mine workers. A part of it was dedicated to the fact, that, in case of that particular mine, people should have been working inside of it 24/7, otherwise the tunnels were guaranteed to slowly become toxic. What caught my attention was the way they spoke about it. They said something along the lines of "otherwise she would start to suffocate". And that unexpected personification never left my mind ever since.

SO, the Mine in tginf sufferers from a constant lack of oxygen, and starts to gradually suffocate if there's is no one performing the maintenance work inside of her. The problem is - she is toxic, thus none of her followers live particularly long inside of her. Which places her in a constant struggle to get herself the new ones. She lets some of her followers out on the road only for one purpose - to promote the service to her to the new travelers. Followers like that are all called Pr agents. Out of the three feudals, the Mine is the most reliant on others to survive.

Her followers are, you won't believe it:

Pr Agent 117

Pr agent 121,

Pr agent 124/178 (the number changes depending on the story route)

*None of them lived long enough to meet the other.

I also made a voice claim post some time ago, you can check it out to feel the characters too

And Incomplete Character relationship chart :]

[iamespecter]

My phone's battery keeps dying (I think something's wrong with it) but I cooked a little bit more on this Doctor!Caine and Patient!Pomni idea.... and this may or may not become bigger than The Amazing Digital Roadtrip.....

My mental illness cannot be contained!!!!!!!!!!!! Also these designs are subject to change because yes ✌️

Things I've come up with last afternoon while going crazy from the lack of dopamine are:

- Abstraction is currently determined to be a terminal illness

- It's contagious via skin-on-skin contact, and can be inherited through genes

- it can even bloom late in life, but that doesn't mean everyone that the patient has touched before is immediately affected

- The physical symptoms are inky black "cracks" forming along the skin, physical degradation, loss of saturation and many more

- Depending on a lot of factors, this illness can be aggressive, or at most be dormant.

- Once it reaches the patient's brain, it is too late

- But the progress of abstraction can also be delayed through amputation, depending on where the "source" is

- It only really affects "organic" stuff

- Which means AI robots are immune, and can touch the patient as much as they want without risk of infecting themselves

- Kinger is the CEO/Founder of the AI Association that focuses on the research about Abstraction, and how to cure it

- He is also, strangely enough, kinda immune? idek he seems fine except he's a bit cuckoo

- Because of it's contagiousness, people who suffer from the abstraction illness are GREATLY FEARED by others

- People who have the illness have to wear a lot of protection (such as gloves, face mask, etc.) in order to even interact with the outside world

- They also need to have their AI Doctor/Nurse with them AT ALL TIMES.

About the main pairing:

- Pomni is the only daughter of Kinger and the late Queenie

- She used to be more upbeat early in her life, until Queenie passed. She then became depressed, and it only got worse as her illness began to show and she became cynical as a result, believing she'll die early, and alone

- Caine was named and created based off of the image of Pomni's imaginary friend during her childhood, in order to ease her into accepting Caine as her personal doctor

- This did NOT, in fact, ease her into accepting Caine as her personal doctor because what the fuck.

- Pomni hates AIs for being unable to save Queenie.

- She also thinks that her new doctor won’t be able to save her, and that her dad’s efforts to delay her situation are fruitless.

- Part of her still clings onto hope. However, said part is also dying.

- Caine is a test prototype of a model that’s supposed to handle (and even possibly cure) the symptoms of abstraction, so there’s defo a lotta pressure on his shoulders

- Especially when he gets assigned to SPECIFICALLY THE DAUGHTER OF THE CEO WHO OWNS HIM

- He’s also one of the first AIs to not only be psuedo-sentient, but also self-evolving; in order to be able to adjust to patient needs and wants.

- He can “manifest” anything physical as long as it’s within the size limit of his own physical manifestation. For example, if Pomni is hyperventilating; he can manifest a pair of artificial lungs that pump oxygen in order to give her breathing space. (You know what that means)

- Not only is he able to float, he is also able to carry Pomni like she weighs like a couple of grapes because this is not me being self-indulgent and thinking he should carry her bridal style all the time (lie), this is me saying “it’s for emergencies when Pomni is too weak to even stand or walk”

- Pomni hated Caine A LOT at first because she hated having to be co-dependent on this walking life support so yes this is an enemies-to-friends-to-lovers kinda story (except it was one-sided "enemies")

- As the story progresses, Pomni clings onto the hope of not just surviving, but also living again; as Caine learns what it means to be not just existing, but alive!!! because me and my homies love stories about positivity and hope amongst shitty situations!!!!

- And then they fuck. Oh yes, they fuck eventually. And they fuck a lot after that

I don’t care this is MY story, MY AU, I will do whatever the fuck I want!!!!! RAAAAAAAAAAAA

I have no idea if I want some of the gang to be AI Doctors/Nurses too but erm. we'll see

[todropscience]

DEEP SEA PRODUCE ITS OWN "DARK OXYGEN"

Small metallic nodules, like potato-size strewn across the deep sea ocean seafloor produce oxygen in complete darkness and without any help from living organisms, a new research reveals.

Called polymetallic nodules, are found in the deep sea and produce oxygen through seawater electrolysis, where seawater splits into oxygen and hydrogen in the presence of an electric charge. This charge may come from the difference in electric potential that exists between metal ions within the nodules, which leads to a redistribution of electrons. This is called by scientists as dark oxygen, as is produced without sunlight, as photosintesys does.

-Polymetallic nodules coat fields of the ocean floor Photo: NOAA Office of Ocean Exploration and Research

These nodules polymetallic nodules are common between 3,000 to 6,000 m below the ocean surface. These nodules mostly contain oxides of iron and manganese , but also metals like cobalt, nickel and lithium, as well as rare earth elements such as cerium that are essential components of electronics and low-carbon technologies. This also raise new concerns about potentially mining polymetallic nodules, which could represent a vital source of oxygen for deep-sea ecosystems.

Main photo by Fisheries and Oceans Canada

Reference (Open Access): Sweetman et al., 2024. Evidence of dark oxygen production at the abyssal seafloor. Nat. Geosci.

[leighsartworks216]

Back At The Beginning

Dragon!Sylus & Lemurian!Reader

Wrote this thinking haha cute dragon-mermaid meeting, and then realized it could be a prequel to Fishing Trip... y'all I think I accidentally made another reader-character-oc

Warnings: silly, first meetings, lemurians, merfolk, pov third person, it/its pronouns for reader-character, injury, blood, drowning, swimming, implied kiss

Word Count: 1,691 (nice)

Main Masterlist

First - Second - Third LADs Masterlists

AO3

Tag List Form

He barely sucks a breath in before the crash. The water swooshes up around him. His body plunges into the depths at the center. The moon is dark tonight - there is no direction to guide him to the surface. All around him: inky black, burning his eyes.

His wings are useless. They could perhaps be used as fins to propel him, but he's never tried before. Never been in the ocean before.

The young dragon writhes and squirms like prey caught in a spider's web. There's no traction to gain. Nothing he can sink his claws into. His tail lashes about in wild arcs.

Something giggles beside him. He stops sharply, trying to follow the sound. Eyes burning from the salt. Hearing muffled. His heart races furiously. Bubbles rise from his nostrils in the darkness.

Something swooshes past on his other side. His tail whips around. He just misses it. He can feel the current behind it.

He curses to himself. He doesn't have time for this! He needs to get to the surface! He needs to find some dry land to haul himself onto so his wings can dry! So he can fly again - fly back home!

He tries to ignore whatever is surrounding him - for as terrifying as the prospect feels - to find the top of the water.

"That's the wrong way." It giggles again.

A rush of bubbles from his nose. They shimmer and refract some mysterious source of light, multicolored even in the gloom. And then pop. His lungs are beginning to strain. He rotates oddly and tries again.

"Still the wrong way!" it chimes. "Can't you tell up from down?"

A swish of water at his side. He claws at it on instinct. They scrape against something fish-like, but he causes no damage. Makes no impact on the creature.

It giggles again. The sound infuriates him in the same breath that it entrances him. He's losing energy trying to attack it. Each burst loses more of his oxygen. His body moves slow through the water, trying to follow his instincts. But his balance is all off.

He can sense the creature's presence underneath him. Feel its eyes watching him. "Are you a land creature?" He tries not to react when it touches his wing. He can't afford to. "A sky creature?"

He kicks his legs. Moves his arms as though he's digging through rock. He expects another laugh, but hears none.

"You can't swim?" A swirling current around his body. A ribbon of water that follows the creature's movements. "You can't breathe..."

No, he can't, and he can feel his chest burning. It aches, like a tunnel fit to collapse in on itself. He stubbornly pushes onward.

"Creature, I can help you," the voice says. "I can give you the ability to breathe underwater."

He shakes his head. He can't see. All he can do is hope he's going the right way. Judging by the creature's increasing anxiety, flitting about him, he isn't.

"You cannot hope to reach the surface like this! You're much too deep, creature." A soft touch at his arm. His instincts are faster this time. His claws catch skin. Tear apart flesh. Blood puffs into his face. The creature pulls away with a cry of pain.

But it doesn't leave.

"Please, creature, you're too deep! You'll drown! You're nearer the bottom - you can't reach the surface!" It swishes and whooshes and circles him nervously.

He shakes his head again, but the last bubbles of his air float away from him.

The creature makes a distressed sound. "Creature, I hope you can forgive me for saving your life!"

He feels the water shift in front of his face. Senses the large body of the creature directly in front of him. A soft touch to his lips. And they're gone - moved away.

It's like his lungs are suddenly full. As though fresh oxygen has entered his body in the same moment he gasps in a mouthful of salt water. He stills in his shock. Takes another tentative breath, and another.

A light appears in the depths. An orb of yellow, cradled in the palms of a humanoid-looking thing. He stares at it. Rakes his eyes over its features: its wide eyes and the slope of its nose; its slightly parted lips and its hair; the fins protruding from the tips of its ears and the gills at its throat; the large, shimmering tail steadying its body in the water.

"Creature? Are you breathing?"

He swallows and is surprised it doesn't taste of sand and sea. He nods unsurely.

Its lips curl upward at the sides. "I saved you! You're welcome!" It giggles with glee as it swirls around him. He can see it now, follow its powerful body with the light it carries. The scales of its tail shine even in the waning light left behind. It comes back in front of him, upside down, its body stretched over his head. "Come on! I'll show you back up."

Up. Right. He forgot he was trying to surface, so caught up in this strange creature's behavior. It nods its head in a direction - presumably up - and takes the lead in guiding him. It watches carefully as he finally shakes off his stupor and does his best to follow. It tilts its head curiously.

"You don't swim well. You have fins, why don't you use them?"

Fins? Is it talking about his wings? They trail pitifully behind him, limp and weighed down in the water.

"You can speak now, creature," it says. "The spell only lasts until you breathe air again, but it allows you to talk down here, too."

Speaking feels strange. He doesn't push air through his vocal cords, but water. It's thicker, somehow. "They're-" He grunts at the sensation and the effort of his poor swimming. "Not fins."

"No?"

"They're wings," he corrects bluntly. "What are you?"

"I'm Lemurian. What are you?"

"A Fiend."

They're nearing the surface. He can feel the change in pressure. It eases off his chest, makes speaking feel lighter. It must feel it, too. Even in what little light provided, he can see its chest rising and falling differently, like it's changed how it breathes to compensate.

"Do Fiends have names?" it asks.

He grunts.

It giggles, teasing, "Is that your name?" It makes a deep mimic of his voice.

He shakes his head, hair swishing in the surf. "It's... Stayrus," he mutters.

It tests it on its tongue. Purrs it like a melody. "Mine is Y/N."

He doesn't repeat it. His attention is set on the glow of the orb hitting the surface of the water, like a ceiling. He eagerly breaks through. Gasps deep lungfuls of air, expecting to cough out buckets of water; none comes out, save for the lapping waves that roll into his mouth. The creature pokes its head out with him, though with far greater hesitancy.

"Hmm, there's land that way," it murmurs. He follows their gaze, but he sees nothing. "I can help you get there, Stayrus. Please don't drown again."

Its body moves like a serpent in the surf. It moves silently, smoothly, through the water. He splashes behind, only following to reach dry land faster. He's sick and tired of being wet, especially now as the cold night air brings a chill that he'd normally greatly appreciate.

As they get closer, the seabed comes up to meet his feet. Soon his toes can reach. Then his full feet, and then his upper body is rising from the water with each step. The Lemurian stops just shy of that phase, appearing to sit on the soft sand to watch him leave. He groans with relief as he stretches his wings out. They're absolutely soaked. He inhales deeply, breathing in the air now that there is no risk of drawing in water with it.

The metallic scent of blood tickles his nose. Back on land, his senses are sharp and well-defined. He knows the blood is behind him. When he turns, he sees the creature in the water. The light shines on its arms. It reveals a scratch on its forearm - four in fact. Where he managed to land an attack on them. It bleeds sluggishly. The dark ichor stains the even darker water, moving with the tide. The creature smiles innocently up at him.

It bleeds out because of his doing, yet smiles like that. He hurt it, and yet it helped him anyway; cast some magic on him so he wouldn't drown and led him back to dry land. It shows kindness in the face of his destruction.

He releases a long breath. He would be better off making the slow trek back home. Leave it here to watch him disappear into the distance. So why is this young dragon stepping back into the water until it reaches his waist?

"Show me your arm," he gruffs.

It blinks up at him, but obliges. "What for?"

He stares hard at the open wound. The skin is jagged at the edges. Muscle underneath torn. He damns his weakness as he hovers his gauntleted hand over the injury.

Ashen tendrils of red and black extend from his palm and fingers. They circle its arm, swirl around just as the creature had done to him in the water. It watches in fascination as its skin stitches together, healed almost perfectly. When he draws his hand back, it excitedly traces over where the scratches had been, ball of light floating on the water's surface. It looks back up at him in awe.

"That's incredible, Stayrus! Thank you! Now I won't have to worry about sharks tonight." It giggles. He ignores the soft feeling in his heart as he turns away and trudges back up the beach. "Oh! Goodnight!"

When he's neared the grassy edge of the beach, where it transforms from sand to dirt, he's compelled to look back. He sees nothing; no light, no creature, no moon. He stares in the darkness for a while, but nothing disturbs the water. He shakes his head and navigates home, soggy wings trailing behind him.

---

Tag List:

@the-golden-jhope @armycaratlover @sylusfluffymeow @cheesemachine44 @nyx2021 @angel-jupiter @thelittlebutton @pikachuzhc @pomegranatepip @cordidy @an-ever-angry-bi @thejysemongko @deusfoundry @that-lost-one @always-just-red @22carolina08 @lunaizhere @sine-nomine0 @beautifulthingsiadore @lalaluch @nothankyew @terriblesoup @jeleryyy @nezuswritingdesk @anaathxma @ssushi @mina7820 @monophobix @mentaltrouble2201 @mskaylacharite @nerrivm @ichosesparklingtorment @schnittled @animegamerfox @flamedancer13 @rebloggingislove @moonlight-inthe-sea @persepolys @satorubabee @sleepykittycx @moon-inthe-sea @perla-drg @leiakitty

[yaut-jaknowit]

Heyo, i hope your doing alright and have a good day/night :)

I've just recently found your page and absolutely fell in love how you write and draw, please dont stop doing this :^).

Ive been thinking of mabye something like Body and culture exploration? Like lets say GN!reader just recently got with a yautja and they get comfortable enough to actually touch like their mandibles and stuff? Mabye even wanting to know more about their bio masks (like touching or mabye even putting it on) cause thats just something i would personally do. For the yautja could it Wolf? I love my elders hihi. Plus he has a missing tusk there too which i find badass

Thanks <3

(Pls dont mind the grammar, english is not my first language)

A Personal Look

Pairings: Wolf (Male Yautja) x GN!Reader

Word Count: 2004

Summary: In the home of Wolf on Yautja Prime, it's just the beginning of your relationship with Wolf. There is quite a lot to learn about him. Not just his mind but his body as well. You take a moment to learn your differences physically.

Author Note: It's all good! Thank you for the ask!

Masterlist

Ao3

Lounging in the main room of Wolf’s home on Yautja Prime, you occupied yourself with learning. Learning about Yautjas. Since said Yautja has given you a tablet to fill your time, you’ve scoured what they have for internet about them. They were mysterious and kept to themselves for the most part. Solidary creatures by nature but are willing to choose a mate. Clearly since you are here in Wolf’s home.

Admist your research, the universal wide web holds little about them. Just small articles and posts about either thoughts or lies they thought they knew about Yautjas. Some say they can read minds and teleport. Clearly those articles were thrown out. That only left you with one possible, reasonable source. Yet, even that offered little to quell your thoughts.

This was still in the beginning stage of your relationship with Wolf. The mighty Wolf. Each touch you’ve felt like you danced with fate and death. No, you don’t fear him. Instead… it was more of a respect. The first time meeting him nearly was your last. An inch closer and those blades would too sink into your skull.

Somehow, you still live.

There was something that lured you to him. The same for him. The nearing elder Yautja didn’t understand. Of course, he took matters into his own hands and asked for you to come along with him. The least he could do for almost killing you, you thought. Then, whatever that bait was enough for curiosity to spring life. Then, later… love.

It’s fresh love. Very fresh. Barely out of the womb and still soaked in fluids.

Both of you seemed to dance around each other. For a headstrong Yautja, he took a soft, almost timid approach. You would never say timid and him in the same sentence though. Wolf allowed for you to control this, as if he knew humans needed time to comprehend things. Maybe it was for himself as well. Not to rush into something so fragile.

A groan surpassed your lips. The tablet is discarded onto the nearby stone coffee table. How were you suppose to learn about them without directly asking the source? Wolf’s probably got plenty of information about humans already. Yet, all you got was females are larger than males and they breath more nitrogen then oxygen. Useless!

Up a few steps and on a balcony, sat Wolf enjoying the fresh morning air. An inquiring noise sounded from him. You sat up from the soft couch cushion and looked over at him.

Despite not knowing much about his species, you could see what would show him as an elder among his kind. The crow’s feet, the wrinkles among his face, the greying of his tresses, the way he carries himself. Don’t get you wrong, he is still a deadly warrior, through and through. But he’s lived his life. Now he enjoys relaxing and bathing in the suns of his planet. Though he is old, he’s most likely going to out live you still.

“It’s nothing,” you dismissed, not wanting to lead him onto your plans just yet. You wanted to be prepared before going into this. How were you going to accomplish that when said information wasn’t available to you? God, you wanted to throw yourself out a window.

You drape yourself partially over the back of the couch and watch from afar. Wolf lounged in peace. Eyes softly closed; chest softly rising and falling with each breath he took.

Something within you wanted to gingerly glide your knuckles along his cheek. To fully feel his skin against yours. Properly. Not these fluttering touches the two of you give in passing. A growing need to learn about him physically then move onto mentally. You wanted to know him.

“You watch,” he observed without even opening an eye. Immediately, you flustered and bowed your head, slinking back down the couch. “I was not telling you to stop.” You perked up a little and peered over the edge of the couch to find him in the same spot. “I will not bite.” Was he inviting you closer?

The lump in your throat was forced down before you slipped off of the couch and timidly stepped closer to him. Curiosity may have killed the cat but satisfaction will bring you back.

Nervously, you took each step towards in hesitation. Not of fear. Well… maybe of fear but not of him. Maybe it was the situation. Stepping into the unknown. That’s hit the nail right on the head. There was nothing to know beforehand. So all of this was new.

Sooner than you come to realize, you stand just on the edge of coverage from the harsh twin suns. Wolf blinks his bright yellow eyes open then sits up in a smooth, controlled manner. Quite the opposite of your racing heart threatening to beat straight out of your chest. He looks at you from underneath the beating suns, arms resting on his knees. A poised position of ease. You bite at your lower lip.

“You want something.” It was a statement. Your head raised only a centimeter but he watches the movement. “You are free to speak.” He’s given you all the rope possible. Every last inch of it to control the situation. “You are free to ask.”

Despite your fingers twitching towards him, you tampered down that feeling. Permission. That requires words. Words that are lodged in your throat, stuck in way that you didn’t know how to free yourself. You wanted to touch, to explore what he feels like. To learn about him in a way that you’ve never experienced ever.

Those bright eyes. The first thing saw when he brought those blades down. They pierced straight into your soul directly. They also noticed the twitching of your fingers. You noticed the twitching of his fingers. The two of you were frozen in time. Just watching. Just waiting.

Wolf gave the briefest of nods.

Then, you moved. You found your spot between his legs. The heat from the sun and him causing your core temperature to rise immediately. Though, he doesn’t take his eyes off of you, he presses a button on his lounge chair.

The awning above extended fully, covering you from gathering blisters. Yet, that didn’t stop you from feeling the heat the radiated off of him. The lump in your throat returned. Instead of letting your words speak for you, actions spoke louder.

He watched as you gingerly lifted up a hand in his direction then paused, holding the hand nearly a foot away from him. Wolf takes a moment then dips his head again. Permission granted. The unease that had settled in your chest lifted a little, giving way to hope. The corners of your mouth twitched, just enough to show off the twinkle in your eye.

When the pads of your fingers brushed against the scales of his upper mandible, you couldn’t help the small gasp. For a rugged, hardened warrior, the flesh there was smooth, nearly velvety in a strange way. Like touching a gecko. It was the last thing you were expecting from him. You couldn’t help the giggle that left your lips. Once more, you flustered and retracted you hand out of embarrassment.

Instead of letting the moment fall away, Wolf raises his own hand and waits for permission. When given it, the rough texture of his palm cups your cheek. That was more of what you were expecting. But, you didn’t retreat. You leaned into the touch and let your eyes hooded over, gazing at him with… love. Because that’s what this was, wasn’t it?

Though, the callouses were rough against your skin, you didn’t mind it. You were learning. Learning what he felt like. What a life of a hunter felt like against a human. He slowly let that hand drift down and teased the collar of your shirt then up the column of your throat. Not intimate in a sexual way… but exploring.

You helped by tilting your head back and allowed him to feel the way your throat bobbed; the fluttering of your pulse between layers of skin. Skin that was drastically different than his. His pointer and thumb pinched your jaw softly and brought you face to face with him again. You brought your hand back to his face, inches from touching him. Another nod.

Feeling the smooth flesh again wasn’t as shocking as before. But you still couldn’t help the glimmer of a smile on your lips. The softness of it with folds and wrinkles that marked his age. Years. Hundreds of them. You trailed down his mandible, feeling it twitch under you touch. Yet, you stayed clear of the scars that marred the other side of his face, afraid of upsetting him or passing over a boundary.

Wolf was smart. He could sense things before you could, sense a disturbance, even in you. So, the elder took things into his own hands. Literally. With his free hand, he wrapped them around your other wrist and brought the tips of your fingers to the gnarled skin. Your eyes jumped wide, breath caught in your throat at the touch. This felt like a true velvet than just the scales of his mandibles. Your other hand dropped to his shoulder as you focused on the scars.

Your eyes darted to his for a moment but the elder was focused on the feel of your skin. So, you took that opportunity to press onward by following up what was left of his mandible.

The scar was messy. It spider webbed across nearly half of his face and head. A painful experience you have no doubt about. A story for another time.

Though the healed wound was clutter of stretched and sinewed skin, you were memorized by the texture and patterned. You closed your eyes and let your fingers guide the way.

Inside of your mind, you forged his physical form into memory. A different way of experiencing him. You used your other hand as well to map him out. All the different dips along the dome of his head. The ridges and bumps of his features. The scales that were scattered around. Then, you slowly blinked your eyes open and smiled at him.

His own fingers found the curve of your nose. Starting from between your brows and following down the ridge, letting the lethal black claw ghost over fragile skin. The sight of it made your heart jump but he wouldn’t hurt you.

Not with the way he was looking at you.

Like he was discovering the joys of life for the first time. And maybe he was.

That same finger lingered on the tip of your nose for a moment before sliding down to the plushness of your lips. Subconsciously, you let them part. The sharp end of a claw dragged down your bottom lip, almost catching on the skin. You made no move to warn or stop him. Not even fearful he may hurt you. He stops for a moment when the tip was at the juncture of your bottom lip before continuing.

He went back up and diverted to the side. To your ear. If he thought your face was soft, when he touched your ear there was a stark difference. Wolf lightly pinched the cartilage with wonder flashing in his eyes. You couldn’t help the giggle that escaped from you. To see the big bad Wolf amazed by something natural to you is amusing.

Then, up to your hair his fingers went, carding through the strands much thinner than his own. He pinched a bunch together and rolled it. The snort you made drew his attention back to your eyes. Wolf, too, dropped his hands to your shoulders in a similar fashion to you.

There. All you two did was stare at each other, admire the other’s differences. Not bad differences. Just… different. Alien if you must put a name to it. That was the beauty of it all.

Exploring each other.

[muletia]

𝐫𝐞𝐥𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐯𝐞𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐦𝐚𝐧𝐞𝐧𝐭 — [𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝟏] ⋆ ˚｡⋆୨୧˚

obsessed!b-127 x human!reader

summary: the joy of having a new friend in sub-level 50 quickly transforms into something dangerous and destructive and above all, addictive, as B-127’s life becomes inextricably intertwined with yours. to the point that he can no longer imagine it without you

cw: angst, fluff, slight obsessive behaviour but it will get much, much worse later, isolation, captivity very poor take on sci-fi tech

word count: 2300

future chapters probably won't be this long but we shall see. this is just a introduction to show how I want to torture bee. i plan on writing a few chapters max...

"To hell with this planet," you curse bitterly.

The reconnaissance mission was a failure. Instead of gathering data about the planet where your onboard ship had detected deposits of "living metal," you wandered through the nooks of a city inhabited by steel giants, trying not to be noticed, or trampled.

You crawl through a tight tunnel blindly, with no real idea where it will lead or whether you'll ever manage to return to your crashed ship. Your backpack, stuffed with supplies, scrapes against the low ceiling, making movement harder, but you have to push forward. Find a quiet but not claustrophobic corner to strategize how to escape from here. Return home — the firmly set goal pulls you onward. Eventually, you're forced to descend lower, squeezing between pipes and perpendicular walls of metal until you see a larger tunnel below.

You jump down, looking around for danger, but see none, allowing yourself a moment's respite. You adjust the oxygen hoses connected to the futuristic, tiny machine producing the precious gas tucked in your backpack, but that's all you manage before you hear the sound of metal striking metal. Alarmed, you stand upright, looking toward the source of the noise, which approaches dangerously fast and quickly takes the form of massive pieces of metal barreling straight toward you.

You don’t even have time to dodge as a hard wall slams into you, forcing the air from your lungs, dragging you forward.

And then down, as the floor collapses beneath you, and you grab onto the metal, bracing for a hard landing.

Silence pierces the processor. It seeps into the deepest cracks between cables and takes root, reminding of loneliness. Painfully and mercilessly, it drives home the fact that sub-level fifty is a hell where the concept of time does not exist. In truth, no concept exists here except sorting trash and watching it burn. Day after day, hour by hour, the same routine. Sort, reject, try not to go insane. The bot who designed this prison did an excellent job if his main goal was to drive everyone who had the misfortune to end up here into madness.

B-127 doesn’t remember the last time he spoke to someone real. A month? A year? Time had long since lost its linearity, looping and zigzagging aimlessly. Did Iacon still look the same? Maybe it had changed during his absence. Maybe it was even more beautiful now. Or maybe it no longer existed at all, and he would never find out.

Enough numbing silence. He’s had enough.

"We’ll get out of here someday," he mutters. "Right, Steve?"

The response is... silence.

"It’s just a matter of time," he laughs nervously. "Everything will be fine."

He wraps his arms around himself. Barely two kliks pass before B-127 starts rambling to his imaginary friend about everything and nothing. Dreams he’s talked about dozens of times, the past life that brought him here. Anything to kill the silence, to prevent it from creeping deeper into his processor, because then it would force him to think. It was his enemy, an opponent he tried to knock out as quickly as possible before it landed a blow. One blow was all it took to remind him where he was and how he got here.

What a failure he was.

But fortunately, he doesn’t have to think now. Not when his glossa works tirelessly, holding conversations with three entities at once. It’s a good distraction from the disgusting, depressing reality. It doesn’t solve the problem, but it makes him feel better, more valuable than the trash he sorts. He knows no other way. None existed in these conditions.

A new, unfamiliar sound hidden among the metal hitting the conveyor belt pulls him out of his self-deprecating thoughts. Softer? Less hollow. The curious mech reacts immediately, digging through the junk, quickly searching for the source before the entire batch ends up in the furnace. What he finds surpasses all his expectations.

His servo shoots forward to grab the anomaly. He catches it and pulls it closer to himself, stepping back a few paces from the conveyor, wanting to examine the discovery in peace.

A living thing. A real, moving organism. Tiny — it could fit entirely in his servo — but alive. Soft, strange, but alive. It kicks frantically, clearly displeased with being held, but B-127 can’t let go, utterly fascinated.

“Wow,” he whispers, scanning the unknown.

On the surface, you’re very similar anatomically — two arms, two legs, optics, and an intake in the same place on the faceplate — but everything else is fascinatingly different.

“What are you, little one?” he asks, and the creature in his hand trembles. “Hey, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you! Ugh, I’m so, so sorry. Don’t be afraid, I won’t hurt you, I promise!”

His attempt to soothe the little alien ends in failure when your tiny servo smacks his forearm. Then another hit and another, as if something gently brushed against his mesh. It was... pleasant? He thinks. Your servos, though anatomically identical to his, were much more delicate. Softer. Strange. But pleasant.

On your helm reside odd, firmer yet still springy... cables? "Hehe, how funny. What are these?" He doesn’t even know what to call the strange structure but knows he wants to learn about it. Ignoring your attempts to push him away and disregarding the puzzling language you use, he dips a single digit into your mane, exploring your exoticness. Again, it’s... pleasant. Your entire body is delightful to the touch. As his excitement grows, a smile spreads across his faceplate.

“Wow, you’re so soft. Is your whole body like this? That’s so strange, I’ve never encountered soft before. Can I touch lower? Please? May I? I want to see.” He fires off a series of questions, even though he knows he won’t get answers. He doesn’t mind; he’s long since gotten used to it.

He presses a digit into your cheek, for which you strike him, but he pays no mind to your aggression, nor to the glare you send, brimming with fury. You say something to him, but he can only guess what colorful phrases you’re throwing his way. Besides, his fascination leaves no room for worry or offense.

“What’s this?” he asks, brushing a digit against the tubes coming out of the two holes on your faceplate. You slap his hand away harder this time. The message is clear — he is absolutely not to touch those. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry. You’re feisty for such a tiny thing. I like you already,” he grins.

The digit slides lower, reaching your plush armor. “Heh, you really are soft all over!” He chuckles, hooking a digit on your collar, but you squeak, stopping him from satisfying his curiosity. Immediately, he lets go, infected by your fear.

“Oh, I’m sorry, I must be squeezing too hard,” he loosens his grip, completely misunderstanding the reason for your panic. “Are you okay? I hope you’re okay. I really didn’t mean to hurt you. What’s your name? Who are you? An alien? You must be an alien. Or maybe some strange mini-bot? Oh, this is so exciting; I’m so glad I found you!”

You shake your tiny helm, clearly conveying that you have no idea what he’s saying. And while you don’t give him a verbal, stimulating response, you offer an active reaction. Primitive, but you’ve communicated, filling his spark with unrestrained, pure joy. You gave him a sliver of normalcy, fulfilling the bare minimum that had been taken from him.

Steve had been excellent company, but he couldn’t shake his head. He couldn’t hit his forearm to communicate discomfort. Steve was a figment of his imagination. But you, oh, you. You were real.

B-127 desperately needed realness.

He realizes he’s been staring at your optics this whole time. And you’ve been staring back into his. A strange embarrassment washes over him, though it’s incapable of overshadowing the elation he feels in your presence. Even though you’ve only known each other for a few short kliks.

He averts his optics for a moment, but barely a nanoklik passes before he’s looking at you again, unable to satisfy his curiosity. “Did I mention I’m glad I found you? Because I really am. So very, very glad. I promise I’m good company. You won’t get bored with me; really, I’ll make sure of it. Don’t worry, I’ll talk for both of us, I don’t mind that we can’t understand each other. Hey, do you think we could learn to communicate over time? That would be amazing!”

Suddenly, he smacks his servo against his forehead. He doesn’t notice how the motion makes you flinch with fear.

“Oh, right, where are my manners? I should introduce you to the others.”

He heads toward the table with his other companions in misery and sets you on the surface, taking a seat himself. He moves as close to you as possible, and you take advantage of the momentary freedom from his massive servo to dart to the opposite side.

“Hey, wait! Don’t run away!”

He catches you again in his servo, receiving a punch to his thumb as thanks. Unfazed by your aggression, he merely smiles, his excitement at having a real companion still vividly dictating his body language. He can barely stop himself from trembling with joy.

“Don’t do that again, alright?” he laughs nervously. “I haven’t even introduced you to everyone yet.”

He gestures toward each of his friends, introducing you to them one by one, all the while wearing a broad, excited grin that doesn’t waver, even when you shoot him a pitying look. He chooses to completely ignore it, preferring to focus on the other components that make up who you are. You may not be a Cybertronian, but it was wonderful to finally meet someone real. Someone alive, who brought light to this dismal, lonely place. Someone who filled him with emotions far more vibrant than sadness and despair.

“I’m going to let you go now, but don’t run away from me, okay? Can I count on you? You won’t leave me, will you? I don’t want you to leave me.”

Slowly, he loosens his digits, keeping a close watch on your body language for any signs that you might flee. His fears of you running away materialize the moment the last finger releases you. Immediately, you turn and dash toward the other end of the table.

“Oh no, no! Please don’t run away! I won’t hurt you, I promise!”

But, just as before, you don’t make it more than a few meters before his servo blocks your path. A second one joins from the opposite side, caging you in.

“Well, now you’ve got nowhere to run.” He grins, attempting to convey friendliness through his body language. “I’m not your enemy. I won’t hurt you,” he tries again, with the same fruitless result.

You observe him closely, searching for any hint of deception, a change of mind, or a sudden crushing motion.

“See? I’m not going to do anything to you.”

Without breaking eye contact, you step backward, increasing the distance between you until you deem it safe. Crossing your arms over your chest, you glare at him, and B-127’s grin widens even further. You’re no longer trying to flee in panic — he considers this a huge breakthrough in your relationship!

“Oh, I’m so happy! I’m finally going to have a real friend. No offense, guys,” he says, glancing at the scraps of junk. The interaction draws a subtle, sympathetic smile from you, though B-127 doesn’t seem to notice as he turns back to you, his dazzling, excited smile still firmly in place. “I’ve waited so long for this, for someone real. I thought I’d never see another living soul again. Oh, Primus must have sent you to me. You’ll see, I’ll take great care of you. We’ll have such a wonderful time together! I have so many amazing stories to share with you!”

Automatically, he scoots closer but freezes when he notices you don’t share his enthusiasm.

“Sorry, I got carried away,” he laughs nervously. “I’m just so happy. I can’t wait to tell you everything about myself.” His pedes tap cheerfully against the ground. “And then you can tell me everything about you, right? You… you? Oh, Primus, I didn’t ask for your name! What should I call you? I’m B-127, but you can call me Bee. And you are?” He points a servo at you, but all he gets in response is a shake of your head. For a single nanoklik, his excitement falters, but it immediately returns. “Oh, right, I forgot. Well then, I’ll just talk for both of us. I’ll call you ‘friend,’ okay? Friend?”

His aft can’t sit still. At last, after such excruciatingly long isolation, he’s found a friend — someone he can speak to and expect a reaction from. Any reaction, no matter how small.

He rests his helm on his outstretched arm, unable to tear his optics away from you. He wants to feel your softness in his servo again. To wrap himself in it, to anchor himself in the incredible sensation of having a companion.

His digit twitches, a prelude to catching you in his servo and pulling you close again, but he doesn’t want to ruin what the two of you have built so far. Especially since your relationship is still in its infancy, a mere beginning of something greater and more beautiful. He feels certain it will become something wonderful.

“I don’t know how you ended up here or why, but thank you for showing up. I promise to be a good friend to you.”

For the first time in so long, he’s looking forward to experiencing what tomorrow will bring.

[awkness]

No Man is an Island

(Paternal Platonic Yandere oc & Injured Teenage Genderneutral Reader)

You and a small group of people are left stranded on an island, struggling to survive. One member of the group, Henry, has grown a paternal attachment towards you and has taken on the task of caring for you, but are his intentions truly as benevolent as they seem, or is there something much more selfish behind them?

Content warnings: injury, plane crashes, talks car accidents, coma, and child death, and general yandere shenanigans

Authors Note: This is much more chill then what I usually write. Don't be fooled, though, this dude is still messed up lol

You were on a plane alone, flying back to see your parents when the plane begins to experience severe turbulence. The captain tries to reassure everyone that things are under control, but it only gets worse. It feels like you're in the middle of an earthquake. Oxygen masks fall from the ceiling, and you can barely put yours on before blacking out

You wake up to a horrible, throbbing pain in your leg, and a sticky, humid feeling everywhere else

You're near the shoreline of the beach, a canopy of tropical trees shielding you from the sun. Turning your head, you could make out the main wreckage of the plane. There's a crudely made splint on your left leg, which is swollen and covered in bruises. There are no people in sight

Panicking, you start yelling, trying to find someone, anyone to help you understand what's happening

A middle-aged, gruff looking man comes from the wreckage. He introduces himself as Henry and helps you calm down before explaining the situation to you

The plane had crashed on an unihabited island in the middle of the Pacific Ocean, an unknown distance away from the mainland. All of the crew were dead, and most of the passengers were as well. The only people who survived were you, Henry, and no more than ten other people, all variously injured

None where as injured as you, though. Henry says that you had most likely broken your left fibula and tibia when the plane crashed. As the bone hadn't broke through your skin, he says that it should heal on its own, but it would take months, most of it spent on bed rest

The first few days were the roughest. You spent your time in a haze of pain and heat from the brutal and humid temperatures from the island. It was hard to make yourself eat, and you often felt like you never had enough to drink, as your group had decided to ration the fresh water and food that was scavenged from the crash

The other survivors didn't interact with you often. It wasn't on purpose, but they were too busy working to make this place temporarily habitable, and they had no time to think of an injured person who couldn't help them. Plus, you weren't much for conversation anyway, given your current state

The only person you did see regularly was Henry. He checked on you often throughout the day, acting much like your self-appointed doctor. He seemed to have a basic understanding of what medical care to provide you, though, so you weren't about to protest

His bedside manner was good as well, knowing when you were in too much pain to make conversation and when you were lucid enough to want company. He was your only source of companionship for those first few days, being the one to bring you your daily rations of airplane pretzels and coconut water and make sure you were eating.

Whether it was the pain subsiding or you simply adjusting to it, you began to pull yourself out of your pain driven stupor and started talking to Henry more, out of the pure loneliness and boredom of your situation

He was very easy to talk to despite his outwardly serious and borderline intimating disposition. As you talked to him more, you found him to be friendly and a bit corny, occasionally cracking a stupid dad joke or pulling light-hearted pranks on you. He seemed fairly competent at reading people, able to sense your loneliness, and often encouraging you to open up whenever he had the chance to talk

You didn't know if it was out of genuine interest or pity for your circumstances, but you found you couldn't refuse his company. Before you knew it, you started oversharing about your life. Within the next two weeks, he knew pretty much every major thing about you, from your family, your hobbies, where you lived, what your future goals and aspirations were, and so on

On the other hand, he seemed more reluctant to open up, often getting quiet or withdrawn when your questions got too personal, with what constituting 'personal' varying. You eventually picked up that something troubling must of happened to him in his past involving his family, so you stopped pushing, letting him bring up his past on his own time

Outside of superficial facts about him, the only thing you knew was that he was a former US Army Special Forces survival expert, which was how he knew how to treat your injury, and how he knew how to survive on the island

When you were feeling well enough, he would teach you some of survival knowledge he had, teaching you different fire starting methods, how to build a lean-to, and how to crack open a coconut to get the milk. He seemed rather anxious about watching you wield his knife, though, so he did that for you when he could

Things take a turn for the better as the group finds decent shelter that isn't the plane wreckage in the form of uninhabited caves in the heart of the island, along with a waterfall spouting drinkable water

Some are reluctant to leave the shoreline, as the group had taken to maintaining a bonfire there to hopefully signal passing planes or boats for help. A compromise was reached where they would move to the caves and would continue to maintain the fire in shifts

The trek towards the caverns was especially hard on you. The rest of the survivors had gone ahead to carry the supplies to the caverns, leaving Henry to guide you through the thick foilage and uneven terrain

Henry had given you a walking stick to aid your journey, but because of your prolonged bedrest, there were often times you had to be carried, making the journey a slow and tedious one. You apologized, but he brushed it aside, saying he didn't mind, as he often had to carry much heavier loads in the army. He then went on to tell you cherry picked stories from his time in the military to distract you until you reached the caves

He had decided that it would be best for you to sleep near him, in case you needed assistance or if there was an emergency. His reasoning seemed sound, and you were inclined to trust him after all this time, so you agreed

With this newfound stability, things finally seemed to slow down, as people weren't constantly threatened with death by starvation, dehydration, or exposure

This was also the time that the other survivors began to talk to you more regularly

It was how you learned that Henry had become the defacto leader of sorts, given he was the most qualified out of the group. People often came to you to see if he was there whenever they needed him, asking you to pass messages along to him when he wasn't there. Which was pretty often, given how he was usually the person to help gather food or scout out new parts of the island

It was after one of these outings that you began to learn more about him

It had been a rainy, stormy day, which made the groups whole mood sour. Henry was out with a small group to gather food, and you were with the rest of the survivors, hanging out in the main cave

It was easy to overhear conversations in the main cave, noise often bouncing about the walls. It's how you and the rest of the people in there were forced to listen to a heated conversation developing between two of your members

Apparently, one of the more toublesome people of your group had been caught stealing from one of the other members of the cave. Their talking turned to arguing, and the arguing became shouting, which became shoving, which was steadily growing more violent by the second

Some had tried to break up the fight while everyone else had managed to move away except you, who could only slowly hobble away

A fellow survivor was trying to usher you away when someone knocked into you, causing you to fall and hit your head on the cavern floor. You lost consciousness

When you woke, the first thing you noticed was the pain in your head, throbing like a pulse. The second was that you were back in your bed (if you could call a platform of crushed bamboo and palm leaves a bed), a blanket tucked to your chin. The third were the footsteps of Henry as he came over to kneel beside you, his face creased in thought and worry

He then went to question you on how you were feeling, if you knew who you were, if you remembered what happened, as well as checking your eyes and testing your muscles and general coordination

It was only after he was satisfied you didn't have any severe brain injury that he finally relaxed and explained what happened

After you were knocked unconscious, the fighting had stopped, and you had been taken back to your part of the cave to be taken care of as they waited for Henry and his group to arrive

The conversation then faded into silence, as you were too caught up in your pain to keep talking. You closed your eyes and laid back down

It wasn't until later that night that you finally noticed that Henry was still in the room, watching you, face blank and motionless as if he were in another world. You've never seen him look that way before

You nudge him and he startles, completely caught off guard, apologizing for worrying you

You ask him what's wrong, and instead of brushing your question off like he usually does, he hesitates before going on to speak about the family he used to have, a wife and a child, who he loved dearly. One day, they ended up in a car crash. He lived with minimal injuries, but his wife died, and his child ended up brain dead with no hope of recovery. He had kept the child on life support for months before finally pulling the plug

"When I was waiting for you to wake up, it was like I was back in the hospital, hoping beyond hope that a miracle would happen, and I would see them open their eyes again... Y'know, it's the craziest thing. While I was watching you, I kept thinking about how they would've been your age if they were still here. They would of looked just like you."

You apologize, unable to think of anything else to say. He waves it off and tells you not to mind what he said and to go to bed. He was still sitting and watching you as you fell asleep

About five months after the crash, when the group had started to lose hope of there being a rescue, someone had spotted a plane flying across the night sky

Everyone scrambled to strengthen the bonfire on the shore, yelling at the sky in a desperate attempt to be noticed

With Henry's help, you made your way to the fire as well, propping yourself up with a walking stick to keep your weight off your broken leg, waving your free arm to the sky as you joined in the shouting

But it didn't matter. The plane flew away, disappearing into the dark

Some people cried, others flew into a rage, and the rest didn't say a word. Eventually, people slowly made their way back to the caves, disheartened at their loss

After a few hours, it was just you and Henry left on the shore, the dying embers of the fire next to you as you both stared at the sky. He seemed content

You break the silence and ask him if he thinks there will ever be another opportunity for rescue

"I don't know, but I doubt it. With how long it's been, that plane probably wasn't searching for us. We probably won't see another one anytime soon."

"You don't sound too broken up about it" you say.

"I guess I'm not. If you can overlook the heat, this place ain't half bad. Fresh seafood, clean water, a built-in shelter, and 24/7 access to my own private beach. Shit, I don't even have to pay taxes anymore, either. This is the closest thing to paradise I'll ever find."

"You can't mean that, right? We can't stay here forever."

"Of course we can. We have everything we could need. Plenty of people have lived in worse places."

That's not what I mean, what about my family? I want to go home!

The mention of your family leaves him stunned, like he forgot they existed. He quickly regains his bearings and continues

"I don't mean to make you upset, kid, but I think you're misunderstanding me. I know it hurts now, but there's nothing stopping you from living a happy life here. You've got food, a roof over your head, and someone to take care of you, what more could someone ask for?"

You don't reply. Sensing your darkening mood, he offers to help walk you back, and you accept, both of you slowly making your way through the foilage in silence

You fail to notice that the fire was left unattended and how it had slowly died out, leaving the island invisible to any help that could pass by

The next morning, no one bothers to reignite the fire

Afternoon rolls around and Henry leaves, going to fish for your next meal. You pray it isn't sea cucmbers again

Someone comes up to you, asking for some cordage they had lent to Henry. Instead of waiting for him to come back, you decide to search for it yourself

You search his part of the cave and almost give up before spotting a bag hidden in a crevice of the cave. It was so well hidden, you're afraid you might lose sight of it if you turn away. What could he have in there? You're almost certain Henry wouldn't keep rope tucked so far out of sight. But you couldn't help your curiousity. You've been in here countless times, how didn't you notice this? Against your better judgment, you open the bag

You don't find the cordage

Instead, inside the small bag is the bright orange of a flare gun and several unused flare cartridges

[arolesbianism]

The sadness and agony that emerges everytime I start a new oni save and am forced to remember what it's like to have a dupe without a hat only to put them in a hat because I think they'd look cute only to remember hats make half of them look bald but I spent this long maxing out a skill for them so Im too stubborn to back down and remove the hat

[hayatheauthor]

The Arsonists’ Handbook: A Writer’s Guide To Igniting Fire

This comprehensive guide is crafted to assist writers in creating realistic and gripping depictions of arson scenes. We'll explore the psychological motivations behind arson, the different types of fires, and the intricate dynamics of how a fire spreads.

I personally wrote this blog due to a story I’m working on involving the Salem trials fires, thus the extensive research. I hope this comprehensive guide will help you out with your fiery (written) endeavours! (Heavy on the written). 

Understanding Fire: The Basics

How Fire Starts

At its core, fire is a chemical reaction known as combustion. For fire to ignite, three key elements must be present: heat, fuel, and oxygen. This trio is often referred to as the fire triangle. Removing any one of these elements will prevent or extinguish the fire.

Heat: The energy source that raises the temperature of the material (fuel) to its ignition point. Heat can come from various sources, such as an open flame, electrical sparks, friction, or chemical reactions.

Fuel: Any combustible material that can feed the fire. This can range from solid objects like wood and paper to liquids like gasoline and alcohol, and even gases like propane and natural gas.

Oxygen: Fire needs oxygen to sustain itself. Typically, the air around us provides the necessary oxygen, but in certain conditions (like in an oxygen-rich environment), fire can become significantly more intense and harder to control.

Fire Behavior

Once a fire ignites, its behavior is influenced by several factors, including the type of fuel, the amount of oxygen available, and the environment. Understanding how fire behaves is crucial for writing realistic scenes, especially when it comes to describing how quickly a fire spreads and the destruction it causes.

Spread of Fire

Fire spreads through three main methods: conduction, convection, and radiation. Conduction is the transfer of heat through materials, like when a fire heats up a metal door. Convection occurs when hot air rises and circulates, spreading the fire. Radiation is the heat that spreads through the air, setting nearby objects alight without direct contact.

Stages of a Fire

A fire typically goes through four stages: ignition, growth, fully developed, and decay.

Ignition: This is the beginning stage where the fire starts. It’s often small and contained, but the potential for growth is high.

Growth: As the fire consumes more fuel, it grows in size and intensity. During this stage, the fire spreads rapidly, and the heat increases, potentially igniting nearby objects.

Fully Developed: The fire has reached its peak intensity. All available fuel is burning, and the temperature is at its highest. This is the most dangerous stage, where the fire is hardest to control.

Decay: As the fire runs out of fuel or oxygen, it begins to die down. The flames reduce in size, and the temperature starts to drop. However, if there’s still some fuel or oxygen left, the fire can reignite.

Types of Fire

Not all fires are created equal, and understanding the differences between various types of fires can help you write more accurate scenes. The type of fire often determines how it spreads, how it's fought, and the damage it causes.

Class A (Ordinary Combustibles): These fires involve materials like wood, paper, cloth, and some plastics. They are the most common type of fire and are usually extinguished with water or foam.

Class B (Flammable Liquids): These fires involve flammable or combustible liquids such as gasoline, oil, and alcohol. They are more dangerous than Class A fires and are typically extinguished with foam, carbon dioxide, or dry chemical agents.

Class C (Electrical Fires): These fires involve electrical equipment, such as wiring, circuit breakers, and appliances. Water should never be used to extinguish a Class C fire because it can conduct electricity, making the situation worse. These fires are typically fought with non-conductive agents like dry chemicals or carbon dioxide.

Class D (Combustible Metals): These fires involve metals like magnesium, titanium, and sodium. They are very dangerous and are fought with specialized agents like dry powder designed to absorb heat and smother the fire.

Class K (Kitchen Fires): These fires involve cooking oils and fats, often occurring in kitchens. They are fought with wet chemical agents that cool the fire and create a barrier between the fuel and the oxygen.

The Stages of Arson

Arson, the act of deliberately setting fire to property, is a complex crime that involves planning, execution, and, often, a great deal of psychological motivation. Understanding the stages of arson can help you create more realistic and engaging scenes in your writing.

Planning and Preparation

Before an arsonist sets a fire, they usually go through a detailed planning and preparation phase. This stage involves selecting a target, gathering materials, and determining the best time and method to set the fire.

Motive: The reasons behind arson can vary widely. Common motives include revenge, financial gain (such as insurance fraud), psychological compulsion (pyromania), or even a desire to destroy evidence of another crime.

Target Selection: The arsonist will choose their target based on various factors, including the accessibility of the location, the presence of flammable materials, and the likelihood of the fire being discovered quickly. For example, an arsonist might target an abandoned building, a business with financial troubles, or a residence where they hold a grudge against the occupants.

Materials Gathering: The arsonist needs to gather materials to start the fire. This might include accelerants like gasoline or kerosene, tools to break into the target location, and possibly even timing devices to delay the ignition. Some arsonists use household items like matches, lighters, or candles, while others might resort to more sophisticated methods.

Timing: Timing is crucial for arson. The arsonist might choose a time when the target location is unoccupied to avoid detection or ensure maximum damage. Alternatively, they might set the fire at a time when the building is full of people to cause harm or send a message.

Ignition

The ignition stage is when the arsonist actually starts the fire. This is often the most critical and dangerous part of the crime, as it requires the arsonist to be physically present at the scene.

Methods: There are various methods an arsonist might use to start a fire. The simplest method is using a match or lighter to ignite flammable materials. However, more sophisticated arsonists might use chemical accelerants, timing devices, or even electrical equipment to start the fire remotely. In some cases, the arsonist might create a trail of flammable liquid leading to the target, allowing them to ignite the fire from a safe distance.

Initial Signs: The first signs of a fire are usually small flames and smoke. Depending on the materials used, the smoke might be thick and black (indicating the presence of accelerants) or lighter and less noticeable. The smell of burning materials is also a telltale sign, and in some cases, the arsonist might use scented materials to mask the odor of burning chemicals.

Fire’s Progression

Once the fire is ignited, it begins to grow and spread. The speed and intensity of the fire depend on several factors, including the type of fuel, the amount of oxygen available, and the structure of the building.

Growth: As the fire consumes more fuel, it grows in size and intensity. Flames spread to nearby objects, igniting anything that can burn. The heat generated by the fire causes nearby materials to reach their ignition points, further fueling the blaze. In a well-ventilated area, the fire can spread rapidly, engulfing the entire structure in minutes.

Environmental Effects: The fire’s heat can cause significant damage to the surrounding environment. Smoke and toxic fumes fill the air, making it difficult to breathe and see. The intense heat can cause glass to shatter, metal to warp, and wood to burst into flames. The fire might also create a backdraft, a dangerous phenomenon where a sudden influx of oxygen causes an explosion of flames.

Aftermath

After the fire has been extinguished, the aftermath reveals the full extent of the damage. This stage involves assessing the destruction, investigating the cause of the fire, and dealing with the legal and emotional consequences.

Destruction: The fire leaves behind a trail of destruction. Buildings are reduced to charred skeletons, possessions are destroyed, and in some cases, lives are lost. The damage caused by fire can be catastrophic, leaving victims homeless, businesses bankrupt, and communities devastated.

Investigation: Arson is a criminal act, and a thorough investigation is usually conducted to determine the cause of the fire and identify the perpetrator. Fire investigators look for clues like burn patterns, residue from

The Psychological Profile of an Arsonist

Arsonists come from diverse backgrounds, but their motivations often stem from deep psychological issues. Understanding the mind of an arsonist can help you create more complex and nuanced characters in your writing.

Common Motivations

Revenge: Many arsonists are motivated by a desire for revenge. They might set a fire to get back at someone who wronged them, such as a former employer, an ex-partner, or a rival. This type of arson is often impulsive, driven by anger and a need to assert control.

Financial Gain: Arson is sometimes committed for financial reasons, such as insurance fraud. The arsonist may set fire to their own property or hire someone to do it, intending to collect insurance money. This type of arson is usually well-planned and methodical.

Psychological Compulsion (Pyromania): Some arsonists are driven by a psychological disorder known as pyromania, where they experience an uncontrollable urge to start fires. For these individuals, the act of setting a fire provides a sense of excitement, satisfaction, or relief. Pyromaniacs often set multiple fires and may stay to watch the fire burn.

Attention-Seeking: Arsonists may set fires to attract attention, either to themselves or to a cause they believe in. This can be seen in cases where someone sets a fire to highlight an issue, make a political statement, or simply because they crave the spotlight.

Thrill-Seeking: For some, the act of arson is about the thrill of taking risks and the adrenaline rush that comes with causing destruction. These arsonists might not have any particular grievance or financial motive but are instead driven by a desire for excitement.

Psychological Traits

While not all arsonists fit a single profile, there are common psychological traits that many share:

Lack of Empathy: Arsonists often exhibit a lack of empathy, unable to fully grasp or care about the consequences of their actions on others. They may not consider the potential loss of life or property and are more focused on their own desires and needs.

Impulsivity: Some arsonists act on impulse, setting fires without fully considering the long-term effects. This impulsivity can be linked to other behavioral issues, such as a history of aggression, substance abuse, or other criminal activity.

Desire for Control: Arson can be a way for individuals to exert control over a situation or person. The fire represents a powerful force that the arsonist can manipulate, giving them a sense of power and dominance.

Isolation: Many arsonists are socially isolated, struggling to form meaningful relationships. This isolation can fuel their desire for attention or revenge, leading them to commit acts of arson as a way of asserting themselves.

Physical Signs and Symptoms of Arson

When it comes to describing a fire in your writing, the physical signs and symptoms of arson can add a layer of authenticity and vivid detail to your scenes. Understanding these signs not only enhances the realism of your narrative but also helps to convey the severity and impact of the fire.

Visual Cues

One of the most striking aspects of a fire is its visual presentation. The flames, smoke, and other visual cues can vary greatly depending on the type of fire, the materials involved, and the environment.

Flames, Colors, and Intensity of the Fire: Flames can vary in color depending on the materials burning and the temperature of the fire. For instance, a fire fueled by organic materials like wood or paper typically burns with orange or yellow flames. In contrast, fires involving chemicals or metals might produce blue, green, or even white flames. The intensity of the flames can also signal the fire’s progression, with small, flickering flames indicating the early stages and roaring, high flames signifying a fully developed fire.

Smoke Characteristics: Smoke is another key visual indicator of a fire’s behavior. The color, thickness, and smell of smoke can provide clues about the type of materials burning and the presence of accelerants. Black, thick smoke often suggests that the fire is consuming synthetic materials like plastics or rubber, while white or gray smoke might indicate burning wood or paper. The smell of the smoke can also vary, with a sharp, acrid odor suggesting the presence of chemicals.

Heat Effects

Heat is one of the most destructive elements of a fire, and it can have profound effects on objects, structures, and people. Describing these effects can make your arson scenes more visceral and impactful.

Effects on Objects and Structures: The intense heat generated by a fire can cause a wide range of damage. Wood and other combustible materials might blister and char, while metals can warp or melt. Glass windows might crack or shatter due to the rapid temperature change. The heat can also cause scorch marks on walls and floors, which are often key indicators in an arson investigation. Understanding these effects allows you to describe the aftermath of a fire with greater accuracy.

Scorch Marks, Blistering, and Charring: Scorch marks are darkened areas that indicate where flames or intense heat have come into contact with a surface. Blistering occurs when the heat causes materials to bubble and expand, often seen on painted or varnished surfaces. Charring is the blackening and partial burning of materials, typically seen on wood. These signs can be crucial in determining the origin of the fire and whether an accelerant was used.

Human Reactions

The physical and emotional responses of individuals during a fire are critical elements in conveying the terror and urgency of an arson scene.

Physical Responses to Heat and Smoke: The human body reacts dramatically to the extreme conditions of a fire. Heat can cause burns, ranging from superficial first-degree burns to more severe third-degree burns that destroy deeper layers of skin. Smoke inhalation is a common and often deadly consequence of being trapped in a fire. It can cause coughing, choking, and disorientation as the smoke deprives the body of oxygen and fills the lungs with toxic gases. Victims might experience blurred vision, dizziness, and confusion, making it difficult for them to escape.

Emotional Responses to Fire: The emotional toll of being caught in a fire can be overwhelming. Panic is a common reaction, as the instinct to flee overwhelms rational thought. Fear and anxiety can paralyze individuals, making them unable to act. However, some characters might respond with determination and resolve, driven by the need to save themselves or others. Describing these emotional responses can add depth to your characters and heighten the drama of the scene.

For a more detailed guide on burns, read how to write burns. 

Common Misconceptions About Arson

When writing about arson, it’s important to address common misconceptions that can lead to unrealistic or inaccurate scenes. Debunking these myths can help you create more credible and compelling narratives.

Fire Spreads Quickly

A common misconception is that fire spreads almost instantaneously. While fire can indeed spread rapidly, especially under the right conditions, there is often a progression that can be influenced by various factors such as the type of fuel, the presence of accelerants, and the structure of the building. In reality, a fire might start small and take several minutes to fully engulf a room, especially if there’s limited ventilation or the materials are slow to ignite. This progression allows for moments of tension and potential escape in your narrative.

All Fires Look the Same

Another myth is that all fires behave similarly, regardless of the environment or the materials involved. In truth, the appearance and behavior of a fire can vary widely. For example, a fire in a well-ventilated area with plenty of fuel will look very different from a smoldering fire in an oxygen-deprived environment. Additionally, fires involving different types of materials—like wood, gasoline, or chemicals—can produce vastly different flames, smoke, and heat. Recognizing these differences can help you craft more nuanced and realistic fire scenes.

Fire and Explosions

Thanks to Hollywood, many people believe that fires often result in dramatic explosions. However, explosions are relatively rare in most fires and usually require specific conditions, such as the presence of flammable gases or liquids in confined spaces. While a fire can cause small, localized bursts (like when a pressurized canister overheats and ruptures), full-scale explosions are uncommon. Incorporating this knowledge can prevent your scenes from falling into the trap of over-the-top sensationalism.

Easy to Identify an Arsonist

The idea that arsonists are easily identifiable or leave obvious clues behind is another misconception. In reality, arson investigation is a complex and challenging process. Arsonists often go to great lengths to cover their tracks, using methods that leave little evidence. The fire itself can destroy crucial evidence, making it difficult to determine the cause and origin. Investigators must rely on subtle clues, like burn patterns, residue from accelerants, and witness statements. Writing realistic arson investigations involves understanding the nuances and difficulties involved in linking the crime to a specific individual.

Real-Life Case Studies

Exploring real-life arson cases can provide valuable insights into the motives, methods, and consequences of arson, helping you to create more authentic scenes in your writing.

Notorious Arson Cases

The Boston Fire (1919): This fire, started by disgruntled city workers, caused extensive damage and highlighted how social unrest can lead to destructive acts of arson. The arsonists used a combination of accelerants and timing devices to ensure the fire spread quickly and was difficult to control.

The Happy Land Fire (1990): A tragic case where an arsonist set fire to a social club in New York, resulting in 87 deaths. The fire was started with gasoline, and the arsonist’s motive was personal revenge after an altercation with a club employee. This case illustrates the deadly potential of arson when combined with crowded, enclosed spaces.

The Oakland Hills Firestorm (1991): Although not initially an arson case, this firestorm was exacerbated by arsonists who set additional fires in the area. The fire destroyed thousands of homes and underscored the difficulty of controlling fires in densely populated areas with dry, windy conditions.

Lessons for Writers

Real-life cases like these offer important lessons for writers. They demonstrate the variety of motives behind arson, the different methods used, and the devastating impact that fire can have on individuals and communities. Incorporating these lessons into your writing can help you create more complex and realistic arson scenes.

Complex Motives: Arson isn’t always about destruction for its own sake. It can be motivated by revenge, financial gain, political statements, or psychological issues. Exploring these motives can add depth to your characters and their actions.

Diverse Methods: Arsonists don’t always rely on the same techniques. Understanding the different methods used to start fires allows you to vary your scenes and avoid repetitive or predictable narratives.

Realistic Consequences: The aftermath of arson can be devastating, with long-lasting consequences for the

Arson in Literature and Film

Arson is a powerful narrative device in literature and film, often used to create tension, drive plot, or explore character motivations. Understanding how arson has been portrayed in these mediums can help you craft more compelling and nuanced fire scenes in your writing.

Arson as a Plot Device

Arson is often used as a plot device to introduce conflict, create suspense, or catalyze a story’s events. It can serve as a turning point in the narrative, forcing characters to confront their past, make difficult decisions, or reveal their true nature.

Catalyst for Change: In many stories, a fire is the catalyst that sets the plot in motion. The destruction caused by the fire forces characters to adapt, overcome obstacles, or seek revenge.

Revealing Character: Arson can also be used to reveal a character’s true nature. A character who commits arson may be driven by anger, greed, or desperation, and their actions can expose underlying flaws or hidden motivations.

Symbolism: Fire is often used symbolically in literature and film, representing concepts like purification, destruction, or rebirth. The act of setting a fire can be a symbolic gesture, reflecting the character’s desire to destroy the past, cleanse themselves of guilt, or start anew.

Notable Examples in Literature and Film

"Jane Eyre" by Charlotte Brontë: In this classic novel, the character of Bertha Mason sets fire to Thornfield Hall, an act that is both literal and symbolic. The fire represents Bertha's madness and desperation, as well as the destructive secrets hidden within the estate. The blaze ultimately leads to the revelation of Mr. Rochester's past and serves as a turning point in Jane Eyre's journey, symbolizing the destruction of the old and the possibility of a new beginning.

"Fahrenheit 451" by Ray Bradbury: In Bradbury’s dystopian novel, fire is used as a tool of oppression. Firemen are tasked with burning books, a symbol of knowledge and freedom, to maintain societal control. The protagonist, Guy Montag, initially takes part in these acts of arson, but as the story progresses, he becomes disillusioned and eventually rebels against the system. The novel explores themes of censorship, conformity, and the power of knowledge, with fire serving as both a destructive and a purifying force.

"Carrie" by Stephen King: In King’s horror novel, fire is a key element of the climactic scene where Carrie White, after being humiliated at her high school prom, uses her telekinetic powers to set fire to the gymnasium. The fire is a manifestation of her rage and desire for revenge, and it leads to the destruction of her school and the deaths of many of her tormentors. The scene is a powerful example of how fire can be used to convey intense emotions and serve as a metaphor for uncontrollable anger and retribution.

"Rebecca" by Daphne du Maurier: The burning of Manderley, the grand estate that serves as the novel’s primary setting, is a pivotal moment in du Maurier’s gothic tale. The fire, set by the vengeful housekeeper Mrs. Danvers, symbolizes the destruction of the past and the erasure of Rebecca’s lingering influence over the characters. It also represents the liberation of the protagonist from the oppressive shadow of her predecessor, allowing her to finally step out of Rebecca’s shadow.

Looking For More Writing Tips And Tricks? 

Are you an author looking for writing tips and tricks to better your manuscript? Or do you want to learn about how to get a literary agent, get published and properly market your book? Consider checking out the rest of Quillology with Haya Sameer; a blog dedicated to writing and publishing tips for authors! While you’re at it, don’t forget to head over to my TikTok and Instagram profiles @hayatheauthor to learn more about my WIP and writing journey! 

[cripplecharacters]

How should you write/draw burn survivors? I know this isn't a drawing blog but I don't know of one that I could ask this question to.

Hello!

I'm not a burn survivor myself, so I'll mostly talk about facial differences/visible disability in general and link some stuff made by burn survivors.

First thing, I think it's important to remember that being a burn survivor changes a lot of things - not only appearance. Very important part is the psychological one, but I'm not a burn survivor so I will just let the resources linked below speak.

From the physical aspect, burns can also come with: chronic pain, limited range of motion due to scarring, tightened skin, problems with regulating temperature, itching, skin irritation, and even different nutritional needs during the initial healing process.

There is also specific everyday care associated with burns - something you basically never see in fiction. That could be things like occupational therapy, physical therapy, skincare (like heavy moisturizing and scar massaging), wearing sunblock, wearing splints, or stretching to prevent contractures or tightness.

There are also different types of burns and they (unsurprisingly) differ from each other - for example, electrical burns have a much higher rate of amputation than any other type. Chemical burns can cause eye issues. A burn caused by a fire in a closed space might result in a brain injury due to the lack of oxygen. A much larger portion of people than you (probably) assume have survived burn injuries as small children, and if they were young enough they might not even remember the event at all, unlike older people who might be very affected by the trauma.

Experiences of a person with 80% body surface burns, a person with quadruple amputations from an electrical burn, a person with a facial burn, and a person burnt very recently will be different from someone who has a 5% body surface 2nd degree burn in a spot that’s usually hidden, who has lived with their burn for a decade - despite them all being burn survivors.

When it comes to more thorough research, I recommend going through Phoenix Society’s and Face Equality International’s websites to learn more about both real burn survivor’s perspectives, and face equality as a social justice topic. I think the 3rd link (see below) puts it very well when talking about burn survivors being represented in fiction:

“Most likely, these characters were not created by someone with lived experience. The result is an increasingly garbled game of telephone [...] To avoid contributing to this false narrative, embrace research as part of the process. Explore interviews, first-person accounts, and articles from reliable sources.”

I personally think that the links below should be mandatory reading for writing not only burn survivors, not only people with facial differences, but visibly disabled people in general - because the treatment we get is often so similar the advice still holds up just fine. And if you don't plan on writing any of these, you should still read them to see how prevalent of a problem ableism in media is.

Lise Deguire's Hey Hollywood - scars don't make you evil.

Face Equality International's International Media Standard on Disfigurement.

Niki Averton's Tips for Writing about Burn Survivors.

The main sentiment that you will read from basically any first-hand source is that if you're writing the burn survivor to be either:

evil (just throw the whole character away)

a guy with the "World's Saddest Most Tragic Backstory Ever and It's So Sad and Tragic" (because he revealed he has a scar)

a helpless victim who is there to be The Helpless Victim

...then you're already doing it wrong and need to make some major changes.

From our blog's reblogs and posts, you might want to look at tips for writing a visibly different/disabled character and tips on drawing people with facial differences. Neither are specific to burn survivors but cover the topic of visible disability and facial differences.

Now for tips on drawing burn survivors (that weren't included in the last link);

Reference real people. 99.9% drawings of burn survivors seem to go through the same "increasingly garbled game of telephone" that Niki Averton mentions with how burn survivors are written, in that the newer the drawing, the less in common it has with how real people with burns look like because people reference from each other and none of them ever think to actually check if their depiction is accurate. If you just google "burn survivor" you will very quickly notice that burn survivors don't have that damn red overlay layer put on top of their skin. It just doesn't look like that, and basic research (aka Google Images search) will tell you that - and still, people color a hand with bright red and think that's how it looks like (it doesn't).

In the same vein, maybe don't just draw an able-bodied person and then put some scarring on top (or maybe do exactly that. No burn scar and no burn survivor is the same, and there are people that fit what I just described... but hear me out for a second). Think about how scars interact with their features - do they have both of their ears? Do they still have all of their hair? Do they only have parts of their eyebrow? Do they have all of their fingers? Can they move the same as before their burn, or are their scars limiting their joints? How did their body react to the post-burn hypermetabolism? Lots to think about. Take into account what type and thickness of burns your character has.

Ditch the mask trope. Just ditch it. There's no need to cover your character's scar from the world unless you as the author think it requires to be hidden, is too scary to show, or other ableist trope that seems to always come up with drawings of visibly disabled people, especially burn survivors. The one exception I will mention is a transparent face orthosis/mask (TFO) that facial burn survivors might wear while awaiting a skin graft early after their injury. But as the name suggests, it's transparent and doesn't work for the "scary facial difference, better cover it up and only reveal it in some hyper dramatic scene!" trope because you can see right through it. (I will also mention that TFOs are a very modern thing. Your medieval burn survivor wouldn't be wearing one).

No "body horror", no "gore" tags or trigger warnings or whatever. That's a human being. If you feel the need to warn your followers before they see a disabled person existing, you're better off not drawing them.

Some last notes;

Throughout this ask I used the term "burn survivor" rather than "burn victim" because that is, to my knowledge, the general community preferred phrase. Individual opinions will differ (because no group is a monolith) but "burn survivor" is generally the safest term to use and probably the best if talking about a fictional character.

Similarly, I used "facial difference" rather than "disfigurement". Just as the above, opinions will differ on what is the best to use but I personally, as someone with facial asymmetry and a cranial nerve disorder, heavily prefer the term "facial difference" over "disfigurement". (I am in this case The Individual Opinion Differing because you can notice that in the links above, facial difference and disfigurement are used interchangeably. The general community uses both, some people have specific preferences. I'm some people). When talking about a fictional character, "facial difference", "visible difference" and "disfigurement" are all probably fine. Just stay away from calling a person "deformed".

mod Sasza

[gunsandspaceships]

Tony was disabled and suffered from chronic pain

Tony may not have looked like a disabled person, but not all disabled people need wheelchairs, canes, or hearing aids. Some simply live in constant pain, cannot breathe properly, cannot sleep due to nightmares, or may die without medication or a medical device. All this applies to him.

Tony has suffered from many conditions, many physical and mental traumas. I will describe the most important here (in chronological order), but some things like broken bones, cuts, bruises, etc. happened to him regularly and their impact on his health is unknown.

Blast injuries

You can find details here.

This type of injury has happened to Tony many times, as explosions are not uncommon for superheroes. In his case (he's not an enhanced Homo sapiens, we remember that, right?) they were more harmful than for many others, like Thor, Hulk or Steve.

We can't say exactly how these injuries affected his health, but they couldn't disappear without a trace. What he could have been left with: damaged hearing, vision, brain damage, respiratory system and blood vessels and heart damage, damage to muscles, liver, spleen and intestines.

Shrapnel

And here comes chronic pain, and our first case of overt disability - shrapnel in Tony's chest and most likely right in the heart. Some shrapnel may have remained in other parts of his body, such as his arms and legs, but this was not mentioned in the movies.

Shrapnel can cause harm in two ways:

mechanical (cuts tissue - leads to scarring, puts pressure on nerves and blood vessels, causing pain and ischemia - reduces blood and oxygen flow to parts of the body);

chemical (metal ions can be released from the fragments and travel through the bloodstream, affecting other parts of the body). Many forms of shrapnel contain uranium, which is highly toxic and can lead to health problems, including kidney damage, liver cancer, and bone cancer. It may also cause high blood pressure, autoimmune disorders, and loss of reproductive function.

Other complications may include infections and chronic inflammation around the fragments.

In Tony's case, he received at least three unpleasant gifts from the shrapnel: chronic pain, heart damage, and the constant possibility of death if the medical device that literally keeps him alive stops working or is taken away from him.

So yes, guys, shrapnel is already enough to consider him disabled. But this is just the beginning of the list.

Arrhythmia

Here is a post entirely dedicated to Tony and his arrhythmia.

To summarize: Tony had a severe arrhythmia (most likely Sick Sinus Syndrome) that required a pacemaker and an ICD (implantable cardioverter defibrillator) powered by an arc reactor. Possible causes of this condition include the blast injury, electric damage from water torture with an electromagnet in chest, and heart damage.

This is the second case of disability and constant mortal danger for Tony - just like with the shrapnel, without the pacemaker he would have died, and even sooner than without the electromagnet that stops the shrapnel. And let's not forget the risk of sudden death associated with arrhythmias.

What Tony could experience on a daily basis due to his arrhythmia: exercise intolerance (he stopped running and surfing after Afghanistan), exhaustion, shortness of breath, chest pain, fainting (among all the Avengers, Tony lost consciousness most often), lightheadedness or dizziness, heart palpitations. Arrhythmia is a thing that usually gets worse over years.

Reactor

Hard stuff. Here you can see why.

The damage done to Tony's body in order to implant the reactor was enormous. With all things considered, it is not necessarily a deadly trauma, but certainly a debilitating one.

This case is the third obvious disability and the main source of chronic pain that Tony suffered from 2008 to 2014.

What he definitely experienced every minute of those years: pain, exhaustion and depression due to this, discomfort and pressure in the chest, difficulty breathing (for which his suits contained supplemental oxygen), limited upper body mobility and decreased muscle strength, sensitivity to ambient temperature (the metal would conduct the temperature of the environment and could become too hot or too cold. That's why he would prefer to stay in California until his surgery at the end of IM3 and not move to New York yet - because of the cold winters).

Potential complications that required Tony to constantly monitor his health included: collapsed lung, asthma, chest infections, chest trauma, thoracic lymphedema, blood clots.

He would also be prone to respiratory infections, which could easily lead to complications. For example, a common cold would most likely develop into bronchitis and/or pneumonia. That is why it is very dangerous for him to be around sick people.

The device could also pose a real danger if it encounters another strong magnet (no MRI for Tony!).

Tony always had to be on medications to help him breath (oxygen, asthma inhalers when he picks up a virus or his airway gets irritated, nebulizer treatment), antibiotics due to weakened immune system, painkillers as needed, regular beta blockers to reduce risk of arrhythmias and sudden death.

PTSD

In IM3, we were shown Tony suffering from this mental disorder. In CA:CW we also saw him using B.A.R.F. to ease his trauma over the death of his parents. This is one of the factors that makes me think he had complex PTSD since childhood, not just acute PTSD caused by the alien invasion.

The acute PTSD affected his quality of life, depriving him of sleep, causing nightmares, anxiety and panic attacks from 2012 to 2014. Although it couldn't go away just because Tony became a little more confident in himself by the end of the movie. It takes years of treatment to get rid of this condition, and the VA considers it a permanent disability.

Other things that could have long-term effects on his health:

Radiation (cancer, liver failure, infertility, and thickening and scarring of lung, liver, and kidney tissue)

Heavy metal poisoning (palladium is carcinogenic, may damage bone marrow, kidneys and liver)

Repeated concussions (one possible consequence is chronic traumatic encephalopathy, which often begins years or even decades after the last brain injury)

Use of B.A.R.F. (could be the cause of the migraine he experienced at the beginning of CA:CW)

Left arm/shoulder injury

Penetrating trauma (it is unknown whether Carol actually brought Tony the Xorrian elixir to cure him as she promised)

Conclusion: before the attack that changed his life forever, Tony was a healthy, strong man who ran canyons and surfed. Thanks to his health and high exercise tolerance, he was able to survive many serious and even critical injuries. However, he was not an enhanced super soldier, and the injuries that did not kill him left him physically weaker and with disabilities that could not help but affect his well-being. He became immunocompromised, could no longer endure strenuous exercise without his high-tech prosthesis, take a proper deep breath. He also became smaller due to loss of muscle mass (compare IM1 and IM3).

Tony also suffered from chronic pain due to the damage to his chest and the presence of shrapnel.

PTSD gives him another type of disability that affects his mental functions. Unlike the damage from the reactor and shrapnel, this damage was not fully healed in 2014 and remained with him until the end, although the symptoms subsided.

[iggyshippingcorner]

alright... a bit of medical malpractice stobotnik as a treat <3

the intro formatting on this is going to serve as a teaser for the rest of the long fic :3

tags for this include: medical procedures, questionable medical procedures, surgery, in house surgical procedures, medical inaccuracies, a lot of hand-waving, unwise medical practices, ivo "i have a medical doctorate i didn't plan on using" robotnik, hurt stone, stone's unconscious for this entire thing actually, mild gore, medical gore

< disclaimer: i am not a medical professional. i am an over-caffeinated fic writer with access to the world wide web and a very VERY minor background in medical terminology. medical inaccuracies abound, because i sourced all my info from the internet. >

RIBCAGE, CHEST, BACK (v1.05 - 2018.08.21 - NEW EGGLABS, SEATTLE, USA)

If Robotnik never has to use his medical doctorate again, he’ll die a happy man. His eyes burn, his arms ache, and his hateful childhood habit of grinding his teeth has resurfaced despite decades of suppression. AL02B hovers near his left shoulder, providing a helpful steady light. The other girls whizz about behind him, collecting equipment and fetching materials and carting off the corpses littered about the main lab floor. It stinks of gunpowder and blood. The mask he wears doesn’t stifle the smell as much as he’d like it to-- he adds it to his mental to-do list.

His fingers spasm slightly, and he grunts in frustration, teeth creaking as he clenches his jaw. Careful, careful, he adjusts his angle as much as he can, mindful of the clamps and the detractor, until the pressure on his wrist alleviates. The EKG beeps in time with every flex of his left hand, carefully carefully pressing Stone’s heart downwards against the firm ridge of his vertebrae. His molars grind together in a steady slide, keeping rhythm with the rocking motion of his wrist. 

“You’re almost more trouble than you’re worth,” he tells Stone, who doesn’t respond. He blinks hard, breathing in and out slowly. Of course he doesn’t respond-- Robotnik’s got his fucking heart in his hand. (Breathe in, breathe out.) The latex of his glove squeaks as he squeezes the ventilator with his other hand, keeping careful time. For as dire as it started-- Stone bleeding freely into his thoracic cavity for several minutes until Robotnik could finally open him up-- things have plateaued into this awful waiting game. If only the doctor (and what exactly does he think he’s doing, calling himself a doctor? Can’t even keep his hands steady-) could do more than just hope he’s buying Stone enough time to stabilise on his own. 

AL02B beeps. Robotnik doesn’t glance at her but he does tip his head towards her, gaze fixed on the steady artificial pulse of Stone’s heart in his palm and the manual flex of his lungs as he works the ventilator. Keep the blood and oxygen flowing to his brain and other important organs until his body decides to pick up the slack once more. His eyes burn, and he wants to wipe at them but if he takes them off Stone--. 

AL02B whistles sharply then, cutting through his thoughts, and he sighs. “Mommy’s a little busy, darling.”

She trills all high and urgent, and he finally tears his gaze away from the glistening, terrible meat that houses the one human life he’s allowed himself to truly care for, in order to see what’s gotten her in a tizzy. ALPHA pointedly shifts her light from Stone’s open ribcage to his pallid face, and-- 

His eyes are fluttering. 

Robotnik freezes, hands going lax, and--

The EKG machine crammed onto the work bench beside the gurney continues beeping. Stone’s heart flexes stubbornly against his palm, and his lungs take a breath of their own volition, the ventilator sagging against his chin as Robotnik’s brain reboots itself. AL02B nudges his shoulder. Forcing himself to move feels like wading through quicksand, but he carefully extracts his hand and pulls the ventilator away as Stone takes another breath, and then another. There’s a chirping at his elbow, and when he turns to look, it’s C14N001, extending a coil of cannula tubing towards him with her single metal arm. Her flickering lens whirrs as she glances between Stone, breathing on his own once more, and himself, gloved hands drenched and trembling. 

He takes the tubing. She bobs in place for a moment before moving to hover over Stone’s legs, scanning him. The space she once occupied is summarily filled by W475.N3 and W475.L11, carefully toting an oxygen tank between the two of them. They bump against his legs once they deposit their cargo, and disappear into the depths of the lab once more, likely joining the last of the clean-up efforts. 

Robotnik takes a deep breath. The rest of the procedure unfolds in his mind’s eye. Hook Stone up to oxygen and monitor his levels carefully while he attempts to close and reinforce his sternum. Send one of the girls out to “acquire” antibiotics, because he’ll be damned if Stone contracts something horrific after all the effort Robotnik just went through to save his sorry ass. Stitch up the incisions. Check that the gunshot wounds hadn’t re-opened in the chaos. Set up a blood transfusion. Scrub down. Watch his vitals. Assess the footage to see how exactly the rats entered his domain. 

The gloves come off first, latex squeaking and stretching as he methodically removes them and places them in the biohazard bin one of the girls helpfully fetched from the janitorial closet. A new pair snaps back on in a matter of muscle memory while Robotnik solidifies his plan of attack. 

Much later, when he finally gets a break and collapses into his chair beside Stone’s gurney, free of his scrubs and the latex gloves, Robotnik creates a new high-priority project to place at the forefront of his workload. A pair of medically-focused drones-- maybe three, or a whole fleet? It should be a cakewalk, given the complex works of art he’s already created. The prototyping period might take a bit longer than the weaponry drones, if only because they’re in the exact opposite field he’s been paid to work in for years now, but sheer determination will make up for any unfamiliarity. 

He’ll do anything to avoid holding Stone’s life in his hands like this again. He’d thrilled over it, once, before they’d begun their little… arrangement. The power trip of holding his very existence in his hands— placed there so willing and trusting by a man who could break every bone in his body— was headier than any drug Robotnik had ever fooled around with. But, now, to know that every tremble of his hands and every panic-driven moment of hesitation could jeopardise Stone’s survival? He simply cannot avoid the facts any longer: he is not as impartial as he once was. There is undeniable proof now, pressed into the atria of Stone’s heart and every layer of dermis and intercostal muscle and bone separating the very meat of him from the vile mortal world. Proof that Dr. Ivo Robotnik is not the unbiased, inhuman observer he once was.

He should rest. His arms still ache. His head pounds with the looming threat of a migraine. Instead of retreating to his quarters or curling up on the secondary gurney, Robotnik tugs his control gloves on and drags a holo-screen over to his careful perch beside Stone. The thick fabric and metal sensor caps hide the traitorous shake in his fingers just enough for him to pretend like it isn’t happening. He opens his self-built schematics program, ignoring his work flow playlists in favour of keeping one ear trained on the steady beeping of the monitors tracking his agent’s vitals. 

If he doesn’t sleep until Stone finally rouses for the briefest of moments, early the next morning, well. That’s between him and the girls (and Stone’s unconscious body).