#Signal Processing Online Help

[thewriteadviceforwriters]

How to Start Writing Again When the Spark Fades

Sometimes the well of creativity runs dry, leaving you staring at a blank page with nothing but frustration. But trust that the art of writing is as much about the journey as it is about the destination. Here are some ideas to help you reconnect with your writing practice when you feel like your passion has dimmed.

Redefine Your Environment Consider taking a deliberate step outside your usual writing space. The environment in which you work can drastically affect your mindset and creative flow. Even if it’s setting up in a different corner of your home, finding refuge in a local café, or enjoying the subtle distractions of a park bench, a change in scenery often signals a mental reset. This isn’t about permanent relocation, just a simple shift can break the monotony and stir new ideas that have been hiding in plain sight.

Embrace Imperfection The pressure to produce perfect prose can be paralyzing. Give yourself permission to create something imperfect yet honest. Think of every sentence you write as a rough sketch, a necessary experiment in understanding your own voice. When you allow yourself the space to write without the weight of perfection, you invite experimentation and genuine self-expression. That freedom lies at the heart of rediscovering why you fell in love with writing in the first place.

Set Incremental Goals for Continuous Momentum When the idea of diving into a full chapter feels overwhelming, scale back to manageable, bite-sized projects that feel achievable. Instead of demanding a polished page, challenge yourself to write a paragraph or even a single sentence each day. These micro-goals build a foundation of small successes, gradually restoring confidence and momentum. Over time, these consistent efforts enrich your creative reservoir, proving that every little step is indeed a victory.

Engage Deeply in the Process of Freewriting Allow yourself to spill thoughts onto the page without judgment or expectation. Freewriting is an exercise in vulnerability and self-exploration, offering you a space to unburden tangled ideas and unexpected insights. In these unfiltered moments, you might stumble upon a germ of an idea or a rediscovered passion that rekindles your creative fire. Embracing this unstructured approach can transform an intimidating blank page into an open canvas of potential you haven't tapped back into.

Rekindle Old Inspirations There is power in revisiting the work and moments that first ignited your creative spirit. Even if it’s rereading an old journal entry, rediscovering a favorite piece of literature, or reflecting on the stories that once moved you, reconnecting with your past inspirations can shed new light on your present creative journey. This reflective practice not only reminds you of your original passion but may also reveal new directions for your current writing endeavors.

Create a Consistent, Loving Writing Routine Creating a structured yet gentle routine can help reestablish your relationship with writing. Treat your writing time as a vital appointment, a moment carved out just for you. Even if inspiration seems scarce, the simple act of sitting down, opening your notebook, and letting words flow without self-censorship can be incredibly healing. Over time, this practice transforms writing from an obligation into a ritual of self-discovery and mindfulness.

Connect with a Community That Understands Engaging with fellow writers can remind you that you’re not alone in this struggle. The shared experience of creative highs and lows can be profoundly comforting. Join writing groups, participate in online forums, or simply reach out to someone whose work inspires you. These interactions foster a sense of belonging and accountability, encouraging you to keep writing even when the path isn’t clear. In the gentle exchange of ideas and feedback, there is often a spark that reignites your dedication.

Every writer’s journey is unique, filled with ebbs and flows. If you’re feeling disconnected, know that these moments are integral to growth. Embrace each phase as an opportunity to rediscover writing on its own terms, and allow your passion to guide you back into the words you love. If you need any advice from me, never be afraid to send me an ask.

Until next time, Rin T.

[soaps-mohawk]

Cherry Red, Crimson Blood

Chapter 3 - Speak Their Language

Summary: You get something to aid you in your attempts to bond with your pack. Unfortunately, your ideas have consequences for everyone.

Pairing: Poly 141 x reader

Warnings: Alpha/Beta/Omega dynamics, Alternate Universe, a/b/o typical classism and sexism, some brief violent imagery but nothing worse than what's in the game, lots of military inaccuracies

Author's Note: Did you know there’s Scottish translators online? I do now lmaooo. Those military inaccuracies are really coming through in this one so...if you’re here for accuracy...I am so sorry. This one's a bit shorter, more of a filler for the next one but there's some important stuff that happens that you'll need for the next chapter. Also a lot of good ole easter eggs and references in this one. If you can find them all, I’ll give you a cookie. 

MASTERLIST | <- Previous | Next ->

You perk up when a knock sounds at your door. You hop off your bed, eagerly swinging the door open. Price is standing there, a package in his hands. The corner of his mouth twitches as you smile, almost bouncing on your toes in excitement. 

“Kate said you’d be expecting this.” He says, amusement shining in his eyes. 

You nod, holding out your hands. “Yes, sir!” 

You take the package, holding it against your chest. You had sworn Kate to secrecy about what was in it, after a long explanation of why you needed it and why you were asking her for it and not Price. She said she threw in a few other things, things you didn’t realize you’d miss once you moved to the UK. You knew she likely did that so she wouldn’t have to lie to Price when he asked.

“Don’t have too much fun.” He says, giving you a smile. 

“I’ll try not to.” You grin. “Thank you, sir!” 

You close the door, not bothering to lock it as you bound back to your bed. You open the package, digging through the snacks to the bottom of the box. You move the box to the floor, holding the book in your lap. You run your hand over the cover, excitement thrumming through you. 

“The Powerful Omega.” 

You’ve spent the last few days running through what you remembered from the book the last time you read it almost four years ago. There wasn’t much, only a few things sticking with you. Things you thought would be helpful. 

That was long before you knew you’d be placed in a military pack, though. 

You curl up on your bed as the others head out for the afternoon, the familiar sound of boots disappearing down the hallway fading into the background as you dig into the book. You’re determined to find some way to get Ghost to at least be tolerant of your presence. You don’t need him to want you, you don’t even need him to like you. You just know the entire process will be easier if he’s at least accepting of the fact you’re going to be part of the pack, whether either of you like it or not. 

He’s a big, tough, military alpha who doesn’t like to show his face. There has to be something in the book that might help you, or at least give you ideas on what to try. You know the best you can do with Ghost is try. He’s an enigma on purpose, and it seems like he’s going to stay that way, regardless of how close you try and get to him. 

You could use Soap to get close to him. Ghost’s protective aura practically envelopes Soap whenever they’re in close proximity, laying a claim without even having to touch one another. You know getting close to Soap could force Ghost to get comfortable with you, or it might make him more territorial.

But that scene at breakfast a few days ago, when he’d gotten defensive over that soldier staring in your direction. 

You let out an exasperated sigh, opening the book. “Alphas are so infuriating for literally no reason.” You murmur to yourself. 

You read until another knock sounds at the door, signaling lunch. You use your note pages as a bookmark, stuffing the book into the back of your underwear drawer before opening the door. 

“Hungry, pup?” Price greets you as he usually does when he’s escorting you to a meal. 

You nod, stepping out and closing the door behind you. “Always, sir.” 

Like most omegas, you have a healthy appetite. It always gets bigger close to your heat, and you never quite feel satisfied and full during that time. You wonder how you’re going to manage on a military base with such a rigid schedule. There’s always snacks in the rec room, but you’re going to need a lot more than chips and protein drinks to keep you happy when the time comes. 

You follow Price to the mess, his arm brushing yours as you walk. You’ve noticed them getting closer to you over the past few days, at least in the literal sense. It started with Soap and Gaz. They walk closer to you, sit closer to you. When you join them in the evenings in the rec room they’ve started putting you between them. Price has now started getting closer, walking closer to you, standing closer to you, often looming behind you like a shadow. 

Ghost is the only one who hasn’t changed much, still regarding you with disinterest and speaking shortly to you when you’re forced to interact. 

“Don’t worry about ‘im lass. He'll warm up tae ye.” Soap had reassured you after a rather cold shoulder from Ghost. 

You’re not entirely sure that’s possible. You’re determined to at least try to get on amicable terms with him, and you’re hopeful the book will help with that. Even if he’s nothing more than just another alpha in your pack, if you can get him to stop being so icy around you, perhaps you’ll be able to settle in better. 

And maybe you’ll be able to fix your lack of instincts. 

Dr. Keller said there was nothing wrong with your lack of instincts at this point in the transition, but everything you had learned at The Institute goes against what she said. You’re an omega. Your job is to be obedient, to serve your pack, and follow your alpha’s commands. Good omegas do what’s asked of them without question, putting their trust in their alpha. No one knows what’s best for you like your alpha. 

Your alpha hasn’t asked much of anything of you. 

You don’t know how to feel about that. 

“I’m startin’ tae think that sandwich insulted ye, lass.” 

Soap’s voice pulls you from your thoughts. You have been sitting and staring at your sandwich for a while, lost in your thoughts. It’s not a terrible sandwich by any means, certainly better than the ones you got at The Institute. 

They’re all staring at you, four pairs of eyes watching you. You’ve barely touched your plate, and you hardly remember going through the line. 

You shake your head, picking up your fork to poke at whatever mushy vegetable Price had added to your tray. “No, it’s fine. I was just lost in thought.” 

“‘Bout what?” Soap asks, taking a bite of his own sandwich. 

You shrug. “Just something Dr. Keller said.” 

“Ah, omega secrets then.” Soap grins. “I’ve heard rumors that omegas know the true meaning of the universe.” 

“Yeah, it’s 42.” You say, earning a chuckle from Price. 

If you hadn’t been looking, you wouldn’t have noticed the shift in Ghost’s shoulders, the slight softening of his gaze for a moment as he stares at his own sandwich. 

He's laughing at you again. 

He’s an enigma, a confusing presence in your life. You have no choice but to have him in your life, just as he has no choice but to have you in his life. 

You finish your food quickly, wanting to get back to the book. You’ve already got some ideas floating around from it, things that might help you ease into their world a bit more. 

Gaz walks you back to the barracks after lunch, the area between the two buildings more crowded than usual. You both slow a bit as a whistle sounds through the air, your head turning as a rather crude comment reaches your ears. 

“Ignore them.” Gaz says, putting a hand on your back. “Bunch of cocksure alphas. They’re always rowdy after the weekend. They go out, surround themselves with omega barrack bunnies, make themselves feel important.” 

“Have you...been with a barrack bunny?” You ask hesitantly, mostly out of curiosity. You know they likely have. They've had their entire lives they've been able to dictate for themselves. 

“Not since joining the team.” He answers honestly. “None of us have. We don’t usually have the time, or the need. We have each other now.”

And now they have you.

“Do they, the other soldiers...do they know why I’m here?” You find yourself asking as you enter the barracks. 

“Not specifically.” Gaz says. “Most of what we do is classified, even to them. I think some of them have begun to put two and two together. And before too long, they’ll be able to figure it out.” He says, giving you a look as you stop in front of your door. 

“Yeah...” You say softly, your stomach churning nervously at the thought of your approaching heat. There’s still quite a bit of time before then, but you don’t feel ready. You don’t feel ready to spend a heat with an alpha, you don’t feel ready to be claimed. 

“Don’t worry too much.” He says, pressing his finger between your brows like he might be able to smooth out the frown that’s formed between them. “Price will take good care of you. Besides, we’ve got plenty of time to work out the kinks.” He chucks you under the chin gently before he leans down, pressing a kiss to your rapidly warming cheek. “I’ll see you later, yeah?” 

You still feel a bit like you’re floating as you close your door behind you. Your face is warm, not just from the forwardness of Gaz’s actions but also his words. You let out a quiet sound as you fan your face, trying desperately not to think about how soft his lips are, how easily he had ignited a fire within you with some words and a simple touch. 

Gaz is trouble, you think as you pull out the book again, settling down at your desk to read. 

You open the book, starting at the next section. 

Bonding With Your Pack. 

This is what you need, ideas on how to do exactly that. Even though you’re already beginning to feel close to Soap and Gaz, you still feel as if there’s a chasm keeping you from Price, and an ocean between you and Ghost. You just need something, anything that will start building that rope bridge and maybe a boat. 

Learn To Speak Their Language. 

You pause at the chapter title, pulling out the notebook you’ve been taking notes in. 

“As much as we want to think it can be, not everything can be about us all the time. Just like in any relationship, we have to put effort into others as well. If you find yourself struggling to connect with your alpha, the first step is to figure out something they’re interested in. Sports? Video Games? Food? Get to know your alpha, and make it a point to learn about something they’re interested in. Learn to speak their language.” 

You read the passage thrice over, the realization dawning on you. You knew from the beginning that getting them to adapt to you was not going to be possible. You were going to have to adapt yourself to fit into their lives. Their lives of fighting and war and violence and guns. 

An idea begins to form in your head as you brainstorm, scribbling page after page of notes. It’s not perfect, but you’re in no rush to perfect it. After all, you’ve got nothing but time.

You sit next to Soap at breakfast, close enough his arm is brushing yours. You wish you could see Ghost’s face, or, well, his eyes at least. 

“So what do you guys do between breakfast and lunch?” You ask, all four of them pausing as they look at you. You continue to eat, pretending not to notice their looks. You know mornings are for their workouts before breakfast, but what they do between meals is almost entirely unknown to you. You assume it’s some sort of training, maybe meetings and briefings. 

“Training, usually.” Price answers after a moment. “Running simulations, training courses, weapons training, hand-to-hand. Keeps our skills sharp. Today they’re running a routine course to make sure they’re not getting lazy in our time off.” 

“Can I come?” You ask, their gazes snapping to you again. “To watch? I’m getting kind of bored sitting around.” 

Price’s gaze burns into you as you meet it, not looking away despite the tickling at the back of your neck telling you to yield. Tough alphas like a challenge, the book said. Don’t back down, even when you want to. 

“I don’t see why not.” He finally says, picking up his cup of coffee. “Give these muppets another reason to compete with each other.” 

The table erupts in chaos as Gaz and Soap immediately start betting with each other. You can’t help but smile, used to their bickering and competitiveness after spending time with them doing literally anything together. 

This is certainly going to be interesting, if nothing else. 

“There’s two rules for you being here.” Price says as you walk with him down a line of hangars. “You do everything I say, and stick close to me. They’ll be using live rounds, and the last thing we need is you catching a stray bullet in some freak accident.” 

“Sir, yes, sir!” You say, saluting him. 

He stares down at you for a moment, amusement shining in his eyes. “Cute.” He leads you into the hangar, a sort of building made out of plywood set up inside. “Over here.” He leads you to where a sort of command center is set up. 

There’s screens showing feeds from cameras set up inside the mock building, a timer and an intercom system set up. You look it over in amazement, Price coming to stand next to you. 

“How does it work?” You ask. 

“They enter there.” He points to what you assume represents the front door. “Work their way through both levels to clear the house.There’s targets in some rooms that pop up when certain pressure triggers are hit on the floor. Hit every target, clear the house, exit there,” He points at a spot on the side of the house in front of where you’re standing. “And reach that red line in 60 seconds.” 

You blink in surprise. “How fast can they do it?” 

“Gaz holds the record currently at 19 seconds, Ghost in second at 19.5, and Soap at 20.5.” He says. 

“Wow.” You say under your breath, looking over the cameras again. “I’m not sure I could even think that fast.” 

Price chuckles. “I wouldn’t expect you to be able to, sweetheart. We’ve had years and years of training and experience. Stay here, I’ll be right back.” He says, heading back down the steps to where the others have gathered, wearing light gear. 

It’s not the first time you’ve seen them all geared up, but the change is always palpable. Gone are the laid back betas and alpha, and instead they’ve shifted into battle-hardened soldiers. It’s almost mesmerizing how easily they can shift between the two. 

And you can hardly handle your instincts getting a little twitchy. 

Price joins you again, turning on the intercom system. “Alright Gaz, at my go sweep the house and clear the rooms.” You hold your breath as Price pauses, Gaz in place at the front door. “Go, go, go!” Price says, the timer starting as Gaz enters the house. 

You watch on the cameras as he goes through the lower levels, jumping slightly as the first gunshots echo through the hangar. They’re louder than you had expected, even with the hangar doors opened partway. You feel a bit anxious as you watch the time and his progress, almost as if you’re watching an intense movie. 

17...18...19...

Gaz slips through the side door, racing for the red line marking the end. You stare at the timer as Price hits the stop button. Twenty one seconds. You wonder how often they don’t meet their previous records, or if their break really is having that much of an effect on them. You hear Gaz curse quietly as he passes, heading back to stand by Soap as Ghost gets ready at the start. 

The nervous anticipation doesn't lessen any as Ghost makes his way through the house, moving swiftly and silently as he always seemed to do. For such a large being he can move so quietly with an ease unlike you’ve ever seen. 

You watch the timer as he crosses the red line. 21.9. 

You catch a whiff of his scent as he passes, the hint of ozone burning your nose. He’s frustrated. They have to know they’re not performing as well as they know they can. Part of you wonders if it’s your fault they’re not even meeting their best times. 

Soap is up last, moving with an ease and focus that you’re not entirely surprised he’s capable of. Though he tends to be the most lighthearted of the four, and the most unserious, he made it on the team for a reason. 

Again you watch the timer, still held at rapt attention in the intensity of the moment as he crosses the red line. 25. He lets out a loud string of curses, most of which you don’t understand as he moves back to the start. 

“Wait here.” Price says before descending back down the steps. 

You’ve seen the change in him as well, a bit more subtle as he always seemed to be in the Captain mindset to some degree. You wonder if he’s ever not the Captain, if there’s a time where he gets to just be John Price. You wonder what he’s like when he doesn’t have the weight of his responsibility constantly on his shoulders. You wonder when the last time he got to let go like that was. 

“It’s my fault, isn’t it?” You say as he joins you once more. You’re beginning to think maybe you made a mistake in asking to come along. 

“Most likely.” He says, resetting the timer. “But that’s something we need to know. This is the new normal. They need to learn to work through it.” 

Especially if it’s you they’re trying to get to. 

You knew there was a risk. Just being associated with them puts you at risk. They’re hidden, anonymous, deeply classified for a reason. You’d gotten that briefing during your time training with the CIA, after Laswell had told you where you would be going. Just knowing their names, who they are, where their home base is, is enough to put you in danger. You were hidden just as much as they were now, your entire existence now hidden beneath layers of security clearance. 

You could still be a target, if anyone found out. They might think you have information, details about their missions, about the things they do. 

The likelihood of that happening was low, but never zero. There was still risk involved in being around them, a risk you were assigned to take. It was your duty, though, as an omega. Do what you’re told, go where you’re sent, follow your alpha without question. 

Institutes really are like the military, you think. Only you’re fighting a different battle than they are.

You’re seated on the couch in your usual spot, curled up with a book. Your pack was having some downtime as Price had an emergency meeting he had to attend. Your heart had jumped a bit at the news, at the thought that they might be pulled away early. They weren’t supposed to get called off on a mission until after your next heat to allow for the adjustment and claiming, but if they were needed...they could be called away before then. 

So you’d settled in with a book in the rec room to try and calm your nervous energy. 

“Mind if I join ye?” 

You look up as Soap enters the rec room, a smile on his face. “No, go ahead.” You offer a smile back. 

He joins you on the couch, lifting your legs over his lap. You flush a bit at the bold move, but you were growing used to his boldness. “What are ye readin’?” 

“‘Lord of the Flies.’” You say, holding up the cover. 

“Did ye finish the other one already?” He asks in astonishment. 

“I’ve already read two books since I got here.” You say, laughing a little. 

“Och, yer a bright wee lamb, aren’t ye?” He chuckles. “Ye like tae read?” 

You nod. “Yeah. It’s good for passing the time.” 

He hums, grabbing the remote. “Ghost likes tae read too. Dinnae tell him I told ye that.” He holds up the remote. “Ye mind?” 

You shake your head. “No, go ahead.”��

He turns on the TV, keeping the volume low as he sits with you. His hand is warm where it rests on your calf, his thumb absentmindedly stroking circles over the fabric. You try to focus on the book but you can’t help the fluttering in your stomach at the proximity of the beta. You keep catching whiffs of his scent, and you’re beginning to feel an urge to ask him  about Ghost. If anyone can give you answers, it’ll be Soap. 

“Soap?” You ask, closing your book. 

He hums, turning to look at you. You stare into those bright blue eyes, your heart fluttering a bit. His eyes are so warm and expressive, shining with something you can’t quite put a name to. 

“Does Ghost...hate me?” You ask quietly, knowing with your luck as soon as you start the conversation, the man in question would appear out of nowhere. 

Soap’s lips tug up into a smile, a quiet chuckle rumbling through his chest. “Nae, lass. He doesnae hate ye. Ghost is...” He makes a face, trying to find the right words. “Ghost is very guarded.” 

He slips his arms around you, lifting you into his lap. You let out a quiet sound in surprise, wrapping an arm around his broad shoulders out of instinct. His arms wrap around you, his tactical vest digging into your side a bit, but you’re too focused on the sudden proximity to really care. 

“He's no an easy man tae get close tae.” He continues. “I know. Couldnae stand me when we first met. I broke him down, proved myself. We spent enough time together, and that bond just formed naturally.” 

“He sees me as a threat.” You say, voicing the opinion you’ve been coming to over the last few days. 

“I wouldnae say a threat.” Soap grins, his hand squeezing your side. “A wee yin like ye. He just needs time tae adjust. He's gonnae dae it in his own way.” 

“I don’t even need him to really like me.” You say, tracing the Union Jack on the front of Soap’s vest. “I just need him to tolerate me.” 

“This is him tolerating ye.” Soap deadpans. 

You give him a look. “Well he’s got a funny way of showing it then.” 

Soap chuckles, the sound vibrating through your body. “Nah, dinnae worry too much about him, hen.” 

You hum, leaning your head on his shoulder. “You’re right. It’s Captain Price I need to worry about.” 

“I dinnae think ye need tae worry too much there either.” Soap grins. “The Cap’n is head over heels for ye already.” 

You give him a look of disbelief, eyebrows raising. “What?” 

Soap nods. “Oh aye, I havenae seen him smile this much in all the time I’ve known him.” 

You continue to stare in disbelief. You knew Price at least tolerated the idea of you becoming his omega. He’s been nothing but polite, cordial even with you. In the traditional sense he’s already begun courting you, providing and protecting. You still have yet to move beyond the polite tiptoeing, even with how things have been shifting the last few days.

You have the beta’s approval, which you know is an important step in pack formation. 

You bite your lip, your fingers curling around the edge of his vest. “You really think he...” 

“Mhm.” Soap nods. “Cannae blame him, pretty omega like ye strutting around the base.” 

He’s getting closer to you. You can’t do anything but stay still as his face lowers towards yours. Your stomach is fluttering, but you can’t tell if it’s nerves or excitement. His hand slides down your side, following the curve of your hip before it settles on your thigh. He’s so warm, his scent amplified with your close proximity. You feel a bit dizzy, your head spinning a bit. You understand now how betas can still win over both alphas and omegas. 

“We all feel lucky havin’ ye.” He says quietly, his breath fanning your face. His forehead presses against yours, so close to you your noses are brushing.

You wonder what Ghost would do if he walked in and saw you this close to his beta. Would your body fly through a window or a wall? Or would he tackle you, wrap his hands around your throat and squeeze until your head pops or your airway collapses? Or, was Soap right and he would do nothing? 

Or would he like it? 

The thought sends a shiver down your spine. Soap likes you, both of the betas in your new pack like you. It’s good, you know, having the approval of both betas, even though you don’t technically need both. Price could claim you with only his and Gaz’s approval, though it would be easier if all four approved. 

You wonder if Ghosts supposed tolerance of you is because of Soap. The alpha is very protective of his beta, though you don’t doubt Soap would go to bat for you if he needed to. 

He might have already. 

Soap hasn’t moved, both of you frozen where you are. He wants to kiss you, you think, your brain pulling up all the movies you’ve seen in your life. You’re gripping onto him tightly, your stomach fluttering. You’re nervous, unsure of how to move next. Do you let him kiss you? You’ve only been kissed once before, but that was hardly more than a childish peck on the lips. He wants to kiss you like they do in the movies. 

Will Soap be upset if you pull away? Will he force you back and take what he wants? There would be no stopping him. Even if the others were in the building, even if they heard you, would they come to your rescue? Or would they let it happen because it’s your purpose? What would Ghost do if he walked in and saw you? What would Price do? Would Price be upset that he wasn’t the first to kiss you? 

You are his claim after all. 

You slowly draw yourself back, removing your arm from around his shoulders as you turn slightly to face the TV. You hold your breath, not wanting to catch the souring of Soap’s scent, the tell that he was upset at your decision. You wait for his grip to tighten, for his body to force you back onto the couch. His hand moves from your thigh and you tense, waiting for the reprimanding to come, but instead he simply wraps his arms around your upper body again, holding you like he had been before. 

Your heart is still thudding in your chest as you quietly watch the TV, the silence in the room thick but not uncomfortable. You lean your head back on his shoulder, letting yourself relax into him. The almondy scent of beta is thick in the air, likely his doing to diffuse the tension he must be able to feel. 

“British TV is weird.” You say, trying to follow along with what’s going on, on the screen. 

Soap laughs, squeezing his arms around you for a moment. “Aye, it really is.” 

You continue to sit with him, letting his scent relax you. You’ve given up following what’s on the TV, his warmth and presence slowly lulling you until your eyes are drifting closed. 

The scent permeates the air everywhere he goes. 

Caramel. Vanilla. Strawberries. 

No amount of scent blockers can keep it from seeping under his mask, permeating his senses. He’d spray the scent blocker up his nose if he thought it might work. You’re stinking up the base, his beta, his life. Even now he can smell it, the sweet cloud of your scent wafting through the halls. 

He can pick up the sharp tang of anxiety on the edge of it, a low growl rumbling through his chest in response. It burns his nose and he hates it. His boots are quiet on the tile floor as he makes for the rec room, following the cocktail of scents. Your pungent sweetness layered over Johnny’s warm spice. 

Images flash through his mind of what position he might find you both in. He can smell the musky undertones of Johnny’s desire in the air, a scent he’s very familiar with. He knows how much his beta wants the new omega that’s been forced on them. They don’t need an omega. He knows how much Price fought against it, but even the Captain has begun to fall under your intoxicating spell. 

You don’t even know you’re doing it. 

His hands curl into fists as he steps into the rec room. The TV is playing some daytime rerun, but his eyes are drawn to the couch. Johnny is fast asleep, his head leaning against yours. You’re asleep in his lap, hand under your cheek, resting against his chest. You’ll have imprints on your skin from your hand and his vest. Johnny’s arms are wrapped tight around you, looking more peaceful than he has in a while. 

He’s already comfortable enough to sleep with you. 

“MacTavish!” He snaps, startling both of you. 

The only thing that keeps you from flailing to the floor is Johnny’s quick reflexes, his grip tightening around you to keep you on his lap. Johnny blinks the sleep from his eyes, squinting up at him for a moment. 

“Let’s move.” He growls, turning and leaving the rec room. 

He refuses to look at you in your sleepy haze, not quite as quick to wake as Johnny. He doesn’t want to watch the way Johnny eases you to your feet, how small you look leaning against him as you grumble sleepily. He doesn’t want to watch as Johnny guides you to your door, easing you into the safety of your room while they leave to do their jobs. 

He hates the way he turns back to look as Johnny speaks quietly to you, those big, shiny puppy eyes staring up at him. He hates the churning in his stomach as you soften at Johnny’s kiss to your forehead, the way you watch Johnny walk down the hallway. Ghost opens the door for his beta, letting him out, but he can’t bring himself to move until he hears the click of the lock on your door sliding into place. 

NEXT ->

Taglist:

@bobaprint @ashy-kit @anunintentionalwriter @mockerycrow @hayleybarnesx @protokosmonaut @fruitymoonbeams-blog @blue-blue0 @hindi-si-ikay @hanellokey @thatonepupkai @redwites @kattiieeee @141trash @ghostlythots @lothiriel9 @dillybuggg @beebeechaos @konigsmissedbeltloop @kaoyamamegami @thychuvaluswife @idkkkkkkk8363 @wallwriterstuff @bisky-business @smile-child-13 @anomiatartle @dangerkittenclaws @bless-my-demons @mystic60 @evolutionarry @red-hydra @lunaetiicsaystuff @cadotoast @linaangel @rancid-wasp @codsunshine @thriving-n-jiving @slayerx147 @ferns-fics @spicyspicyliving @cityoffallencrows @puppyel @ttsbaby01 @heeheehoohoohahahihi @sleepyoriana @ihatethinkingofnames10

[coldhndss]

Baby fever

Chigiri Hyoma

request

Tears glossed the eyes of your mother as she gave you one last hug. Her arms wrapped so tightly around you that you felt like you’d asphyxiate any moment now.

“Mom, we’ll only be gone for two weeks.” You let out a breathy laugh as she finally released you from her grasp.

Looking to your side, Hyoma’s sister was ruffling his hair playfully as the two of them laughed together. His mother tapped his shoulder, signalling for him to lean in closer. As she whispered into his ear, you noticed a rosy hue spread across his cheeks. He gripped the handle of his suitcase defensively as she broke out into laughter. Checking the time on your phone, you sighed. “We’re going to have to get going now.” You said, turning to your parents with a smile.

Saying your goodbyes to his family, you gave his mother and sister a quick hug before the two of you took off into the departure gate. Unzipping your carryon, you prepared the passports for check-in. The two of you took your place in line and you turned to face him. “You’ve been pretty quiet since we left. Do you miss your family already?” You joked, elbowing him gently. Once again, you noticed a look of embarrassment wash over his face.

“…Yep.” He muttered, turning his gaze away from yours.

After the whole security checks process was over, you had finally reached the terminal that the plane would be departing from. The two of you took a brief moment to rest before checking out the various shops and grabbing something quick to eat. And before you knew it, as you were chewing the last bite of your meal, the PA system announced your flight by number, notifying the terminal that they were now boarding. You scrambled to the line as the prepared the tickets.

As you took your seat on the plane, you exhaled a sigh of relief.

“You’re always so stressed about these things, you know?” He chuckled, sliding your suitcases into the overhead storage before taking the seat next to you.

“I can’t help it, it’s our first time on a trip together.” Dipping your head onto his shoulder, you noticed the way he uncharacteristically fidgeted with his fingers.

“Yeah…”

Just then, a thought crossed your mind. Ever since the two of you announced that you’d be going on a honeymoon close to a month ago, your parents had been hinting at the idea of having a grandchild in various ways. Re-gifting you your old baby clothes, dropping hints for baby names, even jokes about who a prospective child might look more like.

Just as your face began to feel warmer than a few seconds ago, the plane began to take off, distracting you from your earlier thoughts. Your hand gripped his tightly as you glued your eyes shut.

The flight left you feeling nauseous and homesick. He laughed at your expression as the two of you stepped off the plane together. “You’re seriously that taken aback by a flight?”

“I don’t regularly go overseas for soccer games, so yes.” You groaned as he offered to hold your suitcase for you. Though, stepping foot onto Italy - an unfamiliar destination -  warranted a heap of differences in culture, environment and weather. So, the two of you would need to navigate it together.

So, over the next few days, you both spent barely any time in the hotel, using it as somewhat of a storage destination after days of shopping and sightseeing. You visited various landmarks, trying a ton of different foods and desserts, and sadly, falling into many tourist traps.

On the weekend of your first week, the amount of activities you both had planned began to dwindle. It seemed like as excited as you both were to visit new places, it would end before your time here came to a close so the two of you needed to use one of your days to research online and plan a few more things. Take reservations at restaurants, watch a couple soccer matches (courtesy of Hyoma) and visit a few more sites.

Returning to the hotel room after a long day out, you dropped various shopping bags onto the ground before slumping onto the bed, your body limp.

“…Do we even have anymore money left?” You wondered aloud.

“Don’t worry, we’ve still got more than enough.” Folding his coat, he placed it on the table in the middle of the room before taking a seat on the edge of the bed next to you.

His gaze softened, his lips upturned into a warm smile. You couldn’t help but reciprocate his smile, carried by a light chuckle “What?”

His hand moved to brush a piece of hair away from your face. Suddenly, you found yourself gazing upwards at him. His face was directly over yours and each of his hands were placed beside your head, propping him up.

“Hyoma..?”

Despite his typical confidence, a rush of red painted his face this time. It looked as though you’d be able to feel the warmth if you cupped his cheek. And you did; the feeling rushed throughout your entire body and now you were burning up as well. His gaze was scattered, failing to meet your eyes, and your chest rapidly rose and fell with each hitched breath.

Gripping the collar of his shirt, he exhaled deeply, slumping over next to you. His head rested on your stomach as he fanned his face with his hand.

You let out a breathy laugh, the shakiness in your voice still apparent.

“Shut up…” He retorted, his voice carrying the same emotion as yours.

[covid-safer-hotties]

Also preserved in our archive (daily updates)

From September but still relevant.

By Jessica wildfire

The science of not helping.

In 1913, an engineer named Max Ringelmann noticed something weird about human behavior. When you told one person to do something like pull a rope, they tried really hard. When you put them into groups, they didn't try as hard.

They slacked.

Psychologists have identified this behavior as social loafing. Sometimes they also call it diffusion of responsibility, defined as "the idea that the presence of others changes the behavior of the individual by making them feel less responsible for the consequences of their actions," leading to "moral disengagement."

A 2005 study confirmed that when you put people into teams, each person does less, with the exception of highly motivated individuals, who wind up doing most of the work. If you were ever the team leader or facilitator, you know all about social loafing.

It happens online, too.

A 2022 review on diffusion of responsibility revealed that it happens all the time, in situations ranging from donations to tipping. It even happens in online communication. If you email one person, they're more likely to respond. They also give longer, more detailed responses. If you email a bunch of people, and they see each other copied on the message, they don't respond at all or they send shorter, less helpful replies.

Groups also make riskier decisions than individuals.

A team of psychologists asked a bunch of adults to play with marbles. They put them into pairs. Each pair's job was to stop the marble from sliding down a ramp. They won points if they stopped the marble before it hit the bottom. They got more points if their partner stopped it before they did. As predicted, both players got worse over time. As the study concludes, "The co-player's presence led participants to act later, reduced their subjective sense of agency, and also attenuated the neural processing of action outcomes." Basically, it made them slower and dumber.

In 1968, two psychologists wanted to see what adults would do in an emergency when they were alone, versus when they were in a group. They started pumping fake smoke into a room while people filled out a questionnaire. When they were on their own, 75 percent of participants did something. When they were in a group, the dynamic almost completely reversed. More than 60 percent of them did nothing. They just kept working on the questionnaire.

When the researchers asked why, participants said they didn't want to look stressed or anxious. They figured if nobody else was doing anything, then there was nothing wrong. They figured they were just overreacting. They cared more about looking weird than letting the building burn down.

That's called pluralistic ignorance.

You see similar results in studies over the last several decades. On their own, people generally take more responsibility.

There's nobody else to do it.

When you put them into groups, they start acting selfish and stupid. They look to each other for validation first. If they don't get any signals to act, then they'll ignore what their own eyes are telling them. The more people you add to a situation, the more passive they become, the less likely they jump into action.

About a decade after the smoke study, another team of psychologists ran a similar experiment, but this time it was a man beating a woman in public. Participants intervened when they thought the man was a stranger. When they thought the man was her husband, they didn't do anything. That's called confusion of responsibility, when bystanders think it's not their place to step in or step up to help, or they're afraid helping will get them into trouble with some kind of authority figure.

A 2018 study looked at the brain's natural response to emergencies. They observed a significant drop in the central gyrus and the prefrontal cortex, the parts of your brain associated with helping. A person's first reaction is to preserve themselves. Their brain has to cross an empathy or compassion threshold in order to risk their own safety and security by helping someone. Basically, they have to care more about the person in danger than themselves.

A 2019 study in Aggressive Behavior found that friends and family members help each other when strangers don't. In fact, knowing the person makes you roughly 20 times more likely to help. Flip that, and you see that if someone doesn't know you, they're 20 times less likely to get involved.

Saturation also plays a role.

When you add more people to a situation, there's less for them to do. At least, that's what they usually think. If someone's already helping, then bystanders are less likely to get involved.

The gravity of an emergency also makes a difference. Basically, an emergency has to look bad enough to get someone's attention, but not so bad that it triggers their self-protection instincts.

You can see why this setup poses a problem when it comes to a crisis that falls way above or way below that threshold.

The climate crisis and the pandemicene hit us right in the middle of the bystander effect, exploiting pluralistic ignorance and diffusion of responsibility. It's exactly the kind of problem everyone wants someone else to do something about.

The super rich grasp this vulnerability, at least intuitively.

So do politicians.

They're perfectly happy to profit off our deaths and the destruction of our future while everyone stands around waiting for someone else to make the hard decisions, for someone else to make the personal sacrifices, for someone else to deal with the problem. Even worse, they use the inaction they see as an excuse for them to do nothing. After all, why should Monica give up her carbon bomb vacation when Heather is going to Italy?

As we've observed time and again, everyone reinforces each other's anxiety about looking weird if they're the only ones doing the right thing. They would rather sabotage their own health than violate social codes.

Some research has pushed back on the bystander effect, showing that people do tend to offer help even when they're in a crowd. However, the Aggressive Behavior study shows this likely happens because of accountability cues. In other words, they act because there's a camera present of some kind or some other indication that there's going to be consequences for not helping. That's why they help.

They don't want to look bad.

Here's the strangest part:

Most people know about the diffusion of social responsibility, along with terms like social loafing and pluralistic ignorance. If they don't, they've heard the story of Kitty Genovese, even if it's exaggerated. We have countless examples of societies allowing moral crime and social murder to happen right in front of them, simply because their membership in society itself encouraged their silence and complicity.

They know all this, but they still decide to stay silent and complicit when it's happening right in front of them.

Maybe psychologists should study that.

Even when people know about these psychological and sociological hangups, they still choose to dwell in denial and wishful thinking. They tell themselves it's different this time, or there's some kind of exception to excuse it. They still choose to stand around and wait for someone else to do the right thing, until it's too late. They're really good at admitting fault and promising to do better after the fact, especially when they can fall back on a diffusion of responsibility as the reason.

Then they wait for everyone to forget.

Rinse and repeat.

It's ironic that we keep talking about society and community as something that calls on us to summon our better selves and help each other, when our actions continue to prove that group behavior often leads us to making bad decisions and indulging in our worst selves.

Simply being in a community isn't enough.

You have to do something.

[techhiz]

part 1, part 2

Faded Spark (?)

Months had passed since Y/N’s death, but for Knockout, the pain felt as fresh as if it had happened yesterday. Every time he entered the medbay, he was struck by the haunting memory of her lifeless frame on the table. No matter how much Breakdown tried to help him cope, the guilt and grief remained like a shadow he couldn’t escape.

Meanwhile, at the Autobot base, life had resumed its usual rhythm—until a strange signal disrupted their routine.

“Optimus, we’re receiving a faint distress signal,” Raf reported, his fingers flying across the keyboard. The signal was weak, barely holding together, but it was enough to catch the Autobots’ attention.

“Can you pinpoint its location, Rafael?” Optimus asked, his deep voice calm but laced with urgency.

Raf nodded. “It’s coming from about ten miles outside Jasper. Looks like... a Cybertronian life signal. Barely hanging on.”

The room went silent for a moment.

“A Cybertronian? Out here?” Arcee questioned, narrowing her optics. “Could be a trap.”

“Or someone in trouble,” Bulkhead countered, his tone serious.

Optimus considered for a moment before turning to the team. “Arcee, Bumblebee, Bulkhead—investigate the source of the signal. Exercise caution, but if someone requires aid, we will not turn our backs on them.”

The Autobots transformed and rolled out, leaving Ratchet and the others behind to monitor the situation from the base.

The source of the signal led them to a small ravine, where they found the broken frame of a Cybertronian lying half-buried in the dirt. The bot was barely recognizable at first—missing an arm, one optic dark, and their side leaking faint traces of energon.

“Primus...” Bulkhead muttered as they approached. “Whoever they are, they’ve been through the Pit.”

Arcee crouched down to get a better look, her optics widening as she realized something. “Wait... this can’t be. This is—”

“Y/N,” Bumblebee beeped, his tone equal parts shock and disbelief.

The name struck them like a thunderclap. Y/N was supposed to be dead. The Decepticons had been mourning her for months, and yet, here she was—alive, but barely.

“She’s still online,” Arcee said, placing two fingers to the side of Y/N’s helm. “But just barely. We need to get her to Ratchet, now.”

Without hesitation, Bulkhead gently lifted Y/N’s broken frame and carried her back to the GroundBridge.

“By the AllSpark...” Ratchet breathed as the team arrived with Y/N. He immediately cleared a berth and gestured for Bulkhead to lay her down. “I thought she was dead!”

“We all did,” Arcee said grimly, watching as Ratchet began to work on her injuries. “But here she is. Somehow.”

Ratchet quickly assessed the extent of Y/N’s damage. Her frame was still in critical condition, but it was clear that someone had tried to stabilize her wounds before abandoning her. The patchwork repairs were crude—likely done in haste—but they had been enough to keep her alive.

“Her injuries are consistent with what Knockout described months ago,” Ratchet muttered as he worked. “Missing arm, optic damage, energon loss... It’s as if time stopped for her.”

“Can you save her?” Bumblebee asked, his tone pleading.

Ratchet’s optics softened as he glanced at the young scout. “I’ll do everything I can, Bumblebee. But her condition is precarious. She’ll need time to recover, even if I succeed.”

The Autobots watched in tense silence as Ratchet worked tirelessly to stabilize Y/N. After what felt like hours, the medic finally stepped back, his frame slumping slightly from exhaustion.

“She’ll survive,” Ratchet said at last. “But she’ll need rest and energon to regain her strength.”

Days passed, and Y/N began to show signs of improvement. Her remaining optic flickered weakly as she regained consciousness, but she remained quiet and disoriented. The Autobots were careful not to overwhelm her, giving her space to process her surroundings.

But as Y/N’s condition improved, a difficult question arose: should they inform Knockout and the Decepticons about her survival?

“I’m not sure how I feel about this,” Bulkhead admitted during a private discussion in the main room. “I mean, she’s Knockout’s sister. He has a right to know she’s alive.”

“And what happens if we tell him?” Arcee countered. “He’s a Decepticon, Bulkhead. If he knows we have her, he might use it as an excuse to attack us—or worse, take her back to Megatron.”

“Y/N was never really a fighter,” Bumblebee interjected, his beeps soft and thoughtful. “I don’t think she’d want to go back to that life.”

“Regardless of what she wants, it’s her choice,” Ratchet said, his tone firm. “She’s not a prisoner here, and we are not her captors. But we can’t make this decision for her.”

Optimus, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke. “The question is not whether we should inform Knockout, but whether Y/N wishes for us to do so. When she is ready, we will ask her. Until then, we will respect her autonomy.”

The Autobots nodded in agreement, though unease still lingered among the group.

As the days went on, Y/N grew stronger, and with that strength came clarity. She began to interact more with the Autobots, listening to their stories and learning about their lives. Though she still carried the scars—both physical and emotional—of her time with the Decepticons, she found a strange sense of comfort among her new companions.

One evening, as she sat quietly in the medbay, Ratchet approached her. He hesitated for a moment before speaking.

“Y/N,” he began gently, “there’s something we need to discuss.”

She turned to him, her optic dim but focused. “What is it?”

Ratchet sighed, leaning against the edge of the berth. “Your brother... Knockout. He believes you’re dead. We’ve been debating whether to inform him of your survival.”

Y/N’s expression flickered with pain at the mention of Knockout. She hadn’t forgotten her brother—not for a moment. Despite everything, she still loved him. But the thought of returning to the Decepticons filled her with dread.

“I don’t know if I’m ready to face him,” she admitted, her voice trembling. “He... he’d never forgive me if I stayed here. But I can’t go back to that life, Ratchet. I can’t.”

Ratchet nodded slowly, his optics filled with understanding. “You don’t have to make a decision right away. But know that whatever you choose, we’ll support you.”

Y/N managed a faint smile, her spark warming at the kindness in his words. For the first time in a long while, she felt like she had a choice—a chance to rebuild her life on her own terms.

The decision wasn’t easy, but she knew one thing for certain: she wasn’t the same bot who had left the Nemesis all those months ago.

And perhaps, in time, she could find a way to bridge the gap between her past and her future.

The year that followed Y/N's arrival at the Autobot base had been one of healing, growth, and transformation. Under the Autobots' guidance, she slowly regained her strength and found a new purpose. No longer the fragile and broken bot they had rescued, Y/N had embraced the Autobot cause, using her experiences to fight for a better future.

Her bond with her new allies had grown strong, especially with Bumblebee and Bulkhead, who treated her like a little sister. Though her frame still bore the scars of her time with the Decepticons, she carried herself with newfound confidence, wielding her past like armor.

But one thing she couldn’t shake was the memory of her twin brother, Knockout. Despite all the pain and suffering, she still missed him—his charm, his arrogance, the way he always managed to make her laugh. She often wondered if he’d moved on, if he’d forgiven himself for what had happened.

Unbeknownst to her, she was about to find out.

The Decepticons had launched a surprise assault on a remote Energon mine, and the Autobots had deployed to stop them. The battlefield was chaos—a flurry of blaster fire, clashing blades, and the deafening roar of explosions.

Y/N fought alongside her new family, her movements fluid and precise as she defended Bulkhead from a pair of Vehicons. Her optic narrowed as she brought her blade down on one, sending it crashing to the ground before turning to block the other’s attack.

“Nice work, Y/N!” Bulkhead shouted, smashing another Vehicon with his wrecking ball.

“Don’t get cocky, Bulkhead!” she called back, her voice carrying a teasing edge. “We’re not done yet!”

But as the battle raged on, a flash of crimson caught her optic, and her spark skipped a beat. There, amidst the chaos, was Knockout. He stood near the far edge of the battlefield, his polished frame glinting in the dim light of the mine.

He hadn’t seen her yet.

Her grip on her weapon tightened as conflicting emotions surged through her spark—relief, guilt, fear. For a moment, the battlefield seemed to fade away, and all she could see was her brother.

Knockout was in his element, darting around the battlefield with his usual flair. He didn’t relish combat, but when necessary, he made sure to leave an impression.

“Breakdown, watch your six!” he called out, firing a shot that sent an Autobot stumbling back.

“Got it!” Breakdown shouted, slamming his hammer into the ground and creating a shockwave.

But as Knockout moved to cover his partner, his optics caught something that made him freeze in place.

There, fighting alongside the Autobots, was a frame he knew better than his own.

“Y/N?” he whispered, his voice barely audible over the chaos.

It couldn’t be. She was dead. He’d seen her lifeless frame, held her cooling hand. And yet, there she was—alive and fighting.

For a moment, he forgot about the battle entirely. His optics locked onto her, scanning every detail of her frame. The scars, the missing optic, the arm she’d lost—all of it was still there. It was her.

“Y/N!” he shouted, his voice breaking with a mix of disbelief and desperation.

Y/N heard his voice and turned, her optic meeting his. For a moment, time seemed to stand still as they stared at each other, the distance between them feeling both infinite and insignificant.

“Knockout...” she whispered, her voice trembling.

Before she could say anything else, another explosion rocked the battlefield, forcing them both to take cover. When the dust settled, Knockout was already running toward her, his expression a mixture of joy and anguish.

“What—what are you doing here?” he demanded, stopping just short of her. His optics roamed over her, as if he couldn’t believe she was real. “You’re supposed to be dead! I... I thought I lost you!”

“I thought I lost myself,” Y/N admitted, her voice soft but steady. “But I survived, Knockout. The Autobots saved me.”

Knockout’s expression shifted, his optics narrowing. “The Autobots? You’re... with them now?”

“They gave me a second chance,” she said, stepping closer. “A chance to fight for something better. I couldn’t go back, Knockout. I couldn’t.”

Before Knockout could respond, Breakdown’s voice cut through the moment.

“Knockout! Behind you!”

Knockout turned just in time to see an Autobot charging toward him. He raised his weapon, but Y/N was faster. She leapt between them, blocking the attack with her blade.

“Y/N, what are you doing?” Knockout shouted, his voice filled with panic.

“Protecting you!” she snapped, pushing the Autobot back.

The fight escalated as more bots joined the fray, and Y/N found herself caught between her old family and her new one. She fought desperately to keep Knockout safe while fending off attacks from both sides, her spark aching with every strike.

“Y/N, stop this!” Knockout pleaded, his voice breaking. “Come back with me! We can fix this—we can fix everything!”

“I can’t,” she said, her optic shimmering with unshed tears. “I can’t go back, Knockout. I belong here now.”

“You belong with me!” he shouted, his voice raw with emotion. “We’re family, Y/N! Don’t do this!”

“I’ll always love you, big brother,” she said, her voice trembling. “But this is my choice.”

As the battle reached its peak, an explosion tore through the mine, sending debris flying in all directions. In the chaos, Y/N was struck by a falling beam, pinning her to the ground.

“Y/N!” Knockout screamed, rushing to her side. He dropped to his knees, frantically trying to lift the beam. “Stay with me! Don’t you dare leave me again!”

Y/N’s frame was battered and broken, but she managed a weak smile. “It’s okay, Knockout,” she whispered. “I’m not leaving. Not this time.”

Before Knockout could respond, Optimus arrived, lifting the beam with ease. He glanced at Knockout but said nothing, his expression heavy with understanding.

“Take her,” Optimus said, his voice firm. “Get her out of here.”

Knockout hesitated, his optics darting between his sister and the battle raging around them. Finally, he nodded, lifting Y/N into his arms.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered, his voice breaking. “I’ve got you, little sister.”

As he carried her away from the battlefield, Y/N rested her helm against his chest, her spark filled with a strange sense of peace.

For the first time in a long while, they were together. And that was all that mattered.

(spoilers: there is going to be a little something for Christmas ;) )

[purpleyellow]

house hunting

nct dream 8th member - bee

masterlist

“the dorm days are over”

a/n: Feel free to share your thoughts with me💛 Requests are open for Bee and Hayun!

Living in the dorms was such a constant part of Bee’s life. It didn’t matter if they had back-to-back comebacks, solo activities, or even if the unit was on break, they always had a home to return to. Especially as someone who needed her own space, Bee had the room she had turned into her own little safe space over time, and she was not ready to say goodbye.

When the boys suddenly began discussing moving out into their own homes, she wasn’t the most thrilled about it, simply because she couldn’t imagine herself going through the decision-making process of visiting and picking an apartment for herself, and on top of that, having to go through all the moving work and trying to make another place feel like her own.

“I just think we live in a good apartment, and there isn’t much reason to try and change that” She calmly discussed one morning, while Jaemin cooked breakfast for the both of them.

“Well, technically this apartment isn’t ours, and if the owner wants to kick us out anytime, he’s fully capable of doing so. It’s the most reasonable thing to do. Individually, each of us can already afford to buy a condo, which in the future can become an investment, not to say it would be much more comfortable to live in a place you picked yourself. Not everyone who is our age can do that, I think it would be a waste of an opportunity to not go for it”

“I don’t think I would be comfortable living by myself. In fact, I would probably be a hazard to my own life” Holding onto the one thing he said that she disagreed with, Bee tried to make a point, though she knew Jaemin was probably right about the whole thing.

“Well, you don’t have to be by yourself. I don’t think all of us will move out to be alone, Renjun was thinking about sharing a place if anyone was up for it, you could go with him” The boy shrugged, unfazed by her arguing.

“So you’re telling me your plan is to just leave me out here alone and move out without bringing me along. You know I’m going to starve, don’t you?” Crossing her arms, Bee tilted her head as she noticed the small grin on his face.

“Maybe it’s time for you to do an online cooking course or something. The future I imagine only involves me, a bunch of cats, and a big ass couch”

Sighing, Bee rolled her eyes and dropped the subject with him, but she couldn’t stop thinking about it as the day went on. When she dropped by the studio during one of her breaks, the girl couldn’t help but complain to the 127 members around.

“It’s all your fault for dropping the dorm life and going into your own houses, now the boys think we need to do the same just because we have money” Jungwoo and Doyoung frowned, turning their attention to her, while Mark only laughed and squeezed her sides.

“Well, I didn’t go to my place just because I could afford it, you know. It was more of an investment rather than just blowing money for the sake of it” Doyoung chuckled at her rolling her eyes while he explained himself.

“Even if it’s just to flex, it’s a lot more comfortable living by your rules, it even makes our group moments more enjoyable since we’re not together all the time” Jungwoo shrugged and got up as the producer signalized for him to go into the booth

“And let’s be honest, the company doesn’t spend as much as we can on giving us a nice rental. You should come to check out the gym area in the condo I’m living in. Also, sharing a place with fewer people is a lot nicer than five dudes at once, sorry guys”

“Don’t be, our dorm was a mess, I don’t miss it either” Doyoung and Mark laughed reminiscing, while Bee readjusted herself on the couch the three were seated on. Hugging one leg, she groaned and rested her head on top of her knee.

“I don’t want to go out house hunting, having to face all my finances and the options, and deal with all that moving adult stuff”

“Just move in with me then” Mark casually stated, making a chill travel up Bee’s spine as she froze up. Chocking on air, Doyoung quickly got up and headed for the door, mumbling “I think someone’s calling me outside”

“What?” The boy giggled, confused at everyone’s sudden change of mood.

“I can’t just move in with you” Bee whispered, and thankfully to her, the producer ignored their conversation and kept going with Jungwoo’s recording.

“Why not? It would be so convenient, you wouldn’t have to choose a place, everything’s pretty much already figured out with electronics and utensils and all that adult crap, plus you’re used to being there already”

Rendered speechless, Bee thought for a minute before gasping “What about the fans?”

“What about them?” Mark smiled affectionately before turning serious and counting on his fingers, “Well, first, they don’t need to know we’ll be living together. Second, what’s so different between you sharing dorms with the boys, to sharing an apartment with me”

“You know very well the difference” The girl spoke the obvious, making him shrug.

“So, if that classified information happened to leak, we can just say we each have our separate rooms” Deciding to let go of his tensed-up girlfriend, Mark gave her a side hug and a kiss on the side of the head “Just think about it, okay? There’s no pressure to say yes, though I think it would be a nice option for you, and I would be happy if you agreed to. But also, I’m the happiest when you are, so take your time deciding”

Despite Mark giving her as much time as she needed, everyone else seemed to be moving at a lot faster pace. In just a few days, Bee was touring apartments with Renjun and Jisung, both of whom were open to being roommates for the time being.

“This one is actually really nice” Renjun commented while going through the kitchen. The real estate agent that came with them was just by the door getting a phone call, or at least pretending to, while letting the three idols talk about their last stop for the day.

“I think so too, the bedrooms and the living room are all pretty large” Jisung nodded, looking into the hallway “The only downside to it, it’s that there are only three rooms, but I’m willing to put that aside for the quality of the apartment”

“We wouldn’t be able to have guests, though. The boys would be fine since we’re used to sharing rooms and stuff. Although I don’t know about Renjun, if my parents came over from overseas I’d like to welcome them into my house”

“That’s what I was thinking too” Renjun sighed, leaning against the kitchen sink, “Having somewhere my family could stay and visit freely would be ideal”

“Still, this place is amazing” Bee looked around again, and the boys agreed with dreamy “Yes” “It really is”

“I think we should reflect, and just consider if we should go for it,” Renjun thought out loud just as the real estate agent stepped back into the conversation.

“About that, if you would like to keep this place, I suggest you decide as soon as possible. I know it’s not ideal, but there are more people interested, and the most I can guarantee you it’s until tomorrow night”

Feeling like their little bubbles had just cracked, the three thanked him and assured him they would keep in touch until the deadline.

Going down the elevator, Bee thought through about how everything could be slowly turning into place without her noticing it, and it seemed to her that there was one way of satisfying everyone’s wishes, which made it look easier to take the next step in her relationship with Mark.

“I kind of wish we hadn’t visited this one because it would make that one with four bedrooms from earlier a lot nicer looking” Jisung sighed as they crowded inside a taxi.

“Well, if we decide to not keep this one, we’ll have more time to look for another apartment that we like better” Renjun looked out of the window contemplating their options.

“Would you guys still go for this last one if I decided to step out?” Bee questioned from the middle, looking from side to side to watch their reactions.

Jisung frowned at her confused, while Renjun scoffed, “Yunhee, weren’t you the one begging us not to be left alone? Don’t panic yet, we can find a place that’ll fit all of us”

“I know we can, I’m just considering my options as you said. So like, if I were to take on another offer, it would solve the missing bedroom problem. Would you guys still want to keep this last apartment?”

“Is this a trick question?” Jisung asked exasperated.

“I’m being serious Jisungie, I was already considering this other thing before today, and know that there’s a place that would be great for you two, I’m almost certain you should take it without me”

“What the hell other offer is that? Can you just be open to us” Renjun groaned annoyed, and the girl shrugged, trying to sound casual to check for their reactions. “Mark asked if I wanted to move in with him”

Gasping, Jisung stared at her with judging eyes, “And you spent an entire day house-hunting with us after your boyfriend invited you to share an apartment with him?”

“He told me I could think about it” Bee mumbled at his outburst, though she was more worried about Renjun’s silence than the youngest’s annoyance. “Oppa, so what are you thinking?”

“That solves everything, doesn’t it?” Renjun smiled optimistically. “I’m kind of not ready to live with one less person, but still, everything would work out”

“It would. When we get home, I’ll confirm with Mark that everything is okay with him, and you guys can call the agent tomorrow morning”

“No need to worry, I’m calling him right now” Jisung beamed from her side just as his phone picked up the call “Mark Hyung, great news for me, not so great for you. Bee agrees to move in with you”

Just as the girl gets ready to punch Jisung’s arm, she listens to Mark’s excited “Really? Holy shit” and that makes her certain she made the right call.

[utilitycaster]

In a recent post you mentioned that safety tools are a means and not an end, and "that misconception is already a massive problem". Could you expand on that?

I have my own feelings about the use of a lot of Safety Tools; primarly, that a lot of groups are focused on *just* implementing them but not do an effort into reducing triggering topics, putting all the weight on a singular person speaking out (Such as with X's and O's), but I'd love to hear your feelings on that matter.

So I may be misunderstanding you, and I also am not sure if you mean X and O cards by X's and O's, but if you are saying the issue is that safety tools require people to speak out...that is actually the thing I think they are good at doing, and I think any tool that doesn't place the weight on individuals speaking out will actually cultivate at best a generic one-size fits all dull table and at worse will be actively less safe.

My issue is a lot of people are more interested in the aesthetic signaling of safety tools - in "being a person who uses safety tools" rather than being a person who actually facilitates a process at their table that creates a safer space. You do not actually have to do a formalized X card or Lines and Veils process; you could just have a session zero conversation that says "hey, if you ever need to step away, or stop the game because you are really uncomfortable with something, that's cool and you should feel as though you are allowed to do this, and if there's anything right now that you know you are uncomfortable experiencing please let me know now so I can proactively avoid having it in the game and other players know not to pursue it; if you'd prefer you can send this all to the DM who will put out an anonymized list." I've had people attack me online for saying that I don't use X cards in virtual games because I straight up won't see them in time, but I tell players they can drop off or ask me to pause or stop; I am actively trying to protect my players by telling them how to signal me, but because it's not The Tool Some Stranger Not At My Table Prefers, said strangers have decided this is a bad thing.

Ulltimately though, and this is crucial enough for me to bold it: it is literally impossible to have a safety tool process for TTRPGs that avoids players having to speak up. Your table cannot read your mind. A card that encourages positive things does not actually help, in my opinion, because the DM still has a story to tell and part of stories is conflict and they can't just keep doing the one thing you like - not to mention that one person's O card might be an X card to someone else. This also assumes a set of for lack of a better term "standard" triggers (ie, many people don't want to have themes of sexual assault in their games; many people have arachnaophobia) and places an even higher burden on people who might have very specific triggers that are often not given the same weight or seen as a problem by most people. Some tables might explicitly want to explore difficult topics. (Related to this, but, I side-eye a lot of highly specific content warnings on shows or books because many of them also assume a very specific and standard slate, and I know people who have triggers that are consistently ignored and not warned for because they don't fit into the Normal Slate Of Things A Nebulous Group Has Decided Are Triggering.)

Safety tools should place the burden on the people at the table to speak up; but they should also serve as a signal that this is a place where you will be respected and listened to when you do. However, even among loving friends, there is no way to make a safe place for yourself without advocating for it. Any safety tool that claims to avoid individuals speaking up is a scam and a lie. But that is not what I'm talking about, I'm talking about people who get mad if you say "I don't use a card system, but I let people walk away without question and I listen to my players' feedback."

[stellaestra]

I look into the spaces in-between in search of you (I miss you more than anything)

pairing: tim drake/mc [reader] author's note: old ideas from high school for me to write excerpts about as per usual and tim's my muse to explore these ideas on unless stated otherwise, if you see this posted on ao3, yes that is me too dw

this is unfortunately very self-indulgent hehe <3 mb babes p.s. this cld be taken as both ways? romantic? platonic? take your pick lol

word count: 1511 words

cw: um, mentions of injury? unedited // no beta read, we'll die like men here

---

It had been days since the last time Tim had slept ever since he found footage of someone that seemed eerily familiar to you, clad in a bright red jacket that was practically your signature back then. It was one of your favourite jackets after all.

He was getting a little too frantic and was rather adamant about them being you. He wanted to prove to everyone that you weren't dead but alive. 

He would delay the process of falling asleep if he had to.

“Red Robin.” He spoke into the mic.

“Access approved.” The artificial intelligence responded back.

“Where are they hiding you?” The words trailed off, his eyes were already glued to the screen. 

His icy blues scanned through the files; that includes, footage, clips and articles – each and every one of them, trying to search a certain code-name belonging to someone he once knew very well like the back of his hand and grew extremely fond of over the course of the years of knowing them.

The only footage that could have matched your physique was that single footage alone and it irked him to no end. 

He was already rather obsessed with the idea of trying to search for you and none of his family members nor friends managed to deter him away from his work.

However, there was a single tiny nagging voice in the back of his head that reminded him of the possible reality that there was no way you would come back unless some kind of miracle brought you back to life like what had happened to Jason and he never really touched that particular topic whenever asked.

Only vague answers from him. He would always end the conversation before it started.

—

Meanwhile, you weren't quite pleased with the fact that you had to drop out of your current school and had to take online classes to finish your high school education for the sake of a diploma to show you completed everything that was necessary to proceed further into higher education. 

Well, at least there was some compensation for it, the organisation you were under was paying for your education so you couldn't complain as much as you would like. Whether you like it or not, you need to be under everyone's radar for the time being because you were relatively vulnerable while you were in the middle of recovering.

It was rather unfortunate that you had obtained a very life-threatening wound months ago, it took you ages to finally feel like your body was yours and move it the way your brain intended it to. 

The phantom pain of being stabbed was another thing to deal with in the midst of doing your everyday life now. 

Your recovery period was a lot more sedentary than you would have liked too. There was always a constant itch to do workout routines that was far too intense for your weakened state at the moment.

All in all, this was something they told you to do and it was to keep prying eyes away from you until you reached full recovery before being deployed back onto the field.

Staying with your grandma was pretty nice too, it had been quite some time since your family last visited her and it was always annual visits at the end of the school year for Christmas. 

Your other issue living in a more secluded area was, of course, none other than net signal stability. It kind of helped you to be harder to be detected and traced back but it still irked you that you would need to wait longer for your files to be downloaded.

Regardless, life has been much simpler and far less hectic than your usual ones back home. It was nice to be able to breathe for once instead of being dogpiled by both your school tasks and your other responsibilities.

It wasn't easy for your uncle to convince your parents for you to move away for your recovery period after your so-called hit and run accident which was a cover-up for your actual one. 

—

It had taken several months for Tim to get the final clue needed to prove you weren't dead and he finally got it now —

“Found you.” Tim muttered under his breath, sounding almost unhinged — wide icy blue eyes zeroed in on another footage he managed to scrape through the worldwide database, fingers hovering his keyboard. 

The teen had immediately booked the next flight available to where you were now regardless of the schedules that had lined up for him. He couldn't give a flying damn about it right this second now that he finally located your whereabouts they so desperately tried to conceal your presence from everyone.

He jumped to his closet, scavenging through his mess of clothes to throw into his carry-on luggage bag for him to bring with on his impromptu trip.

The next morning, he made his way to Gotham’s airport without so much as leaving a note to mention where he would be. He doesn't want anything to risk his solid decision.

The dawning realisation fell upon him when he touched-down at your home country airport. He was finally here. He was finally able to see you now. 

His next hurdle was to track you down to your very exact location and it wasn't going to be a breeze for him – he hated to admit and they covered your tracks far too well for any mistakes to happen. 

It took him roughly a week or so to get a clue of you. 

—

Tim spotted your silhouette from miles away before he made a beeline for you. He called out your name almost desperately, causing you to turn back and face him. 

You looked as pretty as the last time he saw you. A sheepish look plastered your features as you faced him fully. 

“...Found you.” He exhaled out, he was a little out of breath from sprinting to your spot. Call him crazy or whatever. He wasn't going to lose sight of you. 

“...Uh, hi, hey, Timbo,” you chuckled, your eyes betrayed you as there was a look of guilt behind them despite you trying to play it off coolly, “took you long enough, huh?” 

He remained silent as he stared at you, soaking in your presence and trying to etch everything about you right now into his brain. His icy blue eyes were starting to intimidate you right now because you rarely ever felt so exposed in someone's presence before. 

“Heh, well, don't let it get to your head,” you joked, running your fingers through your hair, “the only reason you were able to find me was because I let myself be found.”

“Shut up, I'm very upset with you right now,” His words sounded wet, as if he was fighting back his tears even though there was a deep frown set on his lips, jaws clenched and shoulders straightened (tensed). There was nothing else that indicated that he was about to cry other than his voice that carelessly betrayed him.

He had managed to trace you back to your home country was one thing, the other part was finding you at your exact location was another gamble.

He found you at the beachside of Sipitang, a town located in one of Sabah's district divisions, taking a walk while eating chicken wings skewers you had bought in a plastic dangling in your hands.

“Why, you want a reward for finding me sooner than intended?” You teased, raising an eyebrow at him, “the only thing I have on me right now is my chicken wings if you want some?”

He doesn't know what to do with himself nor what he would like to say to you now that he has found you, safe and sound in Borneo Island. He wanted to pull you into his arms so badly but he withholded himself from doing so because you would look at him weird for even attempting such a feat. 

You've known Tim for several years now and you would like to think you knew him from the inside out enough to take notice of his little quirks and decipher them to how he would like to be perceived as.

You opened your arms wide, inviting him for the hug that the other boy was trying to force himself not to give.

It took him a few moments to finally give in, and pushed his pride away to embrace you, taking you into his arms and feeling the warmth you gave away through your body. He hid his face into the crook of your neck, inhaling your familiar scent.

“I miss you.”

“I'm very much aware,” you chuckled into his shoulders, squeezing him, “don't think I didn't notice you snooping around our database, you loser."

“I need to prove to them you aren't dead and I need to see it with my own eyes.” He admitted, wounding his arms tighter around you.

“Of course you’d do that, you stalker.” 

“I really did miss you.”

“Me too.”

[prettypup188]

💗🍼Rafe x fem pregnant reader, who goes to IKEA to get a crib🍼💗

7:34 a.m.

I ran my hand over my belly while I slipped on my flats, “Rafey, can you grab my purse?”, I asked lightly looking towards my husband who was fixing his hair in the hallway mirror he nodded walking towards the couch and grabbing the expensive handbag. “We can always order one online, y’know.”, he said grabbing my hand but I shook my head as we walked towards the front door. “I want to be able to see it for myself.”, the car ride to the furniture was quiet, after all the morning was still early, quiet and only a few people out wanting to beat the daytime bustle of the rest of the town, even though we lived in a small town there were still a few pop up on brand stores that made there way into the town but people didn’t mind, as long as they didn’t make they’re prices too outrageous they were fine with the new intruders.

“We should get something to eat before we go in, y’know.”; I looked confused, “We won’t be in there long, I wanted to actually go to brunch after this.”, Rafe laughed a cocky smirk forming across his face. “Doll, you take forever to decide on things.”, I rolled my eyes playfully as I smirked slightly, “Fine, just Starbucks.”, he nodded turning on his signal light and driving into the parking lot. As he parked I slowly opened the door grumbling slightly as I slid out of the seat, “Let me help you, my Queen.”, Rafe said as he grabbed my hand as I shook my head letting out a small giggle. We walked into the quiet shop, a single worker wiping down tables greeted us as she hurried behind the counter, Rafe stood in front of me as he ordered a black coffee with two pumps of cream for himself and my favorite drink, “Ooo, can you get a croissant?”, I asked tugging slightly at his sleeve he nodded, ordering it. We waited patiently in the pick up line, I wrapped my arms around him snuggling my face into his warm clothed chest as I grumbled about the coffee grounds making me nauseous.

After we got our orders we got into the truck and began driving to our intended destination. He sipped at his coffee, humming to the local radio, we pulled up to the store, the empty parking lot lights flickering over the truck as the sun rose in the distance, I gently rubbed my belly as I wrapped my lips around my straw and breathed softly, Rafe placed his own hand over my round plump belly, “My beautiful girls.”, he murmured leaning over to his my forehead.

8:45 a.m.

We stood in front of a off white large crib display with a flower sheeted bed inside. “This is too bland.”, I pouted while I looked back and forth from my physical moodboard book in hand of my dream baby room. Rafe stuffed his phone in his pocket while he walked back towards me wrapping an arm around me, “Well, let’s look at another, yeah?”, he pulled me away going towards more crib display until I finally laid my eyes on the perfect one. A baby pink painted crib with teddy bear covered sheets and a mobile with tiny bears and stars hanging overhead, I gasped looking into the crib as I felt the soft fabric, “It’s perfect!”, I spun around on my heels to face Rafe who looked at the price not fazed by how expensive it is, “You want it? Ya sure?”, I nodded excitedly as I ran my hands over the golden knots and bolts that held the crib together. Rafe nodded as he grabbed my hand, heading to find a worker, “Yes, we’re buy it now.”, he said pulling out his black platinum card making the worker’s eyes widen a bit as she asked if he wanted it to be warranted. He nodded, “Now, the move in process and installment is extra so-“, he nodded, “I don’t mind, I’ll pay for that too.”; the worker nodded as she punched in the final price and handing a pen and paper for the warranty paperwork.

12:34 pm

After it was settled, we headed over my favorite brunch spot, “Tiff’s House”, I sat in a cushioned chair at the table as I ate my maple syrup covered pancakes and popped a strawberry in my mouth, Rafe reached over and wiped my mouth as he ate his own breakfast. “Thank you so much Rafey. I finally get the baby room of my dreams!”, i exclaimed happily as Rafe kissed my cheek, “Anything for my love, and for my mini love.”, he said quietly as he pointed at my belly.

[psychics4unet]

PICK A CARD: Discover Your Next Major Life Change! What's Coming Soon?

Instructions: Look at the 3 images of the piles below. Choose the pile that you feel most drawn to. Trust your intuition and select the one that resonates with you the most. Once you have made your choice, scroll down to read the description for the pile you selected.

I put a lot of effort into this reading, so please show some love by leaving comments, likes, reblogs, and follow me! ❤️💬✨ Pile 1

1. The Fool 2. The Tower 3. The Ace of Wands The Fool signifies new beginnings and a fresh start, suggesting that a significant change is on the horizon, bringing opportunities for growth and adventure. The Tower represents sudden upheaval or a dramatic shift, indicating that this change might be unexpected but ultimately transformative. The Ace of Wands symbolizes inspiration and new projects, hinting that this major life change will bring a surge of creative energy and enthusiasm. Together, these cards reveal that a bold new beginning is coming your way, marked by sudden shifts that lead to exciting new opportunities. Love this post? Spread the positive vibes by reblogging with your favorite pile number! Remember to like, comment, and follow me for more tarot insights and spiritual guidance. By sharing this post, you'll invite positive energy from the universe into your life. Let's journey together towards enlightenment and fulfillment!

Online psychic reading is available here:

Pile 2

1. The Chariot 2. The Empress 3. The Nine of Pentacles The Chariot represents determination and control, suggesting that your ability to steer through challenges will be crucial as you face your upcoming major change. The Empress signifies abundance and creativity, indicating that this change will bring growth and prosperity in your life. The Nine of Pentacles symbolizes financial stability and self-sufficiency, pointing to the reward of your hard work and the achievement of your personal goals. Together, these cards suggest that the next major shift will involve significant personal progress and success, driven by your perseverance and creativity. Love this post? Spread the positive vibes by reblogging with your favorite pile number! Remember to like, comment, and follow me for more tarot insights and spiritual guidance. By sharing this post, you'll invite positive energy from the universe into your life. Let's journey together towards enlightenment and fulfillment!

Online psychic reading is available here:

Pile 3

1. The Hermit 2. The Wheel of Fortune 3. The King of Cups The Hermit indicates a period of introspection and seeking inner wisdom, suggesting that this major change will involve a time of personal reflection and growth. The Wheel of Fortune represents cycles and inevitable changes, signaling that the shift coming your way is part of a larger, transformative process. The King of Cups symbolizes emotional maturity and stability, implying that you will navigate this change with a calm and balanced approach. Together, these cards suggest that your upcoming life change will be a profound and enlightening experience, marked by personal growth and emotional insight. Love this post? Spread the positive vibes by reblogging with your favorite pile number! Remember to like, comment, and follow me for more tarot insights and spiritual guidance. By sharing this post, you'll invite positive energy from the universe into your life. Let's journey together towards enlightenment and fulfillment!

Online psychic reading is available here:

Attention! This reading is for entertainment purposes only. This tarot reading does not give a 100% guarantee that all the described situations will occur or being ultimate truth. You build your own life and destiny and only you know yourself best. Remember to reblog, like, comment, and follow for more cosmic guidance and positivity!

[mariacallous]

Following latest news and developments, the American Coalition for Ukraine, issues statement on the U.S. Administration's Decision to Pause Military Aid to Ukraine Undermines U.S. Security. 

For decades, the United States has championed peace through strength. Now, the current Administration’s pause on military aid and intelligence information to Ukraine undermines U.S. interests by signalling retreat to our adversaries. While the battlefield impact of this decision will take weeks to play out, the moral and diplomatic fallout is immediate, and the risk of civilian casualties increases immediately. 

Additionally, lifting economic sanctions imposed on Russia would only serve to empower Putin and hand him additional resources to continue his invasion, while making  the U.S. look weak and unreliable.

Supporting Ukraine is a smart defense investment. Less than 5% of the U.S. defense budget helped significantly degrade Russia’s military without American boots on the ground. If Ukraine falls, U.S. costs and risks will escalate.

Any pause or disruption of aid to Ukraine helps Putin, weakens NATO, and emboldens America’s adversaries. China may target Taiwan, while Iran and North Korea will test U.S. resolve. Ignoring Russia’s war crimes against Christians, children, and civilians does not represent America’s values of faith and freedom. 

The American Coalition for Ukraine calls on the administration to immediately restore military and intelligence aid to Ukraine and pursue peace talks from a position of strength. We urge Congress to represent the will of their constituents, who overwhelmingly support Ukraine and distrust Putin; to act decisively to uphold American values in the face of autocratic aggression; and to continue bipartisan support for Ukraine through military, economic, and humanitarian assistance.

The situation is evolving rapidly, but one thing must continue to grow — the number of calls from Ukraine supporters to Congress.

We urge you to keep calling your representatives. To make this process easier, we have launched an automated tool that allows you to reach your elected officials in just a few clicks. Your voice matters — let’s make it heard! 

visit http://americancoalitionforukraine.org for more details, or click the link below for quick access to our online tool.

JOIN RALLIES FOR UKRAINE

In recent days, many of our communities have come together for emergency rallies to demonstrate the broad support Ukraine has among the American people. We invite you to join our rally in Washington, D.C., this weekend or stand with your local community to voice your support for Ukraine.

visit event Facebook page for more details 

CONTACT YOUR LOCAL MEDIA

Write a letter to the editor, an op-ed, or reach out to your local radio and TV stations to share your perspective on this critical moment for Ukraine. Your voice matters!

REGISTER FOR UKRAINE ACTION SUMMIT, SPRING 2025

Three years in, Ukraine still fights for its survival. The Ukraine Action Summit is an incredible opportunity to reinforce long-term support for Ukraine at a crucial moment.

Register today to take advantage of early bird pricing—prices increase tomorrow!

Our community of advocates has grown exponentially since the launch of the American Coalition for Ukraine. We are committed to delivering expert-driven advocacy coordination and reliable support for our community, ensuring that all our actions and engagements yield top results. But we need your help to make it happen! 

Please donate to support our work for Ukraine!

Zelle email for donations: donate@americancoalitionforukraine.org

or use button below to donate via PayPal and CC

[moo-siala]

I STILL LOVE YOU — MAX VERSTAPPEN

PAIRING: max verstappen x ex-wife fem!reader

SUMMARY: max’s ex wife finds out he’s getting married again

CONTENT: mentions of divorce, angst, sadness, cheating

NOTE: get ready to cry. i did while editing it + this is a repost from my old blog too but this one got slightly revised. some errors got fixed but it’s not 100% proof read.

As y/n sifted through the mail, she noticed a white envelope with "y/n verstappen" written in gold letters. frowning in confusion, she carefully opened it. the moment she saw the contents, she felt her heart shatter. it was a wedding invitation—specifically, an invitation to max’s wedding.

“max and eleanor request the pleasure of your company to celebrate their wedding” was written on the card in gold and black letters.

y/n felt her eyes water and closed the envelope. this could not be happening, she thought. but it’s not like her and max got divorced yesterday.

the divorce was due to his racing career. he wasn't as present as y/n and the children needed him to be, which led to constant arguments, fights, and tears until their marriage ultimately ended. this happened over three years ago, but she still couldn't understand how he had moved on so quickly. perhaps her difficulty in understanding stemmed from her own inability to move on.

she had tried everything, and by everything, she truly meant everything. she had met new people, gone on countless dates, and even ventured into the realm of online dating, hoping to find a connection that might help her move on. but nothing seemed to work. none of those men were him. some were good, hardworking, and loyal, but there was always something missing. each new encounter only served to highlight the void he had left in her life, the irreplaceable presence she couldn't seem to find in anyone else.

"mama, why are you crying?" a soft voice pulled her back to reality. "hey, i’m not crying, i just have an allergy," she chuckled, hugging leon, one of her seven-year-old twins. "julian and i are ready but he is helping emma with her bag," he smiled, hugging her back.

leon and julian were twins—practically mirror images of max. thet shared the same face, the same eyes, and the same cheeky smile that always managed to light up a room. meanwhile, emma was a carbon copy of her mother, with the exception of her blonde hair and blue eyes, inherited from her father.

the twins were only four years old when the divorce happened, and emma was just two. the process was far from easy, but both parents made a concerted effort to minimize the trauma for their children. they navigated the difficult path with as much grace and cooperation as possible, ensuring that their young ones felt loved and secure despite the upheaval. the priority was always the well-being of their children, and they did their best to shield them from the worst of the pain.

“mama! we’re ready!” julian and emma ran out of their rooms with bags in hand, “hey, be careful!” she laughed, “we’re ready!” julian exclaimed and emma giggled, “that’s good, oma will be here in no time” y/n hugged the children, or like max likes to call them, their cubs.

the doorbell rang, signaling sophie’s arrival.

about a week ago, sophie had asked if she could take the kids on a little trip to a lake she had visited with a friend near the city. after looking at the pictures, y/n couldn't say no. the children would love it, and she knew how much they enjoyed spending time with their grandma.

when she got pregnant, max suggested that it would be better to move back to the netherlands so the babies could be surrounded by family. she didn't hesitate and agreed with his proposal. while she loved Monaco, nothing could compare to having her family nearby.

when she looks back at those memories, she’s thankful that she chose to come back. she doesn’t know what could’ve been of her if she had to go through the divorce all alone in monaco.

she walked over and opened the door, smiling warmly. "hey!" she greeted, pulling sophie into a hug.

"how are you doing, sweetheart?" sophie asked, hugging her back as she stepped inside. y/n knew exactly what she meant. "i’m good," she replied softly, her smile gentle. sophie nodded, giving her a sympathetic look just as the three mini verstappens ran over to their grandma, hugging her legs and making her laugh.

"oma!" they exclaimed in unison. "who’s ready to go to the lake?" their oma asked, eyes sparkling. "me!" the cubs chorused excitedly.

they said their goodbyes as she helped sophie put the kids in the car.

“i’ll let you know when we get there” she told y/n, “sounds good, and send pictures, please” y/n smiled in return, “i will. and honey, if you need anything, just give me a call” she pulled her into a tight embrace, “i know, thank you, soph” “no problem”

—

ass the dedicated mother she was, or as max fondly referred to her, the lioness, y/n found herself feeling oddly restless whenever her children were away—simultaneously bored yet remarkably productive. with them gone, she efficiently organized weeks of work and meticulously cleaned the entire house. completing her chores left her with a sense of satisfaction, prompting a leisurely shower before descending to the kitchen to prepare a meal.

while deeply focused on cooking, the doorbell rang unexpectedly. perplexed, since she was only expecting sophie’s visit that day, she set the knife aside, quickly washed her hands, and hastened to answer the door.

“uh, hey?” she said opening the door, “hey, how are you?” max asked, “i’m good. your mom already left with the children so…” “i’m here to talk to you, can i come in?” he asked, “sure…” nodding, she opened the door a bit more for him to come in.

“are you busy?” he asked after you closed the door, “not really. just cooking” she walked back to the kitchen, max followed.

max sat in one of the stools as he watched her wash and chop some vegetables for the salad she was preparing.

“what did you come to talk about?” y/n looked up, his blue orbs finding her beautiful eyes, “i wanted to know if you got the…” “the wedding invitation? i got it today in the mail” she nodded, her tone coming out a bit dry even if she didn’t mean to sound that way.

“are you mad?” he asked, “why would i be? congrats, by the way” she said, adding her favorite vinaigrette to the salad, “don’t be like that…” he sighed, “like what? am i not supposed to congratulate you now?” her eyes found his once again.

“you know exactly what i mean, y/n” he said, “i don’t know what you mean and i’m not in the mood to fight. i’m tired and hungry, so can i please enjoy my salad?” she asked and he scoffed, “i can see it in your eyes, y/n. there’s something you’re not telling me and i want to know what’s going on” he sighed, “we’ve been divorced for almost three years, but remember we were married for four before that”

she felt her eyes water but quickly wiped the tears away.

“i’m okay, max” y/n said while grabbing a glass and pouring some juice in it, “you’re about to cry, tell me what’s going wrong, i want to help” he softly said, and that’s when she broke.

"i don't know max, maybe the fact that once again i'm the one who's going to be all alone?" her voice broke, "the fact i'm the only one who's going to come back to an empty home when the kids are spending time with you? or maybe it's the fact that for some reason i can't move on with my life but everyone else can! you did, why can't i?" by now, she were a crying mess.

move on? he never moved on. his family knew it, his friends knew it, everyone knew it, he knew it.

he was never able to move on from her, the love of his life—the woman who lifted him up when he was feeling down, who cried tears of pride after almost every race, the woman who showed him a new depth of love when he became a father, and the woman he lost because he messed up.

seeing her crying broke his heart, but it also gave him hope. hope that the woman he deeply loves, loved him back still, even if it was just a little bit of it left.

he liked eleanor. she was good with the kids and kind to y/n, but she wasn't her, and she never could be. eleanor, younger than him and eager to settle down, was someone he found comfort in, at least temporarily. he went along with the idea of marriage, thinking he had nothing to lose, until the day she poured her heart out to him. it was then that he realized eleanor could never replace the deep connection he had lost with his former wife.

"i never wanted that divorce," he said softly as he walked over to her. "and you think I did?" she sniffed, wiping away her tears. “you asked for it..." he began. "because I got tired of giving you signals and second chances that were never taken, max," she sighed, her voice heavy with emotion. she looked up at him, hoping he would understand the weight of her words.

max felt like shit, to say the least. hoy could he be so dumb? how could he throw away his family and the love of his life just like that?

“please give me one last chance, i promise i’m not going to fail you and the cubs again”, he sat next to y/n on the couch, grabbing her small hands and squeezing them softly, “max, you’re getting ma-“ “if you don’t want me to get married i won’t. i just need to hear you say it”, he interrupted her.

y/n was in utter shock to say the least. could he really be serious? the gravity of his words hung heavy in the air, leaving her struggling to comprehend the reality of the situation.

“i am serious. you know it” he said, almost as if he could read her mind, “please baby girl, i need to hear you say it”, he pleaded, staring into her eyes.

y/n took a deep breath.

“maxie… please… please don’t get married” she softly said, eyes watering and lips trembling. max sighed in relief and hugged her tightly, “i’m never letting you go, ever again” he grabbed your face and kissed her softly.

“i hope you stick to that promise” “you know i will, schatje”

[so-i-did-this-thing]

Sometimes I think I might actually be a man. Like I should transition. Like I would be happier if I transitioned.

But I have no one to talk to about any of this so I'm still not entirely sure how I feel in the first place let alone understand what I want and what I should do

I know a lot of online trans chatter is caught up in the specifics of transition or discussing current events. It can be hard to get to the actual gender feels to compare notes.

Following trans people (of all genders) in a fandom I enjoy has been an easy way for me to see how other folks process being trans, be it through fanworks or outright personal musings.

(This is why I am so vocal about being trans when I join a new fandom - it's my attempt to light the Trans Bat-Signal. 🤣 Someone ask me about my trans Siegfried headcanons, heh.)

I also really urge you to seek out trans creators who tell queer stories. Here's a starter list of some comic authors.

While you're exploring, please focus not just on stories about dysphoria, but also stories about trans joy, to see what resonates with you. It will also help bolster your mood.

Take care and take your time; feelings can be a lot to untangle ❤️

[spreadwardiard]

The Rot (part 2)

Dazed and confused, Orion pax comes online surrounded by rubble. Luckily, he isn't alone. However, that does not mean he's safe.

Part 2 of my 'inspired by MLP infection' AU! I hope y'all enjoy it! Again, big thanks to @lets-try-some-writing for all the help and encouragement!

Part 1 here

The hot, yet soothing tingle of his self-repair system’s nanites tending to the aching wounds of his frame was what finally brought Orion’s processor back online. His awareness floated slowly in and out, only able to sense the slowly ebbing pain signals from his damaged frame. His helm throbbed aggressively if he so much as even attempted a thought. It was reassuring, however, that each time Orion’s awareness floated back to him, he ached a little less and that his thoughts were able to come more freely. 

Where was he? Even without his full processing power, he knew that he was not in the safety of his berth. Accessing his memories did little to answer that question. He recalled Megatronus contacting him about a train, and he could remember that he had indeed left his hab, but beyond that, his memories were still too damaged to retrieve. The only option available was to allow himself to float away once more and allow the nanites time to continue their repair.

When he next came to awareness, it lacked the gentle ebb and flow of before. Rapid flashes of his most recent memories assaulted him in waves: coming online to an unexpected call, Megatronus’ unexpected declaration of affection, his walk to the station, boarding the train… 

His processor throbbed as if it would burst while the emotions tied to his memories crashed into effect: confusion, worry and then fear. Orion’s optics shuttered online just as the panic hit him. He sat rapidly, causing his helm to spin and his optical input to become distorted. 

“Shield your field!” The command was hissed at him with quiet urgency, and Orion clamped down on instinct. He brought his servo to his helm and groaned softly as he rubbed at his closed optics with his palm in a desperate attempt to placate the pain in his processor. 

“What happened?” Orion croaked out softly. Behind him came the soft shuffling of small pedes, and before Orion could even process what that meant, his companion was at his side.

“There’s no time to explain, Can you walk? It isn’t safe here.” Orion reset his optics, and slowly opened them once more, relieved that his inputs were no longer spinning. He was surrounded by broken glass and crumpled sheets of metal, dangerously sharp. Strips of soft mesh cabling dangled from above him, some slowly dripping fluids that he couldn’t identify. 

Orion’s optics finally found his companion. He ex-vented in relief as he was struck with recognition. Ravage observed him with a raised optical ridge, and the look on his face gave Orion the impression that the cassette hadn’t expected him to come online as suddenly as he had. 

“I think so?” Orion whispered through his grimace as he felt the stiffness in his hydraulics as he shifted his weight, to maneuver onto his knees. A flurry of diagnostic pings assaulted his HUD, alerting him to several injuries that were, luckily, non-critical. 

“Good. We need to leave. Now.” It was a command, and one Orion thought almost sounded laced with fear. Ravage darted forward, his cyber-feline frame having no issue ducking beneath what appeared to be the mangled remains of a bench that had been partially ripped from the walls in the crash. 

It wasn’t especially difficult to maneuver his frame through the small space, but it did ache like the Pits to crawl his way through what was left of the compartment. He was dangerously low on fuel, that much was obvious by how exhausting it was to hold his frame and move at such an angle. 

That also explains why my nanites did not complete my self repair. Orion thought as he dragged himself forward through the jagged remains. By the time his helm popped through a crushed window, he was venting heavily, and his arms shook with the strain of holding up his weight.

“Hurry. We don’t have much time.” Ravage paced nervously outside the wreckage, his optics constantly scanning around them. Orion begrudgingly hauled himself free from the shattered window and grimaced as he stood, taking only a klik to allow his optics to adjust to the increased light before following the cyber-feline between two hunks of deformed metal. 

Orion almost couldn’t believe the utter devastation around him. Smashed bits of transport compartments lie crumpled as far as he could see. Mutilated remains of Cybertronians were scattered haphazardly about, some obviously crushed by impact alone, while others looked…. Gnawed at, as if something had consumed them. 

He’d never seen anything like it before, not even on his long deep-dives into the darkest reaches of the data-net. Orion’s tanks churned, hot and sickly sweet, at the thought of what could have done damage like that. Some of those bodies were completely eviscerated… 

Orion focused his optics on Ravage, not wanting to see any more of the surrounding carnage than he had to. This was beyond wrong.  His internal chronometer told him that he had been offline for several cycles, which should have been plenty of time for rescue crews to have saved not only him, but everyone else strewn around. Surely, the Transport Commission would have sent a crew to clean the debris off the tracks. 

It seemed that he and Ravage were the only two living mechs around. But if that were the case, what had Ravage so anxious? It was painfully obvious as Ravage led him through the debris field, zigzagging to stay in the shadows of the rubble, that he was trying to avoid them being seen, but from whom, Orion couldn’t begin to guess. 

It seemed like the rubble stretched forever. The closer they came to the front of the train, the worse everything seemed to be.  Train compartments were smashed against and piled atop each other in such a disordered way that it almost could have been beautiful. If only the place wasn’t littered with corpses and plastered with splattered energon.

“Hey!” A panicked voice called out to the pair, causing Ravage to startle and Orion’s helm to whip towards the source of the sound. A young mech, pinned at the waist beneath a large scrap of steel, waved frantically at them. “Oh! Thank Primus, you’re not one’a them…” He could see the fear that emanated from his optics and the stains of dried optical lubricants painted down his face. 

Orion thought nothing of it. His internal processes immediately flooded him with coding to provide aid. He rushed towards the trapped youngster, ignoring the pings flooding his circuits from his injuries. He wasn’t that far from them. 

“Pax! Stop!” Ravage called out to him in a harsh whisper, his frustration evident in the slight growl lacing his command, but Orion could not heed that request. Not when his coding so persistently urged him to help someone so desperately in need.

“You gotta get me outta here! They’re coming!” A wall of hunger assaulted the archivist’s EM receiver, unlike anything he’d ever felt before: thick, desperate, and driving. Something was coming, that was for sure, and Orion had a feeling that whatever it was, was the same thing that had caused all the carnage he’d been trying to avoid looking at. He had to get him out fast, or he’d be torn apart, just like the corpses littering the whole area. 

A weight slammed into him from behind, sending Orion careening face-first into the ground. Ravage hunched atop his back and hissed furiously into his audials. “There isn’t time, Pax! They’re here! We have to leave him!” 

Orion lifted his helm, anger coursing through his circuits like an inferno. He opened his intake to retort, but was frozen solid in fear when a shambling mech, painted in red and gold, tumbled down from atop the hunk of metal pinning the youngling down, landing with a ground shaking thud. Chunks of his armor were missing from his frame, and Orion immediately recognized the same thick, green goop oozing from his intake and down his front as he saw the drunken mech purge before the crash. 

The youngling screamed as the mech shambled towards him. Ravage jumped, and suddenly was in Orion’s line of sight, their faces nearly touching,

“We have to go now! More will come!” Ravage pushed his entire face against Orion’s aggressively, an obviously desperate attempt to push him up onto his pedes. The youngling’s field erupted suddenly in a hot, sickening burst of panic. “There’s no saving him now, Pax!”

Orion couldn’t remember getting to his pedes. Everything happened so fast. The shambling mech grabbed the youngling by the arm and mercilessly tore at the plating. Another mech, covered in the same putrid ooze, shambled forward from the shadows, and Orion’s processor flooded him with a new command: Run! 

Ravage was two steps ahead of him on that front, and Orion instinctually followed the cassette as he swiftly led them away, even passing more of the shambling, rotting mechs that were hobbling towards the source of the screams. 

The youngling’s field projected his agony and fear of death far beyond the wreckage field, and by the time the screaming stopped, Orion was venting far too heavily to even notice its absence. He ran until the pressure building in his hydraulics overpowered his internal command to flee. 

His HUD flashed red. He was overheating, and his hydraulics couldn’t continue at the brutal pace that his survival coding had forced on him. He had to stop. His frame shook from the overexertion. He couldn’t stop the anguished screams of that mech from playing on loop in his processor. If he’d had any fuel in his tanks, he would have purged it all right then. 

“Snap out of it, Pax. We can’t stop now. We’re almost there.” Ravage’s annoyed whisper broke through his inner turmoil. Ravage was right. He couldn’t afford to stop. Not when those things were out there, likely to follow them once they were finished with-

No! Orion forced the thought out of his processor and forced his legs forward, despite the stinging pressure and pinging diagnostics. He wasn’t ready to return to the Well just yet. He was grateful that Ravage accepted this slower pace that his frame now demanded. 

They were following the tracks. Orion hadn’t noticed when they were running. All he was able to focus on was Ravage and trying to keep up with the far nimbler cyber-feline. He wasn’t even entirely certain how far they ran before he stopped, and he absolutely was not about to turn around and find out. 

When they finally stopped, it was at what appeared to be an empty Emergency Depot. They were scattered relatively regularly along the various strings of transport lines around the planet. Ravage led him inside, and as soon as the door snapped shut behind them, he let out a furious hiss. 

“Don’t you ever do something that slagging stupid again! You almost got the both of us killed!” Orion jumped away from his smaller companion and opened his intake to respond, but Ravage gave him no time to do so. 

“I will not die for you, Orion Pax.  Do you understand me? If you pull something like that again, I will leave you behind! I don’t care if you’re Megatronus’ favorite upper cast plaything. You ain’t worth dying for!” 

It was like the very air was sucked from his vents. Orion deflated, his gaze falling to the floor and his finials lowering. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know” 

Ravage sighed dismissively and flicked his tail. He said nothing for a few kliks, but Orion didn’t want to think about why. He had too many other concerns vying for his attention. His tanks ached with their emptiness, and his frame felt heavier than he’d ever remembered it being. He ached deeply, down to the protoform, and he still had no clue what was going on. Overshadowing all of that was the fear that clawed at his spark and made him wish he’d just slipped into stasis instead of coming online to this nightmare. 

“Frag… you’re a real piece of work, aren’t you, Pax?” Ravage said, but his tone was gentler than before. It made Orion think of when he was a sparkling, annoying his caretakers for attention, which, unfortunately, didn’t make him feel any better in the moment. 

“Megatronus just told me to get on the train. Ravage… is he alright?” The cyber-feline rolled his optics and turned to slink deeper into the building. Orion had no choice but to follow, making sure to close and lock every door they came through, just in case. 

“I don’t know. Comms are down all over. I can’t even contact Soundwave.” Ravage huffed softly at that. “I found this place about 2 cycles ago. There’s some energon rations stashed in the back, and some mediberths if you need to recharge. They, uh… they haven’t come back. They tend to hang around the crash.” 

“The rations taste like scrap, but the packaging says it's nutritionally complete,’ whatever that means.” Ravage shrugged, and hopped up onto a sofa in the dimly lit space that Orion could now see was a lounge of sorts, probably for the mechs who normally were stationed here. 

Orion couldn't care less how the rations tasted. His tanks demanded refueling, and his coding told him that he would feel better all over if only he could get something into his him. He tore into them, devouring one after the other. He hadn’t even realized how hungry he was, or how much his systems had been starving for the power to simply function. It took four entire ration cubes to satiate him. 

The effect struck almost immediately once he lowered his last cube to the floor. His self-repair routines rebooted, and he suddenly felt the overwhelming urge for recharge. He didn’t even try to make it to the mediberths. The lounge sofa was much closer, and right now, it looked like the most comfortable thing on the entire planet. 

Ravage only huffed softly as he hopped down from the sofa, and up onto the adjacent chair, where he curled up in the way that cyber-felines did; curled in a ball with his helm tucked under his tail.

“We can’t stay here.” Orion said, his voice just above a whisper. His processor was fighting against the wave of recharge that was crashing over him, forcing him to think about how close those things really were to them, and mixing those thoughts with how much he wished Megatronus was here… 

“Not for long, no.” Ravage glanced up at him, with a raised optical ridge, his tone dry and tired. Orion tried to keep his optics focused on him. 

“I promised him I would get there.” Orion’s vocalizer started to slur his glyphs, and Ravage tilted his helm and scrunched his optics in confusion. 

“Promised who?” Ravage’s tone said that he really didn’t care. 

“Mega…” Orion’s optics shuttered closed, and he in-vented deeply to quell the anxiety that still bubbled behind the coding trying to force him into recharge. 

The cyber-feline snorted at that and laid his helm back down. 

Orion frowned and forced his optics back open. There was still too much data he needed to understand what was happening around him. 

“What happened to everyone?” 

Ravage sighed at that question, and lifted his helm to meet Orion’s optics once more. 

“Shut up, Pax, and recharge. I’ll tell you all I know when we come online.” 

[good-beansdraws]

Massive Milgramsona art/info dump as a treat to myself!! Alas, my fatal flaw is being unable to shut up about anything even while simultaneously embarrassed/nervous to share, so here's literally all the info I have on her 😅

Profile:

Name: For the sake of posting online I’ll call her Rose!

Number: 012

Color: #E7355B

Age: She’d be 20 when Milgram started

Status: Milgram Staff, Machine Technician

Song genre: Pop/theater (a mix of Mahiru and Kazui's vibes)

Backstory: She is studying abroad in Japan to work on technology related to the mv machine when she stumbles into top secret info about the trials. Horrified at the lack of prior testing, she demands to be included in the experiment to make sure the brand new tech runs smoothly and doesn't harm anyone in the process. To prevent her leaking info to the public and deciding an extra participant wouldn't hurt, Milgram agrees.

Role: Rose performs routine maintenance and updates on the extraction machine, and checks in with prisoners' health to make sure it's not having any adverse effects. She listens in on the interrogations, ringing the bell to signal Es when the machine is ready for use (re: my theory on how it works >:3). She then watches the mvs after Es to make sure there are no glitches.

(Though she is a personal milgramsona, her role in the story is supposed to reflect the audience's experience overall when it comes to how much info we know, emotions we experiencing regarding guilt/responsibility, and how much power over events we actually have given the voting system and trial breaks.)

Trial 1

Jackalope's comments during trial commencement: Oh, I almost forgot participant 012, Rose. We've never had more than one staff member before, so we figured that sort of numbering would be fine. Hey, don't look at me, it's not like it was our idea to include her. She's not a prisoner -- the only crime she's committed is sticking her nose where it didn't belong... You can ask her for the details, but she's just here for maintenance on our extraction machine. It's not easy keeping that thing running smoothly, you know? As part of her duties, she'll be privy to all the same information as you, but don't let her be any more of a busybody than she already is -- she has absolutely no authority when it comes to your verdict decisions, got it?

MV: Mic Check - “Can anyone hear me?”

VD: Positive Feedback

Cover: Pathological Facade - Ghost

Her album would release last in line. The VDs aren't interrogations since there's been no crime -- Es asks about her duties and observations of the prison. In them, she admits her predictions that she and Es will eventually be on trial for their involvement in the prisoner's fates.

Thus, her mvs are focused on her emotions towards the prisoners, her pride in helping bring justice, and her guilt at providing Milgram a means to pass judgement on people she cared about. I'm going to Goncharov the actual mvs/songs, but Mic Check is generally an introduction to her job behind the scenes prepping the equipment that will allow the prisoners' songs to be heard, as well kick off symbolism of her as a performer herself. She'll make a comment about how the experiment is leading to tragedy, "as if someone said Macbeth" (then covers her mouth, as she's standing in a theater herself).

I kept getting tripped up looking for Deco*27 songs that worked and weren't already taken, so I decided to go with some favorites and vibe-matching songs from other artists!

Comments during trial closing: It's good to hear you weren't a pushover when Rose gave her thoughts on the verdicts -- you guys disagreed on quite a few of them, eh? Ah... so she's not the type to pick fights, is that it? I guess that explains how she's managed to get along with everyone. (sigh) Even you knew better than to get attached like that. Well, at least she's kept our machine up and running the whole time.

Trial 2

Commencement: Now I need to wake Rose. We're going to need some extra upgrades to our machine if we want to get the most out of this round of extractions. I've got a sneaking suspicion that she and her bleeding heart are going to try and sway you during this trial. Her duty is specifically to look out for the prisoners' safety, but yours is only to judge them. Don't forget that.

MV: Changement - “Don’t say ‘break a leg,’ if it might just break.”

VD: Control Variable

Cover: TOXY - Kujiragi

I did my best to write out the title pronunciation out in katakana since I wanted it as the name of the dance move, not a direct translation of meaning. I went with シャジェモ "sha-je-mo" as the closest I could get to the "shanj-mou" sound, but feel free to correct me if there's a better way to write it. The door is based off of various set designs for Clara's home in The Nutcracker. (There's no deep meaning that this is the only one not opening -- I realized too late all the others are cracked open and my art app doesn't have the tools to easily fix that so I'm sticking with it 😭)

A changement is a small jump in ballet -- I thought it was fun to combine that (which means "to change") with Control Variable (refering to the variable in an experiment that never changes). The video shows conflicting emotions as her decisions/inaction caused so much to happen between trials, yet at the same time she feels like there's so much she'll be unable to change even if she really wants to intervene. Her mvs show the prisoners pretty regularly (since they are her crime, she's realized), and the teaser line is paired with references to Mahiru's broken leg.

The thumbnail combines different areas of study -- mechanical, medical, musical, mathematical (theater spotlight, muscles, Weakness notes, motion formulas). I think it's super cool how many areas of expertise are passed around the fanbase when discussing the characters. I've picked up new facts about plants, food, anatomy, geography, music, animals language, (sigh. color theory.), hobbies, professions, mythology, etc from fans with different fields of knowledge. While that's one of my favorite aspects of the project from the outside, I think it would be super intimidating to someone on the inside trying to tackle so much information at once.

Closing: As for Rose... (laughs) I thought she was dooming herself before--! Not only has she gotten hopelessly attached to everyone over the course of this trial, she's even started a relationship with one of the prisoners! And of all the people she could have chosen... Eh? Oh no, we have no policies against that for our staff. I mean, the whole point of Milgram is to explore human nature, the power of emotions, the complexities of connections, all that crap. I'm just grateful she shows a bit more common sense when she's operating the machine...

Trial 3

MV: Showstopper - “There won’t be applause, but I’ll take a bow, okay?”

VD: Please Exit Left

Cover: Ironina - Nilfruits

I don't know the album theme yet, but this is the tentative sprite and thumbnail design. The T2 sprite was kind of an "innocent" one, since at the beginning she still has faith in her role in the prison, excited to work with everyone there. (Plus, I joined the fandom a little after t2 started so that's peak excitement time lol). The T3 sprite has much more of a "guitly" feel to it because, at the end of T2 and after this hiatus, she'd harbor a lot more guilt about her position and fear about the experiment's conclusion. As a fun little detail, her pencil has been replaced with a more permanent utensil as final verdicts are locked in.

Now listen. My artist brain was constantly fighting my science brain when doing sprite designs -- I know gloves like that and nothing else isn't proper PPE. I know none of those are safety shoes (god forbid wearing just socks??? to the lab???). There should be no jewellery at all. The whole point of a lab coat is that you don't roll up the sleeves and expose your bare skin. However. It's anime character design. There can be compromise.

Referencing Rose's personal life as a performance and comparing Milgram's trials to one, I wanted the mv to play on "showstopper" as both a great show and a literal attempt to stop the project before it reaches its finale. There would be creepy comparisons in the mv between operating stage equipment and prison executions: curtain/set ropes and nooses, heavy duty lightswitches and electric chairs, etc.

Misc.

And lightening things up again -- birthday art and minigrams :3

Birth flower: Camellias. Pink camellias symbolize love but also longing. The fact that they bloom in winter, and have a quick death (the entire flower wilts at once, instead of individual petals falling off), have inspired different meanings in different cultures -- overcoming hard times, facing death in battle, inseparable lovers, and so on

Three minigrams featuring my own annoyance that her design is a bit close to Shidou's coat/gloves look, a mandatory short joke, and a pun that works so perfectly for my Put-In-Situations guy

[merlinfromberlin]

A Little Left of Right

"Apparently our cross-dimensional counterparts belong to the more faint of heart," said Optimus. His words sent a cold shiver down Bumblebee's backstrut. "Weren't they keeping pets, too?" asked Arcee, the cold sneer that accompanied those words basically audible. "Pathetic. I don't know what anyone could ever find in these squishies. It's a shame we're stuck here with them." ::What?:: bleeped Bee.

Or: When Bumblebee wakes up after a crash in the desert, something is not quite right with Team Prime.

Warnings: Canon Typical Violence, experimental style, Shattered Glass, Ableist Comments, implied cross-dimensional stalking, attempted botnapping Chronology: Somewhere smack dab in the middle of TFP Season 2 - after Operation: Bumblebee but before Smokescreen shows up. Chapter: 1/? Wordcount: 1823 words

Apparently merely the first chapter of a longer story (against my consent).

Written for @angstober - Day 15: False Hope. Prompt list can be found here: X

I'm aware that this does not exactly fit the 'false hope' mold. It's more a 'false sense of security'. But well. This idea stole my brain and by the time I got it back I didn't want to go back and change it anymore.

Story below the cut or on AO3 (I would recommend the AO3 version because of the formatting - looks better over there).

[Initiating system reboot.]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[Rebooting sequence successful.]

[Running automated system diagnosis.]

[...]

[...]

[...]

[Energy level: 53%.] 

[Fuellevel: 49%. ]

[Malevolent foreign coding (Aut#Rt-4c7.SG) detected.]

[Isolating code.]

[…]

[…]

[…]

[Malevolent foreign coding (Aut#Rt-4c7.SG) isolated.]

[Starting analysis.]

[…]

[…]

[…]

[Analysis complete.]

[Malevolent foreign coding (Aut#Rt-4c7.SG) identified as Forced Shutdown Protocol (Aut#Rt-4c7.SG).]

[Complete system scan recommended.]

[Scan now?]

[Yes (X) No ( )]

[Initiating scan.]

The first thing Bumblebee became aware of as he woke was coarse grainy desert sand grinding into his joints and burrowing itself below his plating. The second thing was a processor ache almost as bad as that one time he had fallen from Optimus’ shoulders as a sparkling. The third thing was his HUD as well as several other core processes rebooting.

His internal navigation system positioned him somewhere between Jasper and Autobot Outpost Omega One which was good because it was where he remembered being before… before he had been knocked out by whatever. At least Bee had not been botnapped. That would have been inconvenient. Being botnapped sucked. And he really did not want to miss this week’s episode of Avatar.

Bee’s comm link pinged four Autobot signals around him. As he could detect no other lifeforms—apart from an armadillo—nearby, Bumblebee decided to take that as a good sign. He was probably relatively safe right now. Still, he was cautious as he pushed himself up into a sitting position. Safety was never permanent. It was one of the first lessons growing up in a Civil War older than yourself taught you.

When he finally onlined his optics, a new surge of pain shredded his processor. His whole visual feed was grainy and drained of colour except for a violently pink tinge in the upper right corner that would have fried his optical sensory circuits if they had not already been glitching. Shaking his helm did not help with the problem in the slightest. Instead, the movement just aggravated the pain and made him nauseous. With a small groan, he pressed his thumbs just below his optical ridges. The sensation of cool digits against heated metal helped momentarily, allowing him to tear his focus back to the present.

Through the static Bumblebee could, albeit barely, make out the shapes of Optimus Prime and Ratchet standing in front of him. The medic was kneeling in front of Bee, already scanning his charge for damages. To his sides he could make out two more vague frames—one slithe, the other bulky. That had to be Arcee and Bulkhead.

::What happened?:: Bee beeped after a moment of tense silence while he slowly, so as not to aggravate his processor further, turned his helm up towards Optimus for answers.

“Our… scanners detected your distress signal,” replied the Prime after a short pause. His tone of voice sent a chill down Bumblebee’s backplating and caused his doorwings to shoot upwards in rigid tension. Optimus sounded uncharacteristically angry and... almost arrogant. His cool intonation and aggressive glyphs grated on Bee's processor. Maybe there was something wrong with his audials, too? Because that was just not what the Autobot leader was supposed to sound like. “So we came to investigate.”

::I don’t…:: Bee started slowly, cycling his optics sluggishly as he scoured his memory files for hints as to what had happened. ::I was driving back to base… I had just brought Raf home. Then… there was this… I don’t know… light, I guess… a flash of blue light. And…. Then I don’t know. I woke up here.::

[Error in Optical Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127) detected.]

Who woulda thunk.

[Restart of Optical Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127) necessary.]

[Restart now?]

[Yes (X) No ( )]

[Initiating restart of Optical Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127).]

“Mh… There is some minor damages to his sensory network,” reported Ratchet just as Bumblebee’s visual feed offlined itself. He heard someone heavy, probably Bulkhead, shift their weight from one pede to the other on his left side.

::Yeah:: Bee piped up. ::My self-repair is already-::

“Du-uh-uh. Let the grown-ups talk. It's impolite to invade conversations you know nothing about.” He was cut off almost immediately by the medic which… ouch. His carer tended to be grouchy but that… that had just been mean. Unnecessarily so in Bee’s opinion. Ratchet had never before spoken to him like that. Tentatively, he attempted to reach out with his EM field but was met with nothing but distant static. Dejected, he pulled it back to his frame, curling its tendrils tightly around his protoform for comfort. “Otherwise, there seems to be nothing amiss with him. Well, except for the obvious.” Which… again. Ouch. What had gotten into Ratchet?

::Maybe it was M.E.C.H.? I mean… it would fit their method is all:: offered Bee after a moment of terse silence.

A silent hum from Optimus was the only answer he received. Until an impossibly familiar voice spoke up.

“I thought we had squashed those pests decicycles ago,” said Cliffjumper of all mech which… apparently Bee’s audials really were glitching because there was no way that Cliffjumper could be here. Cliffjumper had died months ago in a Decepticon energon mine. And Bee was absolutely certain of that because he kept reliving that dreadful cycle in all its gory details in his dreams. He could not be hearing Cliffjumper because Cliffjumper was dead. Offline. One with the Allspark. Gone.

"Apparently our cross-dimensional counterparts belong to the more faint of heart," answered Optimus. Again, his words sent a cold shiver down Bumblebee's backstrut.

"Weren't they keeping pets, too?" asked Arcee, the cold sneer that accompanied those words basically audible. "Pathetic. I don't know what anyone could ever find in these squishies. It's a shame we're stuck here with them."

::What?:: bleeped Bee. His servos were shaking slightly. His vents came in too fast. Something was wrong. Something was seriously wrong here. None of this made any sense. Please, Primus, let it be a glitch with his audials or something like that. At least he would know how to fix that—or Ratchet would.

[Query: Initiating scan of Auditory Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127).]

[Scan of Auditory Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127) has not detected any malfunction.]

[Query: Initiating scan of Auditory Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127).]

[Scan of Auditory Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127) has not detected any malfunction.]

[Query: Initiating scan of Auditory Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127).]

[Scan of Auditory Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127) has not detected any malfunction.]

[Restart of Optical Sensory Relay Network (Bas#B-127) successful.]

[Rebooting now.]

As his visual feed came back online, Bumblebee flinched heavily. The jerking motion send a shard of hot pain through his processor that buried itself deep behind his right optic. He did not care as he shuffled backwards in a panic. After only a few metres his doorwings collided with a rock behind him, stopping him in his tracks and trapping him in place.

[Initiating Energy Preservation Protocols (SpOp_Sc#B-127).]

[Initiating Energon Preservation Protocols (SpOp_Sc#B-127).]

[Initiating Emergency Pain Suppressant Protocols (SpOp_Sc#B-127).]

[Initiating Stealth Protocols (SpOp_Sc#B-127).]

[Initiating Scouting Protocols (SpOp_Sc#B-127).]

[Initiating Infiltration Protocols (SpOp_Sc#B-127).]

[Initiating Combat Protocols (SpOp_Sc#B-127).]

As his processor ache slowly faded to the background, the scout's gaze kept shifting wildly from one bot to the next, skipping from white plating accented with teal on Ratchet's frame to an Arcee whose dark blue main colour had been exchanged for pitch black. For a moment, Bee's focus lingered on the dark blue Cliffjumper to his left. This mech had a lot more horns and studs than his own Cliff had ever possessed. All of their optics glowed red. Then his attention narrowed down on the tallest bot of the group surrounding him. The one who shared Optimus’ frame but neither his colour scheme nor his gentle warmth. Instead, the semitruck was mostly violet, his optics glowing in a sickening purple the scout had come to associate with Megatron. 

::You’re not Optimus:: Bumblebee finally said, his vocalisation trembling slightly. The fake Optimus just laughed. The sound of it was grating to the youngling's audials and he pulled his pedes even closer to himself. His doorwings flared up wide behind him. They were flapping furiosuly, lower halfs scraping against the rock behind him with every stroke.

The fake Ratchet scoffed: "He is a truer Prime than your pathetic pacifist archivist ever could be, little sparkbyte."

Bee shivered at the term of endearment. It sounded wrong when it came from this mech—cold, dangerous and mocking when it should have been one of the, if not the safest word in the entire universe. How did this sorry excuse for Ratchet even know it? Ratchet—his Ratchet, his medic and his carer and the bot who had raised him with Optimus and Ironhide and Elita-1 ever since the destruction of Bumblebee's hometown—made sure never to use it publicly. He was not even sure if their human allies, if Raf, knew the term.

::What did you do to Ratchet?:: Bee warbled quietly, cycling his optics to focus on the medic's faceplates now. He was shaking silently, although he was not sure if from fear or fury.

"Wouldn't you like to know, little one?" The grin on the mean doctor's faceplate split even wider. That was Optimus' nickname for him. It took Bee way too much effort not to cower.

"Ratchet," interrupted the fake Prime suddenly, his voice cold and coloured heavily with disgust. "As amusing as this conversation may be to you, you can continue it back at headquarters. There, you will have our little guest all to yourself without having to worry about Decepticons interrupting you."

::I'm not going anywhere with you!:: protested Bumblebee vehemently, his cables tensing underneath his armour as he made himself even smaller, preparing to strike in surprise. He was sure as the pit not going to go with these creeps. He would rather face Megatron.

"That's not for you to decide, bug." It was the fake Cliffjumper that reacted first to Bee's challenge.

[Initiating transformation sequence (COM-SpOp#B-127;α).]

[Rerouting energon to Combat Line (COM-SpOp#B-127;α;1).]

[Rerouting energon to Combat Line (COM-SpOp#B-127;α;2).]

The blue mech stepped forward to try and pull the smaller bot to his pedes. He stumbled backwards as Bee leapt up from his curled up position on the ground, blasters drawn. The scout used the older mech's surprise to slip past besides him, gaining some space while using the fake Cliff as a shield from the rest of his perpretators. He stayed there for barely a nanocycle before aiming a few weak shots at the older mech's chassis and diving over the top of the rock he had just been leaning against. Midair, he fired a few more shots in the general direction of these weird, dark Autobot mimicries before folding down into his alt mode to speed away as fast as his wheels could carry him.