#and yeah. i’m not mad; i’m not going to sue or anything. some bruises on my thigh is like the least of my troubles atm

[dustbunnylair]

Shubble/Shelby's Situation: People Defending The Abuser and Shaming The Victim (!TW: Mentions of abuse/abusive relationship!)

7 months ago, on February 21st, 2024, a Twitch streamer with around 468K followers spoke out about being abused by another Twitch streamer and artist, who is now her ex on a stream titled, “Talking About Something More Serious”. The Twitch streamer who spoke out goes by Shubble or Shelby, she described the at the time unnamed Twitch streamer as (mainly) British, popular, and also in the music industry, fans quickly connected the dots to the popular Twitch streamer and lead singer in the band, Lovejoy, Wilbur Soot. 

I won’t go into full detail about what Shubble said, as I would prefer for people to listen to her say it, rather than someone else. But, the main things were that Wilbur did not follow a safe word that they set in place, and would bite her to the point of her screaming out in pain. He was also slobbish and dirty in his living situation. Unfortunately, Shubble has not provided any proof of bruises, markings, etc. but that doesn’t mean she’s lying, not every abuse victim documents their injuries, and honestly in my opinion, maybe she’s uncomfortable with sharing those injuries, those injuries are really none of our business to see.

A few days later, Wilbur Soot, made a response, which if you would like to read it you can find it here, I’ll sum it up to what I had processed within the response:

First off, he says it’s a response rather than an apology. Second, he didn’t even mention Shubble’s name, he only referred to her as “ex-girlfriend” or “this person” he never said her name. I want that to be emphasized because that’s quite common in abusers, they literally will not say their victim’s name(s) as a form of dissociation or just not taking accountability.

Many people including famous people such as Ranboo, Tommyinnit, Sneegsnag, Lil Tay, Billzo, Aimsey, Dream even, to fully call out Wilbur, as they should. Let’s also emphasize how absolutely batshit insane it is that Lil Tay and Billzo said shit about him, Lil Tay does not know this man and Billzo is literally never active on social media, no hate to them though obviously, shoutout to them for calling him out. Dream responding to Wilbur is so diabolical, you know an apology/response sucked ass when DREAM of all people responds to you and REWRITES the response. 

I have found many people on social media, more specifically TikTok and Pinterest, borderline defending Wilbur Soot. From getting mad at Shubble for telling her viewers to stream her stream instead of Wilbur's newest song, which yeah is a bit immature coming from a 30 y/o woman, but remember this is literally her abuser and she’s probably just joking around and coping. Not to mention the person who “called out” Shubble for not being able to “move on” can’t move on from Shubble nor Wilbur themselves.

Hypocrite alert…Honestly, Wilbur defenders are either stuck in 2019-2021 or are just insanely parasocial. Wilbur does not know you, you do not know him, he is a content creator and singer. I *was* a Wilbur fan before “Your New Boyfriend” came out, and look, I’ve moved on from him, 5 years of my life went to waste but at least I’m not supporting an abuser. It’s so funny seeing Wilbur dick riders getting mad at people for calling him niblur soot or saying he has rabies and needs a muzzle. 

It’s always “always believe the victim” until the abuser is someone you like or is conventionally attractive. I’ve seen multiple people ask why Shubble hasn’t sued Wilbur but has sued a car company. It’s so obvious that these people do not know shit about abusive relationships. Almost like if you were to take it to court and sue him, it wouldn’t change anything for Shubble other than some money or some shit, it doesn’t change the fact that she has trauma from the abuse, and it certainly isn’t gonna make him take accountability. Plus abuse in women or literally any gender, is invalidated most of the time.

People say that Wilbur is getting therapy just from his word. But me and other people are clearly seeing he isn’t showing change whatsoever, in fact, he literally looks like he’s on drugs, like coke. I remember someone made a TikTok talking about how skinny Wilbur looks and saying he’s probably starving himself. He’s 6’5 and has always been fucking lanky, and starving yourself isn’t the only thing that makes you lose weight, it’s also drugs!

I’m honestly just so sick and tired of seeing people say “Shubble admitted to lying” and then when you ask for proof of that they don’t respond, because she’s never admitted to that. Even other creators, not just Shubble, have come out and said Wilbur’s abusive behavior, like Tommyinnit. I mean, James Marriott hasn’t spoken out about this, and he doesn’t have to, that’s not something that’s required from him, but in one of James Marriott’s videos from 3 years ago, he and Wilbur did like this drunk video and it was called “If We Laugh, The Video Ends…(ft. Wilbur Soot)”, but throughout the video Wilbur just sometimes gets violent, and it doesn’t seem like a bit because most of the time James reacts genuinely concerned.

And before anyone uses the “Oh but he was drunk” excuse, I don’t want to hear it, the more drunk you are, the more of the real you comes out, he was drunk as fuck and his real self was coming out. 

Yeah, honestly that’s all I have to say about this topic for right now. Don’t go harass Wilbur or any Wilbur supporters, just try to educate them or block them, both are valid. If I have more to add I’ll make a follow-up post. But yeah, always believe the victim, don’t defend abusers. Keep yourself safe.

[hippolotamus]

For the fic title ask: Buddie, ‘Save the last dance for me’

Dearest Owl, I know the title doesn't match, but I hope you love it anyway 🦉🚒🦛

for the record | 2453 Words | Rated T

Happy birthday again, sis.” Buck gathers Maddie in a tight embrace as long as she’ll let him. Since she came home from Boston, it’s been more difficult for him to keep these moments from stretching out. “Tell Jee I’m looking forward to seeing my favorite girl next week.”

“No worries about that, little brother. She cannot stop talking about it. Well, at least, as much as a toddler can. Which is a surprising amount, even if I can’t understand it all.” Maddie notes with an affectionate, sleepy smile. “Thanks again for tonight, Evan. I really did not see this coming.”

Warmth floods his chest, spreading outward across his limbs. She looks tired, but that’s to be expected. It’s late, she’s back working at dispatch, all while attempting to reconfigure a life that includes her partner and child. Beneath that Buck can see her usual radiance. The sunshine he recognizes from an otherwise lonely childhood. It’s been far too long since he saw her this way. Smiling, pleased, laughing. Living.

“Anything for you, Mads. I, uh, figured it might be better luck to surprise you here instead of Bobby and Athena’s place. Y’know, after what happened last time.” Buck involuntarily winces, recalling the details people told him afterward about collapsing on the Grant-Nash patio, nearly choking on his own blood.

He hates the instant frown on Maddie’s face, part of her classic ‘Big Sister’ look. The kind that says she already knows he’s suffered enough for that particular error in judgment, but is never going to let him forget how worried she was. How much she still prioritizes his well-being.

“Anyway, you only turn twenty-nine… how many times is it now?” He tries to lighten the mood again, wanting to end the evening on a high note.

“And that is why we don’t let you do math, Buckaroo,” Chim interjects, taking Maddie’s hand, threading their fingers together. “We need to go home and get some rest. Unfortunately, Jee still hasn’t learned the concept of sleeping past 6 am.”

“Ohh, that is rough. Now get out of here, both of you.” Buck loves kids, but he also values sleeping in. He makes a shooing motion with his hands, playfully pushing them into the hallway.

“Goodnight, Buck! Goodnight, Eddie!” Maddie and Chim exclaim in unison, already halfway to the elevator.

“Good… night?” Eddie sprints to the doorway, his heavy boots thudding against the floor, but isn’t able to catch them in time. “Okay, then,” he mutters, seemingly to himself.

Eddie disappears back to the living room. Or was he in the kitchen? Buck isn’t exactly sure as he closes the door, turning the lock before sagging against it and letting his eyelids fall closed. When he agreed to host Maddie’s party at his loft he hadn’t realized what an undertaking it would be. Even with all the planning and help from the rest of the team.

Bobby, Athena and May brought side dishes. Hen, Karen and Eddie hung decorations, brought the cake and chipped in for drinks. Between himself and Sue from dispatch, Buck made sure none of it got back to Maddie or Chim. He ultimately doesn’t feel too bad about the hushed discussions and occasional awkward excuses – however necessary – if it meant not burdening Chim with keeping a secret. Especially from Maddie.

“Does this thing actually work?”

Buck forces his eyes open at the sound of Eddie’s voice, pushing off the door to seek him out. He only has to take a few steps to find him casually tracing the edge of the record player. Buck would be lying if he said it didn’t immediately make him imagine what it might be like to have Eddie’s calloused fingertips brushing over his skin. Or leaving bruises on his hips from gripping him just this side of too much. Or any number of other things Buck definitely shouldn’t be thinking about with Eddie right in front of him.

“Uh, yeah. Of course, it does,” Buck says, choosing to sit on the opposite side of the kitchen island instead of drifting next to Eddie like he wants to. He figures a little distance, and privacy to adjust his pants, can only help until his body calms down. “Why?”

“I’ve just never heard you play anything on it. Not even tonight. I guess I just… wondered,” Eddie replies quietly, as though he’s inquiring about more than the functionality of the player.

Wondered what? Buck wants to ask as Eddie rubs his thumb along the corner of the protective cover. Instead he answers the not-quite question.

“I used to. When I first moved in. I stopped after the whole leg getting crushed under a ladder truck incident. Seeing as it was a literal pain to switch tracks.” Buck huffs out a humorless laugh. “After that I’m not really sure why I didn’t start again? I guess it didn’t seem worth it when Ali left, and Taylor found it, uh, distracting.”

“Hmm,” Eddie hums, pointing to the cabinet below. “This where you keep your collection?”

“I don’t know if I’d call it a collection, but yeah.”

It’s rude to stare, Buck knows that, but he can’t seem to stop. Not when Eddie slides the top drawer out, smooth and easy, gingerly lifting the stack of LPs, setting them upright. He handles them with care - like Eddie does with everything he touches. He flips through one by one, his tongue poking out between his lips as he inspects front-to-back then back-to-front again.

“God, I haven’t heard some of these since I was a kid,” Eddie comments. “Abuela would play them when me and my sisters stayed at her house.”

Buck smiles to himself, picturing a young Eddie listening to records with Abuela, maybe dancing in her living room or pretending to sing along. Perhaps both.

Like he knows what train of thought he’s interrupting, Eddie looks over with a hint of something bright and playful and curious. “Which one should we listen to first?”

Without even seeing the album covers Buck could list off which ones are there, and in what order. Still, he leaves his chair to peruse the options. And maybe because he’s always been drawn to Eddie, unable to stay away for too much time. Either way, it’s been a long day. An enjoyable one, but still lengthy, and Buck simply doesn’t have the willpower to maintain the distance anymore.

Eddie wordlessly presses their shoulders together while Buck pretends to reacquaint himself. Something they’ve done hundreds of times before, but manages to feel more intentional and weighted. Like Eddie wants Buck to be aware of his presence. As if Buck could ever not be.

Finally, Buck points to one near the back of the pile. Something loosens in his chest when he touches it, tapping it gently. As if the record had asked to be chosen and was now letting Buck know he chose correctly.

“This one.”

“This one?” Eddie repeats, his voice a bit huskier than Buck has ever heard before. He already wonders if he’ll get to hear it again. Eddie’s hand trails across the thin cardboard ridges, until the tips of their fingers meet.

“Y-yeah,” Buck stutters softly, pulling the neutral-toned square from the stack, trying to pretend his insides aren’t quivering like jello and his heart isn’t threatening to beat out of his chest. “I, uh, got this one at a thrift store. It was in a box with some others I really wanted, and the owner wouldn’t sell them separately. So it kinda came along for the ride.”

Buck proceeds to slide the disk out of the paper sleeve to place it on the spindle. “It all worked out, though. One day I put it on, just to know if it was worth keeping. I really liked the sound. It’s… different,” he says, carefully setting the needle at the edge of the vinyl.

Soft pops and crackles begin to play through the speaker, a sound he hasn’t heard in ages. It curls around him, soothing him down to his bones. Maybe that’s what possesses him then, what gives him the courage he’s never had before. It could also be a complete lack of filter from playing host all evening, or the tranquil melody of the music itself. Maybe all of it. Or maybe just Eddie, familiar and devastatingly handsome, who smells like the woodsy cologne Buck said he liked once.

“Dance with me?” The words fall out in a breathy, rushed request.

Eddie’s eyes widen for a beat, warm and brown and reflecting the Edison bulbs hanging overhead. He stares long enough that Buck begins to think he’s crossed a line. That he’s read everything all wrong and this perfect moment is about to come crashing down on him.

“I’m– I’m sorry. If you don’t want to-“ Buck cuts himself off, starting to withdraw. He can feel himself blinking rapidly, his legs becoming shaky as he attempts to take a step back.

“Buck.” Eddie says his name like maybe it’s not the first time. Buck is certain he hears a sharp intake of breath — whether it’s his own is questionable — when Eddie reaches over, encircling his wrist.

“Buck.” Softer this time, like a plea. Eddie skims over the thin skin and delicate bones until he laces their fingers together, pulls Buck to his chest. Their eyes meet again and Buck can’t tear himself away. He can’t see anything but Eddie, who’s swiping his tongue across his lips and tentatively winding one arm around Buck’s waist. “I do want.”

“Eddie,” Buck breathes, mirroring Eddie and letting one of his palms rest on Eddie’s shoulder.

Kiss me once, then kiss me twice

Then kiss me once again.

It's been a long, long time.

On the rare chance Buck has a dance partner these days, he’s used to being the one leading. The thought doesn’t even cross his mind when Eddie does so, guiding them in an easy, unhurried rhythm.

“You’re a surprisingly good dancer,” Buck blurts out.

“I may have done this once or twice.” Eddie’s teasing grin softens to something that Buck can only describe as fond before he adds, “You know, I’ve been trying to lead all my life, keep everything moving in the right direction. Maybe I just needed to find someone who doesn’t mind that I won’t always get it right, or if I step on their feet once in a while.”

Oh. Buck can feel his cheeks flush, the tingling heat licking up the back of his neck. It sounds a lot like Eddie’s saying that Buck might be that person. He’s not entirely sure what to do with that. But he knows he wants to be that someone for Eddie. In all ways. Not only at their job, or as a co-parent for Christopher.

Haven’t felt like this, my dear

since I can’t remember when

It’s been a long, long time

They continue swaying gently, filling Buck with the sort of optimism he would normally try to shove down before Eddie can say none of this means what he thinks it does. That he’s only imagining Eddie seems to be holding him closer. Or how simple and uncomplicated it feels. Like this moment – perhaps the most intimate and cared for he’s ever felt – is one more way he and Eddie are meant to be touching. Another level unlocked that could be something more. Something real.

You'll never know how many dreams

I've dreamed about you.

Or just how empty they all seemed without you.

The song comes to an end, leaving the needle drifting to the center and skipping on the inner ring. Buck bites the inside of his cheek, steeling himself to pull away if only because there’s no true reason to continue holding Eddie. Not like this, like someone Buck can keep. Except his body doesn’t appear to get the memo. Their hands stay linked and one of Buck’s remains fixed on Eddie’s shoulder. So he waits for Eddie to let go first, or move, or remind him to do something. But Eddie stays, too, lips parted and flicking his gaze down to Buck’s mouth, just for a moment. Just long enough.

Buck decides he can hate himself later for the words that tumble out next. “Eds, I– if I got this wrong can we promise to just forget it ever happened?”

Eddie blinks once, twice, looking like he might bolt as the implication of Buck’s question hits him. Buck nearly corrects himself, ready to play the question off as a joke. Because this – slow dancing with his best friend and feeling like they are on the precipice of something – all has to be the product of his love-addled brain. Until—

“I don’t think that’s possible,” Eddie whispers, sliding his palm around the back of Buck’s neck, pulling him in and claiming his mouth for a kiss that is everything Buck’s been hoping for. There are no traces of hesitation or doubt, only Eddie sighing, soft and content, like he’s been wanting just as much. Not that Buck only wants the physical connection. He’ll take any piece Eddie will let him have, but, truthfully, he wants all of them.

“Thank you for understanding where I was going with that,” Buck murmurs when they separate, feeling ecstatic and giddy because Eddie just kissed him. Finally.

Eddie‘s lips curve up in the private smile he only ever uses for Buck or Chris. “I guess you’re not so bad at leading either.”

“Maybe. But, uh, I have been, too. Waiting for someone. Because I am gonna mess up the steps sometimes.” Buck swallows around the nervous lump in his throat, looking at Eddie with a mix of hope and fear and anticipation. “I just really wanted to get it right this time. With you.”

“I know the feeling. I think we did, though. I know we did. Get it right this time, I mean.” Eddie presses a kiss to his birthmark that’s so tender Buck thinks he might cry.

There are so many things Buck wants to say, but can’t find the correct words for. Things that have been living in his head for years at this point. But if Eddie’s going to insist on being so casually goddamn romantic, it’s going to take Buck a minute. He cradles Eddie’s face in his hands, thinking maybe he can ask for the next best thing. At least for now. “Kiss me again?”

Eddie leans in, until their lips brush together when he speaks and Buck can taste every word. “For the record, always assume I want to kiss you. Once.” Eddie kisses the corner of his mouth. “Twice.” He kisses the other corner, then centers himself once again, murmuring against Buck’s mouth. “Forever.”

[readinginthereadyroom]

it’s rage (911 3x05) and the divorce lawsuit arc keeps eddie from reaching out to buck. 

but the thing is. eddie’s been isolating himself. not on purpose. but as a means of coping. with the almost-baby. the would-be divorce. shannon’s death. his family visiting. the ladder bombing. buck’s blood clots. the tsunami. christopher’s ptsd. and there’s no time for anything else. certainly not time for himself. 

and he’ll willingly take christopher to therapy. but won’t give that to himself. he’s not touchy-feely like that. or at least. he doesn’t think he’s allowed to be. 

eddie basically admits it in kids today (911 3x01). look, I know it sucks, but that's life, right? whenever stuff didn't work out for me, my dad always told me to brush it off, keep moving forward. It wasn't easy but he wasn't wrong. 

but instead of that he listens to his team. decides that hen’s I don't know if I should just give him a swift kick in the butt and get him back out there or hug him and tell him that it's all gonna be okay. is the better advice. so he shows up unannounced at buck’s loft. gives him a swift kick in the ass outta bed. hands him a hug in the shape of christopher. he never feels sorry for himself. and it seems to work. for a while. I learned one thing from that tsunami: it's that I don't quit. I fight. because even after the tsunami. after losing christopher during the second wave. eddie still trusts buck. because buck never stopped searching. never stopped trying to find christopher. and that means everything. thank you for not giving up.

but then there’s the fallout. christopher’s having nightmares. and he’s unwilling to talk about them to eddie. he obviously saw something terrible when he was separated from buck. something that he conflates with his mother’s death. something about a woman drowning. 

which is absolutey heartbreaking. especially since there’s nothing eddie can really do. just keep loving him. 

and bosko means well. she and eddie are building their own friendship since the tsunamis. and it’s been growing while she temps at the 118. she gives him invaluable advice when he talks about christopher. that no matter what, her mom shared her feelings with her. however we felt, we were in it together, no matter what.

but she’s also a literal buck stand-in. a temporary coworker and a temporary confidante. especially once the lawsuit is underway. well, there's no way I was gonna call my abuela or the 118, and I'm not allowed to talk to buck.

because buck is trying to get his job back. feeling hurt and betrayed and lashing out. and inadvertabtly hurting those he cares about most. because he told his lawyer about shannon’s death. how eddie never took any time off to grieve. never saw a counselor.

and eddie’s not okay with that. not after the revelation about christopher’s nightmares. the fresh wounds that would leave. because eddie’s a private guy. guarded about his emotions. he’s silly and soft with christopher in their own home. but he’ll cry alone on the beach. 

and maybe buck didn’t say all that to this stranger. this ambulance chaser. but it feels like he did. that buck aired all his dirty laundry. personal things. that buck didn’t have his back. 

but maybe bosko can. she might be a buck mirror in the tsunami eps but she’s also an eddie mirror. she’s not into touchy feely emotions either. and she likes to fight. so she takes him to fake fight club. let’s him work off some steam. 

only it fails spectacularly. because eddie’s not actually mad. he’s not angry. no, he’s hurting. and he doesn’t know how to show it. and maybe that's where our rage comes from. a feeling that our world, our lives are out of control.

and it all comes spilling out in the pet aisle of a grocery store. because buck’s there to apologize and eddie. eddie misses him. I can't even talk to you and you’re not around. 

even worse. christopher misses him. and buck didn’t even realize that.

and there’s a lifetime bad advice is still rattling around in eddie’s head. we all have our own problems, but you don't see us whining about it. no, somehow, we just manage to suck it up. why can't you? and then he says something truly awful. something he doesn’t actually mean.

you're exhausting.

which is to say. eddie’s exhausted. he’s obviously not sleeping, not with christopher waking up to nightmares. and everything feels like it’s out of control. eddie feels like he’s out of control. 

and just when he felt like he was getting some of that control back--buck becoming a fire marshal. a new friend. admitting he’s sad to chris. a week without nightmares--that lawyer takes it all away. makes him feel like he’s still not enough. awakens the old fears that he’ll drag christopher down with him. because he didn’t grieve properly. didn’t let himself feel. and that’s what sparked all of christopher’s problems. 

nevermind that none of it’s true. that it’s just eddie projecting. because he feels helpless. powerless. weak. alone.

and that’s why eddie goes to the private fights. why he continues going. despite the bruises and the beatings. and why he gives buck the cold shoulder in monsters (911 3x06) when he notices them. nothing you need to be concerned with.

because their team is broken. when you decided to sue the department, to make cap the bad guy, did you ever stop for a minute to think what that could do to us? and yeah, eddie’s obtensibly refering to the 118 team. but that little finger waggle gives him away. us as in you and me. us as in you and christopher. us as in the buckley-diaz team.

your actions, your choices, they impact the rest of us. that's what it means to be a part of a team. because eddie’s ready to finish their conversation from the grocery story. ready to listen. because buck’s proven he’s listened too. acknoweldged that he didn’t think about what could happen. that he didn’t mean for it to go so far. didn’t mean for anyone. let alone eddie and chris. to get hurt. 

only he was so mad. at bobby. at the 118. at the world. at himself. and he wanted to punch something. 

just like eddie. 

and maybe that’s what does it. because eddie’s forgiven buck before he can even finish asking. I forgive you. also what it means to be part of a team. because they were the same. they were both hurting. both retreating inward and lashing outwards. alone and suffering for it. 

so eddie puts their team back together. seals all that tough love with a hug. 

and it’s not quite over. they still have some healing to do--eddie’s still cage fighting and buck’s still repairing his relationship with bobby. but now they have each other’s backs. they can heal together. 

because they’re on the same team. again.

[dastardlydandelion]

respice finem

ao3 link

content warnings: referenced violence and abuse

part one link

obligatory irl inspo link

Max keeps pacing up and down the diameter of the room. She stretches her hands over her head and Billy thinks her protective hovering is starting to bug the nurses. They both stayed overnight but Billy’s at least taken a couple breaks. He got himself some Doritos from the vending machine. Borrowed and smoked a cigarette even though he virtually quit a couple years back. Took a short drive to a Kmart up the road and bought Max a change of clothes, supposing he wouldn’t able to get her anything of her own if her home was wrapped in caution tape.

“You wanna go down to the cafeteria, maybe? Get something to eat?”

“Not hungry.”

“Okay…did you know they have a gift shop? Wanna go check it out?”

“No.”

“Do you—“

“I’m not leaving, Billy.” Max’s eyes glitter in a stubborn glower.

“Oh, but maybe you should, sweetheart,” Susan says softly. “You’re getting restless.”

“I’m fine.”

“You should get out of this stuffy room. Go for a stroll, stretch your legs. I would if I could.”

Pure heartbreak flashes across Max’s face and Billy feels his own lurch.

“Oh dear, bad joke.” Susan frowns and flaps her hand, the tube connecting it to the IV pouch swaying gently in the air. “That was in poor taste, I apologize. But I do think you need to get some fresh air, Max. I’ll be fine.”

Max pauses. Her hands come together and she taps her thumbs together as she mulls it over.

“I’d feel better if you stayed here.” Max shifts her gaze to Billy.

“Didn’t plan on going anywhere,” he says honestly. Max is obviously wired and getting more antsy by the minute but Billy is the opposite. He’s wiped out after driving for several hours straight and aching from head to toe after scrapping with his dad.

“…alright,” Max relents after a very long moment. “I’ll be back in fifteen.”

She gently swipes the back of her hand over her mother’s cheek. Susan blinks contentedly and hums in approval as Max trudges off to the door. She leaves. Susan's gaze flickers to Billy and then down. She frowns at the guardrail of the bed and uncertainly pushes at it with her palm.

“What’re you doing, Sue?”

“I don’t need this. I’m not going to roll out of bed.” She continues pushing at the guardrail but her efforts are weak and uncoordinated. Even if she had more power and precision behind her pushes, Billy’s pretty sure these things aren’t designed to be collapsed from the patient’s position.  

“It’s fine, just leave it alone.”

“No,” she refuses, eyes narrowing. “It’s in my way, Billy. It’s separating us.”

Something knocks loose inside his chest. Billy hasn’t seen her in three months. He hadn’t been particularly sure he’d ever see her again.

“Okay, okay, I’ll give it a go. Here.” He sighs out and messes with the thing and after a couple tries and a few silent shrieks from his very sore shoulders, he finally figures out how to get the damn rail lowered, adjusting it accordingly.

“Thank you so much,” Susan breathes. “Now it's easier to do this.”

She stretches out her slender fingers and rests her hand upon his knee. She gives it a couple dulcet pats. Her pinky pokes inside the fraying tear in the denim, soft pad of her fingertip cool against his skin. Billy swallows, wonders how much he is allowed to touch. She wouldn’t be this affectionate with him if she knew.

“It’s my fault Neil found you and Max,” Billy admits, heart pumping guilt like sludge in his veins. “It’s my fault he almost killed you.”

“What?” Susan stares at with owlish eyes.

“I wanted to send Max a gift in the mail,” Billy explains, speaking slowly and plainly. “I hid it under my bed. My dad saw it when he raided my room looking for some shit he thought I stole from him. That’s how he got your address. I tried to stop him, Susan. But I couldn’t…I’m sorry.”

“Oh, Billy.” Susan signs, rubbing her lips together. Her hand travels from his knee to his wrist and she gently pushes up his jacket cuff. Billy doesn’t stop her. He watches her eyes darken at the sight of the bruises.

“I’m sorry,” he repeats.

“You said it was a gift for Max?”

“Yeah…new skateboard.”

“I wish you would’ve just driven over to drop it off. Because if you came over, you would’ve seen how nicely we decorated our little duplex…you could’ve seen my darling little gnomes sipping tea and these delightfully clever novelty magnets Max found for the refrigerator. You could’ve sat on our couch and while it’s a bit worn— we got it secondhand —it’s very comfy. Maybe if you saw how nice everything was and sat in our cushy, comfy couch, you wouldn’t have wanted to leave.”

Billy gapes at her, noncomprehending. He just confessed he’s the reason she almost got killed. That it's his fault his dad literally broke into her home to beat her to death with a wrench. And Susan doesn’t seem angry at all. He knows she's on the good shit, but still. She's not out of it. She heard what he said. Ahd she is frowning but it’s a more fretful expression than anything, dimple between her eyebrows, forehead crinkled in concern.

“I waited for you, Billy.”

Oh.

“We talked about this before you left, Susan,” Billy gently reminds her. “I told you why I chose to stay. Remember?”

“You wanted to protect us,” she murmurs, thumb chary as she rolls it over his bruised wrist. “Me and Max.”

Billy solemnly nods his head.

“Mm…” Susan’s eyes rove the room and then settle back on him as her lips curl into a doleful smile. “How well do you suppose that turned out?”

Billy’s eyes travel along the chest tube to the rectangular drainage unit on the floor, the printed numbers and increments he doesn’t really understand. Glances to her legs elevated on the pillows. The right one was more badly broken. Not badly enough to require surgery, but still too swollen for a hard cast. The swelling in her left went down and Susan got fitted for a cast just a couple hours ago. The dark purple color she picked matches the massive bruise that currently blooms across most of Billy’s back.

“I’m sorry.” He bows again even though it hurts, it hurts, he’s goddamn sore but not as sore as he is sorry. Billy feels the knot tremble in his throat and he is possibly more sorry than he’s ever been anything else in his life. There is a beast in his belly with a thousand guilty eyes and shame in every one of its silent, miserable cries.

“No, no, raise your head. Don’t— it’s not your fault, Billy.” He feels Susan’s hand sweep the fringe from his face in a few quick motions, delicate and deft. “Won’t you look at me?”

Warily, he glances up. Susan’s eyes are misting up as he feels his own stinging again. Shit. Max is going to kill him if he makes her mother cry.

“I am the one who needs to apologize," Susan declares. "For the life of me, I couldn’t convince you to come with us. I failed you.”

“What?” Billy scoffs in disbelief. “No, that’s not on you. I’m stubborn, I’m—“

“I am the adult,” Susan cuts him off, voice sharp even as her hand rests against his cheek lamb gentle. “The real adult, you're barely twenty. You did what you thought was best but I’m older and I knew better, and I couldn’t make you see it. I let you stay, I left you in the lion’s den.”

Billy doesn't really see it that way. He doesn't feel like a child, doesn't want to be treated as one. And he's no longer Neil's legally, albeit he's been nowhere near financially independent. Couldn't work for a long time after that gruesome nightmare turned reality that was the worst fucking Fourth of July ever. Had to fork over all his paychecks to Neil even after he could go back to work— supposedly put toward residual medical bills insurance didn't cover, but hell if Billy truly trusted any excuse Neil could and would hold over his head. In any case, that's not entirely why he stayed with Neil. And staying with Neil wasn't even exactly the same thing as not going with Susan and Max, but abandonment wasn't a factor in the equation at all. He doesn't feel that way, how could Susan think that?

“You left me the address,” Billy pointedly reminds her and he does not let himself crane his face into her touch even though it’s cool and soft and he feels his stomach loosen with this, this featherlight clemency so careful and sweet.

Because of course he knows why he was left the address and it was never so he could mail packages.

“I should’ve grabbed you and dragged you to the car.” Susan doesn’t sound like she’s kidding.

“You could’ve,” Billy breathes and he’s not kidding either. “You’ve seen me get grabbed, Susan. I don’t fight it. Not in the house. Never did…not until he found that address.”

Susan’s thumb brushes away the tear that spills over, unbidden. Billy reaches out and does the same for hers.

“I’m not mad,” he promises in earnest.

“Neither am I. In fact, I’m…” Susan trails off, exhaling heavily as she draws her hand back from his cheek. “I don’t know, Billy. He was going to kill me. Maybe both of us and I could never say that I’m glad that happened because I am not. I am not glad Max had to see and do what she saw and did. I am not glad that at present, I cannot even stand without assistance. But…you’re here. You’re here because of what happened. Because of what happened, Neil…I never have to worry about Neil again. I never, ever have to look over my shoulder worrying about when he will find me because he already did.”

“That’s one way of looking on the bright side, I guess,” Billy mutters, voice hollow.

“Your father has done all the harm he will ever be able to do, to any of us, and now we’re together again. Isn’t there something to be said for that, Billy?”

He swallows thickly, nodding his head as he places his hand on the bed. Susan’s fingers slide over his and that’s how Max finds them when she returns.

“There you are,” Susan welcomes, smiling warmly. “That was a bit longer than fifteen minutes.”

Max freezes. “Did you need me?”

“No, honey, I’m fine. We’re fine. I’m just happy that you took a good break.”

Max visibly relaxes and shuffles over, lightly squeezing her mother’s upper arm. “I saw Neil.”

Billy exchanges a look of shock with Susan.

“Yeah, he had a new guard today and we talked for a couple minutes. Cool lady with a cool name, like some Greek Goddess name. She gave me a dollar for the vending machine and let me in his room.”

“Are you okay?” Susan frowns, worry crossing her features as her lashes flutter.

“Yeah, Mom. Neil doesn’t scare me anymore.” Max leans in and presses another kiss to the crown of her Susan’s head. Billy’s never seen her more affectionate than this, so doting and tender with her injured mother. “It was actually good. To see Neil like that…to know I did that. It confirms it, I guess? I mean not that I didn’t know, because obviously I know I didn't dream or hallucinate what happened, but…”

“Seeing is believing, perhaps?” Susan tilts her head, mussy red tresses shifting over the pillowcase.

“Yeah, like that. Seeing is believing, I guess. I saw the neck brace and the handcuffs and now I’m…well I’m not gonna turn into a badger every time you want me to take a break.” Max’s mouth quirks, expression sobering when she glances to Billy. “Are you gonna see him?”

“I don’t know,” Billy answers. He keeps thinking about it.

Maybe he’d feel better like Max does. Maybe he’d feel worse. He thinks he’d hate himself if he wound up having some scrap of sympathy. He thinks maybe he’d rip the pillow out from under his father’s head and smother the rest of the life out of him. He thinks he would have the opportunity to say everything he’s ever wanted to say but worries that he would not have the words, worries they may dissolve on his tongue with that stern, steely stare that’s shackled him all his life.

“Not yet,” Billy decides at least.

“You look weird,” Max bluntly blurts, scrunching her nose.

“That’s not nice,” Susan protests in mild reproach.

“It’s not mean,” Max counters, shrugs a shoulder as she looks back to Billy. “You okay? Is it hard being in a hospital again?”

Susan too raises a brow.

Billy reflexively lifts a hand to his chest, curls his jacket in his fist until the button presses uncomfortably into his palm. Few things in his life had been more challenging than his hospital stay and it wasn’t even being in pain or sick or weak, then weaker, then stronger and still in pain— it was sterility. It was being cooped up. It was no privacy whatsoever and never the right noises. It was everything being terrible except Max and Susan even if Max and Susan being around constantly was sometimes terrible but never, ever because they were terrible because they genuinely weren’t and— and now they’re all here again with some of the details rearranged.

Billy realizes that’s the hardest part, maybe, that the details are rearranged. Discovers that maybe it is worse to see someone you care about hurt than hurt yourself. He cannot speak but maybe they know, maybe they can read it in his face because then Susan’s reaching up again, brushing gentle fingertips over his scabbed up knuckles until he relaxes the death grip on the jacket balled into his fist.

“If you decide you want to see Neil, I’ll walk you to the door,” Max offers.

“Thanks,” he manages, terse but sincere.

“And if you want to see him, Mom, I’ll—“

“I don’t,” Susan breaks in, vehement and almost nervous, hand retracting from Billy’s and clasping fast to the opposite above her chest, IV tube swinging again. “I don’t, Max, I really, really don’t.”

“Okay,” Max promises her immediately, gingerly draping an arm around her in a reassuring embrace. The closest to a hug she can manage. “You don’t have to. You never, ever have to see him again, Mom. If you don't want to, you don't have to and that's that. I won't let anyone make you.”

Susan’s eyes dart back and forth as she leans into Max as much as she can, releasing a shaky exhale. Billy’s taken his breaks. They finally got Max to take her break. He thinks maybe Susan needs a break too.

“You wanna see what’s on tv, Sue?” he suggests.

‘No news,’ Max mouths at him above her head. Billy blinks knowingly.

“Sure,” Susan agrees, relaxing and shifting a bit as Max lowers her arm. “Um...maybe the animal channel?”

“Yeah, okay. Let’s see what nature is up to.”

[cubeswhump]

A New Home, pt. 2: Movie Nights and Shopping Trips

This got really fucking long. My hand aches after writing all that. Also I really hope Katy Perry doesn't sue me for this.

Taglist: @haro-whumps @albino-whumpee @broken-horn @whumpsblog

Warnings for institutionalized slavery, body-shaming, gross propaganda, “nice” whumper, mentioned physical abuse, blink-and-you-miss-it noncon, dehumanization.

Shopping! Michelle was taking Sweetie shopping on Sunday when she didn't have work or classes. Sweetie had no clue when Saturday would be here but she was so excited.

Oh, what would it be like? She tries to picture a clothing store. Endless dressers in neat rows, perhaps? You'd pull open a drawer and be surprised by what you found inside. But how would you find clothes that fit? Were they organized by size? Were they organized by style or did you just have to acceot what you found in each drawer?

Mister Trey always seemed to find lingerie and see-through gowns for Sweetie even thiugh she'd rather have...

Mister Trey was perfect. He was a perfect man and an amazingly kind owner. His clothing choices were as perfect as he was, so much nicer than the trainee uniforms, and Sweetie just didn't kniw what was best for her. But she had been ungrateful to the kindest man on Earth and she could cry just thinking about how badly she'd messed up.

Stop it. She had to smile for her new owner who was just as perfect and had been ever so kind. She'd given her such a pretty name too, one that was undeserving of such an ugly pet.

Mister Trey had the right idea when it came to names.

She'd been on her best behavior since her arrival. She had to show Michelle that she was a good pet and she didn't have to be refurbished. She thought she might have been doing good, because Michelle let her eat dinner at the table and watch movies with her, the pet sitting on the floor with her head on Michelle's knee while the latter sat in the couch.

Movies! Real entertainment. But she shuddered every time the handler came onscreen in He Can Handle Her - whuch eas iften because he was the love interest in a romance.

"They're arguing," Sweetie whispered, brown eyes as big as saucers. She brought her hand to her mouth but tugged it away before the nail reached her mouth.

"Huh?" Michelle paused on an image of the large, handsome handler with his mouth open in an unheard shout. Sweetie felt awful for interrupting her.

"He's mad... He'll zap her with his stick.

Michelle snorted and ruffled Sweetie's short hair, making it stand on end even worse than it did naturally. "You're nuts."

The movie was baffling. Though brash and intimidating, the handler lacked the frightening nature and violence that Michelle remembered from the facility. When the businesswoman visited him at work, she saw his softer side: rewarding trainees with peppermints and sqares of chocolate (Sweetie knew for a fact that all they got were chalky shakes and foul nutritional loaves, save for occasionally being able to eat their own creations in cooking classes) and giving them hugs and head pats, only responding to mistakes and sass with gentle scoldings.

What Sweetie remembered even more than electric shocks and bruises and what they did in the blindspots missed by cameras was the crippling loneliness of training, when yje handlers acted like she was filthy abd wouldn't touch her. She would have killed for a single head pat and practically leapt into Mister Trey's arms when he let her out if her crate.

The businesswoman got pregnant. She and the handler were so busy with work that they couldn't possibly watch the baby (was that really what newborns looked like?) 24/7. The solution was to get a Platonic (which was apparently called Caretaker in the region the movie took place in) that they named Molly to act as a live-in nanny. Molly wanted to be just like the businesswoman, being allowed to dress in smart pantsuits and blouses that cost way too much for a simple pet, and the movie ended with the couple wrapping her up in a gigantic hug while she giggled and reminded them that she had to tend to the baby.

Michelle gave Sweetue a sudden poke, making the pet jump. "You're making a stupid face."

Sweetie quickly forced her face into a neutral expression. No ugly faces. Bad face, close your mouth, you stupid girl.

"I'm so sorry, Miss Michelle," Sweetie said earnestly, kneeling and pressing her forehead to the floor in front of Michelle's feet. Michelle's pale eyebrows shot up.

"Hey, chill. You're fine. Sit up."

Sweetie sat back on her ankles, forcing herself to look into Michelle's eyes. Admire the blue, that's how to do it. Eye contact is good. Eye contact shows respect for the owner. "Yes, Miss Michelle. Thank you for allowing me to watch movies and for accepting my apology."

Michelle grinned, ruffling Sweetie's hair again. Sweetie leaned into the touch.

She was encouraged by Michelle's kindness, and when Michelle announced she was going to bed, Sweetie felt daring.

"Miss Michelle?" It came out a sad squeak and she felt unbelievably small when Michelle turned to face her.

"Yeah?" Michelle asked, yawning. Oh no, was Sweetie keeping her awake? Bad pet! "What's up, Sweets?"

"Can I ask for something?"

Michelle's lip quirked. "You just did."

She was right. Sweetie did ask, ironically, while trying to get a favor. She tried not to let her disappointment show and just stared blankly. Michelle burst out laughing.

"I was joking. What do you need?" she asked.

"Can I..." Sweetie stopped herself from doing that stupid hand-twirling. Keep flapping and I'll break your hand. "Can I have a hug?"

Michelle's eyebrows raised. Sweetie braced herself, immediately regretting the stupid question. An Indulgence? Bad pet, stupid pet. But them Michelle opened her arms. "Bring it in, Sweets."

Sweetie tried not to look too eager. You're acting desperate, slut. Michelle was much shorter but Sweetie was the one comforted in her embrace, ehes closing and lips stretching into a big grin.

"You're just a big baby, aren't you?" Michelle giggled, fingers combing through Sweetie's hair.

When Sweetie lay down on the air mattress in the room where a roommate had once slept, she had a huge smile on her face.

***

Sweetie never knew what day it was (what did time and date matter to a pet as long ad the house was clean and its owner was fed and happy?) but she just knew it was Saturday.

Her morning routine was to get up at sunrise, brush her teeth, get the coffee pot filled with water and grounds, and wait until she heard Michelle's alarm to turn the coffee pot on.

"I used to bite my tongue and hold my breath." Turn the coffee machine on.

"Scared to rock the boat and make a mess." Michelle starts stirring, mattress creaking.

But the sing never played, so Sweetie never flicked the switch. She remained in position one, feet inches alart and hands at sides, spine straight, chin up. She waited as the sky turned pink, orange, blue. It must have been Sunday if Michelle was sleeping in.

At long last the mattress creaked even with no pop song alarm sounding. Sweetie turned on the coffee pot, got out the sugar and hazelnut creamer, and returned to position one.

A door skammed shut. A toilet flushed. Sweetie counted how many seconds the sink ran for and was slightly concerned when it stopped shortly.

Gross. No, the owner is never gross. Bad pet.

Sweetie left position one to pour the coffee in the mug with a splash of creamer and two heaping scoops of sugar.

Michelle apeared in the doorway, blonde hair standing on end and eyes puffy with sleep. She raised her arms in the air and bent her back until it audibly cracked.

"I'm trained to hive massages, Miss Michelle," Sweetie offered. Michelle smirked.

"Maybe another time, butt-kisser," she said.

"Shall I make breakfast? You're low on eggs but there's enough for us each to have one fried or you two scrambled. I can go without."

Sweetie rather hoped she could have an egg too, but just toast was okay as long as she could eat. She was so hungry on the days Michelle worked and went to school. Her owner never told her she could eat while she was away, so Sweetie assumed Michelle only wanted her to eat at dinnertime when she was home. The days where Michelle only had afternoon classes or work later in the day were amazing and Sweetie savored her breakfast.

"Nah," Michelle replied, and Sweetie forced herself to keep smiling and not deflate. "Dump the coffee too. We'll get Dunkin' Donuts on the way to the store."

Sweetie had no idea what that meant but she poured the coffee down the sink and cleaned the mug and coffeepot without question while Michelle brushed her teeth. Sweetie hurried to meet her when called, though she hesitated to step into her owner's bedroom. Was she worthy?

"Come on," Michelle said impatiently. She tossed some clothes at Sweetie once the latter came in. "Get dressed. Don't worry, we'll get you clothes that fit."

Michelle stripped, throwing her pajamas on the floor, and got dressed right in front of Sweetie. "Help me with my bra clasp."

Sweetie didn't get a bra, just a stretchy tank top and a skirt. Michelle's clithes fit along her own curves perfectly, jeans perfectly reaching to her ankles without needing to be anchored with a belt or anything. Sweetie's borrowed skirt bit into her waistline and barely hid her underwear. She was scared to bend over in the short thing, if it was even loose enough to allow her to sit. She was fortunate Michelle had a larger chest than herself because at least the tank top didn't cling.

"Here, I borriwed these from my boyfriend, because you've got big ol' man feet." Michelle tossed the brown flip-flops at Sweetie while the latter was still fighting to button her skirt.

Aren't pets supposed to be pretty? Sweetie knew she must look ridiculous in this tiny skirt, shirt that was loose in the chest, jungling collar, big boyish shoes, and short hair sticking up all over to top it off.

No. The owner knows best. Pets don't know what looks nice and what they need. This look must be peak fashion.

"Thank you, Miss Michelle," Sweetie wanted to take position five to show her gratitude but her skirt protested too much.

Michelle even let her sit up front in the car, though it wasn't very pleasant with the volume of the music. Sweetie wanted to cover her ears but she couldn't insult her owner like that.

"Ooh, look what you made me do

Look what you made me do

Look what you just made me do"

Wait and see what I'll do if your music keeps assaulting my ears! Sweetie could have slapped herself for the thought. How dare she think such things about her owner!

"Your singing is lovely," Sweetie told her owner. She really did have a pleasant voice.

"Damn right!" Michelle grinned. "I used to want to be a singer. You know, lots of singers have boxies. Kathy Parry's got this Romantic named Kevie and he's sooo cute. Kevie was actually my inspiration to get one myself. Just a box babe, not a Romantic, they're kinda gross."

What would she say if she knew Sweetie was originally trained as a Romantic?

They pulled up to a big board with images of food. A voice came from nowhere and Michelle resoonded to it. "I'll have a bacon, egg, and cheese in a croissant. Sweetie, do you wabt one too? Actually two of those, a blueberry muffin, and a medium iced coffee with six creams, six sugars, and five shots of mocha. Sweetie, do you want anything to drink?"

"Um... do they have tea?" Sweatie hadn't had a hot cup of black tea since leaving Mister Trey. She longed for just one sip.

"Yeah. Okay, add a medium iced tea."

Iced? Sweetie felt a pang of disappointment. She'd never even heard of iced tea! Well, maybe it would be good. Anything was better than those chalky shakes and nutritional loaves.

When Michelle started driving again, Sweetie wondered where they would find the food. They pulled up to a window where there was a skinny man with a nylon collar and a headset. Michelle got out her wallet and handed him cash.

"Heh, I wobder what he'd do if I told him, 'position twenty-three'," she murmured when he turned away from the window, nudging Sweetie.

He came back with their drinks, one pale and milky, the other a darker brown, and Michellr put them in the cupholders. He handed them two bags and the scent of hot breakfast that filled the car made Sweetie's mouth water.

Michelle pulled into a parking space to eat, stirring her coffee and swearing whenever the straw bent. Sweetie unwrapped her food and was surprised. Breakfast food on a sandwich? Wow!

Michelle handed Sweetie the bags and her wrapper once she'd finished eating and Sweetie held them obediently, though she worried about where she'd throw it away.

She fought with her skirt one-handed when she got out of the car at the big shopping center. The flip-flops rubbed in between her toes irritatingly.

"Hey, wait." Michelle came around the car with something pink in her hands: a leash. Sweetie straightened her neck and bent a bit to make the job of clipping it to her collar easier.

"Gotta make sure you don't run, right?" Michelle chuckled.

"I'd never run from you, Miss Michelle," Sweetie promised.

"Better not! I'd make sure you could never run again. Act out Misery."

Sweetie wasn't sire what that meant but she nodded, smiling. However, it waa hard to keep that smile with the prying eyes on her when she threw out their trash, the patrons staring when they entered the store. Her bell jungled with every step and she kept having to pull her skirt down.

No, no blushing! Embarrassment is an insult to the owner!

"Okay, maybe I didn't think this through. This looks pretty kinky," Michelle said sheepishly, but she doesn't take off the leash. "Sweetie, push the cart."

"Yes, Miss Michelle," Sweetie said, taking hold of the handle. She followed, turning or speeding up each time Michelle tugged on the leash.

"Here we go. Budget clothes." Michelle took a shirt and held it up against Sweetie. "Gotta dress you cute, represent the brand. The Michelle George brand."

She picked out shirts, skirts, dresses, and undergarments, occasionally letting Sweetie decide on a color but never the design. Sweetie went in and out of dressing rooms, letting Michelle see how the clothes fit.

Michelle gripped Sweetie's hips at one point, hands moving to her behind. "Tight here, loose in the chest. You're all hips and no boobs."

That dress didn't fit so she tried the next, and the skirts abd shirts. An employee came to gawk.

"Show me your barcode!" the woman said eagerly, and Sweetie presented her wrist. "Oh, what can she do?"

Michelle called out positions and took pictures as Sweetie went through them in her new clothes, tags still dangling. The emolitee finally left them to do their shopping, and Michelle pulled Sweetie close by her leash to whisper in her ear.

"Listen up," she hissed. "You only listen to me and no one else unless I say, got it?"

She hushed Sweetie and her frantic apologies. Michelle put the good clothes in the cart and even let Sweetie pick one outfir to wear around the store! Sweetie tried to choose quickly as to not keep Michelle waiting, settling on the pale green and white dress with frilled sleeves.

"Now to find you shoes because Kurt needs these back," Michelle murmured, plucking the tag off Sweetie's dress and pocketing it.

Sweetie hoped and hoped that Michelle wouldn't get flip-flops (but she was ready to accept them graciously like the good pet she was), this pair rubbing the spot in between her toes raw. She could have cries with relief when Michelle said, "Flip-flops scream beach bum and the last thing you need is a pair of heels. How about flats?"

They looked at pairs, Sweetie apologizing when Michelle claimed nothing would fit the former's "man feet". Sweetie grinned so much she thought her face might split when they settled on fantastic sparkly flats and another pair that was plain white with bows.

"They're lovely," Sweetie said with forced calmness - and they even fit her hideously large feet!

When they went to look at jewelry and headbands as a gift for a friend whose birthday was coming up, Michelle gasped so loudly Sweetie jumped. She shoved a pair of gigantic hoop earrings in the pet's face.

"These are ridiculous!" For them being so ridiculous, Michelle sure looked theilled. "We're piercing your ears."

How generous! Unneeded accessories for an unworthy pet. Sweetie's eyes were misting when Michelle stuck a headband with cat ears on her.

"Cat ears for the house pet," Michelle giggled.

They headed over to the other side of the store, Michelle frowning at boxes with images of cake. "Can you bake a cake from scratch or should I get box mix for Heather's birthday?"

"I can bake one from scratch," Sweetie said. "Any flavor. Or most traditional ones."

"Even better. I think we're ordering pizza so you'll only need to make the fake. Oh, you know how to make alcoholic drinks, right?"

"Yes, I was trained in mixology."

"Cool. I'll let you bw the captain and make whatever you want drink-wise, as long as you make strawberry daiquiris."

They discussed cakes and muxed drinks while filling the cart with ingredients. Michelle was impressed by all the recipes and ingredients Sweetie had memorized, and the pet was glowing at the praise.

"That's how we're trained," Sweetie told her. "No cookbooks necessary."

Not that she could even read a cookbook.

"Before we check out," Michelle said, "is there anything you want food wise?"

"Are you sure?" Sweetie asked. "I'm happy to eat whatever you provide."

"Cut that out. Just pick something."

Sweetie hesitated long enough that Michelle snapped her fingers, like she thought the pet had spaced out. "Hellooo. Earth to Sweetie."

"Can I..." Sweetie cleared her throat. "Can I get tea? And honey?"

"Yeah, sure. Tea in bags, right? I don't have a kettle so you can just boil water in a pot."

They went to an aisle with tea and spices. Sweetie even recognized the brand she used to drink, with its colorful packaging.

She got nice clothes. She got sparkly shoes. She got tea! She couldn't stop smiling even when people stared and pointed at her in line. It was a great day for the pet.

[marvel-medigeek-fics]

Give Me a Miracle

—part 1—

••notes at the end••

Maddie was no match for an assault rifle. She hung up the phone, telling Howie she loved him in those words for the first time. But she looked around. Josh is more panicked than she is. Oh. Shit.

Linda and a few others are crying, and that’s met with nothing more a few hisses of “Shut up!” There is nothing they can do. How ironic that 9-1-1 can’t call 9-1-1.

“This is how this is going to work. Listen up! You are under us now. There is no way out. And if you don’t listen, you know what’s coming.” He pauses and grins, mad with power.

“You are hostages now. This is gonna be fun.”

A few minutes later, the entire floor has their hands tied. Literally. Maddie sneaks a glance over to Josh, who is stone faced. The bruising looks like it went back to the original night. Sue is calm, she always is. But behind her eyes is something she never shows: anger. Most of the dispatchers look like Sue does: ready to fight. The others look terrified.

‘Is this for ransom? Why isn’t there anyone here?’ Maddie thinks to herself. ‘This is a hostage situation. They can’t directly engage.’ She reasons with herself. There’s no sense in spinning out.

The mood is tense. And silent. No one talks. No one even breathes. And no one moves. The officers, are they even real?, walk around a little, watching for direction from Foster, as he introduced himself earlier.

Somebody yells something, Maddie doesn’t catch what, but then she hears the gun fire. Maddie hates that sound, but she hates more the fact that she can’t help. That’s why she’s here and now she can’t even do that.

—

The news is up loud at Station 118. But it’s nothing interesting. The whole team is relaxing after a little bit of a miracle on their last call. Miracles don’t happen that often in real life, which makes them all the sweeter.

They haven’t had a second to breathe since the shift started, so they each are savoring the down time. But it’s LA, and nothing boring ever last for long.

“This just in, there are reports of gunshots at this 9-1-1 call center. Police scanners indicate a hostage situation.” The newscaster says.

Chim drops the bowl he was holding. All eyes are glued to the screen. “We are being told the hostage situation is occurring at Dispatch Center 3.”

“Oh. Shit.” Eddie says.

“Maddie.” Buck and Chim say at the same time.

The tow have completely different reactions. Buck’s is to run to the scene, but he is tackled by Eddie before he can make it to the stairs. Chim, on the other hand, stares at the screen and then at his phone.

“Maddie.” They both say at the same time from opposite ends of the room.

“No, you cannot go to an active hostage situation, Buck. Good call with the tackle.” Bobby says.

“But..” Buck says from the floor, his arm still held by Eddie, who looks madder than Buck does somehow.

“No.” Bobby’s voice is concrete and everybody knows, he isn’t budging.

“Bobby is right, Buck. We have to have a little faith.” Chim says, his voice watery but firm.

Buck shakes out of Eddie’s grip to hug Chim. “I’ll have a little more faith once my sister is safe.” Buck makes a mad dash for the stairs once he lets go of Chim. But he is blocked by Eddie again.

“I don’t want to tackle you again, but I will if I have to.” What Eddie lacks in inches on Buck, he makes up for in sheer willpower. Who is more stubborn of the two has never been figured out.

“But, Maddie she’s...” Buck begins.

“I know.”

—

Maddie breathes a little easier once she hears the sirens. They weren’t going to die alone, at least. Someone knows they are here. It is even more tense in here when Foster is right behind Josh. Maddie had had time to think and knew why Josh dropped the coffee on his foot this morning. Foster was awful date guy. It took all of her willpower to not get up and die beating the shit out the man who thought he could hurt her best friend and get away with it. She seethed with rage just thinking about it.

Maddie wasn’t sure how hostage situations typically worked, but she was sure that they were going to be hostages for a while longer. Foster’s radio kept chirping and he would whisper into it. Maddie couldn’t catch anything. Maybe this would be the time to focus on visual skills rather than the listening ones.

She counts everyone she can see. 59. She knew most of their names, but some were unfamiliar. She makes a mental to note to know everyone by name when this was over. It breaks her heart to think that some of the casualties could be people she couldn’t even name.

She knows Jamal, and Josh, and the very subtle flirting she sees. It reminds her of her brother and Eddie. It would be a shame if they never admitted that they were indeed flirting with each other. What would be more a shame was if they did, and Maddie wasn’t around to see it.

She couldn’t go doing this already. It hadn’t been very long, she thought but she couldn’t exactly check her phone or turn around to look at the giant clock behind her. She could squint and see the tiny analog one. The shape, anyway.

Her thoughts about the time were broken, when she notices the way Foster was looking at Josh. She could hit him with a roundhouse so fast, he wouldn’t even... that was a terrible plan.

She flinches when she hears the unmistakable sound of a slap. “Go to hell.” It was a mistake to not cover Josh’s mouth if you didn’t want him to speak the truth. Another slap. It sting Maddie too. “No.” Another. Maddie winces. Loudly.

“Do you feel sorry for him?” His slap to Maddie hurt less than the one delivered to Josh. She felt the difference. This was personal.

“No.” She snarls. “He doesn’t need me to feel sorry for him. Because he is one of the strongest and best people I know.”

“I should shoot you, for talking back.”

“Do it. At least I’d die defending my best friend. You’ll die a murderer.”

The gun fires off and Maddie sees the sting before she feels it. Lower leg. She feels hit and break her fibula and she bites her lip to keep from screaming. But she says this to Foster as he walks away. “I don’t regret a thing.”

Josh was staring at her, debating something in his head. Maddie had experience with visual reading, but it still wasn’t as good as her listening. Foster was back, and Josh turned his face stony again. But she could see the twinkle in his eyes. He had a plan.

—

The entire 118 crew had been watching the news. The ransom was finally up, 12 million for the release of Dispatch Center 3. Chim hadn’t moved for 3 hours, except for the one call they had that afternoon. He kept replaying Maddie’s last words to him. “I love you, Howie.” Over and over again.

“Chim. Chim.” Hen is sitting in front of him.

“Hi, Hen. How are you?”

“How are you, Howard?” She sahs his name with a bite, but Chim doesnt even flinch.

“I am fine. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to restock the truck.” He stands up and descends the stairs.

“You let him go down their alone, but not me?” Buck whines.

“He’s not going to run off to an active hostage situation.” Bobby replies.

“Then why did he finally move after 3 hours? I think you should keep an eye on him.” Buck questions.

“Chim?” Eddie calls down to the ground floor. No answer. “Chim?” Someone’s tires squeal.

“Damn it, Chim!” Buck and Eddie race down the stairs.

“I’ll clear it with the Chief!”Bobby calls after them.

—

Eddie drives. Chim is right in front of them. Buck is shaking in the seat next to him. “Your sister is okay. I am sure of it.” Eddie doesn’t take his eyes off of the road as he comforts his best friend.

“Yeah, she’s a badass under pressure.” Buck’s voice is soft and patchy. He’s been crying, or trying not to.

“She is. When we get there, promise you’ll be smart. Don’t run into the fire.”

“She’s my sister. I’d run into fire forever to save her. I’d do anything to keep her safe.”

Eddie and Buck pull up next to Chim, who is sprinting toward the building. Eddie has to tackle another team mate, but Buck seeing his chance, runs to the building.

“You tackled the wrong guy, Diaz.” Chim says, coughing a little.

“I’m sorry, Chim. You okay?” Eddie asks, while Buck gets tackled by a cop and herded into hostage jail. Ironic.

“I’m fine, Eddie. Just worried about her.”

“How’d your love confession go?”

“Good. Ended with a crush injury and a hotel room.”

“That’s great! Wait, crush injury?”

“Yep. Oh, and a proposal.”

“Umm... What?”

“Not me, not her. The couple that had the crush injury also had the proposal.”

“Not bad.”

“I suppose we should go check on Buck.”

The two walked over to a sulking Buck. “Don’t say I told you so.” Buck says sullenly.

“I wasn’t planning on it.” Eddie replies.

“Heard anything?” Chim asks, listening to the scanner and Buck at the same time.

“They didn’t tell me anything, except you can’t go past this line.” Buck pouts, but his hearts in the right place.

“We have to do this now.” One of the officers says into her radio. “Operation take back dispatch. Let’s go.”

—

••notes: this is of course, non canon compliant since 3.14 hasn’t aired yet. The second part should be up soon! I love you all and I hope you stay safe.

Now that 3.14 is kind of up I feel like I should clarify that Foster is a name I took from imdb. Sooo, do with that what you will.

[magnoliadarling]

I took a lot of photos documenting how the stress of this summer affected me, physically, in ways I didn’t know it could affect the body. For me, this photo kind of sums it up. I think I ate 1/2 of a sushi roll that dinner. I was unable to eat. I had absolutely no appetite. I was empty and somehow went days and days with eating nothing and never felt weak. I was content being empty. I was barely 102 pounds in this photo. And this wasn’t my eating disorder. My tongue was affected with probably 300 or more inflamed taste buds for some reason. It was painful to eat. I developed a cold sore that took up almost half of my bottom lip. I get cold sores from time to time, but this thing was impressive to say the least. I didn’t really care. It’s strange for me to look back and while I’m sure my eating disorder did affect me a bit this summer, truly, this time it was driven by stress. There were points in my days where I would stare at the fridge and pantry for hours. I wanted to eat something, but everything would actually make me gag. It’s so strange to think about, looking back. 

I was stuck in a constant state of insomnia. Going days and days without sleeping or feeling tired at all, but spent numbing myself with drugs, alcohol, the business of bars and clubs and meaningless conversations that took my mind off of things up until I couldn’t stay awake anymore. I would sleep for 4 days straight, not knowing it wasn’t still Monday when it was Thursday. And I would repeat that cycle over and over. 

The main thing you can’t see in this photo that still wrecks me is the tremor I developed. It started in my mouth, spread to my hands, my feet, my whole body. I looked like I had Tourette’s or Parkinson’s. It caused to sweat uncontrollably. I tried once to start writing out the just mass amount of emotions I was dealing with, but I was shaking so bad I could only write one sentence. “You have taken too much from me.” I had people asking me at the beginning what drugs I was on, when, at the time, I wasn’t on any. People made fun of me when I was out, they would try and snap chat me. Eventually, I had to go to the ER because my doctor wouldn’t let me go home. All the drugs they gave me in the ER didn’t stop the tremors. I had a doctor come in at one point and he asked me to stand up and walk for him and my left leg shook so bad, I fell over. He had to catch me. I saw the just pain and helplessness in my dad’s eyes as he watched his baby girl literally breaking from the inside so much, my body was shutting down and there was nothing he could do. I did my best to tell him I was okay and I don’t know why I’m shaking, but it just won’t stop. I was trying to stop the pain I knew he was feeling watching me fall apart because I didn’t want him to feel that. It’s a lot of why I separated myself from my family during this past summer. They saw me broken in ways I didn’t know I could be broken and they didn’t know how to fix it. And, truly, there was nothing they could do and I couldn’t stand to see that just worry and sadness in their eyes. So, I just distanced myself. The shaking definitely caused some trauma because I didn’t know stress could affect the body that way. And it still comes back if I haven’t slept or am not okay. It’s so strange to be so unable to control your body in that way. My mom told me once that my dad took a video of me shaking while I was in the ER. I’m building up the courage to ask him to send it to me. 

I was bruised from head to toe because I was so malnourished. I was functioning, but barely. I was politely calling every wedding vendor telling them that my fiancé was ill and we didn’t need them. One by one, erasing the wedding I had always dreamed of. Cleaning up Eric’s mess that all started because he decided he didn’t need to be on medication. I was making jokes just to give people something else to talk about besides my life falling apart. I haven’t really told a lot of people this, but up until the end of July- I still had faith that he could stabilize and yeah, he might be a little manic at our wedding, but I was hoping for the most grandiose of endings to this nightmare. I clung to the tiniest shred of hope that Eric would come back to me in time to meet me at the end of the aisle. I spent countless nights having to get him out of bars because he was scaring people or hitting on girls, politely and very protectively defending him when people called him crazy. Because fuck you, he’s not crazy, he is just very fucking sick right now. I spent the whole summer having people text me and be like what the fuck is wrong with eric- asking me if I had seen some picture with him and this or that girl or if i knew that he was telling people i was a sociopath and generally just embarrassing the hell out of me on social media. And again, I knew (well, I thought I knew) that when he did stabilize he was going to be so embarrassed and feel so much hurt and regret and I didn’t want him to feel that so never once did I talk shit about him. I sent him to the psych ward 2 out of the 3 times he was in there this summer. Once where he tried to fuck a girl in the same unit I was in back in June. That same fucking psych ward where I told myself over and over and over and over again. I know Eric. He wouldn’t cheat on me. He just wouldn’t. I broke myself trying to believe that when this was all over, he would give me the fucking just decency of not even crawling on hands and knees begging me to take him back (which, honestly, he should of) but just letting me fucking yell at him for 30 fucking minutes. Because I understand he was so sick. No one on this planet understands the loss I have felt each time he gets that sick. I lose my best friend. and there’s not a damn thing I can do about it. It wrecks me to see him unable to stop the things he does when he’s ill. It’s almost like he’s a child. 

So, I understand he was still. but goddamnit. It doesn’t make his actions hurt any fucking less. I’m angry that he has this fucking disorder that causes him to get so fucking sick. I would take it from him in a heartbeat if I could. No one truly gets how devastating his illness is except me at this point. Because no little girl grows up thinking the happiest time of her life is going to wrecked in the catastrophic way mine was. And I’ll never know why, this time, his illness was negatively focused on me because he doesn’t even know. I’m also just so angry at the girls who slept with him. I don’t even fucking sleep with him when he’s that ill. I feel like I would be taking advantage at him and when he slept with them- he was OBVIOUSLY fucking ill. You’re disgusting for sleeping with someone that ill. Fucking trash. I’m angry that, now, you will never see the most perfect wedding dress there ever was. I’m angry that I didn’t get to spend my birthday with you. I’m angry you couldn’t be there for me when I was suicidal in the hospital. I’m angry you didn’t listen to me about staying on your medication. There’s so much I’m angry about. And yeah, there is a piece of me that is just fucking pissed you slept with 3 ugly ass fucking whores. Sue me. But you didn’t even give me that. You didn’t give the validation that yeah, I may have fucked shit up in the past, but this....this was your fucking fault. You didn’t just let me have 30 goddamn minutes where my best friend, previous fiancé, husband that was supposed to be, understood that he wasn’t able to pick me up when I was in shattered pieces and the pain I felt and where that person didn’t blame me or didn’t use my illnesses as a reason not to be with me, but the love of my life who I haven’t even kissed or been in the same room with for almost 4 months just let me yell at you. And just absorb some of unbearable and enormous amount of pain that I had to bear alone. And at the end of it, just hold me and let me weep for all that we lost. Maybe you would’ve wept too. And then given me the true validation that yeah this was your fault and a just real apology and maybe even a thank you for still wanting to be here and never giving up that yeah you go away sometimes, but you always come back. 

No, you told me I had no reason to be  mad that you came inside an ugly fat redhead because you were sick. 

Fuck you asshole. Stop playing the fucking victim. Be a man. Maybe just, if anything, understand you have literally no fucking clue the PTSD I now suffer from and the literal trauma I went through and am still going through because of you. Maybe you could of loved me enough to just show me some empathy at the one fucking time I needed it most. You weren’t there. You were sick. Because you chose to go off meds. Even though I begged, sobbed, and pleaded on the bathroom floor for you not to. And you promised me you wouldn’t get sick and ruin our wedding. 

I don’t why I wasn’t enough for you. But I hope you truly fucking know, you’re not find better than me. No fucking woman would stay with through what your illness put me through. 

Love wasn’t enough for you this time. I hope you remember all those times we played the I love you more, no I love you more game. I win. I have always loved you more. 

I shouldn’t have to go to sleep wondering if my significant other is in love with me. You have absolutely taken too much from me. Because I’ve let you. 

And I can’t say that it’ll happen because you know. We were really happy. And that’s what’s hardest to let go of. The love I had in you will stay with me forever. But you, you will always have in the back of your head that I’m the one that got away.

Holy cow. I am not even going to read over this. It uh, I’m sure is a mess. I haven’t been able to write more than 2 sentences about this summer. So, I’m just going to leave it as it is. 

[shsl-shipper-gamer-fangirl]

prompt- Chloe takes max to a punk concert, they get into a mosh, max punches Chloe out

Hella Thrashing

“Ready for the mosh pit, shaka brah!”

No, she was in fact so not ready.

Max realized her mistake all too late once she and Chloe arrived at the punk concert out of town. Sure, Max has seen concerts before but they were all behind the safety of a screen as she watched live recordings in preparation for this. Well that was stupid since no amount of hours watching could have possibly prepared her for the hellhole she so willing jumped into. She’s seen bigger venues in videos but that didn’t mean she could handle the smaller but still dauntingly large ones. Did she already mention the insane amount of people? It was amazing and suffocating at the same time. There’s seriously too many people crammed in here and she could have sworn that there’s more people here than there is in Arcadia Bay.

And Chloe wanted them to dive headfirst then swim right in until they were near the stage which was the only place where she could actually see the floor.

“I don’t know about this, Chloe.” Max confessed with her left hand consciously rubbing her right arm. She looked just as much as she felt and she felt like a defenseless human being about to get tossed into a pit filled with more humans than she’s comfortable with. Even worse, it’s a mosh pit. “I think it’ll be safer to just chill here in the back.”

“And miss out on all the fun? Lame!” Chloe scoffed at her as if she expected this reaction. She probably did. But it’s not like that’s going to stop her. “We came here to thrash. We didn’t drive out here for an hour just so we could quietly admire the view of the backs of people clearly having a good time. While we’re busy staying safe and boring, they’re punk and living dangerously!”

“Well living dangerously is kind of like the leading cause of not living. Literally.” Max joked and she hoped that with enough charm, Chloe would buy it. Of course hope and expectations were two different things and she’s learned so far to lower expectations around people especially when it came to Chloe and good decisions.

“Stop being so chickenshit, Max. It’s just a concert. It’s not going to kill you.” Chloe clapped her on the back encouragingly and then started dragging Max by the hand into the crowd of people. Max may have planted her feet on the ground but damn, Chloe’s packing guns with that incredible grip strength. “Besides, you asked for this. I know this isn’t exactly your scene but you’re the one who begged me to take your bony ass here. So sue me for being such a good friend.”

“Best friend.” Max corrected with a smile.

Chloe flashed her a toothy grin. “And best friends make stupid decisions together all the time.”

They dive deeper into the crowd and it’s kind of mind-blowing how they could possibly squeeze through barriers made of people when it looks like there’s hardly enough space to breathe. Max is pretty sure she’s made enough physical contact to last her a lifetime’s worth. They got a lot of glares and hand gestures for shoving in between people. Max ducked her head all throughout with muttered apologies while Chloe held her head high as if she owned the place and returned comments with her own colorful vocabulary. The deeper they headed, the more people there was seemingly cemented by their numbers. Once they got close enough to the stage and stopped, Max thought she could finally breathe in relief. Oh, how naive she was. They didn’t call it a pit for nothing. She could barely move in there and it was so hard to breathe. In th midst of Max’ suffocation, she worried about how worse it would get once the actual thrashing started.

“Is it…” She wheezed and then she had to gather her breath to yell loudly enough because not even she could hear herself. “Is it always this… intense?”

“You wish!” Chloe barked out a short laugh. “The show hasn’t even started yet. Don’t tell me you’re already quitting on me because I busted my ass just to get this spot and I’m not giving it up until the concert’s over.”

As much as Max wanted to tell her that she may have reached her limit long before that, she knew how much Chloe had looked forward to this. She’s not going to ruin this for her. And besides, as much as Max wasn’t into it, she was kind of looking forward to this too. Hanging out with Chloe always resulted in fun- reckless and bordering illegal fun but fun nonetheless. “Are you kidding me? I came here to thrash!”

What was it that Chloe said before? Best friends make stupid decisions together. Yeah, that one.

The band was loud. There was no other way to describe their music since Max could barely listen to the finer details when the speakers blared way too much than necessary. She honestly couldn’t tell if the music was that good but holy shit did she feel awesome. It was unlike anything she’s ever experienced before. Even the shy hipster Max could hear her inner punk calling or more like shouting. She could kind of understand why Chloe would like going to these kind of events. It really was something. Everyone was just full of life, too much life even, and it felt like there was literal energy in the air that even Max felt the buzz in her head. It was a low grumble at first but by the second song, it had everyone roaring.

“Aw, yeah! Let’s hella thrash!” Chloe whooped and that was the closest thing to a warning that Max was going to get before chaos ensued.

The whole world started to move but that made it sound like it was tame. No, this was no tame slight movement, this was wild thrashing and bodies colliding. With every hit, it energized the people and pretty much everyone around her were overcharged batteries dishing out at each other. And poor Max was being swept by the mosh pit that’s become like a force of nature, uncontrollable and unrelentling. She even got shoved to the side at some point, her arm out and ready to rewind, but before she could regain her bearings, someone had pushed her again. And that’s how Max accidentally clocked someone in the middle of a mosh pit.

When Max turned around to check on her partner and then turned again to check just who she decked, it’s only then that she connected the two.

“Holy shit! Chloe!” Max swore out loud as she dove after her fallen friend courtesy of her fault. “Sorry! I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to! There was just so many things happening at once and I panicked and-” She rambled on just spouting what came in to her mind. She wasn’t thinking at all, she was just talking and apologizing. It even took her a second to remember that she had time powers and make everything better. She raised her hand. “You know what, I’m just gonna-”

“Don’t!” Chloe hissed as she grabbed onto Max’s arm tighter than usual. Her voice was so low and easily drowned by the noise but Max heard the seriousness in her tone loud and clear. “Just. Don’t.”

“I’m so sorry, Chloe. I didn’t mean to. I swear it was an accident.” Max apologized again because one, she honestly meant it and two, she’s never heard Chloe with that tone before at least not at her. She did not want to incur her best friend’s wrath. “I fucked up. I’m going to rewind and make the pain go away, okay?”

Chloe’s grip on her tightened and as she pulled her in, she ordered, “Don’t you dare rewind that punch.”

“What? I already feel bad about it. I swear I’m going to tell you about it after I rewind! I just don’t want you to end up sporting that bruise.” Max half-explained and half-pleaded. She seriously messed up and Chloe didn’t want to let anyone of them forget. Max bit her lip as her eyes begged her to reconsider. “I fricking punched you, Chloe.”

“And it was one hella punch.” Chloe answered with that same deathly tone. And then the punk did the wildest thing and smirked devilishly. “You do me proud, Mad Max.”

Max blinked, confused. “What?”

“Cute. You seriously don’t know how a mosh works.” Chloe laughed, it was such a relief to hear that and easily the tenion was lifted. She then not so lightly punched Max at her shoulder. Max winced. Well that actually hurt. She was about to whine about it but then remembered that she did punch Chloe just seconds before. Chloe just laughed harder at Max’s face and gave her a clap on the back for good measure. “There. Now we’re even.”

“Wowsers.” Max let out a relieved breath and even found herself smiling again despite her nerves. “We just punched each other. Does that mean we’re bonded for life now?”

“Totally. Forever.” Chloe readily answered and even hit the sore spot again much to Max’s annoyance and pain. She was definitely enjoying this. “Now that we’re bonded, our first post-bonding activity is you helping me get back in there.” She gestured to the mosh pit that looked more like a storm of violence. “I’m going to fucking kick that asshole who groped me. I know the bastard’s in there somewhere. Come on, Max. Let’s fucking raise hell.”

“You mean hella?” Max quipped with a pun that she may have been saving for a while now.

“Did you just say my patented word? I am such a good bad influence on you.” Chloe’s grin was absolutely dazzling and her purpling bruise brought out her teeth quite attractively. “Welcome to the mosh pit, sistah!”

It was the most awesome mosh pit Max has ever gotten in to. Hella hardcore. She’s not going to another one anytime soon though since Chloe could get pretty intense and violent when given the chance. 

Besides, she’d rather crash at the after-party than thrash.

[samingtonwilson]

Shameless - Leonard McCoy

Title: Shameless

Pairing: Bones x reader

Prompt: Shameless by the weeknd, as a part of the beauty behind the madness series

Word count: 1,672 including the lyrics

Warnings: language, sexual content (which is kind of brief)

A/N: this is my absolute favorite song from BBTM. like i would die for this song. i really enjoyed writing this but reader is not as nice as some of you would probably like, but give it a chance! i just love this song so much and i love bones a lot, so ENJOY AND GIVE ME YOUR THOUGHTS!

Say it louder, say it louder Who’s gonna love you like me, like me? Say it louder, say it louder Who’s gonna touch you like me, like me?

Ooh, said you wanna be good, but you couldn’t keep your composure Ooh, said you wanna be good, but you’re begging me to come over Ooh, come over, ooh Saying, who’s gonna fuck you like me? Yeah

It wasn’t that seeing Leonard pine for you made you happy— it was just a nice stroke to your ego to know that the man so quick to jump in an unemotional sex-oriented arrangement was just as eager to leave the unemotional portion of the agreement behind.

You tried to explain it to him, though. Under no circumstances would you change your mind. Relationships, emotional depth, upkeep of appearances and the other’s feelings… you were exhausted enough working as the ship’s operations officer. It was especially tiring now that anyone who could relieve you on Kirk’s spontaneous let’s-really-stare-out-of-this-giant-empty-window-until-I’m-tired-which’ll-probably-never-happen days was in the medbay with food poisoning— they were all at the same party with the same spoiled replicator-produced shrimp. So you clearly had no time to manage Leonard’s emotions and Kirk’s exhausting commands— you would’ve ended up either tearing Kirk’s putrid command yellow shirt apart or yanking out the dark hair on Leonard’s head root by root.

But as you straddled his lap and felt his fingertips dig into your hips with a strength that could leave bruises, not much more was on your mind than rolling your hips and letting him guide your pelvis forward and back so he hit that certain spot in you with each movement. You were stabilized by your hands lying flat against his chest, your eyes not on his until he looped his finger through the thin necklace you wore and pulled you down to press his lips to yours.

You broke the kiss almost instantly but kept your chest only a few inches above his, moving your hands to sit on the headboard. You clicked your tongue when he tried to kiss you again. “No kissing, remember?”

“That wasn’t part of the agreement,” he said through his softly grunted curses. His lips instead moved to your neck so your eyes slid shut, thrusting himself in and almost completely out of you at a pace completely too slow. “You can’t make up rules.”

You shook your head, your mind almost too foggy to form complete sentences. “It became part of the agreement when—” you stopped speaking to sigh out, “when you told me you might like me.”

“Maybe I was lying.”

“Were you?”

“No.”

I don’t wanna hurt you but you live for the pain I’m not tryna say it but it’s what you became You want me to fix you but it’s never enough That’s why you always call me cause you’re scared to be loved

But I’ll always be there for you, I’ll always be there for you I’ll always be there for you, girl I have no shame I’ll always be there for you, I’ll always be there for you I’ll always be there for you, girl I have no shame

Sitting in the mess hall with your leg folded under you, you stared down at your PADD and picked at the salad on your plate with a still-clean fork. You were staring at some diagnostic statistics you’d asked Scotty to compile, chewing on your bottom lip until you heard the chair across from yours slide over the floor.

You looked up for a second and shook your head as you looked back down. “What are you doing?”

“Sitting,” he said in his Southern drawl that had seemingly grown thicker the longer he was out of Georgia. He scooped a forkful of pasta into his mouth, glancing at the screen of your PADD.

You covered the screen with your hands and narrowed your eyes at him. “As a doctor, shouldn’t you be more worried about excessive carbohydrate intake?”

He swallowed the bite he’d taken and completely ignored your question, sitting back in his seat. “I had a date last night.”

“Congratulations.”

“I have another tonight.”

“Double congratulations.”

He looked over you with his hazel eyes narrowed. His eyebrows were pushed together. “Come over after.”

A few beats of silence passed over the two of you. You tilted your head as you looked over him. You weren’t sure if he was serious. “I thought, and to use your words, ‘sex is always better when you’re dating the person.’” You stabbed a piece of lettuce. “Why would you still want to fuck me if you can make love with whoever it is you’re dating?”

“Maybe I’ve grown accustomed to this arrangement. Maybe it’s better than sex with the person I’m dating.” He watched you take a bite of your salad and looked around the mess to make sure no one was in earshot. “Besides, there’s no mess this way.”

You sighed. “Either you’re learning from me, or you’re totally lying.” You studied his features and noticed his inability to meet your eyes again. “What, are you afraid to date?”

“The last woman I dated was my ex-wife.” He turned so you could trace the slope of his nose with your eyes. When he looked at you again, he was scowling wider. His tan skin was creased on his forehead and near his mouth, his dark hair combed neatly enough to make him appear like the poster-child for Starfleet. “And that turned out with my car and daughter on the other side of the damn country. Sue me if I have no desire to actually date someone again— it’s just about not being alone all the time.”

You wet your lips. “A simple yes or no would’ve worked.”

Ooh, said it’d be the last time, all you needed was a little closure Ooh, said it’d be the last time, but you’re begging me to come over Ooh, come over, ooh Saying, who’s gonna fuck you like me? Hey

It was late— later than usual. But you weren’t particularly upset about it. Leonard had a few… aggressions to work out due to an overload of patients in the medbay and the the incompetence of his staff. He was holding onto you tighter than usual, thrusting into you with more force than usual, grunting louder than usual, and doing his absolute damnedest not to kiss you— and he’d done it all three times over.

When he first sent you the transmission to meet him in his quarters, you weren’t very interested. He had previously assured you that last night would be the last night. He told you he just wanted to get a bad date out of his system and you ended up spending the night pinned under him.

You were pulling your uniform back on, the zip still agape as you adjusted the sleeves and placement of the Starfleet insignia pin on your chest. Your boots were strewn on separate poles of Leonard’s quarters and you sighed upon realization of that. “We can’t do this again.”

“You said that last time.”

You faced the wall instead of turning to face Leonard as he sat against his headboard with an irritating half-smirk over his lips. “You asked me over. You said you wanted to get it out of your system— like a farewell.”

“And I said farewell. Three times.” He sounded proud.

You set your hands on your knees and kept yourself from sighing out when his fingers brushed against the bare skin of your back as he dragged your zipper up. “That doesn’t seem excessive to you?”

You turned your head to look at him and your nose nearly brushed against his, his breath caressing your cheeks as you felt his chest lean a little against your back. He looked between your eyes and lips and you reflexively leaned away. “No.”

“Why?”

You continued when he didn't reply. "You said it was the last time last night and after each time tonight.”

He sighed out heavily and you heard the sheets rustle as he adjusted his body to sit more comfortably. He was still just as close to you. “(Y/N), this isn’t anything extra for me. We’re just having sex— which means we should just have sex. I don’t care for you, I don’t have feelings for you.”

You wiggled your jaw and stood up, walking to the dining table to retrieve your left boot. As you crammed your foot into it, you couldn’t help your louder volume as you spoke to him, “I don’t believe you.”

“Why the hell not?”

“Because you’re a good guy,” you said with a shake of your head. “You deserve to date, to fall in love, to just… feel something! Yes, your marriage was shit— I agree with that, I would never want to lose my cars. But not everyone is your ex-wife and not every relationship has a bad ending— least of all for someone like you.”

“(Y/N), —”

“No, let me finish. You’re too nice for this! In my case it’s different— I’ve single-handedly fucked up every relationship I’ve been in, and I truthfully think I was born without the ability to form emotional attachments, and I have no desire to change that.” You struggled with the zip on your boot and nearly growled. “Just… Just go on a date and mean it. Have sex with your date. If it sucks, date someone else. This isn’t the way for you.”

He looked at you for a few seconds without speaking, his eyebrows together and his forehead wrinkled. His mouth formed his most neutral frown and he looked contemplative until his expression shifted so he was smirking a little. “One last time?”

You exhaled excessively. “Fuck.” You reached behind yourself to undo your uniform’s zip so the fabric could be tossed aside. “Yes. Why did that get me so riled up?”

But I’ll always be there for you, I’ll always be there for you I’ll always be there for you, I have no shame

[katmac95]

Why the fuck do I have PTSD?

Some first blog post, eh?

I’ll be using this blog to say things that are a bit too long for Twitter, but things I still feel the need to say.

First, I want to talk about my PTSD and why I have it. 

Some people don’t like talking about their trauma. I need to. I don’t enjoy talking about it, but it does make me feel freer when I do. It gets it out of my head and off my chest, so to speak. And that helps me.

This post may not be pretty but it’s not supposed to be. The stuff I’m going to share is all very raw and rough, so its delivery will reflect that.

*deep breath* 

I’ll start from the beginning, I guess.

From the time I was small, my father beat my mother. Often, he did this in front of me. My mom left my father with me in tow after sixteen months of marriage, and they were divorced shortly after. I still remember him coming after us with a knife when I was a baby. I remember times when I’d hide behind the toilet and refuse to let anyone touch me. I remember screaming at the top of my lungs because I was scared to death and that terrified energy had nowhere else to go.

When they divorced, my father was awarded partial custody of me by the state. God knows how a man with multiple convictions of DV and drug possession could get partial custody, but whatever. He did.

During his visitation weekends, he would often: hit me, swear at me, call me names, hit me with a belt or other objects, hit my dogs, break my things, withhold medical care (I once broke my foot under his care, and he refused to take me to a hospital), didn’t feed me (I taught myself to cook at 5 years old because of this, though he’d get angry if I tried to feed myself on the days when he wouldn’t).

And when he’d get new girlfriends, he’d beat them, too (again, in front of me). I remember one night, my dad was mad at his long-time girlfriend (they were off and on for most of my childhood) for one thing or another, and he slammed her hand in a door and broke it. I was in the next room, and I still remember her screams and the mangled mess he’d made of her hand. She filed a police report against him, and he went to jail for that.

I believe he’d been to jail quite a few times by the time I came into the world. When I was a kid, I remember him being incarcerated three separate occasions. I’m pretty sure two of those three were for domestic violence, the other for drugs. Or perhaps vice versa. I’m not sure, but his buddy would always bail his sorry, stupid ass out. Even as a kid, I remember hating that buddy, and wishing my father would stay incarcerated until I turned eighteen. At least then, I wouldn’t have had to see him.

Yeah, so, about the drugs... My dad’s drug of choice was meth. Or, well, his buddies referred to it by its street name, aka “crank”. He smoked it, sometimes around me. It smelled like sweat, cat piss, and cookies, in case you wondered. Now, meth has a rep for being one of the worst drugs on the market, with good reason.

First, there’s the rush. The person will wig the fuck out, but at least they’re “happy”-ish… It’s mania to the extreme. If depression is a low, then meth is high, HIGH, H I G H. Some people gouge their eyes out, others talk seven miles a minute and make you watch Alex Jones and read Andrew Anglin (yeah, my father was a keeper). He was never quite “gouge out his eyeballs” bad, but I do remember some weird manic shit (he once hooked a package of hamburger meat to some jumper cables from his car because the government had supposedly installed nanotechnology in this particular package of meat to spy on him).

Then would come the downward spiral when the rush began to fade. His mania would very quickly shift to irritability, anger, paranoia, and he would threaten to (or actually) beat the shit out of me for “looking at him wrong”. Or he’d threaten to kill himself if I did something he didn’t like. Or he’d threaten to drive us off a cliff, to kidnap me, or to [insert suggestion here]. Being with someone coming down from a rush is fucking terrifying, to say the least.

Finally, there’s the crash. The user will become so tired, they’ll spend entire days in bed. They don’t eat, they don’t acknowledge their responsibilities, they just kind of lie there like they’re dead for the whole weekend and get upset with you if you ask them to make you food (even though you’re a child and afraid of burning yourself on the stove because you’re not tall enough to actually reach it yet).

Through all this, my mom did pretty much nothing, despite the fact that I told her literally every single weekend that I was scared my father was going to kill me. I implored her to ask for sole custody (the fact that I knew that term at six should’ve been a clue that I knew what I was talking about), but she refused because she was scared of him. I was, too, only I couldn’t do anything about it without her help. CPS was called twice on him, but I wasn’t bruised “enough”. And my mother was too afraid to act, so nothing was done. Though I estranged myself from my father at fifteen, he had partial custody in the state’s eyes until I was eighteen.

Next up, my childhood babysitter, who was a right piece of work. Her children would steal my belongings and then claim they were theirs (I remember this little foam souvenir I got from Seattle that her kids took, and when I went to retrieve it, I was punished). This daycare provider’s methods of punishment were archaic. She and my father would’ve been great friends, I think. This woman would punish us by literally locking us in a 2x2 coat closet for hours at a time. We couldn’t sit, we had to stand. We couldn’t make noise, we had to “think about our actions”. And it was completely dark; even the gap under the door was covered. Now, I was kid who–with my trauma history–acted out a LOT (I mean, daily), so I dare say I likely spent more hours inside that closet than out of it when I was 3 and 4.

Oh, and when she was extra angry, she’d step on our hands or backs.

Yes, that sounds unbelievably barbaric. Her daycare facility was closed down in 1999 or 2000, I think, because a parent threatened to sue (or did sue, I’m not sure).

When I was young, my dad used to leave me with people I didn’t know in our neighborhood, while he… well, I don’t know what he was doing, but I’m guessing it involved something illicit. Anyway, this one time, when I was six, he left me with a teenage boy who lived across the way (my dad gave him a few dollars to babysit or whatever). And this kid had seemed nice enough. But, part of the way through the day, we rode our bikes down to the local creek to skip rocks. The boy threatened to drown me if I didn’t let him grope me. I’m not proud of this, but I acquiesced. He got mad at me for resisting, and threw me and my bike into the creek. My dad got mad at me for it.

And onto the next trauma, which is definitely in the same vein as the last. I mentally and emotionally cannot handle going into specifics here, but when I was ten, I was raped by a doctor. I was then groped by another doctor when I was eighteen. This is the only chunk of trauma I will keep relatively private, because it remains the most traumatic experience of my life and I just can’t talk about, it other than to acknowledge that it happened and that I’m terrified of doctors as a result.

Last one about my dad, I promise.

My dad would sometimes show up at places where I was (school, out to meals, etc.). These were places he was not supposed to be, mind you, as he wasn’t supposed to see me outside of visitation weekends. Sometimes, he used to threaten to kill himself/ me/ others/ pets with his rifle (the only reason I knew he had a rifle was because he kept threatening to use it). He would physically block my exits, always had to control where I was or who I was with, and liked to grab my wrists to physically restrain me. I mean, he was the epitome of abusive white male. My father is the most vile excuse for a human being that I have ever had the misfortune of knowing.

While we’re talking physical abuse, when I was a kid, I had a scout leader. This one time, when I was fifteen, she was mad at me for “mouthing off” when I refused to do something (a chore, because I’d been doing all the chores and I didn’t think it was fair that I was always working while my peers had all the fun–that was a valid complaint, btw). She got mad, came up on deck of the scout boat, grabbed me hard enough to leave bruises, dragged me down a ladder by the arm, and physically prevented me from going back above deck until I had done the stupid chore.

Because I felt unsafe, I left the program and tried to join another unit. But they turned a blind eye (because that’s scouting in America). I left the program altogether and forfeited all the awards I’d spent multiple years to earn. I failed my junior year of high school because of the resulting period of depression (I also dissociated the entire year of 2012, and don’t remember 99% of that school year).

Throughout all of this, my mother was... I mean, she tried in her way. I believe that. But when I sought comfort or told her I was suicidal, she’d say things like I was annoying or she should’ve aborted me. So, while I’m sure she cared in her way, she didn’t (or couldn’t) be what I needed in a mother. She was often just as angry and unpredictable as my father, though far less violent.

My mom also tends to shut down or change the topic if the current one makes her uncomfortable. She’d often give me the silent treatment as a kid, until I dropped whatever it was we were talking about. Or she’d yell at me/ call me names/ whatever. Unfortunately, many of these conversations had to do with my abuse, so these hurtful things often came during times when she knew I was already vulnerable. While I believe my mother cares and has always cared, she was not able to protect me as a child, and I don’t know if I can make my peace with that. She wasn’t able to be what I needed, and that has weighed on me for most of my life now.

I’ve never really had a safe adult in my life to turn to. I don’t know if anyone can be what I need, but I know I still need it. And that’s a tricky place to be. My therapist has said I should’ve been placed in foster care, and I’ve often thought maybe my life would’ve turned out different—better, even—if I had been. Though, I suppose there’s little point dwelling on this; I will never know, and I’ll have to be okay not knowing. I just wish I had a safe “chosen family” to kind of balance out all the chaos. Like an anchor, I suppose.

I have tried to kill myself three times, the most recent of these attempts in September 2017. I regularly struggle with nightmares, suicidal thoughts, shame, guilt, anger, lying (I tell people I’m fine when I’m not, or that I’m taking better care of myself than I am), trouble focusing, and the list goes on and on. I also curse like a fucking sailor, in case you hadn’t noticed (it’s angry energy that needs a place to go... I’m not punching anybody).

So, that’s why the fuck I have PTSD.

[moonshroooms]

Hey here are some OC questions I found and am now answering cause I’m a dweeb

I got the questions from here:

http://ocaskmemes.tumblr.com/post/152807102007/some-oc-questions

in case someone finds this random post and wants to do the same questions as well :3

1. Your first OC ever?

Ah geez. I mean, technically I made a story about a baby unicorn when I was like, 7, but we’re not gonna count that one really. I’ll say my first OC (who I roleplayed as on the official forums), was a cat based on the series Warriors named Moonshine. And yes, she’s where I got my nickname from.

She was a silver tabby with icy blue eyes, and yes she was essentially a self-insert, lol. Overtime she grew into her own person, namely being much more patient and wise than I. (And overtime I grew up to be less like her anyways). She was a medicine cat and eventually I tied in a Forbidden Love™ from her Old Clan™ and her being in love with him caused her entire Clan to go extinct. Which really wasn’t her fault in the end and would’ve later been revealed to be one of the evil ancestors of my evil cat. But whatevs. Eventually her ex-lover found her and they were allowed to be together and have two adorable kittens, one of whom is absolutely bonkers and lovely and the ancestor of two later cats who eventually became human characters. <3

2. Do you have a personal favorite among your OCs?

I could nevaaaaar. While they’re listening. But keep it between us, yeah?

From my Warriors OC (all of whom are RP characters), are two cats named Grayskies (originally just Gray), and Snowfeather (Originally just Snow), two sisters. Gray is super srs and uptight and the best older sister and makes sure Snow doesn’t accidentally kill herself and Snow is a silly and conniving and random and acts more clueless than she really is. Snow ended up having an unhealthy attachment to her sister due to their childhood and, understanding it was unhealthy, purposely pushed Gray away so Gray would open her heart to others and have a romance with my friend’s OC, and is slowly devolving into madness not being the one most important person to her sister anymore. In the end she knows being the only other person in her sister’s life isn’t good for either of them, and she loves her sister more than anything and strives to make her sister happy and healthy, but didn’t try to fix herself either. Something, something, she ended up being tricked/forced by her brother-in-law’s evil dead twin to having his demon kit baby that she tried to kill in the womb by starving herself, something something. We got really out there with our RPs they were so fun honestly. As a side note, Gray and Snow are also my two characters who were later turned into humans. My friend and I loved Gray and Will’s (her OC), relationship dynamic so much we made them human. We actually had them bust into our new roleplay (and I plan on adding Snow in too, albeit a much healthier and less-obsessed Snow).

From my own personal story that I’ve been working on since like, 2013 (really slow-going, since I want it to be a comic, and 2013 is when I started drawing). Geez. There’s six characters. I feel bad about choosing from these guys. I think Caimen is my favorite from all of them right now. It’s a constant toss-up between him and another character. He’s a red-headed half-wolf boy and he’s a sweetheart. Most of his/everyone’s story is they’re genetic amalgamations of animals (though recently been debating to rethink the story into a fantasy instead). Caimen’s sweet and thoughtful and mega-crushing with my other OC. He ends up being a bit co-dependent with her (due to the wolf genes and childhood trauma yadda-yadda), but I planned on having an arc where Kitty (le crush) and maybe the rest of the group are gone and he realizes that without her (and the rest of them), around he doesn’t know what to do with himself. He realizes he thinks of himself as part of a group rather than an individual and has difficulty making decisions without the other’s influence. He’s not 100% sweet-kawaii-desu though. Anyone he views as a ‘lower rank’ than him he tends to be incredibly hostile towards and even cruel in some cases. He and Kitty have a tendency to gang up on my other OC (and while that OC is an absolute asshole and deserves it usually, he doesn’t deserve that antagonizing all the time).

And from my current RP with my friends (though it’s been on hiatus for a long time. RIP), I think my character Kit (Kitchi), is my favorite. It’s not really a big pool to choose from, since there’s really only 2 characters I have (with another on the way, but I haven’t played as her much yet). He’s the most adorable werewolf you ever did meet. Upbeat, optimistic, respectful, friendly, playful. He’s one of my most fun characters to date. He was actually morphed from a story I made long ago about wolves with elemental powers. Originally he was a descendant of ice wolves who meets up with a wolf who was a half-breed between fire and earth (giving her incredibly dangerous lava powers), and something something they go on a journey with others to extra murder people who tried to murder the lava wolf. I never did finish that story. Kit later was refurbished into my old Warrior RP with my friend into Kit/Kitpelt. Same personality, sans magical powers. I ended up never being able to play as him (since back then basically anyone without a major plot or romantic interest was dumped by the curb and forgotten and nobody wanted to be sweet on the little sugar muffin), but I still really liked him. And when my friends and I started up a new RP after a like, 5 years hiatus, BAM I turned him into a werewolf. (She was even excited to see him around and learn that he’s the same Kit from our old RP). He’s been waiting to pounce all this time and his moment is finally here, and he’s a wonderful goblin that everyone loves inside and outside the RP, I’m so proud. He even has the ice powers from his original story (though he didn’t get them naturally. That’s due to his dangerous siren friend and all their hilarious misadventures and her almost killing him a lot).

 3. Have you ever adopted a character or gotten a character from someone else?

Noooooooooooooooope!

 4. A character you rarely talk about?

Mmm. Probably characters from any old stories I never finished. But of currently active OCs, I’d say it’s my character Emily. She’s a part of my big story with my genetically-spliced children and is a normal human. She was the last of my main cast I created, which means she’s the least-developed of them all (hence why I don’t talk about her much).

She’s a 28-year-old half-white half-hispanic (I haven’t discovered/decided specifically what race/nationality she is yet. I only ever decided: something that speaks Spanish, lol) biological/chemical scientist. She’s got wavy hair that’s all over the place, freckles for days, big body, and a big brain.

Her mother (who’s the Hispanic parent), is a CEO lady of a large company and is very Business and Pantsuits. Though she’s very much in love with her job her and Emily are close and she loves her family dearly. Her father (the white parent), is a car mechanic (or maybe a car designer, haven’t decided yet), with a passion for inventing anything he feels like at the time, productive or not. Him and Emily are incredibly dangerous together and there’s next to nothing they can’t create. Emily was raised mostly by her aunt (Tia in Spanish, right?), who’s a lady who loves children (based on my own mom, tbh), but never had any of her own. After Emily was born she coincidentally ran into financial trouble and moved into her sister’s house to help raise Emily and get back on her feet while her parents were working. After she picked herself up again (during Emily’s teenage years), she successfully opened a day-care business where she gets to look after all the children she wants.

Emily herself joined our story after being kidnapped by my animal children and forced into being their doctor after one of them gets Horribly Ill (which is later determined to be asthma). After spending time with them she feels even more guilt about the Illegal Experiments which birthed them (though she didn’t have a direct hand in it. They were already born long before she joined), and defects to their side (losing her job in the process which means she has to move back in with her parents). Emily landed the job at the place the children were made, because they were really secretive and basically like Everything Here is Confidential If You Can’t Handle That Go Away (I’m not exactly an expert on underground operations okay sue me my story’s not very developed either). But she was fresh out of college, couldn’t land a job or pay her bills, and didn’t want to disappoint her parents, so she took the job.

After joining the group of misfit children she becomes a bit of a co-leader with the ‘actual’ leader Talon (who is incredibly grateful for her presence because despite being 18, he’s still a child who needs guidance himself and isn’t really qualified to care for 4 other genetically-altered children alone. Or at all). Emily’s very smart, curious (almost to the point of being nosy), and a bit of a worrywart. She gets a little into the children’s personal space when she starts investigating their anatomy or behavior and rambles way too much. She’s also not good with blood and bruising. Drawing blood from a needle or other female-related blood situations are fine, but someone gets a papercut or a bruise from kicking the table and she just flips the fuck out.

Emily is also incredibly protective of Caimen against his girlfriend Kitty, mostly because Kitty is incredibly Hand-sy and Flirty and Em acts like she’s gonna corrupt him.

Overall Emily tries to atone for what the Facility did to the kids and what they forced their lives to be like, and certainly gets flak from the children when they find out how much/little she knew about the Facility’s underground operations. I really need to develop her personally and her relationship with the other characters, as well as a bunch of other things.

 5. If you could make only one of your OCs popular/known, who would it be?

Kit, because he’s a lovely sausage that needs to be shared with the world.

 6. Two OCs of yours that look alike despite not being related?

Kitty and Caimen. I made them almost back-to-back when I first started drawing and Wasn’t Good At All, thusly they have similar design. Later on I got waaaay more diverse with both facial and body type. And down the road Kitty and Caimen got more noticeable differences, but they’re still pretty similar and on more than one occasion someone assumes they’re siblings. I’m probably not going to majorly change their designs just for the sake of making them different either. If I suddenly come up with a design that fits them better, I’ll do that. But I won’t do it for differences-sake, not when the rest of the cast is as diverse as it is. Two unrelated people looking alike isn’t unbelievable either – me and my one friend are often asked if we’re sisters.

Kitty’s a small, bony little thing that’s more muscle than anything else. Tan skin, dark brown/mottled hair, bright yellow eyes. I’ve debated whether or not she gets a normal collarbone or not since cats don’t get any o’ that. Her facial shape is very angular, with more of a triangle-shaped face and tiny nose.

Caimen’s in the middle between gangly-14-year-old and starting-to-fill-out-more. He’s got no noticeable muscles or fat, but isn’t bony either. Light skin, strawberry blonde hair, and I’m not sure what his eye color is yet, surprisingly. I have a hard time deciding between green and hazel. I’m probably gonna go hazel, tbh. Caimen’s got a rounder face and soft features.

One of the biggest things that’s similar with them are their animal-inherited parts. Kitty has the classic slitted pupils of a cat that expand and contract. And Caimen has slitted pupils that stay one size, but yo 2013 me, you remember that wolves don’t have slitted pupils right? I know it looks cool and you like the more feral look to it, but that’s anatomically wrong ya dingus. I can’t bring myself to give it up though, it doesn’t look like Caimen without it.

And yeah, they do have the basic cat/wolf-ears-and-tail design. I fretted over the basic design a lot when I first created my story, but personally? I really like these designs. And I know it’s not incredibly creative, but I wasn’t really striving to have a child with the body of a human and the upper torso of an actual wolf, or one of their legs is feline or it looks human but is shaped like a bobcat. I wanted my character to have some opportunity to be amongst normal humans, and them looking ­too inhuman would ruin that. (Though Kitty and another character Snake Eyes are the most animalistic out of all of them and really have to cake on the disguises to get by). And overall I like these designs. I know they’re everywhere but I don’t mind it much. This is the kind of story I’d want to read. Surely someone else has the same taste as me. And if someone drops the story because they’ve seen the design before and find it boring then they’re really not the audience I was looking for anyways.

And more than that, the one thing I’m proud of with specifically Kitty’s design is that my cat-girl has whiskers. Do you know how much that bothers me? Why don’t more cat-girls have whiskers they’re like the biggest staple of cats people name their cats Whiskers. I named my cat Whiskers. And I mean actual protruding whiskers, not lines painted on the cheeks like Naruto.

 7. Are your OCs part of any story or stories?

All of them, personal stories or RP stories. Absolutely none of my OCs were born in a void without at least a semblance of a larger story. I don’t understand how people make characters but not even have at least a vague idea for a story? Like they’re just there?? Are you magic??? How????

 8. Do you RP as any of your OCs? If you do, introduce one of your RP OCs here!

Tons of them! No like literally, back when I RPed Warriors my friend and I had literally hundreds of characters (many of which were dropped by the wayside honestly).

But that was years ago so we’re not gonna talk about them.

Instead we’re gonna talk about Cara (who I briefly mentioned earlier), my lovely little siren.

Cara’s a red-headed and very dangerous 22-year-old siren. In a strange turn of events that almost resulted in child murder, Cara befriended a young 16-year-old werewolf boy (they were 19 and 13 respectively, when they first met). In order to continue being friends Cara promise to stop literally eating humans and devouring their souls and lives a ‘normal’ life on land.

As a siren she can enchant men with her voice and hates women (though not because she’s a siren. There are reasons and experiences as to why). She is the depiction of a siren that usually crisscrosses with mermaids, but I do have a little history planned out that some original sirens (which are birb women), were saved from drowning by mermaids and mermen, who they fell in love with, and down the line aquatic sirens were born (and there’s still a distinction between aquatic sirens and mermaids, and boy do sirens hate mermaids).

Cara is very superficial, flirty, bombastic, a tad crude, and very dramatic. At the very least, on the surface. Sirens live in a kind of animalistic world, and only a few of them have some semblance of a society. The first human Cara ate was her father, a kind sailor who was dragged to the depths by her mother, and kept alive to raise the future child (though in her defense Cara was like, 6, and didn’t really understand the implications of sucking out his soul until after he was dead). When Cara was 13 or so her mother chased her off after they got into a spat over some food and Cara was on her own since. Because of multiple reasons that I won’t explain now, Cara believes that she (as a siren and as a female), is an inherently evil creature, and even if she does good things it really doesn’t change who and what she is at her core.

Despite her very loud personality, Cara desperately wishes to be someone people can view as a lady. Currently she tries to act more sophisticated and lady-like than she is, an act that comes across more like a child playing dress-up and quickly falls apart if someone triggers her quick temper.

Currently in our big supernatural RP, Cara has a romantic interest in the form of my friend’s fairy-banshee half-breed. Whether or not Cara would be able to ‘love’ him honestly is up in the air. I suppose we’ll find out :D

 9. Would you ever be willing to give any of your OCs to someone else?

So my friend often draws my character Gray (which includes any tiny, funny comics she might’ve drawn), since she’s rather woven into her character Will’s story. In fact she came up with a drawn design of her before I did (since I didn’t draw at the time, though I did tell her what the human version would look like) and she’s got her character pretty spot-on. One day it came to our realization that I had never actually drew her human version. Anyways, while I never ‘gave’ Gray to her, if I were to give someone a character, it’d be Gray to my friend.

 10. Introduce an OC with a complicated design?

Eh, I don’t know if I really have that tbh. I suppose one OC I had back when I first started drawing; a girl named J.C. who could turn into a raptor-like beast. That raptor was so fricken hard to draw and I only drew like one, shoulder-up drawing. But it’s easily one of my most proud creations.

 11. Is there any OC of yours you could describe as a “sunshine”?

Kit, hands-down. And human-Snow.

 12. Name an OC that isn’t yours but who you like a lot

I love my friend’s OC named Dante. And I literally know next-to-nothing about him, but he’s just a little unhinged and loads of dangerous and oooOOOh boy is that my favorite combination of traits! And he’s a cutie too :P

 13. Do you have any troublemaker OCs?

Absolutely. Troublemakers are the best kinds of people.

My character Kitty is pretty chaotic, and Snake Eyes is an asshole for the sake of it. Another character of mine, Hex (short for Hexagon), is a troublemaker, too.

 14. Introduce an OC with a tragic backstory

Hex, the character I mentioned above, has a pretty sad backstory (at least of characters I haven’t already mentioned. They pretty much all have a weird or sucky backstory). It does get a happy ending though.

Hex was created by J.C. (through a lot of magical power mumbo-jumbo that’s too long to explain here). J.C. turning into a raptor caused her mind to start forming two halves. Eventually the other half began to have a conscious until one day Hex said one word: “I”. And in that moment she realized she was a thing, a someone. And she desperately tried to find a way to get J.C. to hear her and know she existed. J.C. was all that she knew of the world. She was everything.

But unfortunately Hex’s voice were perceived as dark and evil thoughts, since Hex often disagreed with J.C. not killing people who tried to harm her. Eventually Hex grew powerful enough to change J.C.’s physical form. She greeted J.C. as a reflection in a puddle, turning J.C.’s face into a scarred, half-beast monstrosity. Since Hex was manifested from J.C.’s frequent transformation into her raptor form, that’s half of what Hex looked like.

Having half her face morphed against her will into a creepy abomination understandably terrified J.C., especially when she connects that this monster is where the thoughts of killing others comes from. J.C. calls Hex a demon and disgusting and Hex is completely confused and heartbroken. And eventually that pain grows to hatred. She was rejected from the being that created her and that she loved and admired with all her existence. And when the one thing you know rejects you, what do you have left?

Hex began to grow stronger over time, gaining more dominance over J.C.’s mind and body. Eventually she used the extra power that built when J.C. transformed to create a body of her own. Hex looks like J.C., but with pale, almost gray skin, and darker hair. The left half of her body being a mix between skin and scales, her hands devolving into a more claw-like shape. The left side of her face is scaled and scarred, with a shredded and veiny fin-like ear and much too-large eye that’s the same as the raptor’s eye. She runs off after separating from J.C., later returning in multiple attempts to kill her unintentional creator.

Eventually J.C. realizes from stuff and things and events, that Hex isn’t actually evil or a demon, she just wanted J.C.’s acceptance. And she’s hurting and doesn’t know what to do to make it stop. She’s almost a child in this world she leapt out into, and doesn’t know how to act and communicate what she needs. And when J.C. finally accepts her all the malice melts away. Hex quickly joins the group J.C.’s in and becomes a powerful ally with very strange powers and abilities.

Shortly after she joins the group, J.C. and co. realize Hex had no name. And after they tried to put their heads together for a name for her, Hex asks if she doesn’t get a say in it. She reveals to them her name will be Hex, and when they look at her for more indication and to why the flip-flap did you name yourself Hex of all things, she just tells them it’s short for Hexagon. And then she leaves like that didn’t just spawn more questions than it answered.

And as a side note: Hex where’s an outfit that’s very akin to a stereotypical genie outfit, because that’s exactly what it is. After shoving herself out of J.C. in the weirdest birth ever, she runs around naked for a while before realizing human people where clothes. She walks into the first clothing store she finds, a Party City Halloween-costume type place, grabs a genie costume, and leaves.

Dang this character is great why did I drop this story

 15. Do you like to talk about your OCs with other people?

No, because no one ever asks me. Which is very sad and also why I’m doing this ask thingy myself XD I do wish my friend’s would ask me questions though. I always ask them questions about theirs, even when it’s small, cause I know I’d want someone taking an interest in mine, ya know?

 16. Which one of your OCs would be the best at biology (school subject)?

Other than Emily, the literal biology scientist? Talon (a character I think I mentioned but didn’t name), would be a wiz at biology + have a passion for it probably.

 17. Any OC OTPs?

All of them. Everyone. Everyone that exists all at once.

Kitty + Caimen

Snake Eyes + Arachnea

Talon + Emily (though for poor Tally it’s his one-sided crush on her and isn’t reciprocated).

J.C. + a character I have an idea of but never created/named.

Gray + Will (does it count if it’s not my OC?? It does now)

Snow + Lewis (Will’s evil twin, with whom they’re in a mega dysfunctional relationship A+)

Cara + Bishop (my friend’s OC)

Kit + Anna (my other friend’s OC)

 18. Any OC crackships?

Naaaaaaah. Well wait.

Yeah.

Cara and Kit. Cara is very defensive and protective over Kit, and while they’re explicitly just friends seriously, it hasn’t stopped me from writing a piece or two where they end up in a very close Predicament. Cara didn’t grow up in a human society and therefore has no qualms or care about Minors = Off-Limits, so she did attempt to instigate something once or twice (though it was out of habit rather than interest), but miraculously Kit managed to keep things strictly platonic.

HOW-E-VER

I do have a few other pieces, which is the result of a never-gonna-happen-this-is-just-for-my-eyes-and-a-random-guilty-pleasure-cause-I’m-dumb AU where, due to whatever reason I never bothered to explain, Cara takes ahold of the siren magic she’s been subtly smothering Kit with over the years to ensure that he doesn’t turn against her (like she fears will eventually happen). She convinces him that he’s in love with her, which he believes. However he can’t stop the feeling that something is off. He knows that he does love Cara and she’s very important to him, but it just feels off.

In a different instance, (which is more true to their canonical history, but ultimately never happened and is still just for me cause I’m a dweeb), Kit kisses Cara out of anger from being dumped by a girl he really liked (and Cara’s subsequent unrefined attempt at comforting him). And when Cara kisses him back and it gets a bit heated, he immediately regrets it (thinking to himself that he’s not treating Cara like a human and hates the kind of person that uses someone as a rebound), and stops everything. To his surprise Cara isn’t upset (with either the kiss nor breaking it off), and only asks him if it helped. And when he admits it didn’t Cara gives him a hug and lets him cry and mope.

That second one is less of shipping and more solidifying how important Kit is to Cara (mostly in the ensuing conversation. He’s the first friend she’s ever had, after all, and she wants to help him however she can), and random sexual tension is there cause I’m complete garbage.

Yes I’m melodramatic for no reason and a complete trash gremlin fite me

 19. Introduce an OC that means a lot to you (and explain why)

Eh. Honestly I’ve mentioned all the ones that mean a lot to me honestly.

Moonshine is the first OC I’ve ever made. Kitty, J.C., and Caimen are the first OCs I made when I started drawing. Kit is just a loveable fuzzball.

Wait I thought of someone.

Ami, a wolf from a large story I made and the first story I’ve ever completed (and also the only story I’ve ever completed, not including shorts/oneshots XD). She was the leader of a pack of wolves who were forced out of their territory due to encroaching humans. It’s only of the few/only story I have with absolutely no supernatural/magical elements (if you’re not counting the fact that the wolves speak to each other like humans, lol).

Honestly it’s the story I’m most proud of, simply because I actually finished it. It’s pretty unrefined and I was kinda young when I wrote it. It’s obvious there are heavy influences from the Warrior Cats series, and also the wolves don’t run like a wolf pack does realistically at all.

But Ami’s story actually came to a close and a happy ending, and so she (and the rest of the cast), are very important to me.

 20. Do any of your OCs sing? If they sing, care to share more details (headcanon voice, what kind of songs they like etc)?

Cara, my siren, obvi.

For Cara’s voice, though she’s crass and rude and loud, I imagine the type of singing you hear from Celtic Woman, for example. When she’s doing her enchanting than it’s more sounds that words (and any words she does sing are usually in foreign ‘siren language’). It’s a haunting voice, like a singing spirit, beckoning you to investigate, to find out who, who is that? Her enchanting specifically focuses on instilling emotion rather than a command. It’s an invitation, a suggestion, to do what she wants.

Other than that she really likes R&B.

Caimen too. I imagine he really likes to sing, and has a fantastically high voice for it too. I don’t have any type of headcanon for his voice, however. I imagine he’s the type to like all types of music, but especially softer songs with a lot of emotion.

 21. Your most artistic OC

Arachnea, who I’ve only mentioned by name. She has a passion for makeup, fashion, and hair, and basically anything attributing to your appearance. Looks at a face like a sketch, and all she needs is to add a little color to finish it off. She loves being able to dress herself up (though her circumstances rarely allow her to do so), and be able to express her style and personality through her outward appearance.

 22. Is there any OC of yours people tend to mischaracterize? If yes, how?

Nah, because no one ever asks me about them.

 23. Introduce OC that has changed from your first idea concerning what the character would be like?

Oh geez, a few. I think the character with the most drastic change was Caimen.

Originally Caimen was created mostly as Kitty’s romantic interest (though it wouldn’t be all he is, obviously). In all honestly, Caimen’s ‘personality’, if you can call it that, was strikingly similar to Kisshu my long-standing OTP from Tokyo Mew Mew. I’m embarrassed to even think about it. Ugh. Originally he was cheeky and mischievous and flirty, and Kitty was not having Any Of It. Kitty’s personality was pretty different too back then, actually. Anyways, as time went on, Caimen quickly got a personality of his own and nOT ridiculously similar to my guilty-pleasure anime, and Kitty went on to be the cheeky asshole instead, which was honestly who she was from the beginning if it weren’t for me shoe-horning what I ‘wanted’ them to be like.

 24. If you could meet one OC of yours, who would it be and why?

AlL OF thEM.

But if I had to choose, probably Arachnea or Kit. They’re the ones who are honestly the friendliest and the ones I’d probably get along with best.

 25. The OC that resembles you the most (same hobby, height, shared like/dislike for something etc?)

AlL OF thEM.

No but, while they’re not self-inserts, it’s easy for me to pick out any part of me that might have slipped into the character (or that we just happen to share), even character that I share mostly nothing with.

Either way

Other than Moonshine, who was basically a self-insert (at first), Arachnea is the character I share most in common with personality-wise.

She’s shy, and not very confident in herself, but strives to be good to others in the same way she hopes others will be to her. She’s rather self-conscious, more in her abilities than anything else, and can get discouraged quickly, and takes other’s criticism to heart way too easily. Sometimes she needs someone to push her, even when it’s something she wants to do. Underneath she does have her own backbone, and if it comes down to it, she’d rather be a subject of ridicule than do something she doesn’t want to do. Arachnea is working towards being a more confident and assertive person, and is making great strides to being as bright and shining as she wants to be. Arachnea’s much more extroverted (despite her shyness), than I am, probably 10x nicer and calmer, and much more interested in fashion than I could ever hope to be, lol. But she’s a lot like how I was a couple years ago. I like to think I’m a bit more of the person I want to be, like hopefully Arachnea can be the person she wants to be one day.

 26. Have you ever had to change your OC’s design or something else about them against your will?

I’m not even sure what this question means. Like. Their design was too similar to someone else and I had to change it? Nah. Thankfully all my characters look like I want them too. And since I’m not legally publishing anything, no need to worry about legal anything ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

 27. Any OCs that were inspired by a certain song?

Naaaaah. But plenty of songs that resemble my OCs.

 28. Your most dangerous OC?

Cara, definitely. And not just the male enchant-y powers either (though there is a dragon nearby she’d have total control over should she utilize that power). My sirens, on top of their singing, have another feature. By consuming human souls (and the souls of incredibly powerful creatures, or each other), they starting to grow pearls in their skin. These pearls are vessels of power, be it physical or magical (with different colored pearls having different levels of strength). A siren could, theoretically, become infinitely powerful by growing enough pearls (since consuming the souls of others expands their lifetime. Indefinitely, if they keep eating). Cara went on a massive killing spree before meeting Kit and has enough pearls to consider her incredibly dangerous to other supernaturals most other siren she might come across. Powers tend to develop based on personality and other traits. Cara’s actually an eel-like siren and has electricity powers that she was born with. She later begins to develop heat ability (not fire, heat), that she has trouble controlling due to her inexperience. She’ll actually burn herself if she uses it outside of water for too long/too hot, but she’ll be able to control it eventually. She used to have ice powers, but (from circumstances I won’t explain), those powers were transferred to Kit.

Either way, while Cara’s not infinitely powerful, she’s my most dangerous character currently and the character that has the potential to be the most dangerous creature on the planet.

 29. Which one of your OCs would go investigate an abandoned house at night without telling anyone they’re going?

Kit, seeing as he investigated a siren that already tried to eat him once.

 30. Which one of your OCs would most likely have a secret stuffed animal collection?

Talon, Arachnea, and Kit. But Talon and Arachnea would totally own up to it and Kit would be embarrassed to the moon and back.

 31. Pick one OC of yours and explain what their tumblr blog would be like (what they reblog, layout, anything really)

Kit would probably run a supernatural blog, full of both real and fake supernatural sightings, information, discussions, jokes, and more.

 32. Which one of your OCs would be the most suitable horror game protagonist and why?

Probably Kit or Arachnea. I don’t play many (or any), horror games, so I don’t know what the stereotypes are. But Kit would be the type to get himself into dumb situations over curiosity alone, and would probably be creative enough to get himself out of some sticky predicaments. And Arachnea is a beast when push comes to shove. Though she prefers to not fight physically, she’s literally my most muscular and physically strong character (not counting supernaturals), and if it came down to it she’d sock a zombie right in the face and probably knock its head off.

33. Your shyest OC?

Arachnea

 34. Do you have any twin characters?

I do actually, though they’re hardly fleshed out at all (I haven’t even decided on names). Kit has adoptive twin sisters, a couple of were-foxes his parents found abandoned in the wild. They managed to find them early enough in childhood development so they wouldn’t grow up into completely feral children (though they tend to prefer their fox forms to human forms).

 35. Any sibling characters?

Yes, yes.

Kit, as mentioned above, has adoptive twin sisters.

Gray and Snow are sisters (though I haven’t decided if their human versions are twins or not).

Cara likely has dozens of unknown siren sisters.

 36. Do you have OC pairs where the other part belongs to someone else (siblings, lovers, friends etc)?

Gray’s husband Will belongs to my friend, Snow’s boyfriend Lewis belongs to the same friend, and Cara and Kit’s romantic interest belong to my friends!

 37. Introduce an OC who is not quite human

Almost all of them. Let’s talk about one I haven’t said much on. Snake Eyes.

Yes, the characters in one of my stories have names that are almost all animal puns and there are actually reasons for it. Kitty was often taunted by people shouting ‘here Kitty, Kitty’. As a child she assumed it was her name. Talon was an uncreative kid who came up with his own name and relating it to the fact that he’s part bird. Arachnea read about the Greek mythology of Arachne and named herself Arachnea after her, since she’s part spider. Snake Eyes didn’t have a name until long after he met the main group. Arachnea used gambling to survive and explained at one point what snake eyes were pertaining to dice. He decided on his name based on that. And finally Caimen, who chose his name not based on what animal he is but what his favorite animal was at the time, a caiman. Keeping in mind that literally all of them are/were children when they named themselves and let’s be honest how many people would have the stupidest name if their 13-year-old-selves were allowed to legally name them? That was my point :D

Anyways back to Snake Eyes.

He’s part snake (black mamba, specifically. Fun!), and is an asshole. The biggest asshole around. You could see this asshole from space.

Physically he’s so fun to draw. He’s of Asian descent (haven’t decided what specifically though), but due to his snake-genes and him being the most animalistic-looking of the group, it’s not easily apparent. I did draw him if he wasn’t gene-spliced though and maaaan, Asian eyes (elapids? Or something like that. The folded quality they have to them?) are a little difficult to draw. I don’t know if it’s because it’s actually difficult or because I never drew them before, but it’s clear I’d have to work on it a bit. His limbs are a bit long for his body, as is his neck. I draw the back of his head a bit differently as well. There’s not much of a hook to it, the back of his skull goes straight to his neck in a smooth slope, and it gives him a more snake-like quality to the shape. He has fully functional venomous fangs (which I always draw reallyreallyreally big, though I should probably think about making them like, not saberteeth XD).

Coloring-wise, Snake Eyes is actually albino. His eyes are indeed pink rather than the usual human albinism coloring of light blue, but since his eyes are ‘snake eyes’ they’re pink and red. He’s also got himself a nifty, super skinny forked tongue and that weird tongue-hole snakes have. His skin is very fair and hair is light blond. Also he doesn’t have eyebrows, because snakes be hairless. So no eyebrows, eyelashes, or body hair (when he gets to the age of body hair doom), but I just couldn’t bring myself to make him bald though. I couldn’t. XD

Snake Eyes, as I’ve mentioned, at the beginning and end of the day, is an asshole. In the place him and the group grew up he was basically deemed everything they wanted him to be. They way they lined up for his genes to go went all exactly to plan, he had the perfect temperament and attitude, no major health problems. Except one: the albinism. So rather than being told he was perfect he was constantly told he was almost perfect. Cancer, eye problems, the albinism made him a risk factor for all that (and more, for when I do more research on albinism). Now, in actuality, the albinism didn’t really put him at a disadvantage for anything they needed him for. The reason they told him that was specifically to make him feel inferior, like he had something to prove. So he’d always, without fail, do everything he was told with little need for restraint because he wanted their approval. And it worked. Snake Eyes grew up with a massive inferiority/superiority complex (I’ve done little research on the two, and thusly am unsure which one fits his behavior more accurately). He constantly put down the other experiments in the same boat as him, antagonizing and reminding them that they’re more flawed than he is, lower ‘rank’ than he is, and completely expendable unlike him; that if it came down to it they might just be used as a guinea pig. All the while he feared his own flaws and needed to remind himself that there were others who were horribly flawed (which they hardly were, but he acted like it anyways to comfort himself).

Eventually, after the facility disapproved of a failed mission of his and his near-death experience because of it, Snake Eyes decided he’d never gain their approval, and that it wasn’t worth it to never hear that he was perfect. And he successfully escaped due to their belief in their control over him and thinking they needed no devices to ensure he didn’t leave. He did stab a tracking chip out of his arm with a dirty sharp rock and nearly bled to death as a result, but he gets saved by lo-and-behold, our ragtag group of escapees that he failed to catch in the first place. And, being a person who will do anything that benefits him regardless of pride or morality, saw fit to join them when Arachnea was willing to put up with his bad attitude. Eventually he comes around and is legitimately on their side, but Arachnea is definitely the main reason he stays, as Kitty and Caimen hate his guts (and he lovingly reciprocates), and Talon and Emily are mildly agreeable towards him at best.

Eventually he grows more confident in himself with some support from Arachnea. Unfortunately for everyone this didn’t result in him putting others down less or becoming less of a pain, but instead becoming completely self-absorbed and convinced of his own greatness. And I honestly love every second of it. And the worst part is that he is as great as he often spouts he is. He’s very intelligent, physically capable, and dangerous to-boot. He’s snarky, sarcastic, and intentionally antagonizing to Kitty and Caimen (purely to prod a reaction or violence from them only for him to smirk that he could enrage them so easily). The only person safe from his prickly tongue is Arachnea (though he was certainly cruel to her at first). He came to admire her quiet backbone and endless compassion (and learned at some point her fist is very painful), and fancies her the only person he doesn’t find annoying and he’s genuinely fond of.

I do have a bit of a romance with him and Arachnea, but there’s a 3-year age gap, so that doesn’t happen until they’re at a much more acceptable age. That, and Snake Eyes is asexual, so it takes him a while to figure out. And though doesn’t fancy Arachnea physically, he enjoys her company and knows she’s the most important person to him and wants it to be reciprocated. Arachnea on the other had is a big fat romantic sap and, while she’s the one that gets a crush first, doesn’t push him to do more than he’s comfortable with. There’s a bit of angst on her side at first after she realizes her feelings for him and her believing it would be completely one-sided. And *cough* when they’re both ConSEntiNG adULtS and whatnot, while he’s completely neutral to the deed, he does ‘pamper’ her from time to time iF yOU kNoW what I’m SAYiN’.

Down the road him and his group will probably get tighter bonds (or at least a somewhat positive relationship), but I haven’t really thought that far ahead in the story. Or at least, I haven’t found the trigger that starts the slow process of them working together better.

P.S., Snake Eyes being an albino black mamba means he’s a white black mamba and that amuses me to no end.

 38. Which one of your OCs would be the best dancer?

Caimen and a side character in the same story as him named Candy (Candace). Caimen is already pretty in-tune to music and rhythm anyhow, and while he doesn’t ‘know’ how to dance, were he ever to take classes he’d be A+ bomb at them. And Candy is a big party girl and, while she’s certainly no professional, knows how to shake it how she likes, albeit she may look silly from time to time :P

 39. Introduce any character you want

Hey, let’s introduce a couple of side characters I have!

Amy and Candy (Candace). These are a couple of minor characters in the story I’m writing with all my half-animal children. They’re part of Talon’s co-workers and a large backstory for them happened to crop up despite me not intending to make one.

Amy and Candy met in the 4th grade. Amy Luong is a very shy Vietnamese girl with a love for writing stories. She’s always alone with her nose stuck in her notebook. One day Candace Carter, a very outgoing Welsh girl, snatches her writing from her hands and reads it. Candy quickly falls in love with the story and characters in the little she scans and makes Amy a deal: They’ll be best friends and make a team. Amy writes the story and Candace plays the roles. They’ll become a famously successful and beloved duo in Hollywood!

And Amy’s reaction is: ‘what the fuck who is this girl give me my notebook back ur rude the hell?’ And calls Candy out on her rudeness, the fact she read her notebook without permission, and is angry that Candy thought any of it would be okay. Candy counters that she’d seen Amy turn people away before when they asked to see the notebook and this was the only way she’d see what’s inside. And while Amy admits to herself that it’s true, it doesn’t make it okay. And she flatly turns down the ‘plan’ Candy laid out for them.

After a lot of pestering, a bit of stalking Amy to her place of residence, a lot more pestering (much to Amy’s chagrin), begrudging hanging-out time at recess, and a fantastic display of acting talent, Amy finally opens up and the two become friends.

And the two work towards the dream little Candy decided for them long ago. Candy works towards the big-screen and Amy strives for a spot behind-the-scenes. They both know it’s a lofty and risky dream, but it’s a dream they want to work for and a dream they have passion for. And with their personalities clashing and working together, there’s certainly no shortage of stories and ideas that have a real chance of getting them into the film industry.

Amy’s very much a shrinking violet kind of person. And while she definitely didn’t appreciate Candy trying to forcefully barge in her life, she’s happy to have her as a friend in the end. She likes all things with a story, from comics to cinema to anime and reading. She’s a very smart and creative girl, but a bit socially awkward and very stubborn.

Candy’s almost the exact opposite; a social butterfly, confident, bullheaded, and a bit manipulative. She loves being in the spotlight and being in charge. She could get behind not only acting, but directing as well. Hollywood is her ideal fantasy and she has the looks, talent, and drive to make it a reality.

These two characters are just fun to write, especially the way they work off each other. Candy especially is a bit odd in that one quickly learns to not make promises or play along with Any of her ‘pretend’ schemes, no matter how ridiculous, cause you never, ever know when she’s serious. Amy accidentally made a blood pact that if they’re still single the day before one of them turns 40 they’re going to elope and marry each other so, as Candy puts it, “no one can call us old spinsters.”

In a little side-story I made, after Amy comes out to Candy, Candy asks if Amy had ever had a crush on her. Amy admits that (while she’s like a sister to her now and couldn’t possibly think of her that way) yes she did have a crush on her when they were younger, a little bit after she’d started warming up to her. She recalls that she squashed the feeling since she was embarrassed by not just a crush, but a crush on a girl, and what Candy or anyone else might think of her. And as time went on she matured and accepted and was happy with herself, and happy her family and friends were accepting and it didn’t matter to them who she was interested in if she was happy. And she tells Candy:

“You were pretty, and clever, and inspiring. And you still are, honestly. And later on the closer we got, the more I got to know the real you, I realized,”

And Candy’s gushing at this point because who doesn’t love compliments?

“That I dodged one hell of a bullet.”

Candy: :|

“Like, Candy I love you, but you are the hot mess of a hot mess. I’d probably pull my hair out if I had to be your girlfriend.”

Candy: :/

“Like my god I feel so bad for your boyfriends. Remember that one time with Andre when you—“

“AlRiGHtY theN hOneSTY hOur’S OVER.”

 40. Any fond memories linked to your characters? Feel free to share!

I think my fondest memories are when my characters slapped me in the face and said ‘no that’s not how I act I do things like this’ and go completely opposite of what I envisioned.

Most notably was Kitty, who was originally a design I drew that would represent me and was a blank model I could use for vent art. I didn’t even get to draw her a second time before she seemed to grab me by the collar, shout what kind of person she was exactly, and chucked a random story and two other characters at my face. It’s certainly a decision I’m perfectly happy with, as the result birthed many characters I absolute love and a developing story that’s kept me going for years. It’s definitely the story I’ve stuck with the longest, despite it all not being fleshed out. It’s so much fun.

Second is my character Snake Eyes, who I originally had as a pure villain character and was slated to die. But at some point all these ideas started cropping up about how he’d interact with the other characters in a non-hostile setting and hmmm, I bet he might actually get along with this character. And at that point it felt like he was completely offended I planned to kill him, like, did I even know who he is? How dare I, lol.

 41. Has anyone drawn fanart of your OCs? If yes, maybe show a picture or two here (remember sources & permissions!)

Yes, I suppose! My friend has drawn my OCs and aaaaaah I die whenever it happens it makes me so happy! She’s a much better artist than I since she’s been at it since she was little, but I love her art style so much and love seeing her take on the characters! AAAAAAA~

 42. Which one of your OCs would be the most interested in Greek gods?

Arachnea, considering her namesake is based on some Greek mythology. And my character J.C., who’s very lost and doesn’t know what she wants to do in life, but has a passion for history and lore and legends.

 43. Do you have any certain type when you create your OCs? Do you tend to favor some certain traits or looks? It’s time to confess

Oh dear I do believe so >~< For one I have a bit of a bias towards drawing somewhat attractive people in the face department. I’m not gonna say every one of my characters is Aphrodite or anything, but I certainly haven’t drawn anyone that’d be considered unattractive, at least by my standards. On that note, Emily is probably the most average-looking I’d say, though she’s not unpleasant to look at. I don’t know man. They don’t all have the same face or anything and have a mix of traits that people might consider conventionally attractive or unattractive. Kitty for example is very bony and angular, with a small button nose and very thin lips. Arachnea controversy has a big/wide nose, with full lips, sort of half-lidded eyes and thick eyebrows. Snake Eyes has a very long oval-shaped head, a flattened face, and large eyes. Emily’s got kind of a baby face, with a little nose and eyes, and a really big forehead and freckles all over. Talon has a very square jawline with a prominent nose and wide chin. They’re all different. I guess it depends on your taste on whether or not they’re all attractive? Snake Eyes, going by the description, seems like the most ‘unattractive’ person, but I think he’s one of my cutest ones tbh but eeeeh maybe I’m not the best judge of faces.

Second, in the personality department, I definitely favor my characters that are more animalistic, or have a primal side to them (see: Kit). I mean, I have so many beasty characters for a reason; animals are my passion. So when a character sees the world in the way an animal might, or whose priority in everything is survival, or has a trigger in which they become more beast than man, I get so invested in their psyche. And while not all or even most of my character have that, I certainly favor the ones that do. It’s so interesting to think about.

 44. Something you like about your OCs in general

How fun they are. Even my character Gray, an uptight pantsuit all-professional type lady, is fun to write. And though much of Gray’s humor comes from her being a straight man, she still can roll with the punches and dish it out occasionally. They’re all just a joy to write and watch, mostly when they interact with each other. And I have a blast making their day or breaking their spirits. I love when they do something unexpected that deviates from what I originally imagined.

 45. A character you no longer use?

Tons, I’ve listed a bunch already. Moonshine and 99.99% of all my old Warrior OCs. Plenty of OCs from stories I never and will never finish. There’s so many. I only regularly think and write about a handful of them now.

 46. Has anyone ever told you that you treat your OCs badly?

Nope, because no one ever talks to be about my OCs.

 47. Has anyone ever (friendly) claimed any of your OCs as their child?

See above answer.

 48. OC who is a perfect cinnamon roll, too good for this world, too pure

Arachnea and Kit. They deserve nothing of what I do to them. And there’s nothing they can do to stop me.

 49. Which one of your OCs would most likely enjoy memes

Kit is confirmed to like memes. He’s 100% garbage. He and my friend’s OC write ship fics about the other characters in our RP and send them to each other. Their favorites are the crack pairings and genderbend AUs.

 50. Give me the good ol’ OC talk here. Talk about anything you want

Blah I was gonna talk about my OC Kitty, since I’ve mentioned her a bunch but didn’t introduce her. But I made the mistake of going to bed before answering the question and now I’ve lost my motivation so pbbbbbbth. Maybe I’ll go back and edit this one day, but that day is not today!