Alright, let’s try my hand at this (again) :) WELCOME TO THE BOG!
My name’s Cramberry, she/her, 20s, and I love to yap (#cramberry yaps), draw (#cramberry's creations), and write (#cramberry's compositions) and look at stuff for all my hyperfixations!
My inbox is always open! Please feel free to yap at me about literally anything because I WILL yap back.
Most of the stuff I write is 18+ Reader/Viewer Discretion Advised, so fair warning!
Big AI hater as well :) keep it away from me :) Do NOT put any of my work through any AI stuff for any purposes whatsoever
I’m on Ao3, username Cramberry24!
Current WIPs:
"Army Dreamers" - Call of Duty: World War 2, Robert Zussman/OFC, William Pierson/OFC. Yaps/memes/updates can be found under #cramberry's fic: army dreamers
"Air Mail Special" - Call of Duty: World War 2, Robert Zussman/OFC. Yaps/memes/updates can be found under #cramberry's fic: air mail special
"Angle of View" - Call of Duty: World War 2, Robert Zussman/OFC. Yaps/memes/updates can be found under #cramberry's fic: angle of view
"Willing and Able" - Call of Duty: World War 2, Frank Aiello/OFC. Yaps/memes/updates can be found under #cramberry's fic: willing and able
“All These Things That I’ve Done” - Band of Brothers, Eugene Roe/OFC. Yaps/memes/updates can be found under #cramberry’s fic: all these things
Finished Fics:
“I Am No Mother, I Am No Bride, I Am King” - Call of Duty: World War 2, Robert Zussman/OFC. Yaps/posts/memes can be found under #I am King
Sports:
Professional Women's Hockey League (#pwhl)
Boston Fleet (#boston fleet my beloved)
Philadelphia Flyers (#flyers) (#flyers lb)
Philadelphia Phillies (#phillies)
Women's Elite Rugby (#wer)
Boston Banshees (#boston banshees)
Women’s Professional Baseball League (#wpbl)
Hyperfixations/Fandoms (subject to change at any time):
Call of Duty: World War 2 (#cod ww2)
Dispatch (#dispatch)
The X-Files (#the x files)
Singin' in the Rain (#singing in the rain)
Lord Huron (#lord huron)
Band of Brothers (#bob)
Detroit: Become Human (#detroit become human)
Project Hail Mary (#project hail mary) (#grace rocky save stars)
Messaging people for the first time is so hard. What am I supposed to say? Like, "You seem really odd and your blog intrigues me. Do you want to have philosophical conversations or perhaps talk about fictional characters?" What! Whatever. I will just follow you back and stare at your blog with my big beautiful brown eyes.
Reblog if you're okay with people coming into your DMs with the "you seem really odd and your blog intrigues me, do you want to have philosophical conversations or perhaps talk about fictional characters"
Helloooooo, a bit late but still on time! Here is Day 22 of Fluffy July, with the prompt "I bought you flowers" :)
Pairing: Robert Zussman/OFC
Tags: Fluff, fluffy july 2026, Fluff and Humor, Romantic Fluff, War, World War II, Banter, Flowers, Flower Crowns, Idiots in Love, Mutual Pining, Explicit Language, Found Family, Pre-Relationship
Summary: "I brought you flowers!"
Tidbit under the cut, full prompt on ao3 and linked in title above!
Eve hums quietly, legs crossed and her back resting against the large tree trunk behind her. Her squad is spread about in the grass around her, most sprawled out and soaking up the warm sun. One of the new ones, Graham, is nowhere to be seen, hanging around with some men from other squads, but OK and Vido are both with the rest of the squad. Vido's got a radio working, the Ink Spots crooning through the static, and it's peaceful as they wait around for command to figure out where they want them to go and when.
Besides Woods occasionally piping up to try and bait someone into an argument, everyone's content to sit or lay quietly. Vido's working through some correspondence. OK looks like he's passed out, one arm thrown over his face to shield his eyes from the sun. Rojas and Lowe have decided to amuse Woods, cards strewn out in patchy area of dirt as they play some game. Eve has a collection of flowers in her lap, most tall dandelions that she's attempting to twist and knot together into a chain. She's never been very good at this, but hey. She has nothing better to do.
She doesn't have enough flowers to actually make anything, anyway. Maybe a flower bracelet, if she really wants. She's just doing this to pass the time, anyway.
"Uh oh, incoming."
Woods' teasing voice has Eve lifting her head curiously. Her first thought is that Pierson or Turner are approaching with orders to pack up and move out. It's not either of them, however. Instead, Eve's old squad is making their way over, Zuss leading them with a grin stretching across his face. Eve nearly rolls her eyes, but her own lips twitch up into a mirroring grin.
"Watch out, boys," Eve jokes, raising her voice slightly. "Trouble's here."
Woods and Rojas both snicker and Zuss scoffs. Daniels and Stiles both split and head over to Vido, the Texan pulling out his own letters and journal to write in while Stiles digs out his latest ASE book to read. Aiello drops down beside Lowe to join in on the card game, Rojas quickly dealing him in. Eve expects Zuss to join as well, but he walks right up to Eve, still smiling down at her, hands clasped behind his back.
"What do you want?" Eve snarks, tipping her head back until it thumps against the tree as she looks up at him. Zuss makes a sound in the back of his throat, knocking his boot against her knee.
"Make some room, will ya?"
Eve sighs, making a show of shifting herself over a few inches so that Zuss can finally drop down next to her, his back against the tree and his shoulder pressed against hers. She only has a moment to try and settle her heart at the physical contact before she's distracted by what Zuss has been hiding behind his back, now held in front of him as he makes himself comfortable.
"What the hell?" The question slips out, Eve just staring, her own hands falling limp into her lap.
"Hm?" Zuss glances down at his hands, and what he's holding. "Oh. I brought you flowers."
i’m going to hold your hands when i say this and i am only going to be kind about it once: ai does not belong in fandom spaces, ever. not in writing, not in art, not in video, not at all. it does not matter how bad you want to see your favourite characters kiss, or how much you need a bit of help finishing a chapter, or whatever.
make friends with artists. commission somebody. learn to draw yourself. ask for a beta read. try a writing partnership. fandom spaces are communities, so engage with them! it is about the journey and the fact that we all love something enough to create and build together about that thing.
spending 30 seconds to kill a tree and get an AI to push out some soulless empty piece of “content” is antithetical to the entire point of being engaged with fandom, and if you’ve taken to doing this you should really reconsider if you belong in these spaces with the rest of us.
what's that one thing where they asked how ripely from alien was so realistic and believable as a female character in scifi for once and they were like "well we just took the dude from the original script and made him a girl and changed nothing else. it works bc men and women are the same?" and people were like "woah no way" and then didn't learn anything from that for 20 years
"how do you write such believable men as a woman?" "how do you write such believable women a man?" and the answer people who are good at it always give is "i just write people. were literally the exactly the same. do you think the opposite sex is some sorta totally different animal???" and people respond "woah that's wild. yea i do. and im not gonna stop thinking that goodbye :)"
I am finally back!! Expect more frequent updates from now on, all of my other projects are slowing down a bit!
I am very happy with this for a change, I had a lot of fun with the colouring if you couldn't tell, and this is one of my (many) fav scenes in the fic :)
(also first time actually drawing Hank)
Fanart of TBYCLY by @tmgt
(click for better quality)
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Hello everyone! I am taking a bit of a break from my Fluffy July postings to drop a steal for the hbowartournament! And with that note, please vote for Renee Lemaire if you have not done so already, we're in the home stretch! Edit ~~ thank you so much @voltac for the wonderful banner, I love it so much!!! I’m always in awe of your banners😭🤣
Word Count: 4,510
Tags: War, World War II, Canon-Typical Violence, Graphic Description of Corpses, Graphic Depiction of Injuries, Blood, Trauma, Character Study, Character Death, Platonic Relationships, Complicated Feelings, Emotional Hurt, Grief/Mourning, Episode: s01e06 Bastogne (Band of Brothers), Death, Exhaustion
Summary: Her hands are stained with blood.
Tidbit below the cut, full fic posted on ao3 and linked in title above!
Her hands are stained with blood.
Sometimes, the blood is fresh. Warm. Red. Wet and sticky and thick. Her hands will be so covered in the liquid that Renee can't remember what her skin looks like without it. No matter how much she wipes them on the front of her skirt, on the rags they still have left to use, the blood is there, smearing across her skin, as if playing a game. The harder she tries, the more it seeps into every pore, or instead it spreads, creeping up to soak into the cuffs of her sleeves, dripping onto her blouse, her skirt.
And the second that Renee finally starts to get a glimpse of pale skin, ghost-like and gray, there's the stomp of boots echoing on steps, hoarse shouts calling for her, shrill screams drilling into her skull, wet gurgling splattering up from choking lips. Her hands plunge into the warm darkness as if drawn like moths to a flame, the blood submerging her hands, pouring out past her wrists, trying to pull her in and drown her completely.
But there are sometimes when time slows to a crawl. When the shouts and screams subside, replaced by pleading and begging and soft whispers, and Renee can escape, if only for a few minutes. The rags and sheets and bandages can be scrubbed free of blood and any other bodily fluids they encounter, but no matter how long Renee plunges her hands into the water, no matter how hard she scrubs, she can never fully be rid of it herself.
The blood clings to her. She looks at her hands and she can see skin, rough and calloused and brittle in the cold, but always with blood somewhere. It buries itself underneath her nails, it etches itself into every line and wrinkle in her palm. It lays itself deep into her cuticles, zigzagging across her knuckles, making itself a part of her.
Maybe it is a part of her.
Every patient she's saved, pulled back from the brink of death. The boys she's comforted as they begged for their mothers, for God, for anyone listening to help them. The men who have died with her hands buried deep within their bodies, the light leaving their eyes as they go still. They're all a part of her, tied to her by her bloody hands. They're all different, they all have led their own unique lives, and yet they're all here, in her town, with their blood on her hands, intermixed and smeared together into an impossible mess.
Maybe this is all she is.
Day in, day out. She saves a man, just for another to die not even a minute later. Anna rushes by to help carry in more wounded soldiers, that same, deep exhaustion mirrored in her eyes, and Renee just moves to the next man, hands shaking as they try to wipe away blood. Someone is always needing something, always taking from her. Her home has been taken. Her peace, and her safety — gone. Her time? She can't even sleep or rest without a call for her.
"Nurse!"
"Over here, nurse!"
"Hurry up!"
"We need more bandages!"
It's take, and take, and take. And Renee lets them. She's there, always, because it needs to be done and she can do it, she can help. She is here to help, and she'll let them take whatever they need so she can continue to help. Her time, her energy, her supplies, her knowledge. They take, so overwhelmed and exhausted that they barely even acknowledge her after the fact.
And then there's the medic.
And he takes.
"I need morphine, bandages…"
"I can give you a little, but not a lot."
He's nameless and faceless, just another uniform coming and taking and going. At least he brought a man with an easy injury. She doesn't have to try and hold death off with bloody hands, no. And this medic, he asks her about the supplies, answers her own questions in return, and he speaks in her language.
The first "oui" barely registers in Renee's mind. He wouldn't be the first foreigner to slip in some French here or there when talking with Renee or Anna. But there's something off, something different from the others. He's still a foreigner, yes, still an American, but her language slips from his tongue with ease, with familiarity. Yes, with an odd accent she can't place and has never heard before, but still something that he gives to her, this familiarity.
And he continues to give, the next being his name.
"I'm Gene. Eugene Roe."
There's no rank attached to it, no division, just a name. And Renee takes, this time. Renee takes that name, and takes the memory of his face, because it is rare for anyone to come in and ask for her name and give his in return. She's always just "nurse" and nothing more, and if any of these men tell her their name, it's only ever their rank. As if that matters when her fingers are clamped tight around an artery in their throat, or when she's stitching up a jagged gash across their leg.
So Renee asks where he's from, because here is a man extending a hand and waiting, not taking. A man who speaks French in the oddest way she's heard, the words slow and drawled but still natural. A man who asks her name when others would've dropped the conversation after she finished giving him supplies and hurried back into the main section of the basement.
Even after he leaves, boots thudding on the steps, Renee thinks, and then acts. She turns on her heel, rushes up the steps. He had been in a hurry, she might've waited too long to follow after him, but no. No, there he is, calling after a driver to take him back out.
One of the best things about being a writer is thinking of something small you can add to your work that’s just. Devastating. Like you’re sitting there going. Oh. That would be diabolical. People would get really riled up about that. Exquisite. Let’s do it.
