Taylor's OCs

Formerly The Kintsugi Girl but expanded to fit all my OC fics and posts! Avatar credit goes to the INSANELY talented @kyasuu. 

[taylor-tut-ocs]

hiii i’ve been OBSESSED with your neighbors ocs. those fics legitimately were my saving grace during finals week. if you are willing and able to write a short fic, it would make my heart sing. i was thinking something like they’re having a new year’s party and one of them (maybe jean?) has been overworking themselves a ton with a bunch of late nights. they get sick from a combination of cold and flu season and just overworking, and they fall asleep on the couch before midnight. when the rest of the group wakes them up to celebrate midnight they’re super out of it and running a fever. the rest of the group takes care of them for the rest of the night then

have a GREAT end of 2025 and start to 2026! thank you for the wonderful writing i love it all

aaahh thank you so much for this--it made me really happy to know you like my OCs!! i haven't written for them in a while and I'm a little rusty, but i hope you like this, anyway :) ignore the ending it sucks and have a lovely new year!!

"Happy New Year, everybody," Dean greets, as she enters Marianne and Lottie's apartment, "and Jean, get off your computer." 

"You can't even see me," she argues from around the corner, shutting her laptop. 

"I don't need to. You haven't put it down in two weeks. I'm starting to think it's fused to your lap and you're just embarrassed to tell anybody."

"Very funny. I'm putting it away, see? Shifting into party mode."

"Not yet, you're not," Amaya interjects, rounding the corner from the kitchen where she's been making drinks. She sets a martini glass into her hand, which is filled with some kind of green concoction. "Try this. It's called a flying grasshopper." Jean sips it, then smiles. 

"Tastes like toothpaste." 

"Really? Okay. I'll half the creme de menthe. Give it."

"I can drink it!" she argues, but Amaya settles for nothing less than perfection in her cocktails, and will not allow her to even pregame with something unsatisfactory. 

"I brought a cheese plate, plus a bunch of snacks to throw in the air fryer." 

Dean begins unpacking her grocery bags onto the table, where Marianne grabs the frozen appetizers to start them cooking. Lottie reaches up and grabs a slice of cheddar before the lid is all the way off. 

This party has been in the works for a week now, though it had been assumed already that the girls would spend the holiday together. They spend every holiday together. Though Jean woke up this morning with some kind of bug, she's not going to let it ruin the fun, especially not when she's been so unavailable lately. The start of the new year means the start of a new season of her podcast, Liar, Liar, and she's been going crazy making sure that everything is ready. So much goes into it, more, even, than the others realize. Not only must she record enough episodes to ensure she's got a backlog if something comes up that keeps her from recording, but she's got to make sure that her socials are perfect. Promoting without advertising, talking it up without bragging. It's a delicate balance that requires a level of perfectionist pseudovulnerability she's spent years tweaking. Speaking of, how's the lighting in here? Could she get a selfie with the girls without looking like the corpse she feels like?

"Oh, god," Lottie says, rolling her eyes, "here comes the selfie stick."

"It's endearing and you know it," Dean replies. "I like it. It's like free promotion for my Insta. Yours too, you know."

Dean's comedy career thrives on her association with the much more popular Jean, and Lottie's disability activism isn't hurt by it, either. Though her posts might often be a little more serious in tone, it doesn't hurt to remind the people that chronically ill people have fun, too, and Jean's tags do just that. Still, that doesn't keep her from feeling a little guilty when she interrupts the moment to take a selfie. 

When she turns her camera on herself, she cringes, and almost decides to put it away then and there. 

"Ugh."

"What's wrong? Startled to see that you look like you've been working like a dog for two weeks?" Marianne asks. 

"Well," she says. She's got nothing. 

"She was hoping the selfie would age for her," Dean jokes. 

"The selfie of Dorian Gray," Lottie replies before she scrutinizes her face. "Really, though, you do look tired. Feeling alright?" 

"Yeah," she lies. "Just a headache." 

That part is true. It's been pounding for hours. However, she's leaving out the body aches, the chills, and the fact that she's 100% sure she's going to fall asleep on the couch well before midnight. 

"Yeah? Have you taken anything for it? You're kinda pale," Marianne observes. 

"Actually, I haven't. Think I could steal a Tylenol?" 

"If Jean's asking for drugs, it must be bad," Dean frets. 

"I just want to make sure I'm enjoying the holiday to the fullest." 

 "Here." Marianne shakes out two pills and hands them over. "Let me know if you need more."

"Are we ready to start the movie?" Lottie's eager to get started. It was her turn to pick, and the Conjuring is one of her favorites. 

"Yeah, yeah. We're ready for you to scare the shit out of us, you sadist," Marianne teases. "Everybody grab a plate. There's more where this came from, too, so don't be shy. Lottie, ease up on the cheese. Your stomach is gonna flip inside-out." 

Despite being so easily terrified, Jean falls asleep within half an hour of starting the movie. The last thing she sees is the dreaded sheet scene, then she's out like a light. When she wakes 15 minutes later, Lottie is the first person to notice that she's stirring on the couch beside her. Maybe because her head is resting almost completely on her shoulder. She sits up, embarrassed. 

"Sorry."

"Don't be. You okay? You feel a little warm." 

"Just because I was sleeping. Narcolepsy attack. I think I've been pushing myself a little too hard."

"No shit. I've been saying that for weeks." 

"Silence, Dean," she replies. Dean grins. 

"I'll disapprove from the sidelines, I suppose. What's the opposite of a cheerleader?"

"Do you need a nap?" Lottie asks. "I want you to be able to see the ball drop. You can use my bed." 

She hesitates. As much as she hates to be a burden, a nap might feel good.

"Would you mind?" 

"Not at all. You know where it is. Sleep as long as you need. We'll wake you before midnight." 

Jean thanks her and shuffles her way down the hall, hoping that the Tylenol works as she settles under the blankets and shuts her eyes. 

The Tylenol does not work.

In fact, she wakes feeling worse than before, sure now that she's coming down with something, if she's not already down. Sitting up confirms it. Her head spins and pounds loudly. She glances at her phone: 20 minutes to midnight. Then, she reluctantly parts ways with the blankets and makes her way back to the living room with the others. 

"Good morning," Lottie greets. "Feel better?" 

"I actually think I'm gonna get out of here," she replies. "I'm not feeling so well."

"Oh, no," Marianne coos. "Sit down, babe. What's wrong?" 

"Everything just feels... I don't know. Bad. Like I got hit by a truck."

"That's the worst," Dean says. "Come on, lie down here on the couch." 

"I should probably just go. I'd hate to ruin the holiday." 

"The only thing that's ruining the holiday is that you feel so bad," Amaya interjects. "If you want to go to bed, I'll walk you, but we'd just as soon take care of you here, right, girls?" 

"Of course," Marianne chirps. 

"You're sure?" 

"Yes. Come on. Lie down. I'll get blankets." 

While Marianne rummages around the blankie basket for something soft, the others help her ease down so that her head is in Dean's lap, her feet draped over Amaya's lap. Dean plays with a strand of her hair, which makes her scalp tingle pleasantly. 

"You're running pretty hot," she observes. "Tylenol didn't do shit."

"I'm okay. I'm sorry for all the trouble." 

"You're not either of those things," Amaya replies.

"It's not your fault," Dean says, "even the part that is. The overworking thing certainly isn't helping this." 

"I know. I just want everything to be perfect." 

"You always do, but you're going to have to learn to leave well enough alone. You're gonna destroy yourself trying to be perfect." 

"I'll try," she concedes. 

"Hey," Lottie observes, "it's 11:59. Everybody make a wish."

"Is that a thing?" Marianne asks. "No, no. Don't answer. I wanna do it, anyway." 

They girls count down together until the ball drops in Times Square. As soon as it does, Jean lets herself shut her eyes, comforted by the presence of her friends. 

[taylortut]

for anyone who cares about my TLPoE OCs, i found a song that describes Lacey so perfectly: doomsday by lizzy McAlpine. holy shit look at this

Like her self absorbed manipulative toxic drug dealer ex is NAMED September and she goes back to her every time she has the opportunity because she just can’t get over her

[taylortut]

space ladies whump today anyone? send prompts for bonnie (gifted protege scientist with an extremely gruff captain and a complicated relationship with the crewmates because they're jealous of her being the captain's favorite, plus a tough but fair lead scientist, a bold but kind ship mechanic, and a no bullshit CMO) :) send prompts!

[taylor-tut-ocs]

Space OCs!!

Captain Audra Quinn leads a crew of biologists aboard a research ship, secretly on a mission to find and kill the space monster that killed her crew 25 years ago.

Audra Quinn

-absolutely terrifying and very much a strict, punishing captain

-obsessed with finding the space monster that attacked her ship 25 years ago, killed her crew, and permanently disabled her by breaking her spine, leaving her with a mobility disability (though she's capable of walking with an abnormal gait) and chronic pain

-recovering alcoholic

-night crew, only comes out at night but doesn't sleep much due to PTSD so she's always around, lurking

Isolde

-second in command

-learns that she freezes in tense situations and is desperately trying to work on that, but until then, she and Audra butt heads

-very sweet and understanding person and far more approachable than Audra, but because they don't get along, Audra rarely listens to her or lets her have her way

-scared that, if the time ever comes where she'll have to take command, she's not going to be decisive enough (and she's right)

-day crew

Bonnie Bailey

-go-getter, working on going and getting it

-envied by the rest of the techs for being a teacher's pet but doesn't think it's favoritism: she's simply The Best and everyone else is out to get her. the truth is that she's better than everyone AND there's favoritism at play

-finds it difficult to make friends because she's intimidating, but desperately wants the rest of the techs to like her

-lonely most of the time

-day crew

Emery

-Bonnie's only friend because he feels for her with the others not liking her

-worried, nervous, cautious, anxious gay

-pretty much fears space but loves biology so much he'll tolerate it

-very hard to dislike him

-day crew

Penny Parker

-believes she's the best tech and should be the favorite, angry that she's not

-best friends with Rhett, hates Bonnie because she's envious

-cliquey, but can be reluctantly kind when it comes down to it, she's reliable. her mom was very sick all her life which gave her a strong sense of independence that she expects from others as well

-day crew

Rhett Rice

-incredibly snobby

-Penny is kind of the only friend he's ever had. people find him vain and hard to talk to. the only straight male character i've ever written.

-his vibe is like if an adult remy buxaplenty met that guy from Succession whose vibes are soaking wet, and then they made each other worse

-would sell you for a corn chip

-if he's being nice, someone must be dying. but that's not so rare that no one has ever seen it

-day crew

Dr. Mayra Macaluso

-head scientist, has had her phd for longer than anyone in her crew has been alive.

-nonspeaking but can understand others, uses a combination of sign language (everyone in this universe learns it in conjunction to verbal speech) and digital communicators to communicate with people

-wheelchair user born with a limb length difference

-wears wigs because she likes the way human hair looks. believes she is devastatingly beautiful for this. and she's right.

-can be very intimidating because of her experience, but loves to solve problems

-day crew

Beatrice Miller

-ship engineer. loves her work. some of her best friends are CPU fans

-tinkerer. definitely the kind of person who builds Rube Goldberg machines

-her relationship with Audra is decades long but tenuous because Audra keeps damaging her ship and Bea takes it personally

-still thinks she can save Audra from herself and tries to intervene too often, which usually ends in quarrels

-day crew

Dr. Esther Estrada

-CMO, hobbiest writer

-confident in both her medical opinions and herself

-demands greatness but also inspires it

-breaks dress code with her earrings

-works when needed, no set shift, though she's a morning person

[taylor-tut-ocs]

realized that i didn't have a second in command, so i made one! check her out! :)

[taylortut]

AAHHHH @max-attack IT'S YOUR BIRTHDAY!!!! i hope you like this sweet little TLPoE fic! thank you so much for being so kind and sweet and supportive. you're the best ever!!!! <3

“Lacey,” Kit says in a harsh tone that she’s meant to take on the chin but instead hits her right in the heart, “it’s late. I can’t close the place if you’re still here.” 

“I can lock up,” she replies easily without even glancing up from the computer screen. She’s been staring at it for so many hours that she’s afraid that if she lets her ciliary muscle relax for even one moment, it might not contract again. She can’t lose her place. 

“No, I don’t think so.” 

It hurts to hear it, that Kit no longer trusts her to do something as simple as locking the door. It’s warranted, of course, but it still stings. Every single thing anyone says always draws her back to her biggest failure, her most excruciating regret. The fork in the road where instead of choosing a path, she’d doubled back the way she came. The trolley problem where instead of saving anyone, she’d climbed into the cab with the operator. The gangrenous arm that she’d rather let rot the whole body than sever. September.

“Right,” she says, folding the laptop without even shutting it down and maniacally shuffling papers and folders around on the desk in an attempt to gather them up. “I wasn’t thinking. Sorry.”

“Kid, I said we’re closed, not on fire. You can take a second.” 

“Sorry,” she says again, because she could say it every single way about every single thing and it still wouldn't be enough to earn forgiveness. “Okay. Just give me one second and I’m out of here.” 

“What are you doing?” 

She freezes. Lately, that question has been asked of her in a lot of different ways. Shock, disgust, confusion. But never like this. She almost thinks it might be concern. 

“I’m just packing up some things to take home. I’ll finish them and—”

“You do realize that you’re going to be here all day tomorrow, don’t you? You’re not going to have time to work on anything.” 

“I was planning on finishing tonight. Or, maybe not finish it, but at least get a head start. You heard Kolar; we had him squirming. There’s something here, I know it.” 

“There might be, but it’s almost 11:00. Aren’t you tired?” 

God, is she ever. Just keeping her eyes open is a struggle, not to mention reading. Shes’s been having to take breaks just to walk around the break room so she doesn’t fall asleep in the chair. 

“This is important.” 

“Everything we do is important. That’s not a good excuse.” Once again, Kit never wants to hear what she wants to hear. There’s no bullshitting her. 

“I just really want to prove that I’m on your side again.” 

“Look. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and it didn’t collapse in a day, either. You don’t need to do it tonight and you don’t need to do it alone. Just leave the damn computer and come with me.” It takes her a moment to analyze the chemical makeup of the emotion she’s experiencing. Confusion steals energy from guilt and self hate while the reaction between loneliness and shame puts off light and heat. It darkens her cheeks and the tips of her ears while the liquid byproduct begins to pool in her eyes. 

“Sorry,” she says again when she’s been too quiet for too long and there’s no way that Kit hasn’t noticed. “I really want to find something good.” 

“I’m sure you do, and I’m sure you will, but not when you’re running on nothing. When’s the last time you slept?” 

Lacey averts her gaze to the floor. 

“I’ve just been busy—”

“I see you, you know. When you sit back here and research at the desk while you’re supposed to be on your lunch break. There are sandwich crumbs in the keyboard.”

“Are you…” she trails off not because she can’t think of what to say, but because everything rushes to the forefront of her tongue and gets caught on the backs of her teeth. “Mad?” 

It’s a juvenile question, or at least it sounds so, but she has to know. Kit has been so angry for so long that Lacey doesn’t know how to take it when, instead of yelling, Kit just blinks. 

“For which part? It’s annoying to have to force you out the door, but—”

“Not about that.” There’s no need to clarify further. 

“Oh,” Kit says softly. “That.” Kit spends an excruciating minute thinking of what she wants to say, then jingles the keys at her. “I’ll take you home, okay? There’s no need to bring the computer. Leave everything here. We can deal with it in the morning.” 

Lacey stands too abruptly and wishes she hadn’t, because the room swims violently enough that she has to reach out and catch herself on the corner of the desk. Kit is at her side before her vision even settles. 

“You okay?” she asks, grey eyes locking with Lacey’s own brown ones. She’d always thought that this is part of why Kit had been such a success as an FBI agent. Something about her face makes you want to not disappoint her. It’s in the way she studies Lacey just before she backs off to let her find her own balance. Like she sees something that’s worth looking at, looking for, after a lifetime of never being seen and valued at the same time. 

“Just got a little dizzy. I might have overdone it on the coffee a little.” 

“Sure.” Lacey shifts her weight from foot to foot. 

“I can get myself home. I’ll take the bus.” 

“We’re going the same way. I can just drive.” Now it’s Lacey’s turn to be confused. 

“I live on the other end of town from you.” 

“You’re not going to your place, not while you can hardly stand up. Ronnie would never let me live it down. I’m taking you to mine.” The gift of a night on Kit’s couch or, maybe if she’s really lucky, in the guest bedroom that used to belong to her daughter Sophie before she’d gotten married, feels like wet tissue paper in her hands. She needs to find a way to fold it neatly without tearing a hole. 

“I couldn’t ask you for that.”

“You didn’t.” 

“I’m fine, really. I’ll drink a bottle of water before I go to bed, and I’ll have a snack.”

“Why do you always argue with me?” 

It’s like she’s ruined it without even trying—her specialty. Her best, lately, is a deadly weapon and its sights are set on every relationship she has. She can’t even look before she swings. 

“I’m—sorry. I think I meant ‘thank you.’”

Kit acts like she’s not going to wait for Lacey to come along, then holds the door for her. Now that she’s walking around, she realizes just how much she really has neglected her body today. All week, really. Every joint in her body aches, her eyes are heavy, and she’s exhausted, but her mind still races. She can’t ask Kit why she’s doing this—she’ll only roll her eyes and dodge the question for the same reasons that Lacey is afraid to ask it. Instead, she leans her head against the window and shuts her eyes. 

[taylortut]

20 BLORBO/OC WHUMP/ H/C ASKS

What appeals to you about this character?

What's your least favorite aspect of this character?

What's your favorite canon moment with this character?

Do you have a favorite fic for this character?

What's your favorite whump trope to use for this character and why?

Whose relationship with this character is your favorite, shipping or otherwise?

Whose relationship with this character is your least favorite?

Describe your ideal whump scenario for this character.

Do you have headcanons for this character, if they're not an OC?

What would devastate them the most, emotionally speaking?

If it's not a spoiler, what's the worst thing that's ever happened to them?

How do they act when sick/injured? Is it obvious or do they hide it well?

What are their coping mechanisms, good and bad?

How is their mental health, generally speaking?

Who do you like to see hurting them, if anyone?

Who do you like to see caring for them, if anyone?

What do they do to self-soothe when they're not feeling well?

Are they good at taking care of themselves or do they need help?

Do they have old scars, physical or otherwise?

Anything else you'd like to share about them I haven't asked?

[taylor-tut-ocs]

WAIT wait I just saw the tags for your "open for suggestions" message and that sounds AWESOME feel free to disregard my other idea

dude what if Bonnie starts out all dramatic like "it's so hooot" and the others snap at her because it's hard for them too and then she stops complaining even when it gets really serious and then they feel bad for telling her to stop because maybe if they hadn't she'd be able to breathe right now

I don't know if that fits her personality since I haven't done that many deep dives on her yet but it was just something I thought of

I LOVED YOUR OTHER ASK TOO SO I MIGHT USE IT IF YOU DON'T MIND, THANK YOU FOR LIKING MY LADIES!!

i totally love Bonnie starting out whining about the heat on a planet and written off, then the team figuring out that oh wait it's actually serious. thank you so much for this ask and i hope you like this short fic!!

“It’s hot,” Bonnie whines, not for the first time today. 

“Yeah, we know,” Penny snaps. “It’s just as hot over here as it is over there.”

“Are you sure? You’re barely even sweating.” 

“That’s because I didn’t forget to top off my suit’s air system with coolant. Unlike some people.”

“I’m starting to suspect she’s talking about me,” Bonnie whispers to Emery, who snickers. 

“Quit griping, everyone,” Dr. Estrada signs harshly. Bonnie can always tell when she’s mad. Her signs get all crisp and jerky. It’s her version of yelling at them. “We’re almost there. Bonnie, drink some water and let’s get a move on.”

She would if she could, but she ran out an hour ago. In her defense, they’d vastly underestimated how long this mission would be. From their scanners, they couldn’t tell what the surface looked like. What they’d been anticipating being rocky desert had turned out to be thick, dense rainforest. Another huge beetle drops from a tree and plops off the top of her suit, startling her into stumbling. This place sucks. 

“This place sucks,” she complains. It’s taking everything in her not to ask how much longer they might have to walk, only abstaining because it will probably read as “are we there yet?” and she already has enough difficulty being taken seriously because of her age; so she’s not about to be that petulant.  

Though they might not have much further to go in distance alone, they keep stopping for samples of soil and rocks and plant life. Logically, she knows that they have to do this. They’re a research ship, after all, and the only reason they’re out here at all is to collect field samples, but it doesn’t mean she’s not bitter about it. How many fern clippings can Penny really analyze, and why is she cutting them so carefully and individually? 

“If you’re really that miserable, I’m sure the ship will come get you.” Rhett’s words are pragmatic but his tone is condescending. She’d never do that, not in a million years. She shakes her head in an attempt to restore her energy levels and wake up a little, but it only succeeds in making herself dizzy, and she stumbles into the trunk of a tree. 

“Maybe it’s best to rest here for a little while,” Dr. Estrada caves. “Cool off for a moment.” She doesn’t know if Dr. Estrada means that literally or figuratively. 

“I’m fine,” she tries to protest, but once Dr. Estrada sets her mind to something, it’s impossible to veer off the course. Everyone else looks peeved. In truth, they haven’t been walking for that long. It’s just so unbearably hot and humid that it feels like it’s been hours. 

Everyone pulls out the sandwiches they’ve packed for lunch except for Bonnie, who opts instead to lean against a rock and shut her eyes. 

“Aren’t you going to eat?” Emery asks. She shakes her head. 

“Feeling a little nauseated. I’d rather just take a quick nap to recharge.” 

“Are you sure? You should probably get something in your stomach.” 

“I can eat and walk,” she lies. She can’t multitask like that for shit. She shuts her eyes again. Maybe sleeping will help her forget about how hot she is. 

It does not. In fact, she might wake up feeling worse, if that’s possible. Heat is swirling between her chest and her chin, the hot air trapped with nowhere to escape from but her collar. Emery is shaking her shoulder and calling her name, his expression worried and nervous. 

“I’m up,” she says, but the fear doesn’t leave him. 

“Are you okay? It was kinda hard to wake you up.” 

“Just really hot,” she says honestly. That’s what’s at the root of all the other symptoms she’s experiencing, after all. The pounding headache, the nausea, the exhaustion. 

“Are you sure you don’t need to go back to the ship? I’m sure we could—” 

“Not a chance,” she curtails. “I’m fine. Let’s just keep going.” 

Though he doesn’t look convinced, the rest of the lab personnel are packing up their lunches, so she sits up and stretches with a groan. Even her bones are hot. 

It’s not terribly much longer that she’s able to maintain that pace. Once again, she begins to slow, much to the dismay of the others who have to match her pace, then to stumble, then finally trips forward, barely even able to register what’s in front of her. 

“Ow, hey!” Penny exclaims, but her annoyance quickly softens when she finds herself having to catch her colleague under the arms as her knees give out. Everything is spinning, and for the first time in hours, she’s not hot anymore—she’s shivering. “Bonnie? What’s wrong?” 

“Don’t feel good,” she manages to slur. Rhett steps in to help ease her to the ground, where Dr. Estrada motions for them to check her vitals on her watch for her temperature. 

“Oh, god,” Penny practically whispers. “She’s cooking. 40 degrees.” 

Dr. Estrada nods. “I’ll call the ship for emergency rescue,” she signs. “Try to keep her awake.” 

“Bonnie,” Penny calls obediently, “don’t do this. I know you can hear me.” To her credit, she does manage to open her eyes for a moment, even if they’re rolling around a bit. She groans. 

“Freezing,” she complains, which scares Penny, because it’s still hot as hell outside. Dr. Estrada hands over her own water bottle. It’s only half full, but anything helps. When Rhett sits her upright, her stomach lurches, but she manages to keep the nausea pushed down well enough to avoid adding that humiliation to an already terrible situation. 

“I spy,” Penny starts, “something purple.” Bonnie blinks a few times to be sure she’s actually present, hearing correctly. Is Penny playing a game with her? “Come on,” she says impatiently, “start looking.” 

As directed, Bonnie scans the landscape, but it’s hard to focus when she feels so hot and cold and sick. 

“I don’t think that’s helping,” Emery says, but Penny’s gaze doesn’t waver. She expects an answer, and she’s going to get one. 

“Bush berry,” she finally manages, her tongue fumbling over the words so badly that she has to repeat them. “There.” Penny follows her gaze, then rolls her eyes. 

“You think I’d be that obvious? Try again.” 

She’s not sure whether she’s lying just to keep her engaged, but she does. She tries again. Penny doesn’t have any sympathy for her when she starts to fade in and out of consciousness again. When she wakes, it’s always to an impatient older colleague who hates her, but for some reason, is now trying desperately to keep her conscious until the ship arrives. 

“Hey,” she says at her gentlest point while the fading consciousness starts to really freak Bonnie out. Penny takes her hand. “You’re fine. Stop being a bitch.” 

That’s the last thing she hears before she falls asleep once more and doesn’t wake until she’s in the med bay on the ship, with only Emery by her side. Penny won’t so much as visit, but the next time they work together on shift, she’ll utter a simple, “better now?” that will at least whisper the suggestion that she cares. Bonnie can’t know for sure, but even if she has to cling to little gestures like that, she’ll do so. Anything to think that perhaps things could get better, that some day, they could like her. 

For now, what she does is tinker away with measurements on her tablet from bed so she can be ahead of her deadlines when she’s released. Like she always is. 

[taylor-tut-ocs]

Audra and Bonnie have such Irondad and Spiderson vibes and when I say this I mean it as the highest possible compliment

AAHHH THANK YOU

i love love love that type of dynamic and i'm really happy to capture something like it!! fic for them happening this weekend!! :)

[taylor-tut-ocs]

writing for my space ladies again today but can't decide what to write! any suggestions? i'll write for either audra or bonnie!

[taylor-tut-ocs]

i really do need a better name for "moby dick in space" but i'm so terrible with titles. i might call it Radiata because that's the name of the ship? it has no significance that i remember i just thought it sounded cool.

i'm thinking of changing the ship's name to Penstemon because they're a genus of flowers that are very fire resistant and stil bloom after a fire and it's all symbolic and shit.

what do y'all think?

[whump-in-the-night]

Hey you! Yes, you! Have you put blorbo in A Situation today?

[taylor-tut-ocs]

two of my OC whump universes star gruff, traumatized, grumpy 50-somethings women with mobility disabilities, but they're so different from one another.

Audra Quinn is super tough and barely has a soft side at all. it's buried deep and it's not that soft. she's not tender or caring or anything. when she has to be, she's very bad at it. for 25 years (from the ages of 25-50) she was in a deep, secluded depression and it damaged her social and interpersonal skills a lot. if a situation arose where she had to choose between a crew member's life and finding her space monster, she would really have to struggle with it. honestly, i don't know her well enough to know what she'd do. i think that means i should write her more often.

Kitty Reed on the other hand has a soft side right under the surface. she and her softie, hippie wife love one another and raised a daughter, Sophie, who has since moved out and doesn't call often enough. (I've never actually written her--should I?) when she needs to be tender, it's slightly stiff, but she does feel a lot of empathy and worry, just has a little trouble showing it. she's not afraid to get close to people and loves her crew and considers them all family.

i love both of these characters so much that i just had to talk about them for a minute okay i'm sorry

[taylor-tut-ocs]

Hello!! would it be in the realm of possibility to see Bonnie Bailey with a stab wound?

ABSOLUTELY THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR ENJOYING MY SPACE GIRLS!!!

“Look, we’re not interested in harming you. We won’t even touch anything. I just need to know if it’s been here. So I can know if we’re on the right track.” 

Technically, they’re not on the right track. In fact, they spend far less time on the planets that the military forces her to get samples from. She fudges the numbers and acts like their mission took 10 days when really, it had been just six or seven, just to build in wiggle room for visiting nearby planets to interrogate their people about the monster that killed her crew. Bonnie isn’t sure what she’d do if someone said “yes”. Would she chase it, risking discharge and the repossession of her ship once more? If Bonnie knows one thing, it’s that Audra would not survive another one. She barely survived the first time 25 years ago. It brought her to her knees and she’d drank a lot about it. Her days were a monotonous revolving door of alcohol, depression sleep, and dissociation. The survivor’s guilt nearly killed her, and that had been when she was on top of the world.Bonnie can’t even think about what would happen if it happened again. 

Audra is only halfway through her second plea when she feels a cold blade pressed against her throat. 

“Get out of here,” he warns, eyes the color of a sodium flame. “We don’t want military on our planet.” 

“We’re just a research ship,” she argues, and Bonnie is crushed instantly. Instead of appeasing him, she chose to argue? Doesn’t she care that Bonnie’s life is on the line? “We don’t want trouble. I just need to know.” 

The knife presses so firmly to her throat that she feels a thin drop of blood trickle down her neck. Oh, god. She’s going to die here because she’d idolized someone who put her career before compassion. 

“Fine. Let her go, and we’ll leave.” 

“No. You leave first, then you can come back for this one.” Audra rolls her eyes at the stupidity of that plan. 

“We’re not going to leave her here with you now that you’ve pulled a knife.” 

“Captain, please—”

“I don’t believe you.” 

“You probably shouldn’t.” 

Suddenly, Bonnie feels a punch to her gut and grunts in surprise, stumbling backward as the guy releases her. 

“There. Now you’d better hurry back to your ship, if you don’t want her to die.” 

Die? In what world is she going to die from a punch to the gut?

But when she moves her hands away from where they’ve instinctively clutched to guard her abdomen and all the precious organs within, she finds that her hands are covered in red. He hadn’t punched her. He’d stabbed her. 

“Captain!” she cries out. This morning, she’d been beyond giddy that she’d be asked to be on THE Audra Quinn’s team. Now, though, she sort of wishes that it could have been anybody else. For as much as she looks up to Audra’s dedication and determination, the flip side of the coin is that she’s the least likely to be swayed by something like this. 

To her surprise, rather than pressing the knife against the man’s own throat until he talks, she allows him to run as she rushees to Bonnie’s side and eases her to the ground. 

“Easy, kid,” she says in a tone that is to soothing what sandpaper is to pillows. “Cone on. Let me see that; move your hands.” Bonnie does as she’s told and Audra curses when she lifts her shirt. The wound must be pretty bad if even Audra seems concerned about it. She presses her comm on her watch and starts barking orders. “Bridge team, take us back up. Med team, ready the sick bay. Ms. Bailey has been injured. Ground team, you heard all that?” 

“How badly is she hurt?” Esther asks through the comms. 

“She just got stabbed her in the gut.” 

Bonnie misses their reactions as she drifts a little, eyes fluttering shut before Audra is tapping her cheek roughly. 

“I know you’re not about to take a nap on the job.” 

“S’rry,” she slurs as professionally as she can manage. She may have been stabbed, but this is still her boss. “Tryin’.” 

“Well, you’re fucking it up.” Even though she knows that this is just Audra being Audra, it still stings to hear her say the words. Her worst nightmare, really, and she flinches. “We’re only ten minutes from rescue. Just hang tight until then, okay?” 

Her eyelids flutter against her will and she attempts to force herself to sit up, hoping that it will help her remain conscious, but the blinding pain stops her and she cries out. 

“Don’t move,” Audra scolds. She doesn’t realize that her eyes have slipped shut until Audra is patting her cheek, much more gently than she’d expect from her. 

“Hey. Play a game with me.” Bonnie blinks in confusion, taking a long moment to process what would be hard to understand even without severe blood loss. 

“What kind of game?” 

“The kind that keeps you awake,” she says. Audra glances around and sighs. “I spy something white.” 

Through hazy, fuzzy vision, Bonnie scans the landscape. It’s mostly blurry blobs, but one of them has to be white, and she has to find it. If she falls unconscious, she’s terrified that she’ll lose the Captain’s respect.

“Come on, kid. Quicker than that.” Finally, she spots a thin white line in the sea of oddly colored leaves on trees and rocks. Squinting, she has to strain to see the that the line appears to be covered in blue spots that she recognizes as moss that the lab team had sampled earlier today. 

“The tree trunk,” she finally says, and her vision must be worse than she thought, because she swears she sees her almost smile. 

“Good, Ms. Bailey. Your turn.” She glances at her abdomen against her better judgment. 

“I spy something red.” 

“Not funny.” 

“Fine. I spy,” the next breath she takes does nothing to stave off the feeling of oxygen starvation, “something purple.” Audra’s eyes are focused and serious as she searches, never releasing pressure on the wound. 

“That rock,” she says, pointing. It’s so far out of her line of sight that she has to turn her head to see it. 

“Wrong.” 

“Hm,” she hums. “The lichen on that rock.” That’s not even purple. All she’s doing is baiting her, trying to sustain her attention by continuously guessing. 

“You need,” a breath, shuddering and painful, “your eyes looked at.” 

“Maybe I do,” she replies. Everything is spinning. She feels like she’s circling the drain in terms of consciousness. “Hey. Eyes open.” She tries to force it, but she only has the energy to make them flutter slightly. “Me. Bailey,” she calls, patting her cheek once more, this time with less success. “Ms. Bailey.” But unconsciousness pulls her under, anyway. 

When she wakes, it’s to five IVs with three drips total. No one is in her room, but she doesn’t know whether that’s because she’s been out for so long that they’ve had no choice but to leave, or because no one cares. That stings. 

“Bonnie,” Esther greets, poking her head around the corner. She hasn’t made a sound that she’s aware of—she must have some sort of sixth sense to know exactly when she wakes. “How are you feeling?” 

She takes survey of her body and shrugs. “How long was I out?”

“12 hours total, but you’ve woken up a few times. You probably don’t remember.” She shakes her head. 

“Well, I’m giving you blood, antibiotics, and something for the pain to keep you comfortable. Are you comfortable?” 

Of course she’s not, she thinks, but this is probably as close to it as she’s going to get. 

“Just about,” she says. “Has anyone—” She cuts herself off before she can finish the sentence, but Esther is too intuitive for her own good. 

“Has anyone visited? Yes, everyone in the lab, at some point.” Damn. So the Captain hadn’t even stopped by. For some reason, even though that’s completely predictable, she feels so crushed that her eyes fill with tears that she swipes away aggressively with a single hand. 

“The Captain told me to ping her when you came to. I wouldn’t expect for her to visit, though.” 

So she had cared? 

“Oh. Okay.” She doesn’t know what else to say. 

“You should get some rest. Do you feel like you could sleep, or do you need something to help relax you? What you went through must have been a pretty big yikes, so I’d understand if you needed something for the anxiety. It might help, but Bonnie is nothing if not stubborn. 

“I’ll be fine. I’m just going to read.” 

“Sure. Here,” she says, reaching below the bed where she’s stored the things from her pockets and bag. “Don’t strain yourself. Pick something with a happy ending, alright?” 

“I think that’s what I need,” she agrees. “Thanks.” 

Indeed, she does not receive a visit from Audra. But she does see her shoes under the curtain. 

[taylor-tut-ocs]

got some extra time on my hands because i'm home from work with a fever. i sort of wanna write for my OCs. anyone have any preferences? :)

[taylortut]

back at it with another TLPoE fic! this one is a little heavier, and there's a tw for toxic/emotionally abusive relationships and implied suicide mention. a little glimpse into Lacey's past with September, and a little Lacey and Eve moment. i ship them. hope you like it!

“You read some love letters, some threats, and some you couldn’t tell apart that you keep under the bed at the apartment,” -Dessa, Mineshaft II

September 11:04 pm

I was thinking of you today because I saw that book series you love, whatever its name was. I just recognized the cover. I just know it’s that fantasy bullshit that you love.

I miss you and wish I could be with you right now, but we both know that’s not possible. You’d blow everything for us. You could get us killed. Doesn’t mean I’m not dreaming that you’re here with me. 

This is really hard. I’m homesick, dopesick, and lovesick all at the same time, and It’s agonizing. Some days, you’re all I live for. The idea of coming back home to you is what keeps me going. Without you around, I probably wouldn’t be alive right now. You’re everything to me and your love is the only thing I have going for me in my shithole life. 

I’ll be back in a few days. I’ll be counting the minutes until I can see your beautiful face. Wait for me. 

Lacey stares at the screenshot for a long moment, until her fingers and toes go cold and everything begins to spin around her. Lowering her chair from where she’d been leaning backward in it, she scans the back room of the diner to make sure no one has seen her find it. She’d been clearing out old photos from her phone to free up some space to download an app game that TJ had recommended, but she hadn’t remembered taking this one. She thought she’d deleted the last of these when she and September split for good, right after she’d ripped off the band-aid, when the sting was so great that she didn’t even notice a little jab in the form of a text. She sincerely can’t tell if this is a threat or a love letter. There are elements of both. 

September had always sent her messages like this one. Menacing words wrapped in beautiful ones like a pet’s pill wrapped in cheese all rolled together to make a snare into which she can’t resist falling. 

She doesn’t understand it when her eyes fill with tears. She’s glad September is gone, she really is. Nothing has ever been better for her than closing that door for good and being told she’s never coming back. She doesn’t even want her back, not really, so why is she crying? 

September had done this frequently through their relationship, allowed her mental health to hinge upon Lacey. Saying she couldn’t be happy without her, she’d have nothing to live for without her. It’s not flattering; it’s manipulative. It trapped her. The part of her that loved September and always will couldn’t bring herself to let her go, to hurt her, to possibly even kill her. 

Suddenly, she’s interrupted by Eve coming back to take her break. Lacey can’t believe she’s been sitting back here crying for most of her 15 minute break. 

“Prepare yourself,” Eve says before she even sees Lacey, who looks pointedly away to hide her red cheeks and eyes, “it’s a circus out there. Some baby is covered in so much maple syrup that I don’t think we’ll be able to get him out of his high chair.” 

“Oh no,” she replies, hoping she won’t notice the little wobble in her voice. She does. 

“You okay? You sound a little—oh,” she says, stopping mid sentence when she finally gets a look at Lacey’s face. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing, nothing,” she lies. “I think my period is coming soon. I’m fine.” 

“Lacey, I know you. Come on. What is it?” 

With a sigh, she hands her phone over to Eve, who stiffens. “This is from today?”

“No, no, no,” she panics. “It’s old. You can see it’s old. Just a screenshot.” After confirming that, Eve relaxes a little, but she’s still wary. She knows the hold that September seems to have on Lacey’s heart. She hates it. Not only does it hurt Lacey, but it closes her off to new possibilities. Possibly even possibilities that include her. 

“What are you doing reading that?” 

“I was deleting photos and found it. It’s stupid. I shouldn’t be reacting like this.” Eve crouches down beside her to get to eye level and brushes a strand of hair from her face. 

“Lace, she’s threatening her life if you don’t do what she wants in this message. That’s scary. And upsetting.”

She nods. “I guess I just feel like I let her down since we couldn’t make it. Like maybe she did something stupid and I don’t know it and it’s my fault and—”

“Woah,” she interjects, “hey. Even if she did, which I’m sure she didn’t, you’re not responsible for that. It wouldn’t make it your fault. She’s responsible for herself.” That doesn’t make her feel much better. “But I see why it would be so hurtful. I’m sorry.” Lacey takes a steadying breath. 

“Okay,” she says with resolve, “I’m okay. Sorry about that. I’ll go relieve you out there. I’m sure they’re drowning.”

“Wait. You should take a minute. Get your bearings. You can’t go out into the chaos this upset.” 

“Really, I’m okay, I just—”

“Splash some water in your face. It’ll help.” 

Though she doesn’t want to waste any more time, she wants to do what Eve says, and even more than that, she desperately wants to get out of this feeling, so she does as she’s told. Her breathing is starting to even out now, and her cheeks are no longer visibly tear-streaked when she dries her face and exits the employee bathroom. 

“Feeling any better?” 

She nods. “Yeah. Thank you. I’m okay now.” 

“You know, you don’t have to be. It’s okay if you’re not.” When Lacey doesn’t reply, Eve grips her hand and squeezes, then lets it go. “Alright. Get on out there. Let me know if you need anything, okay?” 

“I will. Thanks, Eve. You’re the best.” 

With Eve standing there, she's able to press the little trash can icon and delete the screenshot. 

[taylortut]

day 18 a day late! time for my Moby Dick in Space ladies. i went with "revenge" as my prompt. hope you enjoy!!

Audra is shaking, sweating. Sometimes she’s not sure what does it, but this time, she knows exactly what triggered this flashback: the lights flickering on the bridge. Beatrice is so good at what she does that they rarely have issues with any of the ship’s systems, but something about the electrical field of wherever the hell they are—she can’t remember anymore and the positioning system and scanners are still rebooting—took out the power for just a moment. 

“Captain Quinn?” someone calls. It’s one of the command techs, she knows that much, but she can’t focus her vision enough to make out which one. Whomever it is who asks, she brushes them off without even acknowledging them. “Captain, I think you should sit down.” It’s then that she realizes why they’re trying to soothe her, because she’s standing in the middle of the bridge looking terrified. She can feel her body trembling and though it’s annoying and embarrassing, she can’t control it, nor can she stop the sweat that’s forming on her forehead or the dryness of her mouth that prevents her from objecting when a warm hand takes her by the shoulders and sits her gently down in the command chair. She can’t breathe. That thing is out there and it’s going to kill everyone she reluctantly cares about once again, all the people she loves so distantly that they can’t even see her, so thinly that it’s sheer and nearly invisible. And she can’t stop it. Not last time or this time or—

“Hey,” someone says, and she manages to pull her focus in between her eyes enough to see that it’s Beatrice. “Everything is okay now. I checked.” 

She doesn’t like being talked to like she’s a child, but she has to admit that she wasn’t going to calm down until she heard it from someone. Everything is fine. She wills that sentiment to starve the flames of the panic that’s bubbled its way up from her stomach to her mouth. Suddenly, Beatrice reaches out to take her hand and she swats her away. She can’t overcome the instinct to pull away from warmth before it burns you.

“I’m fine,” she snaps, but it comes out shaky and nearly petulant. When she glances around the room, she realizes with great embarrassment that most of the crew, specifically the command techs, are staring at her. Everything is quiet when she comes back to herself, and maybe that’s by design. 

“Nothing is happening to the ship, okay? Our power flickered. That’s all.” 

She has a million questions about the uninterrupted backup equipment is working or how to manage to put every single system back online with the exact same programs they’d been running before, but all she does is nod. Now that it’s not the end of their world, literally, she’s able to take a step back and see it for what it was: a momentary power failure. Still, she can’t help but watch the universe pass by through the glass ahead of her. 

“I’m fine,” she reiterates unconvincingly. “As you were.” 

“Audra, maybe you should take a break. You seem—”

“No,” she says firmly. Now more than ever, she needs to watch for the monster. The scanners are going to be back online for a few minutes, since Bea is going to have to work on each one individually because she’s the only one who can perform calibrations. They’re vulnerable. They won’t know danger until they fly right into it, just as she had 25 years ago. Her hands are still trembling as she reaches out for her tablet, scouring over each offline machine until it reconnects with the network. 

“It’s okay to be upset,” Bea says, and Audra pointedly ignores her. Just because the rest of them are calm on the outside, doesn’t mean that they’re not upset. And even if they’re not, they should be. They’ve lost a precious hour to this outage, and that means that they’d lost any ability to predict a disaster before it happened. Even their shields are down. 

“Just do your job,” she commands, realizing that it’s mean and condescending before she even says it and not letting it stop her from hurting Beatrice’s feelings. 

“Sure thing, Captain,” Bea says, now quiet and scolded. It’s not until the last screen blinks back to life that she feels like she can breathe again. Nothing, and she means nothing, is going to get in her way of finding this thing. Not ever. 

[taylortut]

day 17!! coming at you with a TLPoE fic, post betrayal!!

“Lacey?” Eve calls, shocked to see her stumble through the doors of the Last Place diner, doubled over and holding her abdomen. “What are you doing here?” 

Lacey had devastated the Last Place over a month ago by leaving with September and nearly blew a case for them. They’d only barely managed to save it with no choice but to leave no options than one that’s got only a 50/50 chance of working. It had been dumb luck that saved them, and Lacey was right there next to September, hanging on her ex’s every word. 

Since then, no one has really seen her. Kit fired her from both the restaurant/motel and for her betrayal, and Eve has to admit that it had complicated for her relationship with Lacey. She really likes Lacey, likes her in a way that’s not just platonic, and the stunt she pulled had made her pull away from her just like the others did. Still, despite everything, she knows that she’s trying to build up trust with TLPoE crew again, but it’s slow going. Some are more generous with forgiveness than others. Kit is still fuming. 

“What happened? Are you okay?” she frets, rushing to Lacey’s side just as she falls hard to her hands and knees. It’s when she removes her hand from the wound that Eve realizes that she’s bleeding profusely from what appears to be a stab wound. 

“Holy shit, Lace,” she curses, the nickname falling out of her mouth before she can stop it. “Come on. I’m not going to let you bleed out in the restaurant.” 

It takes all her strength to walk to the back even with Eve’s help, and by the time she’s sat down in a chair, she’s winded and her heart is racing in her chest

Eve exits the room in a rush and Lacey wishes she hadn’t. It had been a relief that Eve was the one who caught her suffering from profuse blood loss, and now she’s alone. She always is. 

Eve returns a few moments later with the first aid kit—the real kind, not just the dinky one they keep in the kitchen. Drops of blood spot the floor in a trail all the way out of the restaurant and into the motel, then enters Kit’s office without knocking.  The euphoria of Eve speaking to her is quickly replaced by dread and shame when Kit glances up and draws back, expression disgusted and surprised. Eve immediately starts to help her take off her shirt so they can get a better view of the injury and sure enough, it’s right there, thin but deep. Someone had stabbed her. It doesn’t matter what Lacey did. She doesn’t deserve this. 

“What the hell is this all about?” Kit demands impatiently. “How the hell did you get hurt like this?” 

“S’not about me,” she managed, her words slow and slurred. “September. Someone wants to hurt her.” 

“And so they hurt you instead?” Eve asks at the same time as Kit’s, “you said you were done with September.” 

“I am done,” she says desperately. “Dunno why they got me.” 

“Why would you come here, of all places?” Kit asks. Lacey can read between the lines. Why would she come to the place where everyone hates her? Where no one will want to help her? 

“I didn’t have anywhere else to go,” she replies simply. 

“Well, you need to go to the hospital.” 

“I’ll take her,” Eve offers. “Otherwise we’re going to have to call an ambulance.” This is the worst. Now not only is she hurt, but she’s putting Eve out. Once again, she’s asking for things from people who didn’t want to give them to her, and it could have been avoided. She could have made the right choice and sent September away. Then she wouldn’t be in the same shitty situation she’s in now, having to beg people who loved her, past tense, for help. The door had opened just a crack, just enough to see what she’d had before through the slit, then slammed shut once more. 

“Fine,” Kit concedes, requiring so little argument that Lacey is surprised. “You can drive her. But I want you back here for the dinner rush.” 

“I will be.” That means that she’s not even considering staying with her. She’ll toss her out at the entrance of the ER and wash her hands of it. That hurts too, possibly even more than the reluctancy to help her. And both are certainly worse than the stab wound. “Come on, Lacey. Let’s go.” 

With a little help, just enough to get blood all over Eve’s shirt, she manages to make it to the car, where she climbs into the passenger’s seat and shuts her eyes. 

“Don’t fall asleep yet,” Eve commands, but it doesn’t sound entirely cold. Maybe that’s wishful thinking. 

“Sorry. Trying.” 

“Try harder.” Lacey winces. Eve would never have talked to her this way a few weeks ago. She’s too sensitive right now to risk arguing because she will almost certainly cry, so she says nothing. And she does try harder. The rest of the ride to the hospital is quiet except for the radio, which she’s grateful for. She’s sure Eve is, too. She’s made it pretty clear that she doesn’t want anything to do with her. By the time they arrive at the doors to the ER, Lacey is barely conscious. Eve has to practically drag her inside, where the nurses get a gurney immediately. She’s slipping in and out of consciousness. When she’s awake, she only has one thought, and it’s that Eve is not in the waiting room. Eve is not waiting up for her. She didn’t tell her to call or text when she wakes up, and she won’t visit her if she’s admitted. She did this to herself, she knows, but that doesn’t take the sting out of it. When they do finally release her, she catches an Uber back home and gets straight into bed, trying her best to forget that this whole thing happened but knowing that the scar she’ll end up with will be a permanent reminder of how stupid she was to leave the team and how ashamed she is for choosing September again. She’s ended up with nothing and no one, and there’s nothing she can do about it except try to prove her loyalty once more, which might be impossible. That’s not going to stop her trying.