#(the 1% was made through fucky means)

[firedragon1321]

Me: Time to write! What's up, Soren?

Soren: I'm traumatized and all these hyper-sexualized people should die.

Me: Whooooaaaa there buckaroo! That's a little extreme! Hm. Where did that come from?

Me, age 15: I'm traumatized and all these hyper-sexualized people should die.

Me, adult with grown-up understanding:

[doodleferp]

Cara and Miguel Starter Pack

So let me start from the beginning one last time. Once upon a time, Cara was yeeted into Earth-928 thanks to some fucky Lovecraftian nonsense from her fucky Lovecraftian dimension. After meeting Miguel, who was a baby Spider-Man back then, Cara was denied access back to her world thanks to some sibling disputes. She spun a little web of lies for Miguel’s then-fianceé Dana, and they took pity on her and decided to help her out. I’m pretty sure you know the rest. They moved her in with Dana, saved the city, humorously acclimated Cara to the city, buried Dana, got married to get Cara a green card, and ended up actually falling in love.

This works off of a timeline of events that I established myself and it's subject to change if more information from the films comes out. General consensus is that Miguel was born in 2070, so he was 29 when he got his powers IN 2099. But since he’s 35 in AtSV, that means about six years have passed since then.

Cara is five foot even. She’s a tiny little thing who has the love of a fucking giant. As the tall one, Miguel is often asked to help get things from places she can’t reach. But instead of grabbing the thing like a normal person, Miguel grabs Cara under her arms, lifts her up, and holds her up so she’s the perfect height to grab the thing herself. He does this everywhere. The apartment, the Spider Society, the grocery store, his office at Alchemax, etc.

Cara likes to wear a helmet instead of a mask because she’s being tossed around constantly and feels safer with that kind of head protection. Miguel, however, fucking hates the helmet and takes every opportunity to show Cara his Pepe Silvia board about why she should trade it out for the mask he made her. Cara will sit patiently through all of it, and then she’ll go “Would you like me to crack my head open?” And he shuts up for another week. (Oh, he also made her current suit all by himself.)

These two are like...so gossipy Mostly Miguel, but Cara indulges him a lot. Ofc they have those bedtime pillow talks where they're both reading or Miggy's on his laptop and they'll go on about something someone did that day. They'll be swinging through the city and talking shit about Internet drama or some dweeb from a restaurant. Miguel will hit her up on his lunch hour and give her all the Alchemax tea, complete with examining his nails like the mean popular girl from a Disney Channel Original Movie. If he thinks someone's eavesdropping, he'll start talking in really fast Spanish so they can't get what he's saying. Needless to say, Cara had to learn Spanish really fast just to keep up with him.

They both adore snuggling. Miguel is like Cara’s weighted blanket and she can’t sleep without him anymore because he just envelops her (Fig 1). He’ll spoon her, he’ll let her sleep on his chest and hold her there. He’ll do everything short of actually sleeping on top of her (Fig 2) and he does that at least once a month. However, he always wakes up at 4 AM to use the bathroom, and Cara always wakes up because she no longer has her big warm blanket man. Thankfully, she goes right back to sleep once he comes back to bed. It’s to the point where they have trouble sleeping without the other in the bed because Cara needs the weight on her and Miguel needs something to cuddle.

Since Cara and her sisters got some fucky eldritch nonsense going on with their blood, they…I guess a bit more compatible with other dimensions. They can’t travel between them at will, of course, but they don’t glitch because they got that interdimensional cosmic horror in em. When Miguel somehow starts monitoring the ItSV movie, he’s flabbergasted when he sees the other Spiders glitching and he goes to Cara like “these people are literally dying and it hasn’t been a week, how the shock did you survive SIX YEARS”.

Cara’s actually good at a lot of household chores, so she offers to help around the apartment when she isn’t working. And thanks to Spider nonsense, she can get really thorough with it. Miguel has come home multiple times to see her standing on the ceiling changing light bulbs or cleaning something on the ceiling. It saves him tons since he got to opt out of the building's cleaning service, but it still gives him a heart attack every now and then.

They have had long arguments about whether or not killing spiders counts as murder since they’re both half-spider. Cara scoops them up on a piece of paper and puts them out the window or something. Miguel just puts them out of their misery.

As I’m sure everyone reading this has deduced, these two are a very...hands-on couple. They have been banned from being in the Spider Society’s gym at the same time because of it. As in "when one of them goes in, the other is automatically locked out" kind of banned. Thank Peter B for that -- as in, genuinely thank him because he's saved a lot of minors from seeing a couple spider mutants getting freaky.

Not exactly shippy, but Miguel and Cara's sister Cadence do not get along. At all. They hate each other with a burning passion. Cadence is positive he's that archetypical dudebro who's going to drag Cara down, and Miguel is rightfully pissed that she's hostile to him for existing. Cara unfortunately has to get in the middle of them and keep things calm, and thankfully Miguel is willing to make an effort. Cadence is less than accommodating though, so the occasional cross-dimensional family visits are always interesting.

c. doodleferp, 2024. do not steal or repost.

[kylorengarbagedump]

Playing Soldier: Chapter 10

Read on AO3. Part 9 here. Part 11 here.

Summary: You're starting to think you're never getting back home.

Words: 6800

Warnings: Serious attempts at historical war nerdery

Characters: William Tavington x Reader

A/N: Co-written with @bastillia

Hi, quick note here - we are not following the timeline of the film, since it's completely fucky and doesn't really adhere to any of the major battles closely enough for our nerd-brains to enjoy. As such, please note that the Battle of Camden occurred on August 16th, 1780, not whatever time the movie made up in 1778.

HELLO, WELCOME BACK. Sorry for the delay! We've had an insanely busy two weeks with family visiting, work being insane, and just generally having way-too-much-shit going on. However, we plan to have a new chapter out next week (though the one after that might be... uh, LONG), so please keep in mind we're doing our best to keep to a schedule of every 1-2 weeks!

(I used to write shit that was like, 2k words per chapter. What happened to that??? lmao how did I even do that. I don't even know)

THANK YOU EVERYONE for your very kind words and thoughts for last chapter. We were SO excited to write it and honestly I have been thinking about it non-stop? Idk I just want his cock so bad.

ANYWAY CHAT SOON <3

William.

William.

He’d asked you to call him William.

It had been about forty-two hours (not that you were counting) since your thoroughly unwise, thoroughly unfinished tryst with the colonel of the Green Dragoons. You had spent that time trying to purge yourself of his scent, his touch, his taste. So far, your greatest measure of success had been in slapping your hand whenever it crawled to relieve the pressure between your legs.

You cupped your hands in the creek, splashed your face cold.

Your thoughts needed to be clearer than the damn creek. To even offer this desire a place in your mind would encourage it. And the memory of his name in your ear continued to invite it to stay.

Another palms-worth of water, another splash.

Even more infuriatingly, it had managed to wriggle its way into your thoughts. Most of the time, he passed through your mind as Tavington, or Colonel, or both of them together. But there were moments. Weak, inane moments, wherein the only representation of him bore the name William.

William, as if he were a man who had introduced himself with a bow, a man who might call on your father and ask permission to write, a man who’d done anything other than everything he had done.

William, a name so representative of nothing William Tavington was to you.

And yet, in the dark of night, your fingers itching to chase away lust, that name drifted like foam on the sea of your thoughts; a word whispered in your voice; a soft, reluctant plea; a fantasy of a fantasy—that not only was he your relief, but a man who deserved his name at all.

You groaned, thrust your face in the creek and screamed into the rocks. A voice called your name from beyond the surface, and you jerked back to sit on your heels. Panting, water dripping down your face, you turned to see Lottie.

“Is everything all right?” She studied your expression. “This is, what, the third time you’ve dunked your face in there today?”

You exhaled, waving her off dismissively. “Oh, yes, I’m fine,” you replied, wiping the remaining drops from your face. “Warm day, isn’t it?”

She nodded, gazing back toward camp, squinting in the sun. “I suppose we’d best try to enjoy it before autumn comes.” Her attention turned back to you. “Did you want to play cards before dinner? Best out of seven?”

“Seven?” You grinned, pushing yourself to your feet. “Omitting last night, are you? Fairly certain I recall a winning streak.”

“I don’t know at all what you mean,” she replied with a smile. “Come! I’ve grown weary of stitching circles and gossip.”

You looked to the sky. The sun was cresting away from high noon. Daylight was in waning supply, and this was the first time since the storm that Tavington had left camp—your first chance to venture off without fearing him heeling at your shadow. There was no telling when he'd return, but you'd already spent at least thirty minutes of that time trying to wash him from your thoughts. You needed to get going.

“I thought I’d eat a bit later, actually.” You offered an apologetic smile. “I wanted to forage for some supplies before the day is out.”

“Later?” Lottie tried and failed to conceal a grimace. “With, er, everyone else?”

“Yes.” You raised an eyebrow. “Why?”

“Oh, well I…” She looked at her shoes, rolling back and forth on the balls of her feet. “It just may be uncomfortable. With Alice.” When you replied with only a confused blink, she continued, “She’s still, ah, a bit upset.”

“Still?” You scowled, folding your arms. “Why?”

A sigh escaped her as she searched the ground. “I don't suppose it's that strange,” she said, and then lowered her voice. “Her miscarriage was only a month ago.”

“So?” Snorting, you rolled your eyes. “I said I was sorry. To her face, even.”

Lottie nodded sympathetically. “You did,” she said. “But—”

“But nothing,” you said. “I apologized. It’s done with. She needs to gather her skirts and start anew.”

“Perhaps…” Lottie pursed her lips, regarding you as she considered her words. “Though I'm sure she feels differently.”

“Perhaps she shouldn't have started it, then.” You shrugged. “I certainly don't start arguments that I don't plan on winning.”

“As I've come to learn.” Lottie smiled wryly. “Give her time. Alice clings to her grudges even tighter than she does to her Bible, I think.”

You nodded. “Precisely,” you said, comforted in your knowledge that Alice was the problem and definitely not you, or anything you’d done. “She won’t disturb me. I’ll scrounge some food and find you afterwards.”

“Lovely,” Lottie replied. “Don’t stay out too late. Benedict said we’ll be moving to Camden soon, and you know how the colonel is about giving notice for such things.”

“Camden?” You frowned. “Did he say why?”

Lottie shrugged. “Apparently we are to meet the general and his men there.” She wrung her hands. “Do you suppose it’s to do with those rebels who attacked us?”

“Most likely.” You sighed, forcing down a disquieted squirm. “Though if they know what’s good for them, they’ll have long since turned tail by now.”

If only you didn’t suspect that to be a false hope.

“Might they still be in the area, though?” A little line of concern folded along Lottie’s brow, and she glanced out toward the woods. “Planning an… an ambush, or something?”

“I doubt it,” you said. “Those men got a whipping they shan’t soon forget.”

Lottie let out a relieved half-laugh. “They did, didn’t they?” Skipping forward, she took your hands in hers. “Still. Do promise to be careful.”

“Of course.” You offered a small smile. “I’ll not allow Alice the satisfaction of my abduction.”

She grinned and pinched your arm. “Don’t say such things!”

“You’re right,” you said through a giggle, flinching from her. “Far more likely I’ll be tarred and feathered.”

“Oh, you!” Lottie swatted at you as you retreated, lip pinched between your teeth.

“Strung up as a warning,” you said, pantomiming your own hanging as you flounced away.

“Cards. Tonight.” Lottie shot you a final, quelling look as she began to turn back. “This time you’re done for!”

“You’re on,” you said, and watched as she departed toward camp.

Smile withering on your lips, you breathed deeply, turned your head north. Continentals were not only patrolling the road that direction, you knew militia were stationed toward that way as well. If the Wilksburg company had joined up with them, then that would be the best opportunity you had to find someone—anyone—who knew anything about your father.

In an ideal world, of course, he would be there when you arrived. But you knew better than to practice idealism.

After casting around to ensure that you weren’t being watched, you started down the road. Keeping to the sides, in the grass, was the best strategy for now. It gave you plausible deniability if someone from Tavington’s legion did happen across you.

You hadn’t considered, yet, what you’d even do if and when you found the Continentals. You just knew you needed to do something, anything to peel the guilt from behind your eyes. Kissing Tavington had been an incredible mistake that would require incredible redress. Providing the Continentals with whatever knowledge you possessed was your first attempt to achieve that.

The sun dripped down the sky as you walked, a bead of honey making its way to the horizon. Its heat had gathered sweat at your temples by the time you reached the bridge crossing. With a strange pang of disappointment, you found it deserted, the ground scarred by boot and hoof. The Continentals must have made good on their plans to fall back, spooked by the numbers they encountered at Tavington’s camp.

Huffing a sigh, you hiked your skirts and started over the bridge, reveling for a moment in the rush of cool air above the river.

There was always the possibility that you wouldn’t find the Continentals at all. That they had retreated all the way back to North Carolina, and you were following their long-cold trail. That no trace of them would be found by the time evening fell and forced you to circle back.

Or perhaps you wouldn’t circle back. It would be so simple. All you would have to do is continue walking. Forever. You would never have to see or touch or taste or dwell upon thoughts of William Tavington ever again.

And without you, your home would be burned.

And without you, Grace would be killed.

And you would never know if your father would live to learn of any of it.

Anger lashed you, quickened your steps. It settled into its chosen home of late: a dull, scraping throb in the back of your skull.

No, such whispers of despair would not seduce you. You would keep its lips just as far from your ear as you would keep Colonel Tavington’s lips from your own.

Continentals had to be here. You would find them. And this cacophonous discord in your mind would finally cease, so long as you could affix your sights upon—

“Madam? Madam, can I help you?”

To the west, a nearly-familiar voice. You turned to meet a mounted horse trotting over the hill. As the rider drew closer, you recognized his face.

“Wilson?” you said. “Is that you?”

Wilson gaped, kicking the horse to a canter until he reached you. Your heart was torn between relief and elation, tempered by confusion, since the last time you’d seen Wilson he was waiting out a hanging in Dorchester. Given his appearance now—closer to a bedraggled, bearded orphan than a soldier—you would’ve thought he’d just escaped.

“By God, it’s you,” he said, examining you. He glanced around. “What are you doing out here?”

You grimaced. Perhaps Wilson was trustworthy. But this wasn’t something you wanted to bet your safety on. You needed someone of higher rank.

“There’s a lot I need to explain,” you said. “How did you manage to get out of Dorchester? Do you know anything about my father?”

“Your…” Wilson frowned for a moment before realization dawned across his face.. “Of course. Your father broke us out of that lobster pit. He’s back at camp.”

“What?” It was definitely elation, now. You sidled up to the horse, grabbing at the cantle. “I must see him.”

“Indeed you must.” Wilson held out a hand and vacated his stirrup, letting you clamber onto the back of his mount. “We’re only a couple miles over the valley.” He urged his horse into a trot and laughed. “Oh, he’s going to be thrilled to see you, kid.”

Your chest tightened with excitement. “I know,” you replied, smiling.

You explained on the short ride to camp that you’d been paroled, but omitted anything about working for the British in the encampment down the way. And obviously omitted anything having to do with any superior officers or your attraction to them and how that potentially endangered everyone in your life.

Guilt trailed the horse’s stride. You’d be rid of it soon. Your father—your father—was at the camp. Safe. Alive. You brought your focus to that and that alone. It didn’t matter, the weeks of struggle, the fear and torment over your family’s well-being, the weight of it on your shoulders. It would all be worth it to hear your father’s voice.

A white mass of canvas bloomed into your field of vision, split into distinguished tents as you rode nearer. When you were close enough to shout at them, you could restrain yourself no longer. Squealing, you hopped off the horse, stumbling to the grass and nearly grinding your face into the dirt. You didn’t care. You scrambled to your feet and ran, ran toward the camp, waving your arms above your head, calling a single word out to the air.

“Papa!” you cried. “Papa!”

A dozen heads poked out of or around the side of the tents, squinting in the direction of the wild running woman. Realizing you weren’t their daughter, they dismissed you, nudging their comrades to look in your direction. It wasn’t until a head crowned in a tricorn hat emerged from the crowd that you met recognition in someone’s eyes.

First it was disbelief. Then a yielding, laughing shake of his head. Then he stepped, ambled, bounded toward you, his arms outspread in joy. To see his face was to see a mirror etched with age. He called out your name.

“My girl!” your father hollered. “It’s my girl!”

In long, loping seconds, you crashed together, your arms curling around him, his own embrace crushing your shoulders and head against his chest. You laughed, burying your face in his shoulder, every single shred of shame, panic, and fear withering to the ground. He was warm. He smelled like home.

Papa. Papa was here.

“Papa,” you mumbled. “I’m so glad you’re faring well.”

Papa squeezed you again before holding you at arm’s length, and looking you over. “No worse for wear, yourself.” He met your eyes. “Now what in God’s holy blessed green-and-blue earth are you doing here, cub?” His attention fell to Wilson, riding up behind you. “Where did you find this rascal?”

“She was looking for us, Captain,” Wilson replied with a sheepish shrug.

You fought off a grin, tilting your chin to the sky. “I found him,” you said, fixing your hands on your hips. “And we have much to discuss, Papa.”

“Oh-ho.” A laugh broke out of him, and he wrapped an arm around your shoulder, pulling you into another hug. “Of course you did. Of course we do.” He rubbed your back before guiding you around to face the camp. “But first—let me introduce you to everyone!” Papa led you forward, hand raised triumphantly in the air. “My girl is here!”

As you entered the Continental campground, men parted for you, greeted you, tipped their hats in your direction. Miss, missus, good day, pleased to meet you, pleasant to make your acquaintance; all floated in your ears, the words melting together in unfamiliar groups of sound. Never had you been treated with such deference. And never had men seemed so interested in earning your favor.

Even back in Catawba, where Papa was well-known and well-regarded, the local boys had grown up with you. Knew you too well to try speaking to you any more often than courtesy demanded To the Continental men, you were a potentially pretty stranger exposed only through anecdotes shared by a respected, impressive man.

Unfortunately for them (and, given your recent inclinations, perhaps you as well) not one of them impressed you. Though they were, potentially, not at fault for that.

Men shambled through the camp without shoes, without trousers. Handfuls waddled in mud only draped by blankets. Those who sought you to introduce themselves appeared to have gone without shaving—or washing, given the crescents of dirt under their nails—for days. Wilson had not been unique in his swamp-mongrel regalia, you realized.

The condition of the Continental encampment was abominable.

You looked to your father. Glee beamed from him like sunlight. If he was concerned about the deplorable circumstances of his soldiers, it didn’t show. He directed you toward a fire, where several men were seated in a circle, all of them outfitted in some sort of blue coat. They each eyed you as you approached, their gazes flitting between you and your father in confusion.

“Gentlemen,” he said, gesturing toward you, “this is my daughter.”

You gave them your name, bowing your head toward them. One of the men shot to his feet, his eyes wide and locked onto you. The rest of the men followed, standing and nodding toward you as they introduced themselves with names you didn't remember. The first man to stand tipped his cap in your direction.

“Miss.” He was dressed in an outfit that resembled your father’s and stood tall, with tawny hair and high cheekbones. “Captain Pearce. Pleased to make your acquaintance.”

Your heart stalled. Pearce. That name pierced your memory in a clap of thunder, a flash of lightning. Your eyes widened, and you offered him a tight smile in the most normal manner you could possibly muster.

It had been dark. Storming. He hadn’t been the one speaking to you, and no hint of recognition stirred within his gaze. When you met his eyes, he grinned and returned to a seat around the fire. Your chest fell in relief.

You planned to tell your father what you’d been doing, but involving anyone else seemed foolhardy. If Tavington learned from some desperate Patriot soldier that you’d been dipping between camps with the desire to undermine him, you didn’t think you’d be able to get to Grace before he strung you up on the nearest tree.

Besides, the thought of even considering, let alone explaining, what sort of game you’d been playing with him made your stomach sink. Now that you knew your father was alive and occupied by the war, you could even dare to hope you might never play that game again.

The thought sparkled like a distant star. You imagined bidding your father farewell, escaping back to Catawba, whisking Grace away to Pennsylvania and never seeing William—Colonel—Tavington again.

Why, oh why did some awful, craven piece of you wilt at the very thought of it?

“Cub?” Papa said. “Everything all right?”

You blinked alive. You’d been staring into the fire. “Oh!” you said, laughing. “Yes, yes, Papa, sorry.”

“Go ahead and have a seat, my girl.” He sat on one of the benches by the fire and patted the spot next to him. “You said we have much to discuss.”

Nodding, you took the seat. Your hands folded into the fabric of your dress, your palms sweat onto your knees. You weren’t sure why you were nervous.

“I have information. About the British Army.” There was something important Lottie had mentioned earlier, too. “And about Camden.”

One of the named-but-forgotten men sat forward. “You know about the attempt—”

“Hold on.” Pearce extended his arm as if to quiet him. “Hold on, now.” He met your eyes before setting his jaw, sitting up taller. “By what means did you attain this information?”

You stiffened, looked toward Papa. “I’d rather reveal that to only my father, thank you.”

“Is there a reason you refuse?” Pearce sat forward, gesturing to his uniform. “I’m a captain, just like your father.”

“That’s evident,” you replied, “but my father you are not.”

Pearce glanced at Papa before continuing. “Well, yes, miss. I understand. But I can assure you that I, too, can be provided with sensitive information. My accomplishments in the war—”

You frowned. “I care little for your achievements, Captain Pearce,” you said. “Your behavior is what engenders my trust, and I have seen nothing of that thus far.”

Papa held up a calming hand. “Pearce, it’s all right. She’s a skeptical type. As well she should be.” He grinned at you. “We can talk in a moment.”

“Thank you, Papa.” You folded your arms over your chest.

Pearce huffed, but relinquished, easing back and glancing around. “Very well, then,” he said. “Should we gather the militia?”

“No need,” Papa said. “I’ll inform Colonel Martin later. He and his boy went out scouting a couple of hours ago.” He nodded toward you. “Go on.”

You took a breath, glanced around the circle of men, then at the fire. Your chest tightened. You swallowed the feeling.

“First,” you began, “how long since your forces returned to South Carolina?”

Papa pursed his lips, glanced at Pearce. “Six days, I believe,” he said. Pearce nodded in agreement.

“And how far out have you managed to scout in that time?”

Pearce straightened, shifted where he sat. “Well…”

“Not as far as we’d have liked, cub,” Papa said, raising a hand to the back of his neck. “Our General, you see—”

“Our resources are occupied elsewhere at this time,” said Pearce, a hint of what almost resembled distrust flickering over his face as he regarded you.

You fought the urge to roll your eyes.

“Yes,” Papa said, and you caught a mote of frustration in his tone. “I suppose that’s one way to put it.”

“Show me the most current map you have,” you said. “Much has changed, even since you were last here, Papa.”

Papa nodded, then gestured to a man seated across from him, who sprang to his feet and made for one of the surrounding tents.

“Changed, how?” Papa asked, turning back to you.

“Well,” you sighed. “The British have not rested a day since taking Charleston. They fan the flames of Loyalism across the colony as we speak. By force, or by…” You swallowed. “Enticement.”

Papa frowned. “This land has more backbone than that, surely.”

“Evidently not,” you returned, perhaps too sharply. “More towns pledge fealty to the crown by the day. Lord Cornwallis has dispatched entire legions of men to sweep the countryside and ensure it.”

“Perhaps they lie,” offered Pearce. “Swear whatever oath they must to be left in peace, while their allegiances truly lie elsewhere.”

“Precisely,” said Papa, holding a hand out as if to showcase Pearce. “The soul of liberty is not so easily snuffed.”

You met Pearce’s eyes. His shoulders rolled back. Words of doubt on your lips were distracted by the soldier returning with the requested map. He held it out to your father.

Papa frowned. “I wasn’t the one who asked for it, Private.”

The private’s back hunched in submission and he handed it over to you. As you spread it on your lap, he retreated to his seat around the fire, and you shot him a glare for good measure.

“So.” Your finger swirled over a swath of land in the backcountry. “All of these towns have sworn loyalty to the Crown over the past months.”

Scrutinizing the map, you hummed, leaned forward, and plucked an old charred stick from the edge of the fire pit.

“And there’s a road you’ve not accounted for. Here.” You scratched a charcoal line into the map. “It’s part of what they’re calling the King’s Highway. Supplies move from Charleston to be disseminated to outposts across the backcountry. These seem to be their primary fortifications, as far as I know.” With each new trail, you drew a new, black line. “Fort Ninety-Six, to the west. Stono Ferry, in the south. And Fort Carolina, here in the north.”

“New points of attack,” Papa said, staring into the map. “They’ll be vulnerable along those routes.” He gazed at you, face splitting with a smile before he slapped your back so hard he earned a small oof. “That’s my girl!” He looked to Pearce. “I told you that she was quite a woman, didn’t I?” Before you could begin to question that that meant, he continued, “Do you have anything else, cub?”

“What about the movements of their officers?” Pearce asked.

Your mouth parted as your pulse skipped. “I’m not quite sure what you mean, Captain.”

Pearce sighed. “We believe colonel of the Green Dragoons—William Tavington, if you know him—”

If only he knew how well.

“—was spotted here not more than a couple of days ago after our patrols encountered a redcoat encampment. We nearly captured him.”

Papa nodded. “Too bad, too,” he said. “Would’ve been excellent information for Gates.”

“General Gates continues to resist suggestions for the procurement of further intelligence,” Pearce said, partly to you, partly to your father.

“Well.” Papa scoffed. “Gates is a damn fool.”

Pearce gave a commiserating look before turning back to you. “We have reason to believe Tavington’s legion is in the area.” Grey eyes scrutinized you, flicked over your face and hands before meeting your gaze again. “Do you know anything about that?”

Had it been Papa asking, your answer would have been instant. But this was something you didn’t want to confirm for a stranger who could sell you out with the right amount of pressure. And you couldn’t discern Pearce’s intention, couldn’t figure if he already knew the answer to the question he was asking. He was studying you in a way that made your skin want to flutter off in flakes.

“No.” You spun to face your father. “I have something I want to discuss with you.” You glanced at Pearce. “Privately.”

Pearce frowned, looking between you and Papa like he was lost. Papa scanned your expression, chewed his lip before acknowledging Pearce, nodding at him and the other men around the fire to dismiss them. Exhaling, Pearce’s shoulders sank. He stole a final glimpse of you before tipping his hat again and following the rest of the soldiers to the tents.

Before he could speak, you lowered your voice. “Papa, how are you men surviving?” you said. “The state of this camp is horrific.”

Papa grinned, shaking his head. “Don’t be preposterous! No, it isn’t.”

“It’s atrocious.”

“What do you mean?” Papa craned his head, surveying the grid of tents. “Can you not see the fervor here? The thirst for revolution?” Like a poor boy on the eve of Christmas, the reality of his circumstances were obscured by delirious thrill. “These men are Patriots! They believe in something.”

From your perspective, it was difficult to identify what they believed in other than not being fully dressed. Perhaps the British encampment wasn’t possessed by passion, but they at least had the provisions to make it through a single battle. You weren’t sure how the Continentals had gotten this far.

“I’m just a bit concerned with the state of your men right now, is all.”

“Don’t be,” he said. “The colonel of our militia is a legend from the French and Indian war. If I could only tell you of his feats at Fort Wilderness.” He looked at you with utter conviction. “A word from that man could stir even the most phlegmatic hearts to fervor.”

You nodded. “All right then. Perhaps I need time to see it.” Giving him a sly grin, you added, “As of now, I see no such stirring man.”

“Not one?”

“Not one.”

“Ah…” Papa rubbed his knees, shooting you a rueful grin. “So, Captain Pearce didn’t impress you?”

Your brow furrowed. “No, he didn’t,” you replied. “Speak your meaning plainly, Papa. From where did this question arrive?”

He leaned back, sucking in air through his teeth. “Oh, I don’t know, cub,” he said. “He’s been a great help to me, and he’s around your age. He’s intelligent. Ambitious. I know you’re not easily impressed, so I thought maybe…” He waved you off. “Forget it, forget it.”

“Wait.” Your jaw dropped. “Were you trying to…” A laugh of disbelief escaped you. That’s why Pearce had been acting so strangely in front of you. “You were trying to arrange something with him?”

Papa threw up his hands defensively. “No!” he insisted. “No, no, no. Nothing like that. I just thought perhaps if you met him…”

“What, he’d—he’d… wing me away in a fit of infatuation?”

“Not a fit—no!” He clapped to silence further discussion. “Anyway. Just. Forget all of that.”

You grumbled, but nodded along anyway. Papa had never cared if you were married and had never tried to foist a man into your arms regardless. The romance of war had swept him in flight. He’d simply hoped to pass it on to you, as he’d done with all of his other idealistic aspirations.

The relics of your rage from a couple of nights prior resurrected themselves. If it hadn’t been for these very idealistic, romantic aspirations over something incredibly dangerous, you wouldn’t even be sitting in this camp. The three of you could have fled the encroaching war together, could have done something sensible for once.

Instead, just one of you was left with obligation.

Just one of you was left to put out the candles, to sweep the porch, to lock the doors, to tuck the sheets under the mattresses.

What had Tavington said, that first night you’d met him?

Is your father so thoughtless, leaving his daughters vulnerable while he dies in war?

You ground your teeth together. He wasn’t right. He couldn’t be. He wasn’t allowed to be.

“There’s something else I need to tell you,” you said, shaking off all thoughts of the colonel and how right or wrong or whatever he was. You dropped your volume to a whisper. “I’ve been traveling with the British army since mid-June. Grace and I were taken—”

Papa’s eyes widened. “You—cub, you’ve been what?”

“That’s where I came from!” You inched closer to him. “Tavington’s legion is just south of the river. That’s where I’ve been. Papa…” You glanced around. “Do your men mean to advance on Camden?”

His face fell. He drew in a long inhale, gazing into the fire. “Dammit. So they know, do they?”

“You must withdraw,” you said. “Cornwallis is on his way north to defend it. Whatever you’ve got planned, it won’t be enough.”

Papa nodded, silent, chewing on his cheek in thought. “Thank you,” he said, finally. “Though I’m not sure what good it will do with this fool Gates commanding us. I doubt he’ll hear a word of it.”

“Then you must make him hear. Relief though it brings me to have informed you of it.” You could let the load of this war die in its own wake. After seeing the state of the Continental camp, you were more determined than ever to get home and get Grace out of South Carolina. “More relief still to know you’re alive. I’ve spent all of these weeks thinking you might have been dead. Or hurt, or… I don’t know. Worse.”

“And that’s what had you out here staying in… did you say Tavington's legion?”

“I did.”

He hummed, giving another knowing shake of his head. “Tavington isn't known for being obtuse. Or charitable.” He laughed. “You might have gotten yourself killed.”

Or worse—deflowered. “I can handle myself,” you said. “Besides—”

“I know you can,” Papa said. “Just don’t give them too much hell when you get back there.”

Your fingers wound around each other. There, as in return to the British encampment. Not head home. You swallowed, panic creeping up your neck and bringing a wave of sweat with it. You’d thought it would be clear for you to abandon this entire charade and put the devilish whims of war—and Tavington—behind you.

Had you been neglecting some duty when considering your plan? Was there some important piece of information you’d omitted?

“But…” The word sounded wrong on your tongue. “How will I… what will I be doing?”

“What you’ve already been doing,” he said. “We need Tavington crippled. He’s been slaughtering us.”

“But how will I get you information?”

He shrugged. “Write letters to Grace, if you’d like. She can keep them for me. But I’m not worried about the information. I trust you to do what’s right.”

It wanted to leave again. “But I…”

You would never do that. There was no way you’d even accidentally implicate her anything. The fact that he’d even suggested it irritated you.

“Of course.” And then, with far more acidity than you realized you’d been holding, “Grace is well, by the way, since you asked.”

Papa frowned, face drawn with concern. “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” he said, “I’m glad she is. But I never doubted she would be with you there.” He paused, considering you. “Everything all right, cub?” He nudged you playfully. “Aren’t you inspired?”

Shame consumed you. Your stomach fell to your feet. You hadn’t been careful. You’d been selfish. That was the problem.

You held importance to people like your father, who was clearly awe-struck by the vigor of rebellion. You served a crucial point in preventing him from coming to harm. At least with the information you’d given him today, he might stand a chance in escaping certain death from a confrontation at Camden.

This was your father. Of course he trusted you, of course he assumed the best in you. How was it possible you considered doing anything but what he hoped for?

You’d been so stupid.

Nodding, you looked at Papa. Forced a smile just like you had when he told you he was heading off to join the Wilksburg company.

“Yes, Papa,” you replied. “I’m going to do my best for you. I promise.”

Papa smiled and pulled you into a strong, close hug. You closed your eyes, a knot bubbling in your throat and escaping as a pained laugh. You pressed your face into the crook of his neck.

“I lost your boots,” you whimpered.

His body shook with a chuckle. “My boots?”

You nodded. “Redcoats took them.” Your voice strained the words. “I’m sorry.”

“Damn the boots,” Papa said, holding you closer. “Damn the redcoats, too. It’s hardly the most consequential thing they’d take from us, given the chance.”

Warmth spread through you. Your father was right.

Tavington hadn’t been, wasn’t, and would never be right.

You allowed yourself to feel safety in your father’s arms for a few more moments. The sun was painting purple streaks through the sky, and you needed to return to camp with at least a few plants in your pocket. But for just a few seconds, none of that mattered.

After you bid Papa farewell with another long embrace, you waved at the Continental officers and their poorly-clothed subordinates. Wilson offered a ride at least to the bridge, but you declined it. You were not going to put yourself or anyone else at greater risk than you were already in.

The walk back to camp was long, but helped to soothe your racing mind. And at least it gave you the opportunity to collect whatever vegetation you could find. You managed to snatch a handful of a few different prophylactics for swelling along the way—the sumac and plantain would be best for that—and added in some dogwood to help reduce fever.

By the time you returned to camp, the sun had tucked itself into the trees, the eastern skyline bleeding black into the dying day. You neared the perimeter, and a couple of soldiers seated by a tent spotted you. Their eyes widened. One stood and slipped into camp.

Your mouth dried. Instead of waiting to find out what that was about, you scurried to the hospital tent, hoping to make yourself appear very busy instead of very delinquent. It was empty when you entered. You couldn’t decide if that was a relief or a disappointment.

Holding your breath, you hovered over one of the work tables and grabbed your mortar and pestle along with a few bottles. There had to be something you could start on that would allow you to perform innocence. If William—Colonel, dammit—

The flap to the hospital tent parted. Colonel Tavington stalked through.

You turned to see his brow relax when he saw you, only for his jaw to shift and tighten when his eyes met yours. His lip twitched.

You looked at your hands. “Good evening, Col—”

“Where were you?” He stepped toward you, hands behind his back.

“Sir?” You gave him a placating smile, gesturing to your bottles. “I was out gathering supplies.”

Tavington raised a brow. “Is that so?” Nodding toward the table, he said, “Show me, then.”

“What I gathered?”

“Unless you believe there’s something else I’d rather see as proof of your reason for absence.”

You pulled your lips in over your teeth and retrieved the vegetation from your pockets, spreading them all on the table. They sprinkled across the surface like a handful of hay on a pig’s belly. The amount now seemed pitiably inadequate for the time you’d been gone. Heat flushed your neck.

He stepped closer to you, looming over your shoulder. A slow breath left him as he examined them.

“This,” he said, pitch lower and quieter than you anticipated, “is all you managed to find?”

Ignoring the twist in your lower abdomen, you shrugged. “This was all that was worthwhile. And they’re all that I needed.”

He reached around you, lifting one of the crimson sumac clusters from the table and spinning it in his fingers. “Tell me about this, then.”

“That’s staghorn sumac.” You forced a small grin. The breadth of his chest, the rumble of his voice there almost unsteadied you. Almost. “Helpful for inflammation.”

“Sumac,” he said, twirling it again. “I remember you asking me if I could identify it.”

Your heart thumped against your chest. “I did.”

“Does it always look like this?” He slid his thumb up the tender stem, flicked it across the base of the fruits. “This color.”

“It does.” Your chin quivered, your insides writhing in a knot. The very fact he’d even asked made you want to hop on the table and wrap your legs around his waist. “You'll…” You exhaled a steadying breath. “You'll know it, now.”

“I should hope I never need to.” You didn’t reply. Only watched as he laid the sumac on the table and cradled one of the white flowers in his palm. “What does this do?”

“Dogwood,” you murmured. The heat from his body was not distracting. You were not thinking about how his palms would feel on your hips, your breasts. “For. Ah. For fever.”

“I see.” He brought the flower—and his arm—closer to your waist. “Have you noticed any…” he said, the next word hanging on his tongue, “neglected instances of feverish behavior recently?”

“No.” You swallowed. “Just preparation.”

“Ah.” Returning the dogwood, he picked up a plantain leaf, humming thoughtfully. “And this?”

“It’s good for insect bites,” you murmured. The memory of his lips, the moan he’d made into your mouth stole the stability from your knees, and you braced yourself on the table. “I know the men have been complaining of mosquitoes recently.”

“How thoughtful.” He stepped closer, hips grazing yours. “And unlike you.”

“Perhaps so,” you said quickly, stupidly. You needed him out of your space. “But I’ve found them bothersome as well.”

His tone grew cold. “I believe that’s the first honest sentence out of your mouth all evening.”

You straightened, moving to the side. “I really must ask—”

Tavington gripped the table, barring your escape with his arm. Spinning to face him, you found his chest an inch from yours, his gaze boring into you. Every good intention you had to tell him to leave chilled to ice.

“Where were you?” His tongue rolled in his mouth. “This,” he said, crushing a handful of the flowers in his palm, “did not take you hours.”

“We’ve been camped here for weeks. I’ve picked these woods bare,” you replied. “I had to go far out into the field.”

His eyes narrowed. “To find scraps?”

The wicked edge in his tone cut a shiver up your spine. You could almost taste his lips again, could feel the yearning to dissolve against him. Clearing your throat of need, you lifted your chin to the air.

“I’m being honest,” you lied.

“Honest, are you?” That smirk that you found so irritating, so devastatingly irresistible, quirked on the mouth you did not want to kiss. “Then tell me this, my little soldier.” Tavington’s hand drew close to your hip, found the edges of your skirts, tugged at them by only an inch. You flinched. “Do I detect the vestiges…” He leaned close to whisper with soft, trembling rage. “... Of desire?”

Your nails dug into the table. Finding his eyes, you did the only thing you could think to do.

“Lottie!” you shouted. “Lottie, come quick! I want to show you something!”

Tavington’s brows rose, and his jaw stiffened.

“I knew you to be a liar,” he muttered. “But I did not take you for a coward.”

With a short exhale through his nose, he withdrew from you. Seconds later, Charlotte Goddard charged into the tent.

“I’m here! I’m here!” She was heaving. “What, what is it? When did you get back?” Spotting Tavington, she stood tall. “Oh, Colonel! Excuse me, sir.” She bowed her head. “Good evening.”

Colonel—yes, Colonel, thank you very much—Tavington’s attention flipped between the two of you. He marched out of the tent without a word. Lottie looked to the table, then at you.

“About as good as that’s going to get,” she said, walking over toward you. “What is it you wanted to show me?”

A long, heavy breath slid from your nose. An ache lingered between your legs. There were so many things you could have shown her, could have told her. All of them had to remain secret to your grave. So instead, you scooped up the sumac, dangling the clusters from your hands.

“Look,” you said, half-grinning. “It matches your hair.”

[wazzappp]

Retroviruses got me fucked up

@moosemonstrous are u ready for a dissertation? I hope so.

people who followed me for art I'm so sorry

ALRIGHT so we're gonna cover a couple areas.

General information about retroviruses.

Details about The Corruption and theories about how it works inside the body.

SPECIFICALLY ROBBIES viral weird shit. Cause what he has going on is even more fucked up than normal fucked up. Fucked up squared.

Me ranting about skin necrosis and why I shouldn't have just. Thown it in there because I thought it would look fucky wucky.

GENERAL INFORMATION ABOUT RETROVIRUSES:

As most people know, a virus is a cell that enters the body of a host and alters its DNA to turn that hosts cells into virus making factories. This is what allows viruses to duplicate and spread through the body so quickly. But whats that? 'What makes retroviruses different from other viruses?' I hear you asking? WELL EXCELLENT QUESTION THATS A PERFECT PLACE TO START. A retrovirus is different because its method of self duplication involves an enzyme called reverse transcriptase. This makes retroviral infection PERMANENT. Even if the virus is defeated by the immune system, those changes stick around. The phrasing used was 'ipso facto mutagenic' meaning 'by the fact itself/inevitable'.

...Which is kinda metal honestly I want it on a tee shirt (definetly not thinking of Amadeus saying that to Robbie as he tries his best to explain theres no way to undo whats going on with him. nahhhh angst don't got a hold on me like that [<- vibrating])

'Ohhh but if those genetic changes never go away, doesn't that mean that those viruses will get passed on through peoples children?' ASKING SUCH GOOD QUESTIONS TODAY MY MUTUAL BECAUSE THE ANSWER IS YES. Once a retrovirus codes itself into a hosts gnome, its called a provirus (pro gamer move right there) Fun (not fun) fact around 8% of the human gnome is made of proviruses. These are called endogenous viruses, and for the most part they just kinda sit there and stay dormant. TERRIFYINGLY, other viral infections can trigger these endogenous viruses out of dormancy. As for what actually causes a provirus to go dormant uhhhhhhhh I dunno. Couldn't find an answer in my research someone make me look stupid with an answer please because I wanna know.

Ok now lets talk about the immune system a little bit. There are a few different kind of cells at work (hehehehehe) that help to fight viruses and other infections in the body. The first are Cytotoxic T cells or Killer T Cells. These are the cells that directly destroy cells displaying genetic patterns they recognize as bad. Next we have CD+4 Cells (Helper T Cells) which act as a library that stores information about how to identify an infected cell, and shares that information with other Killer T cells once one figures it out. Then there are the Regulatory T cells which suppress your immune responses to maintain homeostasis. They're what (USUALLY) stops your immune system from killing you while trying to clear a virus. Last there are Macrophage. CELLS AT WORK MAID MILFS- I mean cells that clear the debris that remain after the Killer T Cells are done destroying them.

Retroviruses have two primary ways of either side-stepping the immune system or just. Overwhelming it completely. Acutely transforming retroviruses do just that. They reproduce too quickly for Killer T cells to destroy them all and exhaust the system. The second type are called Non Acute Retroviruses. They camouflage viral particles as immune cells to suppress the immune system. For example, HLTV-1 is a retrovirus that disguises itself as a Regulatory T cell to artificially suppress the immune response thats trying to kill it.

HTLV-1 is really interesting because most of the time patients are asymptomatic, but 5% can graduate to HTLV-1 associated myelopathy/tropical spastic paraparesis, which affects the spinal cord and white matter of the central nervous system. This usually results in the weakening of lower extremities and sometimes total bowl/bladder control loss. It suckkssssss (but is also a retrovirus that affects the central nervous system so were circling back to it later 👀).

SPECULATION ABOUT THE CORRUPTION:

I've said previously that The Corruption has potential for a retrovirus that affects the central nervous system by degrading the brains ability to regulate muscular contraction, while also pumping out a ton of cortisol and adrenaline to encourage 'hysterical strength'.

Now I did a little more research about Hypoglycemia and combined with the nerve damage people would likely die from cardiac arrhythmia, which is a life threatening kind of ventricular fibrillation. Long and short, it means their hearts don't have the proper energy and stimulation to keep beating properly, so they stop beating in sync. This results in insufficient blood flow to vital areas like the brain, and combined with the inadequate blood sugar, this would result in very fast brain death.

Let's talk about the immune systems response to this Corruption retrovirus. We would most likely see lots of inflammation, and with the main focus being on nerve cell this would probably result in meningitis, which is inflammation of the tissue surrounding the brain and spinal cord. If left untreated this could result in a coma and then death. So we're seeing a SHIT ton of pressure on the brain and central nervous system. Which is like. VERY BAD for a person. We're talking brain death very very fast.

As for how the virus would target the nervous system directly we could look to real world examples like rabies (ahhhh rabies. can never get away from you). The virus would attach to nicotinic acetylcholine receptors, which are what turns chemical signals into electrical signals in your nerves. It would then spread through the axons of the central nervous system and eventually reach the brain. We could also pull a rabies with 'once you see symptoms it's too late' which I, personally, find fucking terrifying.

In terms of the virus losing its effectiveness once outside the body of a Demon/Kaiju we would likely need to look at the anatomy of a retrovirus itself. The outermost area is composed of envelope spikes, which tell the cell to let it in. After that is an envelope protein which plays an important role in complete virus particle (virion) assembly. Theres then a protein shell that contains reverse transcriptase and the RNA gnome that it will use to recode a host cell. If this virus evolved to survive in an environment that is always warm (hell. lol. lmao.) it might not be prepared to deal with these colder temperatures in our world. This could result in damage to the protective protein barriers and cause damage to the real important parts, the RNA and reverse transcriptase. This would mean that the virus would not be near as effective as a fully intact retrovirus cell.

The Corruption could be an endogenous virus thats embedded into the Demon/Kaiju gnome that wouldn't affect them, but would absolutely affect us because we haven't seen them before.

ROBBIES WEIRD FUCKSHIT:

alright guys this is where we put the FI into SCIFI cause your about to read a whole lot of nonsense sentences.

Robbie. Robbie is fucking WEIRD in EVERY universe and this shit is absolutely not different. Him being exposed to that previously mentioned damaged version of the virus from a young age might not give him true immunity but it would give him SOMETHING to work with. His immune system is at least slightly familiar with it and at this point whatever damaged version he came into contact with has already established itself as a provirus in him.

The Corruption thats established itself in The Charger is different.

Like I mentioned in my first diagram, I think there was a chemical reaction that stabilized the corrosive aspect of The Corruption, but this reaction would also have had an effect on the retroviral properties of the Demon/Kaiju material. ESPECIALLY when we add Eli into the mix.

Now, I think generally the amount of radiation that these viruses would be exposed to would kill them (if you believe viruses are alive. there is some MEGA debate going on about that). But if the corruption was just stabilized/hardened on the outside and left squishy and organic on the inside, that would successfully protect everything. And whats that organic squishyness on the inside? EXCELLENT QUESTION AGAIN. If Eli died while inside The Charger then it's not a stretch to think his DNA would have been incorporated and stored via through the natural processes of the retrovirus as a provirus. And so you end up with the genetic mixture of a horrifying creature capable of heinous acts, and a Demon/Kaiju. WITH retroviral properties. Dear god.

Robbie would get exposed to this the very first time he enters the Charger. Because of his semi-immunity + genetic relation to Eli he would likely be able to overcome the more meatsuit damaging aspects of this mixture and just get right through the genome editing without much fuss from his immune system. We would still have a certain degree of damage to his nervous system which allows for that change in strength that would occur in usual examples of the virus (maybe some added aggression from mild influence in his amygdala), but not to a deadly degree. Honestly this shit would barely classify as a virus its just. A nightmare mutagen at this point. So while some of his gnome would remain fairly the same, a good 30% to 50% is megafucked.

Changing Robbies genotype to this degree will naturally result in a change to his phenotype! For the sake of fun were gonna ignore stem cells and their weirdness (for now. I just need to stew on it a little longer and I can make up some bullshit I'm sure). The damage his muscles would experience from less regulated signals would mean they experience muscle tears and subsequent muscle growth. For usual muscle damage from exercise this takes a few days, so if we wanted to keep with that timeline it could be interesting to introduce some minorly sped up healing. That would also be fun for reactivating the growth plates in his bones to allow him to become bigger and taller overall (boring body horror my beloved @cicada-candy that term is never leaving).

THEN you can get into some of the fucky wuckier traits like tapetum lucidum and TEEF. TEEEEEEFFFF. The teeth in particular could go a few different ways. You could just have growth and development of the canines resume until they become elongated and more prominant. OR. You could replace the teeth with bony protrusions from the skull that would push out the original canines and grow in their place. Because of the time it takes for bones to heal your looking at this happening around 20 weeks out. Literally any fun trait you want to take from Demon/Kaiju could apply here.

The most important part would be the nerve bundles on his spine that would be used to bluetooth to The Charger (<- this is a nonsense sentence. I am aware of this). These would provide faster communication with the charger and (theoretically) more intuitive movement, while also allowing him to eventually controlling the charger from the outside. Please note that this would cause EXTREME STRESS to his nervous system. It would be like a person trying to flex a muscle the size of another person for the first time. LEARNING PROCESS. TAKE IT SLOW OR HAVE AN ANEURYSM.

Which leads me to the youtuber apology part of this.

WHY I SHOULDNT HAVE JUMPED TO SKIN NECROSIS:

Skin necrosis is a result of the mass death of skin cells that is furthered by the damage to blood cells. This usually results in a blackened, leathery texture to the necrosed skin. I SHOULD HAVE NEVER EVEN MENTIONED THIS.

What I SHOULD have done is said 'hmm ah yes it would make more sense for some protective covering over these nerve concentrations to either come from materials in Robbies body or to mutate into the skin of the Demon/Kaiju'. This is why we do sufficient research before getting back on our bullshit, wazz (mental note mental note mental note mental note).

I am quite partial to the idea of that stronger/thicker Demon skin/armor growing under Robbies skin and it just itches and burns until he cant ignore it anymore. And then he can pull off. Whatever skin is on the top of it. HEHHEHEHOHOHOHO DELICOUS MENTAL IMAGE of him panicking because he just wanted to scratch his back but now theres blood on his hands and skin sloughing off and dear fucking lord how did he get to this point in his life (<- I daydream about normal things guys don't worry. very average things).

ANYWAY uhhhh if you made it this far I love you. Legit. Have a cookie. Take a nap. Have a happy holidaze <3.

[asteralpine]

This continuous glucose meter changed my life, man.

I was diagnosed relatively late for Type 1--at the very start of 9th grade (so I was like 14 or 15 years old). I was a gold-star diabetic patient for a few years: I tested all the time, I was dedicated to carb-counting, my A1c was pretty damn good. Every time I saw the doctor, she gushed with praise for me.

(Once, there was a nasty snowstorm on the same day that I had an appointment, and when my dad and I got there, the nurse told us that they'd been calling a lot of patients to cancel their appointments because of the weather, but they didn't want to cancel mine because they knew it'd be fantastic or something.)

But then other stuff happened (depression came rushing back) and I started to neglect that stuff. I didn't test very often, so I was mostly guessing about how much insulin to take, which made my numbers all fucky, which made me want to test even less because the highs felt like a failure, and so on.

And then CGMs. Once my depression and anxiety had been sort of dealt with (better living through chemistry!!), I brought up the idea to my doctor, and it only took a couple of months before I had my very own Dexcom. My A1c is in a good range now (at my last appointment, I was still in the habit of pushing praise aside, so when my doctor mentioned how good it was, I said "I know I can still get it lower" and she straight up said "Uhh, please don't. If we get much lower, it's going to be putting you in dangerously-low ranges for too long, and I don't like that") and I'm way less wound-up about what the numbers mean.

When I did finger-pricks with a regular glucose meter, I usually hesitated. In the few seconds before it showed the results, I would have to brace myself because ugggh it's going to be high because I'm the worst, but this morning I did a finger-prick and it was just...nothing.

I've still got a lot of work to do to get back into carb counting and doing better about exercise and making better snacky choices, but so much of the weight of diabetes has been eliminated just because my Dexcom has allowed (forced) me to be very familiar with my glucose levels on a constant basis. Wonderful!

[amidissociative]

hello. i need help from the OSDDID community.

hi there. call me C. i need help figuring out whether what im experiencing is common in the OSDDID community or not. not going to put too much identifying information here but the body is 20+.

TWs for rape (in adulthood), childhood sexual abuse, emotional abuse, etc. under the cut.

thanks for opening the post.

i seriously am confused and scared and a little bit angry because how would this sort of thing not be obvious to both myself and other people. yeah i guess dissociative disorders are meant to be covert but... come oooooon.

i've been raped 5 times as an adult (by the same person, long sad story blah blah), and have one extremely strong memory of a family member probably molesting me. the memory has never changed nor faded but i didnt actually acknowledge it as molestation until earlier this year when i realised, hey, maybe thats a bit fucked up actually.

anyway, i took the MID (Multidimensional Inventory of Dissociation) test a couple days ago and i really did not like my results. I was as honest as i could be, since the test was self-administered and i wasnt trying to impress anyone or prove anything or whatever the fuck. These were the first results i got (dark blue line is MY average, yellow is DID-patient average, light blue is OSDD average, pink is non-dissociative patient average):

obviously to me that reads as Bad and also Extremely Consistent With DID which i really don't fucking like.

Today i spent some time doing fucky little things to the answers i gave to the test. By which i mean, i went through my answers, and dropped all of the numeric scores by 2 points, unless the scores were a 2, 1, or 0 already. Therefore a 10 became an 8, a 5 became a 3, etc., but a 2 became a 1, and both 1s and 0s stayed the same. That means all the answers i gave an answer ABOVE 0 to, still had an answer above 0, but the drop as was consistent across the board as i could make it. The chart i got from that was:

NOT IDEAL.

so i went back and dropped ALL of the answers by one more point, regardless of what they were originally. meaning, 1s became 0s. everything dropped one entire point. the chart i got then was as follows:

AGAIN. NOT IDEAL. DOESNT MAKE ME HAPPY TO LOOK AT.

in essence i want to ask the OSDDID community: what am i looking at. is this real. is this possible. because i really actually don't want it to be, i dont like it, i dont want this. i would actually be happier with a schizophrenia diagnosis which is probably saying a lot since that disorder is also heavily stigmatised.

like yeah sure i guess theres 3 people in my head that like to take turns piloting the meatsuit but GOD ABOVE I THOUGHT THAT WAS NORMAL? HOW ISNT ANY OF THIS JUST NORMAL?

i am on my hands and knees here begging for insight, for advice, for anything. please. please.

before you get on my ass: YES, i am actively looking into psychiatric advice. my therapist as well as my gp/pcp have already made moves towards it. my country is just slow as fuck.

[menstits-illness]

Gaaahhhshsbs i did a fucky wucky

About a month ago, a femdom blog on twitter that i love made a post asking for ppl to send her ideas for scenarios they like for puppy play that focus more on the degradation/humiliation. And obviously that is my MAIN kink so I’m like jumping up and down foaming at the mouth. I sent her a message saying omg that’s my favorite, i don’t want cute puppy play, i want it to be raw gross and mean. And she responded like: “yeah im asking for degradation/bullying specifically. For ppl to tell me scenarios they like.”

And so i typed up a big long list of stuff I love, some more extreme fantasy or stuff i just like in porn, but still important. And then……………I forgot to hit send.

I was looking through my DMs and was like oh what’s this, saw that my huge list was still there, and sent a message saying “Omg I’m so sorry i must have forgot to hit send on this before!” And then send it.

And then she responded very angrily in the morning like “who tf are you, what are you talking about and why would you send this shit to me??” “actually nvm the reason doesn’t matter goodbye.” And blocked me. 😬

My text was so long she would have had to scroll up to see our past messages literally saying she was asking for this, so i assume she never noticed that. But yeah,,,,,,,,,, Like i get it, it was a month later and she totally forgot, but also Eesh and I feel really bad for making her feel like she was being harassed or whatever. But maybe she did notice our previous text but was alarmed and grossed out by my ideas being too hardcore and gross.

Anyways I guess I’ll post it here for the maybe 0-1 ppl to see. Ik the transfreaks on here support my gross ideas

[neims-skeleton-obsession]

ye ask and ye shall recieve and by ye i mean Two (2) People /pos cw: death and swearing also probable spoilers for. almost definitely death bringer (book 6) and dark days (4), possibly book 1 oNWARDS

*inhale* lots. lots of feelings and/or thoughts probably not in a cohesive order apologies in advance

he. was fucking tortured im not sure if we were ever given a confirmation of how long for but either way that on its own is horrific

his wi. his wife and child were murdered to get to him. potentially from his point of view they died for nothing good, it was pointless. and his fault.

their deaths were the result of his anger- of people knowing him as an angry man, if they hadn't the wouldnt have been killed as bait. and sometimes i think that he thinks that if he'd been a better man, a less angry man, they would still be alive

hIS death itself was also pretty horrific. like he died in pain and in mourning for his family and maybe in the end it was a form of relief. from. yknow being McFucken Tortured yes im mentioninf that again

but then he came back and had to keep going and keep fighting the war without the comfort of a family he could go back to when it was all over. if it was ever all over.

aLSO. so the whole "it was like something was tying me down" or whatever the fuck that. whole spiel wa. i mean when he was talking about him being Brought Back to valkyrie, pre book six?? so it is very very very likely he was at least vaguely aware of his body being burned. and put on a spike. and then being thrown in a river just before he "woke up". unless he was burnt alive?? i dont remember completely but either way fUUUCKING H E L L

that alone is. traumatising as shit

he wasnt brought back for some cause, or for any particular reason that he might have convinced himself of. he was brought back because a necromancer didn't want him to go to waste

and he found this out in probably the most undignified way

and he then proceeded to commit atrocities for five years because he was so fucking fuelled by the anger that had resulted in the death of hIS. WIFE. AND CHILD.

this was also revealed to valkyrie, someone he cares about so fucking much, in a way that once again stripped him of his dignity

tHATS A POINT THOUGH

so so so many fucking times regarding his death what little dignity he had left had been sforecfully taken from him. when his body was burned and put on display, when people watched him being tortured, when the truth of his resurrection came out. etc.

no one came to save him. or at least no one succeeded. i find it hard to believe the dead men didnt try- but they didnt manage it in the end. so mmaybe that made it a little harder, maybe a lot, in book 1 when he was being tortured by serpine. AGAIN. to believe that anyone would find him before he was killed- properly, that time. he was cheery when val and the others turn up but when wasnt he around her in the early days.

and considering how hard skug was hallucinating in book 4 when he was. yknow being tortured i think he probably did then, too. which adds another thing of "awh fella :["

he wasnt able to get revenge on the man that tortured and killed hIM AND. HIS W I F E A N D C H I L D. until something like 300 years later????????

also i dont think skug has ever had a chance to. like actually work through all of this shit

aND THIS ISNT EVEN ALL OF IT :'D

i just feel so. so bad for him ok.

also most of the books are from val's pov even if they are third person and i refuse to believe she picked up on all the times h. he was a lil bit fucky.

especially when she was younger ie early phase one

like im fairly certain skug fucking hates himself. if you wwwaaant proof of that id say read those few chapters in book 4 that are val yoinking him from being. tortured by the faceless ones.

im so sorry this is sO much text ehgnetudjgf bbbut. skug death thoughts. feel free to expand on any of these/add your own :]] /gen

also apologies aagain for this probably being fucking. terribly organised and put together etc etc rhgebrydgfhhegr

i just have a lot of feelings about skug's death ok

[delicrieux]

☆ﾐ 𝚖𝚊𝚔𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚜𝚊𝚢 “𝚘𝚑”

PART 10: BIG DICK IS BACK IN TOWN

y/n is back in brooklyn for the holidays. thinking that a stream will make her feel less homesick for cali, she starts working on her famously titled hentai.free.srv. what was supposed to be a relaxing stream turns into a special delivery about two hours in.

─── corpse husband x reader ─── soc. media + written fiction! ─── word count: 2.2k ─── ❥ req: Here's one... You know those apps for delivery like Domino's or whatnot... What if reader is streaming Among Us with Corpse, and reader mentions they're hungry and Corpse offers to order them food, and readers like no no it's fine... Then there's delivery at the door (Corpse ordered beforehand) 

author’s note: fucky format is also back in town baby!!! also if you find any mistakes - no u didnt <3 thank u everyone for enjoying this story sm i literally cant believe how feral yall going strawberry cow was a nuclear explosion im still recovering tbh. got an ask a while ago and decided to incorporate it into myso. happy holidays everyone! myso will continue on monday!

ultimate masterlist.  ҉  myso masterlist   ҉   previous.  ҉   next.

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Indeed, being soft on any social media platform was the biggest disgrace and needed to be eliminated post haste. Moreover, it was a slippery slope - once you start flooding your timeline with cute imagery and heart emojis, what will stop you from posting inspirational Facebook quotes? Disgusting. If Rae were here, she would chide you (not you thinking about her as if she’s dead or something). For once in your life, you feel like you deserve it. 

Alas, you hope this little chaos you’ve caused is enough to throw everyone off. The stans, especially. You know the hashtags, you’ve seen ARMY scourging for info online with the same fervor and ruthlessness 1 Direction fans hacked airport security cameras just to spy on the boys. If you had any dirty secrets online, they are out to the public now - thankfully, besides the Harry Styles stan account (with edits and all), you have nothing. Though, now that you think about it, exposed nudes would have been better than your Punk!Harry edit receiving almost a million views. God, your life’s a fucking mess.

Your fans aren’t the only ones out for info - you, too, are trying to decipher Rae’s message. Code: Barbecue Sauce. The two of you had come up with it roughly two years ago, around the same time when you promised that if you didn’t find significant others by the time you’re 40, you’ll just marry each other. It was one of the many rules found in your friendship codex. Barbecue Sauce signifies information - an exchange of information. And depending on how it ends or begins (”So I’m sitting there” alludes to Rae, “On my titties” alludes to you), secret data on that person is given away, usually free of charge. 

But why? And to whom did Rae give away what? You had pestered her mercilessly and even sent some voice messages where you were crying. You were only crying because of a video of a grandpa smiling you saw on TikTok, but you are a snake, and so you put those tears to good use. If streaming doesn’t work out, you’ll just become an actress. Hollywood would love you. Your PR firm sure as fuck wouldn’t, though.

Rae was having none of it. She said you’ll figure it out eventually. Told you to channel your superior puzzle skills. You were quick to remind her that you can barely count to ten without having an aneurysm. Oddly serious, she admitted that she worries for you sometimes. Why only sometimes?! you demanded. She merely sighed. uttering under her breath something that sounded closely to “Boke.”

You leave her for barely a week and she’s already neck deep in the gay volleyball anime, hoodie and cardboard cutout and everything. Your life is falling apart.

But Brooklyn is nice. It had snowed when you stepped off of the plane. Thousands of snowflakes sprinkling into your hair, dotting your cheeks and nose. You missed this sight back in Cali. You missed your parents, too. 

Home cooked meals, old sweaters, your old room and about 40GB worth of old high school pictures on your computer. You went through them all one night. Some were stomach churning, cringe inducing nightmares. You were especially fond of those. Texted some of your friends that were still in Brooklyn, met up, decided to bake. Bad idea, Rae was the resident chef back in Cali. Besides laughing till your stomach hurt, and almost burning down your kitchen, nothing all that significant happened. Somewhere down the line, at about 3 am, half-way through a cheesy rom-com you had the overwhelming urge to text Corpse.

That’s where the problems really started. God, you missed California, missed being in the same timezone with a guy you hadn’t even met yet, how embarrassing is that?! You missed skating around and taking pictures of the beach in the setting sun, sending it to him, silently wishing he was with you to admire the view. 

You really want to call him. And to hang out with him. But for some reason, the thought of that springs up immediate anxiety and you shy away from asking. Him sending you cute good morning texts doesn’t help, either. Maybe it’s better he doesn’t know that you’re a blushing, stuttering mess each time you read “baby”. 

Late evening. Your stream is already set up, people are slowly trickling in and you greet them with a grin and a soft “Hello! Hi hi!”. You did your best to make your room a perfectly chaotic backdrop - led lights, an embarrassing amount of anime merch and plushies. You always try to balance out your weeb side by dressing hot as fuck for your streams - today’s inspiration just so happens to be egirls. Mostly because you watched one too many egirl make-up tutorials on TikTok, and also because you’ve been listening to Corpse’s song all day.

Yeah, no, who are you kidding, you dressed up this way because you were hoping Corpse was watching your stream. You didn’t forget your cat headphones, either. You know he likes them. You want to make him suffer. Perhaps then, finally, he will ask you out, so you wouldn’t have to.

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“I feel like,” You start when you put away your phone, staring idly at the chat, “I feel like I need a new name for you guys. Calling you guys after two years of streaming is just... weird, no? I also don’t respect men so I don’t want to call you guys. Like, so many creator’s have, like, a name for their fans. Uhm, Cody Ko has the chodesters, Kurtis Conner has, uh, folks? Kurtis Town? Citizens! Markiplier has mommy issues--” You can’t help snorting, “So, I’ve been, like, thinking - I know, shocking! - so I was thinking I’m gonna name you cockroaches. Because you’re grimy little shits impossible to kill. And also then I can use the legendary Minaj meme ROACHES!”

Your stream enthusiastically echoes ROACHES, making the chat swim. Yes, if anyone would enjoy such a name, it would be your audience. You’re as equally proud as you are disturbed.

“Well, anyway.” Leaning back into your chair, you throw your arms out with a bright grin, “Big dick is back in town, baby! If you noticed the backdrops different, it’s cuz I’m in Brooklyn now. Don’t ask me when I will return to Always Sunny, I don’t plan that far ahead.”

While Minecraft boots up, you decide to answer a few questions.

r u dating sykkuno?

You want to smack your head into the keyboard, but as it is, you can’t exactly afford a new one, so you refrain, “No, Sykkuno and I are not dating, we are just good friends. Uhm, I’m not sure how much I’ll have to repeat this, but, we really aren’t, so if the roaches could chill - Oh my God, that sounds so stupid, I love it - uh, yeah, if the roaches could chill that’d be great.”

the roaches lmao sounds like we’re a sports team

“Oh shit, yeah it does, uh-- maybe I can make like, jerseys or something. That’d be cool, I think.”

how disappointed are your parents with the way your life turned out?

“My parents are actually not disappointed at all!” You say with a cute little smile, “Uhm, they’re both really proud, actually. They’re glad I found something I love doing and made a job outta it. Dad finds my Youtube videos endearing. Yes, they watch pretty much all of my videos, unless I explicitly tell them not to. And yeah, with all the fucks and thirsting for anime characters. Uhm, it was very embarrassing at first, but I mean, after a while, shame just...doesn’t exist anymore, I guess? Funny thing about my parents, actually, when they watch my videos-” You eye catches a comment, “Oh! No, they only watch my Youtube videos. They don’t know how to use Twitter, thank God. Uhm, anyway-- when they hear a name they don’t know, like, I dunno, Dabi, or something, they google--” You’re grinning by now, eyes crinkling, giggling softly, “--who that is, and buy me like, merch and stuff. It’s really cute. 

can i be adopted by ur parents plz

will you and corpse ever collab?!

You were about to answer, though the man of the hour himself decides to do it for you.

Corpse_Husband: yes.

Okay, not to say your heart skipped a beat, but it totally did. With a pleased smile, you nod, like one of those bobble head toys sold at the dollar store. The motion is oddly reminiscent of Sykkuno’s own nod. Perhaps you had picked it up from him. The chat seems to notice.

pack it up, sykkuno

More questions pile about this mysterious collab you and Corpse are planning. Yeah, you’d like to hear more about it, too, since he single highhandedly decided one was happening right now. Corpse remains silent. Fine, keep your secrets. 

“Okay, guys, oh, I mean, roaches, Oh my God--” You’re covering your mouth, giggling, “-calling all roaches, calling all roaches, calm down. Everyone grab a snack and a blanket I’m turning up the music volume so we can all chill. Entering chill zone. Entering chill zone. Roaches, prepare.”

we are prepared

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An hour or so passes and you grow hungry. It shows with the amount of cakes you had baked in your server. Currently, you find yourself throwing eggs at the wall of one of the renovated houses, your face scrunched in concentration and slight frustration. 24 of the 50 eggs have been wasted. “What’s a girl gotta do to get some chicks around here?” you had uttered under your breath, until, finally, a screech - the egg finally spawns a mob. Your mouth falls open, “Aww, look!” You approach it, so small, walking in zigzags beside you, “It’s a baby chicken! Die, bitch.” The baby chicken is no more as you swing your bedazzled (you have mods) diamond sword. You’re cackling by the time the dust settles.

y/n is a child murderer

“Roaches,” You address your fan-base, spurring another fit of laughter - you can’t get over the name, “I think I’m like, forgetting that eating in Minecraft won’t actually make less hungry in real life.”

take a break and go eat queen <3

“Fuck no, we starve and die like men. Now I actually really need another chicken.”

Another twenty minutes trickle by and you’re trying to lure back a panda from the jungle when there’s a knock on your bedroom’s door. Whipping your head to the side, you slide down your headphones. At the same time, your mom pokes her head through the ajar door, “MOM!” You scream, “Get OUT of my room I’m playing Minecraft!” But your yell has no actual bite to it, as you don’t manage to hide your smile. Your mom laughs, doing some sort of sign language and motioning for you to follow her with her head. That or it’s some sort of performative dance. 

“I’m live right now,” You tell her, pointing at your screen. She knows this already, though, “do you want to say hi?” 

The roaches spam the chat with friendly hellos. You mom, quite impatient now, waves you over. 

“Sorry, roaches, mom needs something. Be back in a bit!”

Stopping the stream, you rush out of your seat and pleased she slinks into the hallway. “What’s this about?”

“Your pizza came.”

“My what now?” You echo, confused.

“Domino’s. You ordered pizza?”

“What? No? I was busy with the stream, I never--”

Thankfully, you had managed to grab your phone from your room before you exited. You almost choke on spit once you read the messages.

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You decide that it’ll be impossible to stream after experiencing what you had just experienced. You tweet out a quick apology to the roaches (God, that fucking name) and say that you had a breakdown but you’re okay. That is as a close to the truth as you managed to muster. It’s a sad sight, chewing and crying; your mom winced when she saw your state - disheveled hair and rundown eyeliner and everything. “D’aww,” She had muttered, caressing the top of your head, “don’t cry my little raccoon.”

If anyone was ever to ask you where did your chaotic nature come from, you’d answer with my mom. To make yourself feel better, you took a selfie - duck face and peace sign and the horrible 2000′s angle. Sent it to Rae. 

looking hot, her message read. 

thanks, was all you replied with.

You couldn’t just leave things as they were. Once you calmed down, you wanted to text Corpse, but how would you follow up the ungodly caps lock and screeching? Impossible. An idea sprung to mind, one that was brave. Taking the first step.

Instead of sending a text, you sent a voice memo.

“Thank you for the pizza, it was delicious.”

You voice still sounded a bit raspy. His reply was instant. Your heart skipped a beat. He sent a voice memo back.

“Glad you liked it, baby.”

He was going to be the death of you.

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tags (in italics is those i couldn’t tag! make sure all’s ok w your settings!) : @littlebabysandboxburritos - @fairywriter-oracle - @tsukishimawh0re - @ofstarsanddreams - @bbecc-a - @annshit - @leahh19 - @letsloveimagines - @bellomi-clarke - @wineandionysus - @guiltydols - @onephootinfrontoftheother - @liamakorn - @thirstyfangirl - @lilysdaydreams - @pan-ini - @mxqicshxp - @tanchosanke - @yoshinorecommends - @flightsandfantasy - @liljennyx3 - @slashersdream - @unknown-and-invisible - @sinister-sleep - @fivedicksinatrenchcoat - @mercury–moon - @peterparkerspjsuit - @unstableye - @simonsbluee - @shinyshimaagain - @ppopty - @siriuslystupid - @crapimahuman - @ofthedewthesunlight - @mythicalamphitrite - @artsyally - @corpsesimpp - @corpsewhitetee - @corpse-husbandsimp - @hyp-oh-critical - @roses-and-grasses - @rhyrhy462 - @sparklylandflaplawyer - @charbkgo - @airwaveee - @creativedogs - @kaitlyn2907 - @loxbbg - @afuckingunicornn - @fleurmoon - @yeolliedokai - @truly-dionysus - @multi-fandom-central707

more tags are in the comments bcs tumblr only allows me to tag 50 people max 💙

[strxnged]

bad descriptions of genshin characters while i wait for 3.1 (a-z) [may contain spoilers]

albedo: edward elric but his hair is actually blonde and not Yellow. and WAY quieter

aloy: who?

amber: some love her. some hate her. one thing you can be sure of: no one loves her as much as collei does. loud gang #1

arataki itto: if tanaka ryuunosuke grew out his hair and got a wacky fashion sense. and started a band? loud gang #2

barbara: if u sing one more time i swear to fucki-

beidou: hot pirate captain lady who WILL complain about being on land 99% of the time. best character

bennett: no one likes you bennett. seriously no one likes you. i am so sorry. fischl doesn't count

chongyun: looks like he just saw a ghost

collei: #1 amber stan

diluc: is it the trauma, the wine, or the shit-faced brother that made you this way?

diona: the least important character ? alcoholic catgirl minor?

dori: will scam you faster than you can say "mora"

eula: should become big sister figure to noelle.

fischl: holy SHIT girl FUCK honorary loud gang because she just talks a shit ton.

ganyu: of course i didn't forget your name! mommy - sorry -

gorou: now THAT's a crop top if i ever seen one. also what kinda fucking combo is bow & geo. shoulda given bro a slingshot

hu tao: girl put your thighs away. pinterest is bein a bit .........

jean: literally an overworked office wagey with a sword. in charge of like protecting the whole country or whatever

kaedehara kazuha: lalala poet in the breeze lalalaa his best friend Died for anarchy

kaeya: probably a lying piece of shit but we all want to date him anyways. also why half of us stuck to the game through prologue

kamisato ayaka: ⚠ WILL JUMP IN RIVER WITH SOCKS ON ⚠

kamisato ayato: who is never relevent

keqing: The cat girl. literal badass. she, like, has a sword, and like, swings it around, and like, BAM

klee: who raised this

kujou sara: if you didn't believe in tsunderes before ??

kuki shinobu: BEAST of a healer but literally kills herself to do it?? kinda questionable. good itto babysitter

lisa: *moans, through into jean's window*

mona: the CONSTELLATION DIVINATIONS BROOO let's just say the sprinting patch changed the GAME

ningguang: now why the fuck are you a 4*

noelle: BEST girl and i say this as a zhongli haver so i am allowed to

qiqi: oh dear. a zombie. who did this? hu tao? hu tao! come and get your failed sword-wielding experiment

raiden shogun: bestie's got like. a god complex

razor: bro lived with wolves give him a break

rosario: this is what goths are going for

sanganomiya kokomi: 🐬🦐🦑🐠🐟fish🐟🐟🐟 fish

sayu: BAKUGAN IRL

shenhe: literal wine aunt except the wine is like. grass or something.

shikanoin heizou: L Lawliet lovers look no further

sucrose: absolutely irrelevent #3 ????

tartaglia: there's dangerous men and then there's attempting mass homocide. where do y'all draw the line

thoma: sweet. sweetest. sweetest best boy ever. if he were a cat i would pet him and stuff

tighnari: spoiler they never explain the ears

venti: we all know he's drunk. what we don't talk about is the. is the. uhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh questionable behaviour at all times ?

xiangling: she makes good food but PLEASE don't make me talk to her directly. loud gang #??? lost count

xiao: be honest, xiao. do you listen to mcr. do you listen to fall out boy

xingqiu: erudite stuck up rich kid

xinyan: what in the WORLd does the accent have to do with rock music, and why is the only character with colored skin also irrelevent #4???

yae miko: her voice will knock the wind out of you. did i just reveal something about myself by saying that

yanfei: fischl and her should make a club. except she talks a lot because she KNOWS a lot so i respect it

yelan: that's not xingqiu?????

yoimiya: beloved loud gang member

yun jin: very very very very cool addition to the game

zhongli: last and opposite of least we have the lazy geodaddy. i mean just look at the statues of the seven he is MANSPREADING like the chair was built for it. like he wants someone to SIT on him.

disclaimer that all was meant in good humour pls laugh and if u do, reblog

[astro-rain]

delicate; b.barnes

chapter one - “to wakanda”

delicate masterlist

word count: 1.5k

synopsis: reader works for what used to be shield as a highly skilled neuropsychologist. after the events in vienna involving the sokovia accords and a bombing, she gets an interesting request from friend and coworker sharon carter...a request involving none other than steve rogers and james barnes.

warnings: brief and indirect mentions of abuse/trauma

pairings: bucky x fem!reader

"I don't know Sharon. Are you sure I'm really the right person for this? I'm not, like, an Avengers level tech. Are you sure they don't want a genius or someone like Stark to do it?"

"Well, Stark is pretty busy right now, and honestly, no one knows psych like you. Not who I've met anyway."

"That is so not true. I'm willing to bet there's tons of other people you guys got somewhere who are ten times what I am."

"Agent (Y/L/N), in case you missed it, SHIELD isn't what it used to be. Sure we have old agents who aren't formally 'SHIELD agents,' anymore, but we don't have the expendability we used to. You're our best bet at the moment."

"Damn. I'm your best bet. I'm sorry," she almost chuckled, but then she thought for a brief moment. "Are you sure this is completely necessary? I mean, I saw the photo on the news. The quality's poor at best, and..."

She leaned in, discretely, and whispered.

"...not to seem like a conspiracy theorist commie or anything, but it kinda seems like people are jumping to conclusions here. Are we even sure it was Barnes who set off the bomb?"

Sharon looked around them, cautiously. No one seemed to be listening, but she scanned the room like her life as she knew it was hanging in the balance. She weighed her words in her head, making sure she picked the right ones, then formulated a response appropriate.

"Regardless of if it was him or not, Barnes still escaped. and before that, Ste-we'd been looking for him for almost two years. This analysis is necessary," Sharon brought her voice down even lower. "At least that's what I keep being told. Of course I'd like there to be more solid proof, but I'm not in charge here. He's gone, and they want to be able to find him and 'sort things out.'"

"'Sort things out,'" (Y/N) repeated, questioning the genuineness of whomever told Sharon that. "Unless they have hard evidence that it was him who set off the bomb in Vienna, shouldn't they leave that to uh...Captain America?"

She wondered how Barnes was able to escape in the first place. She saw the containment module he was in; there's no way he could've gotten out without a fight. ...But maybe it wasn't a fight. Perhaps it was a trigger word induced rage. (Y/N) understood a basic layout of the "Winter Soldier." SHIELD would've kept any information they had classified. However, after the fiasco in Washington, d.c. with Hydra and the whole releasing of all files predicament, she was able, with Sharon's help, to put together a simple outline. With that being said, he couldn't have broken out without going Winter Soldier mode. But doesn't someone need the trigger words for that?

“That's what a reasonable person would think, but once again, I'm not in charge," Sharon shrugged. "Things would probably be going a lot smoother if I was, but you can't have everything."

(Y/N) cracked a smile. Sharon was a friend, and a good one too. They'd known each other since before SHIELD was shattered in 2014. In fact, Sharon helped train her.

The only thing was: Sharon was a higher ranking agent and often withheld certain information from (Y/N). It frustrated her. This was where their personal boundaries got in the way of their professional ones.

She could tell there was something Sharon wasn't telling her, but she wasn't about to compromise either of their positions by pushing for information she wasn't supposed to know. Hell, maybe even Sharon knows something she isn't supposed to. Or maybe she knows something that Everett Ross wouldn't like. What if she was keeping something from him? Defying him? What if she was working with Steve Rogers? Now that would be interesting.

(Y/N) was used to secrets around her all the time. She knew Sharon had her fair share, and trying to figure them out wouldn't really get her anywhere.

"Right. Okay. Well, I'll get on this then. Thanks, Agent Carter," she teased in late response to Sharon's 'Agent (Y/N).’

Sharon offered a quick smile before walking off to attend to other business.

- - -

Pain. That was all it was. In every sense of the word. As she strenously made her way through the densely packed file of one James Buchanan Barnes, pain was all she could see. All she could read. It leaked out of the page and seeped into her skin like poison.

It was horrific what they did to him. She knew he had his memory wiped, had someone pull him out and stick someone else in. But it was more than just that. They took his past, his memories, his thoughts; and they ripped them from his mind, leaving an empty space to mold into their own. It was after this when Hydra, in every way they could, dehumanized him, made him less than. He was striped of his freedom, his control, his choice, his humanity, of everything that made him him. They beat and bruised and broke it out this empty human shell until he was nothing but a shadow of faded morality and consciousness.

But hell, she couldn't look away. She was glued to the aftershock of this horrible wreckage. All the years of studying Psychology and Neuroscience couldn't have possibly prepared her for the absolute horror that was his past, his abuse, his torture. It was heinous. Frankly, she questioned how he was still alive. How he still had the will and the drive to be alive. How do you live after that?

"Fuck," she breathed after eons of silence.

She seemed to lose her sense of time whilst she was immersed in the harrowing nightmare of Hydra's cruelty. 'Cruelty' doesn't even come close to doing it justice. When she came to, her desk looked like a bomb went off. Papers were bursting out of manilla folders, littering the linoleum surface with classified files and secret information. She leaned back in her chair, and gave herself a minute to debrief.

(Y/N) almost felt guilty, like she things she looked at were so vile, so violating that she didn't have the right to see them. Sure, she had read and analyzed all sorts of trauma and psychological profiles. But he was different. Something about James Barnes was different. It tangled her mind the fact that a person could endure all that. She could only imagine the effect that would have on the human brain. The possibilities are endless. Suddenly bombing the UN didn't seem so far fetched.

- - -

"Jesus Christ," (Y/N) murmured, staring at her office floor as Sharon finished explaining to her what happened at the Leipzig Halle Airport.

She sat mostly in silence as she pondered over the information just fed to her. Apparently Tony Stark gathered a 'team' to try and intercept Captain America - sorry - Steve Rogers and his (supposed) fugitive friend. It was chaos.

"What is this? Fuckin' Avengers Fight Night?" she wondered aloud. "How many people did you say were there?"

"Twelve total," Sharon clarified. "Five with Stark and five with Steve."

The psychologist shook her head, dumbfounded. "How did it end?"

"Steve and Barnes got out, but everyone else with them were captured and sent to the Raft."

"The Raft?!" (Y/N) exclaimed. "That's for, like, super humans! Not people like Sam Wilson or Clint Barton!"

"You're telling me."

Sharon seemed in agreement with everything she was saying. However, there was something she couldn't quite place. Like she was holding back. But holding back what?

"So what of Rogers and Barnes?" (Y/N) pushed.

Sharon got up and closed the office door before returning to her seat, leaning in, and lowering her voice. This secretive woman, god damn it.

"Well... That's what I came to talk to you about."

Oh boy. She didn't have a semblance of a single idea of what to expect. Apparently Sharon noticed.

"We're the only ones that know this. They're fine..." the agent trailed off, "They're in Wakanda, but they need a little help."

"Are you leaving?!" (Y/N) all but yelled before quickly slapping a hand over her mouth and uncovering it only to whisper, "Do you and Rogers have a thing or something? Cause' I don't know how else you would know all of this when I'm sure that no one else does considering he's now an enemy of several governments!"

"My relations with Steve Rogers are not the focus here." She could've sworn Sharon flushed. "But we have been in contact; I'm one of the few people he can trust right now, and I don't plan on letting him down anytime soon."

They totally have a thing.

"Noted," said (Y/N) with a nod, "but why are you telling me this? Does he want the profile analysis or something? I don't see how he would need it if he's known Barnes for however long."

"Not exactly..." Sharon fidgeted with her hands. "We need you to go to Wakanda.”

-

[A/N:] this is a repost of chapter 1 because my masterlist is being fucky

[corysmiles]

Part 2 of the SBI rust g/t prompt! :]

----

2 days later, he returned.

Once again, it took Tommy all the self control he could muster not to hug wilbur with his hand when he saw him. Wilbur chuckled and sat down, closer to the giant, he found.

Most of the visit, and the one that would follow, had Wilbur looking through old scientific researches, noting down important info in his book, and talking to Tommy.

And everytime, Tommy brought his hand to Wilbur's head and did what he would later call 'mini cuddles'.

"You like doing that stuff, do you?"

"Been so long since I had a proper hug. My mom used to do that kinda stuff when I was younger."

Wilbur widened at the quiet, hoarse voice.

"... Oh?"

"Yeah." Tommy added, and goodness, he sounded so young. "It was nice... I miss it."

"It's... probably not easy to get a good hug in your conditions." He tried lightning the mood.

"... you're right."

Shit.

That was... very awkward.

Wilbur didn't know how to handle that.

"... I really miss it."

He groaned internaly. What was he supposed to do??!?!? He was very glad when he got away from his house, and disasters kept happening so he didn't have to worry about family dinners. How was he supposed to deal with a kid that missed his parents?!

"Well, um..." he tried, not having a clue where this was going. "At least you're..... not.... alone?" Wonderful start, Wilbur. "I'm keeping you company if that's anything..."

Silence drew out. It was really, really, awkward.

"... Yeah." Tommy nodded ever so slightly. "... Can I try to hug you?"

Wilbur's breath got caught in his throat.

A hug. As in, close to his chest. As in, carried by the giant. As in, a good dozen feet away from the ground with little to no freedom of movement....

Oh hell no, he thought.

"Suuuuuuuuure?" He replied.

Tommy smiled, and he tried offering one back. "Just be careful, please." He added.

"Okay." He said.

Then, a hand thrice his size came for him. He closed his eyes as fingers wrapped around him like a blanket and he was brought off the ground.

He felt movement until a fabric, which he deduced was a shirt. He was softly pressed against it as the hand rubbed against him.

That... was.... weird. Weird was a good word to describe it.

Slowly, he brought his hands in front of the mass in a pitiful attempt to embrace it. It probably looked comical.

He felt Tommy's second hand coming and cupping the first. It... didn't feel awful. Weird, sure, but not awful.

After a few minutes that seemed an eternity to the human, he was brought down to the ground. When he saw the giant's expression, it had a smile on it.

"Thank you Wilbur."

"..No problem."

The rest of that day was spent reading the documents and doing lighter conversations with the teen.

---

3 days, 2 days, 2 days, 2 days, 3 days, 1 day, 3 days, 1 day, 2 days, 1 day....

Turned out, there was a whole fucking lot of papers to read.

But Wilbur didn't mind going back to the Dome every other day.

And he didn't mind the company there.

But he was determined to finish his researches today.

Which made Tommy's more often intervention particularly annoying today.

"So, they messed up with like, nuclear shit?"

"No, no. The nuclear testings were 4 years prior to that, I told you already."

"But then how come the researches were public after this one??"

"They kept it to themselves, Tommy. Couldn't risk other countries knowing about such a thing."

"Well that's dumb."

"I'm not gonna be one to judge. Can I continue reading now?"

"Mmhh, I don't know, you've had your head stuck in the paper since you came."

"Tommy."

"Okay, okay. Geez."

"Thank you."

He read in silence, a small satisfaction building inside of Wilbur with each page closer to the end.

And he was really glad Tommy wasn't in a too rambly mood today. Sometimes, he would tell stories of when he was younger, or elaborate on random thoughts. It was nice and a wonderful occasion to know the teen better. Not to mention, the giant was very endearing. But today, all wilbur needed was calm and silence.

And he got silence.

As time went by, though, he felt eyes more and more insistant looking at him.

With a small grunt, he looked up and saw the face almost 5 time his size (could be more, he wasn't sure himself.) Looking indeed at him like he was trying to read his soul.

"What's up?" He tried not to be too aggressive in his tone. There was only 10 or so pages left.

"You know I was like you before."

A beat of silence. Then confusion.

"... what?"

"Finish your reading and I'll tell you about it. You want it done today."

Wow. Way to be passive agressive.

"... I..." wilbur sighed. "I can take the papers back home and study them there." He sighed, putting the small little pile down. He wouldn't get much sleep, tonight, would he? "What do you mean, you 'were like me'?"

Tommy smiled at Wilbur, though its joy dissapeared as quickly as it came. Melancholy or nostalgia perhaps.

"I used to be... you know... small." He used his hand to illustrate, having his thumb and pointing finger about the size of Wilbur apart.

".... Heh?"

"Yeah." He chuckled at the confusion. "I wasn't born like that."

The natural question followed.

"Then how...?? How did you get like that?"

Tommy looked almost sad as he said. "Well, what are the papers about?"

Wilbur frowned. He looked at the papers, and his book, and back at Tommy.

What are they about?? Well, obviously, about the incident that resulted in humanity's downfall and the mutation of a ton of-

Oh.

Mutation of-

"... you're a... mutan?" He tried. That sounded weird on his tongue, but that was the only word that applied.

"Victim of a bunch of weird radiations. It almost sounds like a movie speech if you present it right."

Wilbur only looked at him, mouth agape.

".... Huh."

Tommy chuckled humourlessly. "Yeah. I know.

It kinda fucked up everyone."

"Well... I feel like, in those circumstances, it gives you advantages of some kinds." Wilbur reassured.

"... mh. Not that great when I can't have a house that fits me, but..."

Wilbur looked around. "... the dome fits you."

"For now. I'm only, like, 16. I don't know how big I'll get."

"YOU'RE 16 YEARS OLD??!?!?"

Tommy tried really hard not to burst out laughing at the absolute shock. Hand rushing to cover his mouth.

"Mh-hm." He nodded, repressing his wheeze.

"Holy shit you're a FUCKING CHILD!!??!"

"I'm a teenager."

"YOU'RE A FUCKI- OH MY GOD."

Wilbur paced around the room as Tommy giggled in small bursts that vibrated through the brunette's body.

"A child. A child who turned into a fucking giant. And he's my neighbour. What the fuck. What the actual fuck."

"I thought you figured out, since you always call me a child."

"Everyone my younger by at least two years deserves that nickname- I knew you were young but holy shit-"

"Well, I'm almost a man if you take the old legal system."

"Yeah,right" he scoffed "the legal system that surely applies 8 years or so after turning into ruins- Wait."

Wilbur paled and he looked into giant blue eyes.

"... How long have you been alone?"

The silence covered the room like a suffocating mist.

Tommy's throat was tight, he tried a few times, opening and closing his mouth as nothing came of it. And his eyes were teary as he replied.

"Well... 8 years or so."

Oh.

Oh.

Oh goodness.

SOBS THIS IS SO GOOD

I love Wilbur being so shocked that tommys a kid but damn 8 years is so sad :”(

(Also here’s part 1)

[meltwonu]

| 🍒 CH-CH-CHERRY BOMB! 🍒 |     [CHAPTER 5]

pairing; dom!seungcheol x camgirl!reader

this chapter’s notes; camshow, use of toys(sybian), squirting, the long awaited chapter 5 😳💕 do they finally meet?!?!?!?! hehehehehehe also sorry for not being able to post this yesterday, had a busy week and when I tell ya I woke up at 3pm today 😗 💕💕💕💕 as always, thank you so much for your continued interest!! I'm already writing ch 6 and im SOOOO EXCITEDDDD hHEHEHEHEEHEH 💕💕💕💕💕 HAVE A GREAT REST OF YOUR WEEKENDS! 🍒 

chapters; 1 - 2 - 3 - 4 - 5 - ? 

“You guys! I--you have to see this!”

You can’t wipe the smile off of your face when you shimmy to the side, excitedly showing off the new gift that Seungcheol had sent in the mail.

sleepy_wonu: holy hell

universe_WZ: that mustve costed hella

alphagyu97: nothin like feelin extra poor amirite lads

angelhan: it was only a matter of time before dom.cheol was untouchable lol 

You giggle slightly as you adjust the camera so that you and your new sybian are in frame. “Hey~ Don’t say that!! Y’know it’s not the amount of money you spend on me… I’m glad you guys are always here with me~” The sound of coins clinking goes off in the back as you read a few more comments.

dom.cheol: well princess, don’t u wanna show them how you use your new toy? ;)

tangerine_kwan: fuck i bet it can get u to cum so fuckin fast

hoshi_tiger_xx: yessss

dom.cheol has donated $100

hoshi_tiger_xx has donated $50

“Hmm~ How many times do you think I can cum with this? Oh! Why don’t we do this~” You pause, sliding your wet panties down your legs before tossing the material to the side. You grin, swinging a leg over the toy until you’re straddling it. “Rapid fire question! Whoever guesses the right amount of orgasms I can take before I call quits… Wins a special unreleased photoset of me! Go!”

dom.cheol: 5

universe_WZ: 4

sleepy_wonu: 6

angelhan: 3 artist8hao: 5

alphagyu97: everyone took all the good numbers already!!! 7!!!!!

gentleman_josh95: DMAN IT 3

tangerine_kwan: 8, fuck

kitty_junjun: ugh i was gonna say 4!!!!

xcaliburDK: i was gonna say 5!!!!

therealchan99: 2? thats so low tho….

chwenon: as if anyone is gonna say 1, lmao. Uh 6…. If sleepy_wonu happens to disappear

hoshi_tiger_xx: im gonna say 10, but… seems… risky

Reaching for the remote, you situate yourself until the raised part of the toy sits directly on your clit. A shiver runs up your spine at the feeling; already excited for what’s in store. “Um, to be fair I haven’t tried it myself yet so I’m not sure either... Hehe, but I guess we’ll find out together, huh?”

Gulping, you set the sybian to its lowest setting, the air getting knocked out of your lungs immediately as your body lurches forward. “H--holy shit!” The vibrations are already harsh on the lowest setting; your fingers gripping the remote tightly as you try to adjust to the feeling. “O--oh my g-god, I--”

dom.cheol: aww can ur cute lil clit take it?

xcaliburDK: maybe one of the lower numbers was right lol…

The moans spill freely from your lips, garbled noises getting lost in the mix when you start to grind against the vibration. “Fuck, it--it feels suh--so good, hah, already feel like ‘m gonna cum…” You whine, already getting lost in the pleasure. For a second, you’re tempted to raise the vibration intensity but you hold back, letting your wetness coat the toy as you continue to grind down onto it. The sound of donations and comments sound fuzzy to your ears; only the sound of the sybian buzzing reminding you that the camera was still even on.

“Ngh, g-god, I’m--I’m gonna cum!”

tangerine_kwan has donated $75

xcaliburDK has donated $50

dom.cheol has donated $200

dom.cheol: cmon, lets see that pretty pussy cum

Your legs shake as you cum, only a squeak coming out of your mouth as you lurch forward atop the toy. The grip you have on the remote loosens while simultaneously trying to turn it off in the midst of your orgasm.

dom.cheol: awww cumming so hard on the first setting? Cute

therealchan99: lol baby is in trouble now

angelhan: maybe 3 was right lmao

“I--a-ah, fu--fuck!” You cry, shaky fingers finally managing to shut the toy off. Your body immediately untenses; chest heaving with how sensitive you already were and it had only been your first orgasm and the lowest setting of the toy. “O-oh my g-god, I--I didn’t know i-it was that s-strong…” You mumble, body buzzing with the remnants of your orgasm.

sleepy_wonu: well mr dom.cheol did pay top dollar

gentleman_josh95: imagine if u had this for yesterdays show lol

“Oh god, if--if I had this for yesterday’s show, I would’ve been too boneless to do today’s show!” You laugh airily, slowly grinding against the toy already. “It feels really nice though… I’m already super curious about how strong the other settings are…” Trailing off, you reach for the remote again, throat dry as you fiddle with the knob.

kitty_junjun: what if u set it to the max setting

chwenon: idk if her cute lil body could take it

dom.cheol: its okay baby, take ur time. I wanna see how sensitive that pussy of yours can get

“But ‘m already so sensitive~ I dunno how much more I can take~” You tease, biting your lip when all the comments flooding the chat are words of encouragement.

You knew when you started camming that it’d be no easy job. Building up your fanbase and subscriber count had taken you months upon months to even get within the thousands and camming was physically exhausting. Some days your viewer counts were low and some days they were above average and sometimes you didn’t make as much in one show than another.

tangerine_kwan: was therealchan99 right with 2 then? Heh

therealchan99: finally FINALLY ITS MY TIME TO SHINE

Giggling, you slowly start turning the knob; body twitching when the vibrations kick in at full force.

Seungcheol watches in amazement at the way your body jerks atop the machine.

He can see the way your legs twitch unbearably when you cum for the third time; your brows furrowed at the intensity of the vibrations and your taut body when you can barely manage to turn the machine off.

Licking his lips, he slowly thrusts up into his closed palm, spreading the precum down his shaft as he watches you catch your breath.

“I--ngh, fuh--fuck, I---I don’t--don’t know if I--I can cum a-again…”

Seungcheol moans at your breathy whimpers; the arousal in his body pooling up quickly when he sees the fucked out expression in your eyes. His eyes flit to the wetness that coats the silicone portion of the toy, smirking when he realizes how much you really seemed to enjoy the gift he’d gotten you.

Mentally patting himself on the back, he praises himself for making the right decision.

angelhan: please tlel me im the winner im begging

universe_WZ: NO

dom.cheol: is the princess tired already? ;)

You catch your breath, not wanting to give up despite how fuzzy your head was getting and how much your body was buzzing. “I dunno… We still haven’t tried the last setting, you guys… And I’m just so curious...” You whisper, hazy eyes staring into the camera.

hoshi_tiger_xx: god u look so pretty like this, all fucked out

artis8hao: right? fuck, id kill to be that guy who can get u off like this

xcaliburDK: goddamn same

The sound of coins clinking mixes with the ringing in your ears; fingertips already on the knob of the remote.

You take a deep breath, letting the adrenaline kick in as you quickly set the knob to the highest setting, a high pitched cry spilling from your lips when you let go of the remote in favor of holding onto the machine instead. Grinding down onto it, you meet the toy's harsh vibrations as it quickly forces another orgasm out of you in the matter of seconds.

Choked cries spill from your lips as your entire body tenses up; body twitching uncontrollably as you cum for the fourth time. You lean back with whatever energy you have left, bracing yourself on the back of the toy as you relieve your swollen clit of the buzzing machine. Your orgasm refuses to stop and you can already tell how obscenely wet everything’s gotten when your head starts to clear.

alphagyu97: fuck you squirted all over the toy baby

universe_WZ: fuck fucki fuck

universe_WZ: wait did i winf kjfhdsjk

You shakily slide off of the machine, resting on your side as the machine still buzzes with life next to you. Your entire body won’t stop shaking, head muddled as you fight the urge to shut your eyes and sleep for the next 5 days. “I’m--I--” You whimper, still feeling the phantom vibrations between your legs.

“I--ho--holy fuck, I, w-wow, I--I don’t--that--I’m, I’m just… wow.”

dom.cheol has donated $400

dom.cheol: knew you’d like it ;)

universe_WZ: THAT MEANS I WON

universe_WZ has donated $150

angelhan has donated $150

therealchan99: well, at least some of us got close

hoshi_tiger_xx: fuckin speak for urself man i said /10/

You end the show after letting ‘universe_WZ’ know you’ll contact him soon, shutting your eyes as you lay on your soiled sheets.

You can still feel your fingertips twitching when your eyes slide shut, chest heaving in deep breaths as you try to relax yourself, momentarily cursing yourself for pushing your body too far for tonight’s show. 

Groaning, you reach for your phone, the screen lighting up with a text from Seungcheol, a simple ‘don’t forget to drink water ;)’ in your notifications and you can’t help but pout.

Seungcheol was nice, almost too nice. Definitely not in a murderer kinda way though, you think. 

He bought you expensive gifts and never asked for anything in return which made you feel bad sometimes. And while the donations and tips you’d made through your camshows was enough to get by with, Seungcheol’s generous donations helped you always make your rent and bills on time without worrying if you’d have enough or not.

You quickly text him back with a smile on your face; hoping that he’ll like what you had to offer.

Seungcheol feels the exact same way he did when you first contacted him offering him a free show, except maybe ten times worse. At first, he’d been a little sad that he hadn’t won your quick little game but this made up for it 20-fold.

The six simple words read ‘want to meet up next friday?’, a small heart emoji next to the question and he’d almost thrown his phone when he read it, hands shakily responding with a simple ‘I’d love to.’ to make it seem like he was calm when he was most definitely not.

His immediate next order of business after replying was to text Namjoon despite how late into the night it already was, begging for the day off and offering to take any shifts or pay cuts in exchange for it. 

All he needed was one day and he swore he’d never miss a day of work ever again.

Namjoon responds with a quick ‘sure, why not’, momentarily confusing him as to why his boss was awake while simultaneously sending Seungcheol into complete panic when he realizes he finally gets to meet you.

The week goes by extremely quickly to Seungcheol; his mood on a completely different level when he offers to pick up Yoongi’s Sunday shift without a complaint. He cleans up all the messes around the roller rink and even offers to do jobs that aren’t his which have Jeongguk raising a brow at the older male.

In the days that lead up to your meeting, Seungcheol looks up a few cafes that you might be interested in and even goes to get an STD exam, not that he’s expecting anything. Safety first, he says.

Your Wednesday show comes and goes, Seungcheol too excited to even get off when he watches you and he even donates an extra $600 at the end of the show; travel spending money, he offers.

And Thursday comes without a hitch and he all but skips to the employee backroom once his shift is over, humming a tune while he changes out of his uniform.

“Hey hyung, no offense, but are you okay?” Jeongguk rests against the locker next to Seungcheol’s open one, brow raised at the blue haired male that beams back at him. “I’m scared, why are you so… giddy. You even offered to take Yoongi-hyung’s weekend shift? What the hell was that about? I’ve never seen him that giddy either.  Man, this place is getting weird, maybe I should quit...”

Seungcheol can’t help but laugh, patting Jeongguk on the shoulder before shutting his locker.

“I have an important meeting tomorrow, that’s all. And don’t quit, ‘cause who else is gonna give me free food.”

While the excitement had him since Saturday, now that it was finally Friday, he was downright nervous.

The two of you had agreed to meet at 2PM in front of the cafe that Seungcheol had picked out and you’d gotten a hotel in town to make it easier on yourself instead of trying to get back to your place too late. Seungcheol had offered to come pick you up, but you had politely declined; instead opting to meet him first before letting him do anything else for you.

And by nature, Seungcheol gets to the cafe 15 minutes early, fidgeting and continuously running his fingers through his hair as he patiently waits. He can feel his palms getting sweaty when he rubs them against his jeans, mentally trying to keep calm and his head floods with all sorts of thoughts; mainly, how he even got into this position with you in the first place. And he gets so distracted that he doesn’t realize you’d be standing watching him zone out for the last 5 minutes.

“Wow, not sure what’s got you so focused but you’re standing so still!”

Seungcheol hears your cute airy laugh that follows, a cherry blush on his cheeks when his eyes meet your smiling face. “I--oh my god…” He whispers, taking in your appearance.

He feels his face buzzing, fingers twitching when he sees you in a cute simple  sundress. “W-wow, you--you’re just… so beautiful. I mean, you’re beautiful on cam too but just, wow, in person? Incredible.” The blush reaches his ears when he realizes he’s rambling, a nervous laugh spilling out of his lips.

“S--sorry, I, uh, usually I’m more chill than this but y’know…” He trails off, to which you nod. You step closer to Seungcheol and he gets a hint of your sweet smelling perfume, mentally groaning when your cute eyes peer up into his.

“That’s okay! I totally understand~ I’m kinda nervous myself too, to be honest…” You pause, a pink blush coating your own cheeks. “But let’s talk over some food, huh?”

Seungcheol doesn’t want to pry, but he’s not sure if he should address you as ‘Cherry’ in person, or if he should avoid calling you by anything at all.

He watches as you go through the cafe’s menu, biting the inside of his cheek as he itches to ask.

“‘Cheol… I can feel you staring, y’know.. Penny for your thoughts?” You ask, concerned eyes meeting his nervous ones.

“I just-- Sorry, I didn’t mean to be awkward, I just was wondering how I should address you in person? I don’t want to overstep my bounds, I know you don’t put your real name out there so…”

You place your menu down, closing it before leaning on your palms atop the small table. Seungcheol is cute, too cute, you think. You knew this would be a question when the two of you eventually met and you had given yourself the time to get used to the idea that he’d know your real name.

He eyes hyperfocus on your glossy lips, watching as you say your name for him for the first time.

Seungcheol’s heart threatens to beat out of his chest when he hears it; repeating it over and over in his head before he says it out loud.

“Wow, it sounds nice when it’s you saying it~” You tease, leaning back in your chair. “I don’t mind if you call me by my name, by the way! The pet names are cute but maybe we should keep that to the bedroom~” You end in a whisper, winking at the male.

Fuck, he thinks, just as his cock throbs at your comment. He really wishes you wouldn’t say things like that because he’s weak and he knows it, especially when it comes to you. “Okay, cool! Yeah, sorry, I just---I didn’t want to overstep, I know you don’t really let that be public information.”

“Of course! And thank you, I really can’t tell you how much you’ve done for me. I really… really wouldn’t be able to do all the things that I do if it weren’t for your constant support.”

You want to say more, but the waiter comes to take your orders, cutting you off until he leaves again.

“By the way…” Seungcheol looks at you with curious eyes, lips puckered around his drink straw. “Tell me about yourself, ‘Cheollie! I feel like we didn’t really get to talk that one time!”

He swallows the water in his mouth, licking his dry lips. Here goes nothing, he thinks.

“I swear, and please don’t think I’m a loser, but I--I work at a roller rink. It’s really not cool, I’m not some high paid CEO or whatever, I--I just, I work hard?” Seungcheol chuckles, running a hand through his hair as he waits for your reply.

“Wait, that’s so cool! Oh my gosh, I kinda wanna go!”

The surprise washes over Seungcheol, eyes wide as saucers when he hears you saying you’d want to visit his workplace. “Wuh---wait, seriously!?”

“Yeah! It’s kinda, like, retro! I haven’t been to one since I was a kid!” He quickly offers to bring you to the roller rink on Sunday so you could have somewhere to hang out while you were in town.

“And sadly, I took a shift on Sunday so you can hang with me while I work.” 

Seungcheol grins, watching as you jokingly roll your eyes at him. “So you did it on purpose, huh…” The two of you share a laugh, glad that your first meeting seemed to be going okay so far.

“Well, I mean, if it makes you feel any better, my best friend works the concession stand so I’ll make sure to get you a free pair of skates and food whenever you want?”

“It’s a deal!”

The two of you continue to talk over your late lunch, Seungcheol telling you of the various work hijinks he’d gone through at his time working at the roller rink.

“Which, by the way, that morning show you did… Hope you know I holed up in the restroom for an entire hour for that ‘lil stunt.”

You can’t help the tears that fall from your eyes when you laugh, only feeling slightly bad for the blue haired male. “But I told you! Sometimes it’s just like that, y’know~” You tease back, heart blooming at the way you and Seungcheol got along.

In all honesty, there’d been something on your mind since you first sat down and you didn’t know when the right time to ask was, or if it was even appropriate.

The smile slips from your face as you bite the inside of your cheek in thought.

Seungcheol takes the bill from the waiter, slipping his card into the holder before you can even offer. But he notices the way your expression falls, noting the hesitance in your eyes when he looks at you from across the table.

“Are you okay? What’s wrong?” His voice is gentle, soft and caring when he leans over the table to make sure you’re alright.

“Yeah! Just---Can I ask you for a favor?”

[helplessly-johnlocked]

T6T is a message for TJLCers

I was rewatching The Six Tatchers and noticed that, from the very beginning, there were subtle messages directed to us via Sherlock.

In this meta I’ll try to show you the most noticeable examples of that, so welcome to my first analysis of Sherlock. 

1.  One of the first lines we have in the episode, “that’s not what happened at all’’.

We are Sherlock and Mycroft and his super secret gang are Mofftiss.

This may be one of the most blatant evidence, as a lot of us have already pointed out in emp theory or john’s tab theory.

Here, Mofftiss the “British Government” is showing us Sherlock fake footage. Sherlock, or rather us, immediately knows that all of that isn’t real, it’s made up. It’s a distorted version of reality.

Despite us Sherlock knowing and saying it’s fake, Mofftiss Mycroft carries on with the lie, telling us that now, it is the only truth.

2.  Mofftiss’ plans

We are Sherlock and Moriarty is Mofftiss (how ironic, huh)

Moriarty Mofftiss filmed the message the series/lost especial before (t)he(y) “died”, dying as of disappearing. Now they are ghosts, lurking in the dark and making our pain prologue more and more, waiting for the perfect moment to announce the fifth season.

Lady Smallwood: You also say you know what he’s going to do next. What does that mean?

We know what Mofftiss are going to do, we know tjlc is the endgame of the series, even though Moffat and Gatiss themselves refuse to explicitly tell us.

Sr. Edwin: Perhaps that’s all there is to it. Perhaps he was just trying to frighten you.

Sherlock: No, no, he would never be that disappointing. He’s planned something, something long term.

They are trying to convince us that that’s all there is to it, that s4 is all we have, and we’ll just have to take it on the chin. But we know that they would never do that, they aren’t that disappointing, they are Mark Gatiss and Steven Moffat for God’s sakes! They’d never do that to us, they’d never queerbait. 

They have planned something (johnlock) from the beginning of the series, since the gay pilot. And those plans are still on. 

3.  Our plans

“What are we going to do in this long, exhausting hiatus?”

Well, what we’ve always done. We are the targets, targets wait, right? Mofftiss are the owners of Sherlock and we have to wait until they decide to start again.

But in the (painful) meanwhile, we’ll do what we are excellent at: we’ll rewatch the series again and again and go deep into the incredible layers of subtext.

4.  Trick? Obviously

The trick is the released season four and the surprise is our predicted season four.

Sherlock: The trick was meant to be a surprise.

Mr. and Mrs. Welsborough: Trick?

Sherlock: Obviously.

The trick aired S4 was meant to be the foretold s4 a surprise (not to us, obviously, we knew what was going to happen, but rather to casuals and antis); but in the end, it didn’t take place. 

The surprise expected season didn’t get executed, we didn’t have the explicit Johnlock we were hoping for. But we know that, unlike Charlie’s surprise, which didn’t happen; we will get our so deserved happy ending, with TJLC finally confirmed and Sherlock and John parenting Rosie as a happy couple.

5.  Acronyms

Sherlock: AGRA’s an acronym.

Mycroft: Oh, good. I love an acronym. All the best secret societies have them.

Well well, how do I start with this? It is clearly and blatantly about TJLC.

This scene works similar to the group of women in TAB and Chris Melas, Mofftiss are telling us they know about us, they know who we are, and they like us.

Mycroft (Mark) is not only saying he loves acronyms, but he also thinks that all the best societies have one! And even better, he is holding a pen!!

Ladies and gentlemen, this is evidently Mark Gatiss himself  telling us he knows and appreciates TJLCers, this is him saying all of that directly to us, this time not even through Sherlock.

6.  The butcher’s

Sherlock is we are more than certain that it has to be a ploy made to confuse and mislead us.

Season four is too bizarre, too baroque, even Bond-esque and with countless plotholes. It has to be fake, IT IS FAKE. There is no other explanation to its fuckiness and nonsense.

It is also a rope to put our neck into, it’s a test we have to pass. And in a way, we like it, we have fun making theories and writing amazing metas; we enjoy it, that’s how we are. Just like Sherlock.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Well, here finishes my first meta (omg I thought I’d never be writintig that). This was all I could extract from the episode, I hope you’ve liked it!! If there is anything more you’ve noticed about T6T, please let me know. I’ll be more than glad to hear it.

I’ll leave some ‘must read’ links to emp and john’s tab theories:

John’s alibi masterposts by @/inevitably-johnlocked: link one / link two / link three

EMP huge masterpost by @/monikakrasnorada: here

EMP Tumblr blog @/emplock: here

[fishmongeringstudies]

scene two, aka whatever is left of this air conditioning unit

this evening i microwaved my first cup of kraft instant mac and cheese. the print on the side said to stick it in the microwave for three and a half minutes and then add in the cheese and stir vigorously, so that's what i did, but when i took it out there was a frothy boiling mess on the glass plate and an ungodly amount of water left in the cup so i poured out half of the water and added the cheese and 'stirred vigorously' and the whole thing tasted kind of like if you tried to describe the experience of going on a rollercoaster to someone whose only experience with transport is a horse-drawn cart, by which i mean it wasn't terrible, because terrible implies that an effort was made to be good. it is my humble belief that kraft instant mac and cheese has never aspired towards anything.

this morning i woke up sweating. the rooms in this dorm don't have a/c, but at least they have me. unfortunately they are likely to not have me too very soon, precisely because they don't have a/c. in hot weather a/c and i imply each other like a pair of lovers in a horrible codependent relationship that starts out on the best possible foot and starts to worry their friends and family when both of them go missing for three weeks at a time and are found in some dingy motel next to the movie theater drinking dorito-infused sprite while marathoning old animated barbie movies and eventually ends with one party riding off into the sunset on a stolen e-scooter and the other one becoming a fitness influencer on instagram. instagram is useful for some things like stalking people you might want to kidnap and stick in your basement for a few days and contacting friends who have progressed past the need for neanderthal-style text messaging. fitness influencers are not one of those things.

did you know? there were a hundred and forty-four freshmen on campus this spring. according to the corny welcome to the class of 2024 post on the admissions blog, there are three hundred and seventy-three of us in total. i stuck the numbers in the calculator app because i have progressed past the need for neanderthal-style quick math; that's thirty-eight percent. did you know? i've been a college student for a year now, and i've only met thirty-eight percent of my own class.

not to be dramatic, but i'm aggressively stirring another cup of kraft instant mac and cheese right now. not to be dramatic but i've stuck a body in your basement. it's a promise ring. what am i promising? i'm promising i'll come see you.

i think if i get a car i will feel like a real american. of course i will never be a real american because 1) i spent eighteen years living in singapore and 2) i have the spiritual capacity of a well-endowed british opera singer and 3) i don't actually want to be one but the idea has its appeals, like pretending you're part of a group with an identity that isn't an obscure gender alignment (chicken) you came up with on the fly (see? chicken). improvisation has always been my strong suit (for my january term class we had to post self-intros on moodle and for my interesting skill i said i was good at improvisational running. someone commented asking me what improvisational running was. i said i could start running at very unexpected times of the day, like in the lunch line or in the middle of an x-ray examination or while i'm brushing my teeth. this spring i've proven myself to be everything, it turns out, but a liar). forgetting where i started a sentence is also my strong suit. confrontation is not my strong suit.

maybe i should learn to drive. but who is going to teach me? every day we stray further from god, like little bath toys stuck in the pacific ocean getting fucked up by the dolphins, who have gotten bored with the lack of traffic recently and have decided to start their own acting troupe. i am writing this under the impression that there are dolphins in the pacific ocean. if i am wrong please do not correct me. ignorance is bliss. blocking the numbers of people who have set fire to your proverbial house (you live in a dorm room, after all, which doesn't count as a real place to come back to) in various interesting ways without meaning to is also bliss.

the mac and cheese was terrible. but all things are the first time you try them. like how your first novel is three pages long in papyrus font size fifteen on a word document your mom unearths a decade later when she's cleaning the hard drive on your computer. like how the first time you go to target by yourself you pin the wrong target on google maps and end up walking beside a highway getting blasted by fumes for half a mile instead of taking a nice cottagecore jaunt through the bougie neighborhood your school is located in. like how your first semester of college is this huge fucky clusterfuck of absolute horsefuckery that's so bad, even your older friends who've already done undergrad and grad school and passed out in a dumpster behind a denny's a few times in their lifetime are kind of impressed with you.

my first semester of college was a three hour dark souls speedrun. now we're stopping to enjoy the scenery. and what wonderful scenery it is! actually it's very bad. summer is boring because it reminds me of home and the geographical location of home is not itself very bad but i was very depressed for a while so the psychological associations will take a while to unlearn, like maybe five months or five decades. that's fine. i didn't come to america to get away from the monster under the bed. i am the monster. and now i am in america the world is the bed and did you know? i'm pretty tall. so it's fine. i'll break this bedframe. i'll shatter it to pieces.

05.22.21

[jake-marshall]

TGAAC: Adventures thoughts

So I finished game 1 last Saturday, and took a brief break from continuing so I could write a fic centered around it (won’t mention what character because ~Spoilers~), and will now continue on to game 2 starting today (albeit, I did start a little of game 2 last week but was so burned out from having marathoned Case 5, I didn’t really vibe with it so I’ll probably just start over).  Here are my, as well as my wife @morpheusdreamt ‘s (who watched parts with me) thoughts on the DGS/TGAAC 1, under the cut.  LOTS OF SPOILERS INCLUDED!  READ AT YOUR OWN RISK!

The Adventure of the Great Departure - discounting the fact that it’s the first case and therefore also a super-hand-holdy tutorial, I felt this was one of the stronger first cases in the whole series.  I really enjoyed Jezaill and Hosonaga, and just Kazuma and Ryuunosuke’s dynamic as a whole, even though I knew what was coming.  My complaint about this case was that it felt way too long for a first case - which, I mean, I get in hindsight because of needing to include the right amount of development between Kazuma and Ryuunosuke to make Kazuma’s death effective and to make it more believable that Ryuunosuke takes over as the main lawyer.   But also, it wasn’t satisfying to out Jezaill as the murder (even though I know she has a role in the second game) and then come to find out she probably won’t be punished for it. This lack of satisfaction became a sort of prevailing theme for me throughout the game. The Adventure of the Unbreakable Speckled Band - again, another tutorial case that felt way too long.  I’m pretty sure I was drinking the whole time I played this case, with Sholmes being the one to drive me to do it.  As with the first case, the characters stood out for me way more than the case itself. My favorite part of this was watching the bond form between Ryuunosuke and Susato.  As much as I also like Nikolina, I found this case overall to be fairly forgettable. The Adventure of the Runaway Room  - first of all, I haven’t replayed this since completing the game (and therefor completing case 5) but I feel it’s almost necessary to do so to fully grasp this case?  Which is, after having completed the game, something I really like about this case in particular.   I thought McGilded was a fantastic character (and not just because of his resemblence to Handsome Jack :p), and I knew we’d meet Gina and Van Zieks in this case, but I was still thrilled to have it happen.   Upon first playthrough, this case was like the others, extremely frustrating in the sense that I wasn’t really getting anywhere?  That the plot wasn’t going anywhere?  I mean, at least for me, I really had no clue as to how involved McGilded was in Mr. Mason’s death, so kudos to the writers in keeping me guessing.   Overall, this felt like a filler case until you get to the end and realize, oh shit.  It’s not, is it?  And then I wished I would’ve paid more attention to some details, so it’s definitely worth a replay. The Adventure of the Clouded Kokoro - But no, this is the filler case!  And I know some of the characters show up in the 2nd game, but oof.  There was very little I enjoyed about this case on an individual level, and I’m not one to get super salty about ~this is problematic~ but the consistent inclusion of joking about domestic violence made me uncomfortable.   Soseki was a fun character, but the Garridebs and Beates felt over-the-top, and, again, the fact that the attack was actually an accident just made this case feel like, ??? It made me wary of starting the 5th case.  I felt, there’s nowhere I’m going to come away from the game liking it more than “just alright”. The Adventure of the Unspeakable Story -  Let me start by just saying that this is one of my favorite cases in the entire series. So the only things I knew about this case going in was that Gina was the defendant and that Ashley was the killer, but I didn’t know anything regarding motive or his background, or Gina’s whole ordeal with McGilded. Both of their arcs spoke me to quite profoundly.  I thought Gina’s development and her fears and insecurities surrounding trust were so relateable, her self-loathing and resignation to never having anything in life go her way just because of her class.  Of her needing to look out for herself because no one else will, at least not without wanting anything in return.   Like dude, I was crying when she finally accepted Ryuunosuke’s offer to defend her. I don’t really see it brought up (and maybe I just haven’t looked hard enough) about how heavily it contrasts with Ashley’s story, of them both coming from a poor background and both clearly suffering from abandonment issues and how it’s molded them and their perspective on the world and the people in it.  I thought Ashley was so compelling, even though he starts off as a sort of caricature (which I gather was the intention).   His absolute contempt towards McGilded (and clearly at himself, by the end) was so palpable for me, and left me thinking about him and the case for days after completing it. I liked too, that for as many AA cases where the killer will be like “I’m so much ~smarter than you~”, Ashley actually does a pretty good job of backing it up, that it’s more show than tell (his making the deal with Gregson and the fact that what broke most of his testimony was the Skulkins and not things he himself said)  as it tends to be the other way around. I still want to know what went down in the bus between his dad and McGilded.  I have this terrible feeling that Mason went there to tell McGilded to leave his son alone and that he wouldn’t sell the disk.  Which would make it all worse, lol but I’m fine with that. Unless Gina undergoes some sort of terrible devolvement in the 2nd game, I can safely say that she and Ashley have become Top 10 all time AA characters for me, and that’s saying something considering how long and how deeply I’ve loved my faves from the original games. Anyway, getting back on point to the actual games and not just meta on the characters, I liked the pace that Case 5 progressed at, and how it had some expected twists and turns (like Sholmes’s appearance) that weren’t made any less enjoyable by being predictable.  And I didn’t find it terribly difficult but it was still outrageously fun (minus the stereoscope mechanic which I know is just a fucky misfortune given the game was originally designed to incorporate 3DS functions, which are obsolete on the Switch).  I just thought that Case 5 felt like everything that was right in the original series, both gameplay wise and story/character wise. Despite the fact that it hangs on a massive cliffhanger -__-  But luckily i don’t have to wait two years to play the 2nd game, lol. Maybe my opinion of this game will change after I play the 2nd game, but overall my feelings are that it’s enjoyable enough and if you like Ace Attorney, and you’re more invested in the main characters/their development you’ll like it/probably even love it.  For me, the fifth case and it tying together with the third case, specifically the affects it had Ryuu, Van Zieks, and Gina makes the rest of the game worth playing, but the rest of the cases are not as individually satisfying as many of the other cases in the AA series.   I would still recommend this, however, based on how eager it’s made me to want to play the second game opposed to just feeling like I went through all that for nothing (which is sort of my experience when I replay AJ or DD now, not that I still don’t love them).