#all of flintlock fortress is written at the bottom of my non-art to-do list (ie. the one with all the academic and life stuff in it)

[chiropteracupola]

I would LOVE to hear about assorted flintlock fortress and kissing the homies 2: bro hookup

FLINTLOCK FORTRESSSSSS!! because we haven't talked about this one in a while I shall give it a reintroduction -- this is @dxppercxdxver's and my yearslong project of putting the team fortress men in the 1770s-1790s and seeing what they do. so far this has included such fun activities such as 'we give everyone smallpox.' anyway here's our engineer heading north in search of his favorite seditious pamphleteer.

“I can fix that, if you’ll give me a hand.” “Think you can? Well, have at it, then,” said the carter, and Daniel Conagher knelt in the rutted road and put his hand to the stuck wheel. Not a broken axle, or a spoke put awry, but something in the mechanism gone wrong, something splintered and needing replacement. That was well enough — Daniel had mended wagons before, and with the carter there to be another hand to him, they two were hauling up the wagon from the ditch where it had lain slanted. “Turnabout’s fair play,” said the carter, swiping away sweat from beneath his hat. “I can’t pay you, but I can take you as far as Wilmington, if you’re going north by this road.” And he stretched out his hand to Daniel, and Daniel took it, and sat beside the carter on the bench as the road rolled on through forest and fen and farmland, up toward the city. Wilmington was a fine fair city, and Daniel found work soon enough, as clever young men often do in port towns. But the docks smelled of turpentine, barrels upon barrels of it, and with every surface he touched, his hand grew sticky with pitch and his clothing stained with tar. Besides, there was no work of the kind he wanted to do — no small things he might tinker and fiddle with, no type to set and no wheels to grease. At least there were the pamphlets, still — always with the little black unicorn stamped above the title, and always written in a way that made him want to jump up, and run, run, down the line of every word, until he found who it was at the end. It would be a long road yet before Daniel Conagher knew who had set the type and who had held the pen.

kissing the homies 2 is a sequel to a sharpe fic I've not yet finished, the entirety of which is likely going to be harris and cooper having bad mutually unsatisfying sex. and also harris wearing a dress.

“Well, if you wish it,” said Harris, a crooked smirk beginning to play about his mouth, and he took a deep drink from the flask still in his hand before he shoved it into Cooper’s hands. It was so sudden a movement that Cooper nearly dropped it, and would have wasted the rather soured rum for his clumsiness, if it were not for Perkins reaching to steady him. But he was looking up again, not paying attention to anything other than the sight of Harris with his hands all full of skirt, so that his hems were raised nearly to his knees.