#feels and brain cells on overdrive

[thesargasmicgoddess]

“I with a deeper instinct, choose a man who compels my strength, who makes enormous demands on me, who does not doubt my courage or my toughness, who does not believe me innocent or naïve, who has the courage to treat me like a woman.”

~Anaïs Nin

[lxvvie]

Price grunts when you first slide in.

No prep. Just enough lube. Needs to feel it all, needs his mind to go blank.

The Cap’n has his moments, hates it when his brain goes into overdrive. He ruminates, keeps doing it so much to his detriment, and he hates it sometimes. It keeps him from focusing on the more important decisions.

And that’s where you come in, sweetheart.

When you first brought this up, fucking him, Price was a little hesitant. To hell with it, he was very hesitant. Wasn’t used to the vulnerability that came with it but he trusted you. Implicitly. You hadn’t steered him wrong and his gut said you never would, and when you two first did it, well… let’s just say that the boys’ antics didn’t affect him. At all. For a while.

It’s been a staple of your sex life ever since.

And here he is now, brows furrowed, trying not to cum as you fuck him, trying to shift his thoughts to you moving inside him and—

“Stop.” Fuck.

You did without a moment’s hesitation. Price grunted. He was trying his damndest, trying not to cum, wanting the moment to last as long as possible but dammit, you weren’t helping any. He noticed you shivering and took inventory of the self restraint. Price knew you liked it when he took command; you always fell apart at the timbre of his voice.

You took him by surprise, however.

You knew he could only hold on but so much and orders be damned, you wanted your Cap’n to fall apart. And so you made him. You disobeyed him. Your thrusts were firmer, more… primal. Hitting that one spot, making his grunts and groans more apparent, having Price curse under his breath, teetering between maintaining and losing his composure. His eyes, hazy, hard, infatuated, obsessed—just like you like him—they never left yours. Like hell they would. He’d get his back and you couldn’t wait but fuck, darling.

He couldn’t—wouldn’t—touch his cock. Even if Price could, you wouldn’t let him. That need for control, fighting for power, made this all the more delicious for you both.

But two could play at this game.

”Shit—‘m fuckin’ close,” your Cap’n grunts out. There we go. You kept going, bring out every single damn thing in him, having his husky frame quaking, driving him crazy, and—

Price comes. He comes and stares you down. Comes so damn hard, mind blank, every single cell in his body thrumming. He’s sated, so fuckin’ full of you, so damn satisfied, breathless, tired, wanting more, wanting you. Atta boy, Cap’n.

But he’d get his back. All’s fair in love and war, beautiful. He presses your damp foreheads together.

“…Who told you to stop?”

And you smirk.

[stargildedskies]

I saw your dilf Veritas post and listen I had to hop in cause I am so damn hungry for this man istg

Anyway, I don't think I've seen anything in regards to the moment when Veritas loses his cool for maybe even the first time in his life. And that's the birth of his child. He has knowledge on birth and all about it but with that comes the knowledge about all that could go wrong and bro is stressing 🥲 he wants his beloved partner and his precious baby safe and sound and healthy. He also hates to see his partner in so much discomfort throughout all this

I have failed my fellow HSR cuties bc I have been HOARDING some delicious content in my drafts while waiting for the hyperfixation to return. Everyone thank @delirious-donna for pinging my last brain cell and reminding me that hoyoverse still exists 🙂‍↕️💕

Anywho..... Back to our scheduled simping!

Veritas is the man who always has a logical plan or a well-thought-out answer to everything. He is aloof at most times, able to step away from any situation happening in front of him so that he may analyze and produce the best course of action. He prides himself on his ability to organize his thoughts and process his feelings according to logic, oftentimes being the only person to take charge during emergencies. That is, until you wake up in the dead of night to find that your bedsheets are.... strangely damp? Oh shit.

Being the chronic over-planner, Veritas had your due date neatly penciled into his calendar for precisely two weeks from now, so when you tapped at his shoulder rather urgently, he was decently confused. "My darling, I know cravings are intense, but eating at this time of-"

You cut through his raspy, sleepy drawl- the same one you'd heard groaning obscenities against the shell of your ear as his son was conceived-" Veritas, the baby is coming."

His head twitched, raising off the pillow as if he needed both ears to hear what you were saying, "I, I apologize, but it sounded li-"

"Veritas. Get the bag. Our son is coming."

For the first time since you'd met the man, you swear that you can hear the subtle clicking of Veritas Ratio's mind running as he processes a set of data. During that particularly pregnant (ha) pause, you heard one distinct tick as he registered the condition of the bedding, and then the father of your child was immediately out of bed vaulting across the room.

A choice string of vehemently hushed obscenities falls from his lips as he snarls in frustration at all the extra fucking buckles on his goddamn pants that he's never noticed before and-

"Dear, just keep your sweatpants on. Just find a shirt and some shoes first, and then grab pants and shoes for me."

Your clear voice stops his thoughts on a dime. Of course, How had he not thought of that? His beloved wife was so brilliant.

For the first time in his entire life, Veritas's brain was simply on overdrive. His carefully separated thoughts and feelings were clashing with no intention of stopping, leaving the man on autopilot. If it were any other situation, you'd have been amused.

Veritas's mind snapped back to normal after you winced from a contraction as he helped you with your shoes. Knowing that you were in distress gave his mind the kick it needed to prioritize correctly again, and he got you to the hospital in record time.

Originally, you had planned to go to the hospital that was further away- the one Ratio didn't lecture at daily- but now that didn't seem like a possibility. Getting you comfortable as quickly as he could won by a mile in Ratio's list of priorities, so many heads turned in the Emergency Department as they suddenly heard their strictest professor's voice at three in the morning. Some twitched in their chairs, fully convinced they were in the throes of a nightmare as the widely respected, widely feared Doctor Veritas Ratio strode toward them at a breakneck pace in his pajamas.

"Mywifeishereandsheneedstobetakenuptoaroomimmediately."

The doctors glance at each other. From the sea of confused faces, that didn't make sense to anybody. "uh- sir?"

"My wife. Is here. She needs a room. Now." Veritas annunciated his words very slowly as if they were the densest people on the planet, which meant that he actually managed to speak his sentence at a somewhat normal pace.

As if to drive the point home, the nurse Veritas had left to gather your things and bring you in suddenly appeared, quickly wheeling you into the room. The staff paled as they noticed you groan softly in pain, one arm draped protectively over your heavily pregnant belly.

The medical team whisks you away to a delivery room, and Veritas is quickly thrown into an unfamiliar world. The man used to having decisive answers is sat squarely in a chair next to his wife's bedside, grasping her hand tightly as she cries out in pain. He can't stop thinking about all of the variables, all of the things that could go wrong- the way your face is scrunched up in agony- the knowledge that he's about to meet his son.

The thoughts continue on a revolving loop of horror and wonder until a shrill little cry pierces the air, and Veritas Ratio snaps to attention to meet his son for the first time.

[imastrangeone98]

Even after all this time, I am still so fucking unhinged about ✨boothill✨

I wrote a similar idea with Cyno from Genshin, but I just love the idea of a man going feral when their lover (aka YOU 😉) gets injured in any way... or even kidnapped

Boothill would be no different- the moment he sees even the slightest scratch on your cheek, his vision goes black. He's sniffing out the bastard who dared to lay a finger on you, brutal and unwavering in his hunt that lasts from sunup to sundown. He refuses to bend until it ends with a bullet in the asshole's head- what they dared to do to you, he'll do back to them, tenfold.

And heaven forbid you end up kidnapped- a bullet in the brain wouldn't even be enough to atone for the sin of taking you away from him. The blood and gore he would spill will fill oceans; no price is unthinkable for Boothill if it means that you will return to his arms, safe and sound.

And if it's Homecoming y/n, where the two of you only just reunited after believing the other died in the tragedy of your home planet.... They might as well count their days, because they are numbered.

As in, count each second they get to keep breathing- the next one will likely be their last.

He just got you back, after spending all these years believing you to be with his family in the eternal moon lily fields, and just the thought of having you ripped away from his arms once more is enough to break him permanently.

So when he returns to the now-shared ship and you do not rush to welcome him back like you normally do, that immediately sets him on edge. And when he tears the ship apart and finds a ransom note on your bunk instead of your warm body, his cybernetic brain instantly shuts down with the sheer overload of rage and insanity that swarms his neurochip.

A petal on his beloved moon lily has been torn.

A detestable, unforgivable sin.

His body works on overdrive- it helps that he's made of metal, because he works night and day without rest until he tracks down the hideout of those bastards who thought it'd be a smart idea to take you away.

Well, he can't say they're dumb- after all, they just figured out the fastest way to an early grave.

And that's a fact you too know all too well, judging by the bloodcurdling screams echoing through the hallways leading to your cell. In fact, you're almost grateful for the blindfold over your eyes, as there's no doubt blood soaking the metal floors.

The screams slowly begin to die out, one by one, leaving only the dull thud, thud, thud of heeled metal soles headed straight for you. There's a screech of metal, then a metallic warmth surrounding you. The familiar scent of gunpowder and cedar cologne clings to your nose, and you nearly buckle into Boothill's arms, shivering and weeping, clinging onto his shoulders.

"It's alright, now," he coos, making sure to wipe the blood on his hands before scooping you into his arms. "I'm here, moon lily. I ain't goin' nowhere."

(And it wouldn't be me without just the slightest touch of suggestiveness so...)

Clean from the blood and gore, Boothill gently tucks himself under your chin, nuzzling his nose into your neck, trying to remind himself that you're still here, you're still alive, you didn't slip from his fingers yet again.

If you did, only the aeons know what would happen to him.

"You saved me yet again," you coo, rubbing at the crease in his brows. "My hero."

"Sure as fudge don't feel like one," he mumbles, arms wrapping even more tightly around you. "I almost lost you. Again. I swore it wouldn't happen again, but-"

"But nothing. You found me. I'm safe and sound 'cause of you." You kiss the top of his head, moving down to his face to pepper his cheeks and forehead with more light kisses. "My brave cowboy. I'm alive all because of you. I must be the luckiest girl in the world."

Boothill finally melts under your affectionate administrations, tilting his head to meet your lips in a sweet kiss.

But you're wrong. Boothill knows that if anything, he's the one who's the luckiest in the world. You don't hate him for letting you be taken away, nor do you cower from his bloodstained hands. Instead, you embrace him with your soft arms wide open, with your even softer lips pressing hard against his own, and warm hands that tangle though his hair to keep him closer when he tries to pull away and give you some air. He feels the luckiest when you allow him to press against you even tighter, giving him access to the deepest parts of you, letting him see your bashful face, hear your sweet gasps and moans as he comforts you in the best way he knows how.

Boothill will never ask for anything more. All he needs is for you to be right here in his arms, forever his beautiful, strong, resilient moon lily. Forever his.

[lil-bitty-lubdubs]

The Basement Series:Septima pt.1

OK SO IM RESTARTING MY BASEMENT SERIES. IM DETERMINED TO FINISH IT. IVE HAD SOME IDEAS FLOATING AROUND MY HEAD FOR LIKE 3 OR 4 YEARS NOW. SO ILL REPOST THE OG WRITINGS AND THEN HOPEFULLY CONTINUE ON WITH THE NEW ADDITIONS. PLEASE ENJOY AND LIKE AND COMMENT. REBLOGS REALLY HELP TOO.

Always remember my stuff is dark cardio and resus!

~~~

She awoke slowly, the world coming into her consciousness at snail speeds. Her brain felt heavy as if cotton was stuffed into its membranes. Her vision foggy though every light about her shimmered too bright for her to directly look at. Her strength was sapped, too weak to even raise her head up off the floor…

            Table. It’s a table… or bed,  she told herself. She was too far up for it to be the floor. Where is this? It was a dark room. Windowless. High celling. A basement. She tried to remember. Glove. A black glove covering her mouth. She remembered as fractured pieces of her past her coming into her consciousness. Rag. The glove was holding a soaked cloth. The stench- awful. Then darkness took her.

oh shit! She tried to panic but her heart was slow. Abnormally slow though steady. She turned her head to look around. There was bright earth blinding lights above her but the rest of the room was in shadow. It was a dark, dank place with no windows, no soul. It was the kind of place Bundonians would go to pay homage.

            “Oh God…” she crooned softly to herself, but someone heard.

            “Ah! You’re awake darling.” A man’s voice startled her though her heart only elevated slightly.

It was as if her heart was carrying a wide load behind it reacting too little too late, but the longer she was awake the more the weight was lifting. “Good. I’m glad to see those eyes.” His shadow appeared approaching from the left. That’s when she noticed it. The heart monitor just next to her bedside. She peered at the lines moving and shifting on its screen. She was confused a moment. Then she saw the wires attached to it. She traced them with her eyes from the machine straight to their source. Her chest. She realized she was unclothed save a thin white sheet covering her nudity. Her awakening heart picked up its beat, fear setting in. “What the hell…?”

            “I see you’re beginning to understand the fun we’re going to have together.” The man’s voice was cheerful, calm, and slick as a snake’s skin. He was out of the shadows now. He was not very tall though a bit heavyset, but muscular probably around 35. Brunet. He wore a white lab coat like a doctor would on a bad TV show. He took her wrist gently, pressing in to feel her pulse.

            “What?” She asked. “What do you mean? What the hell are you talking about? “Who are you?” she spoke each phrase louder than the next until she was yelling. “You’re crazy. You’re insane! Let me go!” she whimpered trying to get her other hand out from under the sheet.

            “Oh but you will see …uh…”he looked at a plastic ID card…”Septima is it darling? I’m Cal. Dr. Cal if you will. We’re about to embark on a journey, you and I, and have so much fun along the way. He reached down under the sheet and slid a hand between her legs as she wiggled. “Mmm. Wet.” His eyes glistened lust.

            “Nooo!” she let out a scream. “Don’t you touch me!!” she yelled as loud as she could. He remained unphased. Taking his hand out as he yanked off the sheet uncovering her completely.

            “No!” She screamed again, feeling exposed and vulnerable. This is not going to end well.

            “Now, now, its alright.” He murmured and patted her hand locking his whole palm over her wrist while pulling her arm well above her head, holding it down.

            “Let me go!” She railed. “Stop. Let me GO!” she thrashed weakly.

            The doctor used his free hand to turn a nozzle and a sizzle was birthed into the air. An oxygen mask descended towards her face.

            Septima willed her heart into overdrive and flailed one handed even harder. She tried bringing her legs up to kick him but found they were already strapped to the table. She held her breath as he fixed the mask over her head and attached it with the elastic straps holding it in place with his hand as she tried to claw at it. In the pool she had a 4 minute breath hold. She could probably hold out for 2-3 now with all the energy she was exerting.

            Clearly the doctor was surprised how long she could hold it and began to feel impatient. Perhaps even angry. Good.

            “No. No. No darling Breathe. You need to breathe in Septima.” he urged. She refused.

He turned and grabbed a toilet plunger looking thing with his free hand as he locked her other arm together with the one above her head. He settled the contraption right in the middle of her abdomen, just underneath the ribs. “Breathe in. Breathe in. BREATHE!” He willed her, but she stubbornly held out.

            By now her heart was thudding in her chest right up against her sternum. She could feel the urge to breathe rise up, but it didn’t overwhelm her. Yet. He held out a moment longer giving her a chance to comply before thrusting his weight behind the plunger. It riveted a shock wave of air from deep within her chest all the way up her esophagus. It resulted in what sounded like a grunt as air left her lungs. A significant amount of air, but she refused to take a breath. He thrust again. More air leaked out of her. “Come now darling.” he said through gritted teeth. Yep. He’s angry. That strengthened her resolve. Maybe he’d run out of gas soon. He thrust 3 more times in quick succession though these weren’t as forceful as the first 2. But now, her lungs were empty. The burning in her chest grew every second. Spots danced before her eyes.

She needed to breathe. She had to. AIR. It was all that mattered. She gave up the fight and inhaled. A pure deep, clean lungful of cold oxygen tainted with sweet tasting gas. Relief flooded her chest, her eyes rolled back. She took another shallow breath. Her head already spinning.  But she was still intent on resisting further.  Clearly he knew what she was thinking because he leaned into the plunger contraption again. The breath left her inflated lungs. Too soon!  she screamed inside. She breathed in deeply again mouth open, desperate for air, her resolve failing.

One more time he thrust. By now she was barely conscious though still aware, lungs automatically filling in half bursts. Her body just stopped responding. Her precious heart slowed its rate again. Abnormally slow. It was calm and steady no matter how much she wanted it to kick into gear.

What the hell did he give me? she wondered. “Wrraanmrg…” was all that escaped her mouth.

“Yes. That’s it darling. That’s it. Give in to it! That a good girl. Gooood. That’s right. Take a deep breathe. Just give in. Good girl! Yes darling, that’s it! Breathe! Just breathe in.” he crooned into her ear, one hand sliding right between her breasts to feel the surge of her chest rise and fall.  She was no longer in control and she was losing consciousness. She yielded herself to him, no longer caring as his two fingers nestled into her carotid pulse.

[spilledinkandtearstainedpages]

Intro post

𝐍𝐨 𝐝𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐚𝐬𝐤𝐬 𝐩𝐥𝐬

𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐬 𝐮𝐩, 𝐈 𝐝𝐨 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝐢𝐧 𝐭𝐡𝐢𝐬 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠

Message for those asking for donations (pls pls look at it)

Adoption list

OOC: please note that the blog looks better if you turn on dark mode. And see @cc-rambles or pronoun wiki for DNIs. Thank you, enjoy

Normal: info notes/creator

𝐒𝐞𝐫𝐢𝐟 𝐛𝐨𝐥𝐝: αστεριού

Trigger warnings for this blog (tab two is trigger warnings about me)

Lore plot points (not complete)

Small message before interacting

Case file

Please do note I do vent on this blog, so if you don’t want to see that, pls block these tags: #c.c vents, #crane vents, and #creek vents

Content below cut (it’s kinda long which is why I put the cut here)!

Introduce yourself now experiment 1364

𝐔𝐦… 𝐨𝐤𝐚𝐲.

𝐍𝐚𝐦𝐞: αστεριού

𝐀𝐠𝐞: 𝟏𝟔-𝟏𝟖 (𝟕𝟎 𝐦𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐢𝐨𝐧 𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐬 𝐨𝐥𝐝)? 𝐈 𝐝𝐨𝐧’𝐭 𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐲 𝐤𝐧𝐨𝐰, 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭'𝐬 𝐰𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐬𝐜𝐢𝐞𝐧𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐬 𝐡𝐚𝐯𝐞 𝐭𝐨𝐥𝐝 𝐦𝐞.

𝐆𝐨𝐝𝐥𝐲 𝐩𝐚��𝐞𝐧𝐭: 𝐍𝐲𝐱 Y̸̢̨̭̟͍̫͉͊Ù̸̺̓̀̓͒͑Ṃ̸͊̊̈́Į̴̧̝͔͍͖͇̹̗̅͆̈́̈́̒̕K̷̢͖̣̲̼̼̝̈́̂͜͠͠ͅO̸̜͉̹̳̎͒̎̄͘͘͝ w̷̡̲̲̞͎̣̱̟̰͎̐̋̒h̸͎̲͍̉̉͊̈́̓̕͝è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜r̵̨͇̰̭̜̈́͑è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜ ī̶̧͙͖̲̘s̷̠͕̪̥͐̌ s̷̠͕̪̥͐̌h̸͎̲͍̉̉͊̈́̓̕͝è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜

𝐒𝐭𝐨𝐩... 𝐩𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞. 𝐘𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞... 𝐥𝐞𝐭 𝐦𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐬𝐡...

Photo:

Voice claims: Rachel Zegler/Jennifer Lawrence (Lucy Gray/Katniss Everdeen from Hunger Games)

Links are to the specific songs they sound like. Also, Hanging Tree by Rachel Zegler is what they would like as well. So just a mix of the two actors/singers

𝐃𝐨𝐜𝐭𝐨𝐫 𝐦𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐭𝐚𝐢𝐧𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐦𝐞: 𝐃𝐫. 𝐑𝐞𝐧𝐞𝐞́

𝐋𝐨𝐫𝐞: 𝐟𝐮𝐜𝐤 𝐨𝐟𝐟 𝐢𝐟 𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐰��n̸͉̠̘̲̼̼̩͗͒̕͝͝ţ̸̛̞̒̑̌́̄̽̀͝ ţ̸̛̞̒̑̌́̄̽̀͝ō̵̝̭͙̊ l̶̘̫͚͎̟̙̺̼̦͈̋̽̔ī̶̧͙͖̲̘v̷̧̬̽͂́̎̉è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜

𝐖𝐚𝐢𝐭, 𝐧𝐨 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩... 𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏! 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀����𝐄!

𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐇!

𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐬𝐭𝐨𝐩, 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬. 𝐈 𝐰𝐚𝐧𝐧𝐚 𝐠𝐨 𝐡𝐨𝐦𝐞. 𝐏𝐥𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐞, 𝐈'𝐯𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐞𝐧 𝐚 𝐠𝐨𝐨𝐝 𝐠𝐢𝐫𝐥

... 𝕿𝖆𝖐𝖊𝖔𝖛𝖊𝖗 𝖈𝖔𝖒𝖕𝖑𝖊𝖙𝖊

W̴͔̏̕h̸͎̲͍̉̉͊̈́̓̕͝è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜r̵̨͇̰̭̜̈́͑è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜ ī̶̧͙͖̲̘s̷̠͕̪̥͐̌ s̷̠͕̪̥͐̌h̸͎̲͍̉̉͊̈́̓̕͝è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜ G̶̢̨̖͚̜̺̭̥̭͓̾̒̃̃̈̏͋͝Į̴̧̝͔͍͖͇̹̗̅͆̈́̈́̒̕Ṽ̴̮̻̼̙̋͐̿̋̌̇̊E̵̪͐̌̕ͅ H̸̪͊̒E̵̪͐̌̕ͅR̶̨̨̖̬̹̥̜̠͎̺̍͐̂ B̸̩̰͕̙͈̏͛̒̐̽A̶̤͍̟̲͓͕͍̼͕͎̽́̒̇͝C̸̢̱̗̟̍͗̈́̆͗͒͊̑͘͜K̷̢͖̣̲̼̼̝̈́̂͜͠͠ͅ

Ṃ̸͊̊̈́O̸̜͉̹̳̎͒̎̄͘͘͝T̷̢̧͎̤̗͙̜͓̽͊ͅͅH̸̪͊̒E̵̪͐̌̕ͅR̶̨̨̖̬̹̥̜̠͎̺̍͐̂ T̷̢̧͎̤̗͙̜͓̽͊ͅͅh̸͎̲͍̉̉͊̈́̓̕͝è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜y̶̡͕̮͇͖͕̮̳̲̓ â̸̠̋r̵̨͇̰̭̜̈́͑è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜ n̸͉̠̘̲̼̼̩͗͒̕͝͝ō̵̝̭͙̊ m̶̜̍̄ō̵̝̭͙̊r̵̨͇̰̭̜̈́͑è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜

W̴͔̏̕H̸̪͊̒E̵̪͐̌̕ͅR̶̨̨̖̬̹̥̜̠͎̺̍͐̂E̵̪͐̌̕ͅ Į̴̧̝͔͍͖͇̹̗̅͆̈́̈́̒̕Ş̸̜̦̦̦̓́̐̈́͆̅̇̚ Ş̸̜̦̦̦̓́̐̈́͆̅̇̚H̸̪͊̒E̵̪͐̌̕ͅ

C̸̢̱̗̟̍͗̈́̆͗͒͊̑͘͜O̸̜͉̹̳̎͒̎̄͘͘͝Ṃ̸͊̊̈́E̵̪͐̌̕ͅ B̸̩̰͕̙͈̏͛̒̐̽A̶̤͍̟̲͓͕͍̼͕͎̽́̒̇͝C̸̢̱̗̟̍͗̈́̆͗͒͊̑͘͜K̷̢͖̣̲̼̼̝̈́̂͜͠͠ͅ... Į̴̧̝͔͍͖͇̹̗̅͆̈́̈́̒̕ n̸͉̠̘̲̼̼̩͗͒̕͝͝è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜è̷̛̗̳͚̙͇̘͍͕̊̑̿͘͜d̶͇͆̓̂̆͌͛͠ y̶̡͕̮͇͖͕̮̳̲̓ō̵̝̭͙̊ų̷͕̙͚͖̲̱̐̒̀̆̎̈͜

𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐏 𝐏𝐋𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄! 𝐈'𝐦 𝐛𝐞𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐢𝐭 𝐡𝐮𝐫𝐭𝐬.

𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀𝐀-

*𝒞ℛ𝒜𝒞𝒦*

*𝒯𝒽𝓊𝒹*

Tsk. Dr. Syrcus, Dr. Nadia, please take Experiment 1364 back to their cell.

Yes sir!

Dr. Reneé

Yes sir?

Administer #8593 to them in 1 hour and 4 minutes

Yes sir.

OOC intro:

Name: Emily but I prefer Creek, Crane or C.C.

Description:

A suicidal minor with food sensory issues, mommy issues, and a tiny bit of daddy issues. The brains of the team/the researcher and the mom/therapist/silent friend of the group that’s there for you but never speaks up. Kinda don’t really have any friends. The trio I’m in is more of a duo with a little thing tacked on. Cannot handle people not following specific instructions or messing up (intentionally, not accidentally) because it sends their emotions and brain into overdrive (and also if we’re making something, I have this weird thing where I have to make it exactly according to package instructions to kinda get a read on it and what I can adapt and edit), Neither truly understands or feels emotions (may be a sociopath, but I promise you, I’m not dangerous. My mind however is a different story) but will be there to help comfort you and mark down birthdays on calendar to send a happy birthday to you on your birthday. A Gemini. Wants someone to take care of them, but has never had that, so they take care of others. Has eating disorders and has to be reminded to eat. Also, feels like an asshole everytime someone screws up even through they didn’t listen to my instructions because they’ve always been the one blamed for things. And also takes the brunt of the blame.

Current mental state:

Dead inside, tired outside. Burned out.

Aesthetics:

GIFs that represent my current mental state:

Pronouns: pronoun.wiki

Gender: multigender/genderfluid

Age: Minor (meaning I can’t commission anything or donate)

Fandoms list

MBTI: INTP-T

Notes:

I occasionally will be posting my poems.

My other socials are Discord (asteriou14), strawpage, and AO3 (Tired_doe).

And yes, I will adopt anyone. Just send me an ask or message or any other way to contact me through socials and you’ll be adopted

I bite things as a way to show affection. If I bite you (it’s light, but I do have sharp canines), that means I trust you enough to be vulnerable around you.

Weirdest bday present I ever got: 2 death threats telling me to kms.

Fav place to hide:

In closets or small spaces with a door that I can close, especially if it’s dark.

HP House: Gryffinslytherpuff (Gryffindor, Slytherin, and Hufflepuff)

God/Goddess I’m a child of: Nemestrinus (Roman god of the groves/forests), Hathor (Egyptian goddess of the sky and sun)

Soldier, Poet, King?: me: poet, αστεριού: soldier

Weird/fun fact about me:

I don’t get hunger pains. My stomach doesn’t growl. That means that I don’t really even get hungry, meaning I neglect eating and neglect my body. It’s even worse due to eating disorders making it so that I never wanna eat.

Meet the creator

200 follower event (I still will do anything on the list, even though I passed 200 followers)

My ducklings/kids (I have decided y’all are my problems now will be updated every time I adopt someone) [the specific notes are the baby names for the animal that blog is either centered around or has in their name]:

@the-one-and-only-guck

@kermit-the-fag-uwu - tadpole

@xena-lilac-winters

@icaffs

@enchatedbifrost

@the-l0ser-st4r

@mentallyinsanepenguin - nestling

@im-like-so-pretty - fawns

@the-best-duck-tamer

@thedamsolangelofan

@tiredflowercrown

@stargirl1331

Side blogs:

@cc-rambles

@isis-child-of-iris

@the-wolf-of-the-stars

@moth-drawn-to-the-flame

@that-one-anklebiter

More under this:

Dang, you persistent

First intro if you want to learn more about them: https://www.tumblr.com/the-tortured-one/771886075291615232/about-me-pjo

[uhohdad]

EXPERIMENTAL - Konig Fic Part 2

Summary: Konig helps Researcher!Reader with a new technology they’ve been developing.

Part one: X

AO3 Link: X

Warnings: Flirting, Sexual Content, NSFW, Reader x Konig, talk of standard war stuff, Reader is a bit of a pervert. Non-con Voyeurism. Reader has anxious thoughts/low-self esteem-ish? No use of y/n, abduction, bondage, blood and injury.

Word Count: 7.2k

Reader gender/sex is incomprehensible cause I do it for the girls, the gays, and the theys

NSFW under the cut

It probably didn’t mean anything, right?

How common is your name, really? He probably was just thinking about his girlfriend or wife at home who just happens to share the same name as you, the same wife he didn’t happen to mention during your introductions - even if it would have been a really good icebreaker.

Yeah, that’s it.

It couldn’t have been about you.

Could it?

Your thoughts are spiraling now, not giving yourself the room to dissect one detail before your brain throws another at you. You still haven’t moved, wide eyes watching warm light reflect on his skin as he basks in post-orgasm bliss.

He’s still for a while, and you’re wondering if the finish had tired him out enough to lull him into a nap.

After a few minutes of watching the rise and fall of his chest, you decide the show was over and closed out of the software. There was some part of you, some part you’d hoped wouldn’t ever come to light, that decided to keep his feed connected.

You’ve crossed so many lines already. In for a penny, in for a pound, right?

You feel like you’ve ruined whatever chance you’ve had with him, violating his privacy like this. This was a man that wasn’t even comfortable showing his face, how did you think he was going to feel knowing a stranger has not only seen him fully naked but watched him jerk his cock to completion?

He doesn’t have to know. No one has to know. It’ll be our little secret and we’ll just pretend it never happened.

Yeah, you acted real casual today when you hadn’t done a horrible, awful, perverted thing. I’m sure you’ll act real casual the next time you have to look him in the eyes.

Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!

You rest your head on your keyboard not-so-gently, accidentally booting up an ancient mail software that was sure to kick your laptop’s fans into overdrive. An audible groan leaves your mouth.

Who knew non-consensual voyeurism would leave such a horrific feeling of guilt in the pit of your stomach?

That and the arousal that sits right underneath. Your underwear now had a wet stain from watching the show, unconsciously rubbing your thighs together as you had.

There was no way you were going to be able to focus on work now. You had been planning on staying late, but there’s no way you can analyze today’s data. Review his feed. Replay your conversations. Hear his breathing…

No, you just can’t do it right now. It’s too much.

You do a quick round of the lab, performing a sloppy iteration of your closing procedures, pack up your things, and head out for the day.

Before you do, you decide you might as well round out the horrific deed by doing one last terrible thing.

You pair your personal cell phone to the software and send yourself the erotic recording of Konig.

You’ll start fresh tomorrow, you decide.

————————————————————-

You most certainly did not start fresh tomorrow.

The next few days are a vicious cycle.

Go to work. Review Konig’s simulation footage. Fantasize. Feel guilty. Review raw data. Think about Konig touching himself. Feel aroused. Feel guilty. Rewrite codes. Go home. Watch erotic recording. Feel aroused. Get off.

Feel guilty.

Feel guilty.

Feel guilty.

You can’t help it. You’re out of control, an addict desperate to get their fix, ashamed of their actions but lacking the willpower to quit.

How are you supposed to stop thinking about him when all day at work you’re watching him fight his way through the shoot house, strong hands gripping his gun, and hearing to that laugh?

How can you go home and ignore the recording of him finishing while moaning your name?

You must have replayed it a thousand times. He moaned it like he was begging you, pleading with you. Such a powerful man choking on your name. Even after a full week had passed, it still had the power to excite you in ways you haven’t felt in ages.

Your next meeting with Konig was scheduled for today and if you had to judge solely by the feeling in your gut, you would’ve guessed you had eaten rocks for breakfast. Your brain tells you to flee and fast but your body is promised to these four walls. Your leg bounces as you pick at the fingers that beg for something to do besides type code.

You wanted to call it off. Tell Konig you weren’t feeling well and you’d try again next week. Or maybe hit the bricks entirely. Just walk out of the building and never look back. Forget about everything.

You’re reconsidering your career choices as a steady knock on the lab’s swinging door rips you from your thoughts.

Your wince before you look up, quickly plastering what you hope is a convincing smile on your face.

He catches your eyes through the glass and you notice them crinkle, unable to place an emotion to it. You’d been dreading this moment all week. Even going so far as to avoid looking at his live feed after the incident, just in case you weren’t able to feign the natural responses of hearing his recounts for the ‘first’ time. That in addition to the intrapersonal understanding that you couldn’t handle carrying anymore guilt-rocks in your stomach.

Looking him in the eyes was as hard as you imagined it to be. He pushes open the door and steps in, standing hesitantly near the entrance like he did last week. You notice he has a notepad in one hand, and it looks so comically small compared to his size. Like a giant holding a sticky note. In the other he holds your earpiece in an open palm, as if hesitant to wrap his fingers around it.

It doesn’t help that the first word that left his mouth as he entered the lab was your name. Flashbacks to his sweaty body, shuddering in pleasure as he came all over his rippling muscles grab your attention.

He had followed it up with something, but you had been too distracted to catch it. You close your eyes, touching your hand to your forehead.

You were not doing a very good job hiding your fluster.

“I’m so sorry- what’d you say?” You give a small laugh, partly to ease the tension in your chest and partly at the situation itself. It’s not funny, you know that. It’s terrible. So terribly ridiculous that you can’t help but laugh at yourself for getting yourself into this mess. Your hand follows through the rest of your hair in an effort to soothe yourself before falling back down at your side.

“Good to see you.” He repeats, tilting his head, taking just a few careful steps closer to you. His eyes dart to the side briefly before returning to you, “Is everything okay?”

You give another weak laugh, “Yeah, sorry. Just still in the zone.” You gesture vaguely at scattered papers and devices on the table. You don’t give him a chance to pry further, “How was it?”

He takes a moment to eye you carefully, and you are sure he’s about to call your bluff before he responds, “Remarkable.”

You swallow, breaking eye contact with him again. It’s always been hard for you to accept a compliment. You're hoping he doesn’t notice the warmth creeping up your cheeks, but you know you have absolutely no right to such a request after what you’ve done.

He clears his throat before he continues, “I promised you I would have feedback. It wasn’t easy.” He holds his notepad up briefly as he steps up to the table to carefully set it down along with your earpiece. You can see from across the table he’s got a few scribbled sentences spaced out on the notepad. You take note of his sloppy handwriting from across the table, before realizing he didn’t write in English.

He looks down at his notes and you’re thankful you have something to stare at that’s not Konig’s eyes or intimidating frame. You’re trying hard not to think about the body filling out his gear. You’ve grown so accustomed to seeing him naked that it’s almost strange to see him with his uniform on.

You can tell he takes a deep breath before continuing and you wonder briefly if he’s nervous about sharing his feedback, worried he will hurt your feelings. “You mentioned before that it scans objects?” The end of his sentence lifts, almost like he’s asking you a question, “I think it would be good to make sure that the user is always made aware of landmines. I’m positive it will save lives.”

“Yes, absolutely. That’s a great idea.” You nod as you jot his ideas down on your laptop, a reminder to update your code.

You’re happy to be talking shop. Even happier to be talking about defensive designs instead of offensive ones.

The way he rubs his bicep with his opposing hand triggers a realization. You finally look at his eyes, his still staring down at his notes, and watch him for a moment.

The idea didn’t come from thin air.

You wonder what he saw, what traumatic memories are being replayed behind the downcast eyes to inspire such an idea.

You feel an ache in your chest for him, the desire to alienate his discomfort but unequipped to do so. Instead you look at him, your eyes swollen with sympathy and the corner of your mouth pinched in a frown.

He takes a moment before looking back up at you. He notices your warped expression but misinterprets it, “Am I overstepping?”

Your voice is low and you press a hand to your heart, “No, Konig, not at all. This is very helpful.” You’re not sure what else to say to him. What do you say to a man haunted by the violence he’s witnessed?

The only thing you can do is make sure it doesn’t happen again.

You’re not working for the government anymore, you decided. You’re going to work for Konig. To tailor your device with the purpose to save and protect him.

So you stick to the topic at hand. “Any other ideas?” You ask, voice still soft with empathy as you glance down at the notes written in German.

“Uh,” He clears his throat again and touches the back of his neck over his hood, the fabric pulling a bit on the front, “Sometimes when we’re in the heat of things, I can’t always get to my remote.” He gestured to the band on his wrist. “Do you think it would be possible to have voice command?”

Your brain’s mulling over the possibility. You’re surprised you haven’t thought of it yet. You could eliminate the remote entirely, you’re sure your supervisor will be elated with the big savings on material costs. The earpiece already has a microphone for the comm, it wouldn’t be hard for you to configure it to an additional feature.

“Absolutely, voice control. That’s clever.” Your brain is already running with alternatives to the wrist remote as you type his ideas, “Do you go on a lot of missions that require stealth?” It’s easier to make eye contact with him when you’re discussing work. He nods, and you continue, “In addition to voice command, I could also add hand controls, able to identify and respond to the signal you give it - totally silent.” You tap your fingers on the table twice, “The only draw I can think of is having to memorize control signals.”

He thinks it over for a moment and shifts in his spot, “That’s even better.”

“I think it’ll be best to have both.” Your keyboard clicks under your fingers as you enter the ideas coming to you faster than you can get them down.

This is great. I’m not even thinking about-

Stop it.

“These are great, Konig, really. Anything else?”

Your encouragement makes him look away. You follow his stare as it darts to the side and then down to his notes. He places one hand on the table next to the notepad as he leans his weight onto it.

You briefly picture yourself between him and the table, his arm pinning you in as he towers over you, hunched to watch you like you’re his prey, chests so close they’re almost touching.

You quickly push the thought to the side, moving your attention back to your laptop. The only way to survive this meeting is to repress.

Repress your memories of what he looks like with his cock in his hand, arching his hips into the thrusts. Repress the sound of his moans and your name echoing clearly in your brain. Repress the guilt from the breach of privacy to the highest degree.

Please, just until we get through this.

You close your eyes and take a breath to collect yourself while he’s not looking.

He’s got other things written on the notepad, you’re sure. Unless the two ideas he’d already pitched managed to take up the whole page. “No.”

Your brows furrow, the question leaving your mouth without thought, “You’re sure?”

He pauses. You can tell he’s sitting on a thought, but you don’t know what.

“It’s okay. Like I said, it’s just a prototype. You won’t hurt my feelings.”

He straightens his posture before he speaks, “No. That was all I could think of.” He swallows, “If you feel I didn’t make good on my promise, I can fix it.”

“No, no!” You say with urgency, a hand shaking in his direction, “Those ideas you gave me were perfect. I just wanted to make sure you weren’t holding back on me.” A weak laugh escapes you. “I can’t stress how helpful this has been. I’m glad we’re doing this.”

Konig looks at you, those intimidating eyes staring at you from across the table. You wish you could see his face, hoping it would give some insight on what was going through his head. Even if you could you don’t think you’d be able to maintain eye contact.

He knows.

No, he doesn’t, shut up.

“I’ll keep thinking.” He says definitively, like he’s trying to right a wrong.

“You’ve only had it for a week,” you reassure, “Besides, you’ve given me plenty to work with.” You force a smile at him, not even caring how it’s coming off because you’re just hoping not to choke on the tension suffocating the room. You wonder if he feels it too, or if it’s all in your head.

He nods, and you look to your laptop in a futile attempt to thwart the dread suddenly pooling in your stomach. You’re reminded of what you’ve done when he crosses his arms, and your eyes are drawn to the same bicep on the arm that he used to pleasure himself. You’re picturing how it looks under his uniform, comparing it to your filthy reference. Your heart quickens and you can’t help but take in his build, even from across the long lab table. You feel extra small sitting on your stool while he stands, arms still crossed, staring.

The air between you two is definitely weird. Him getting off to probably-not-you and you watching but him not knowing that you know will certainly fill the room with a tension unlike any other.

These drawn-out silences are smothering you, not knowing what goes on being his hood.

He looks disappointed in you.

He knows.

“How can I help you in the meantime?”

You can’t help but breathe a small sigh of relief. You were planning on taking him back out to shoot house, running a few more simulations, and having him give feedback on a few more overlays.

You scrap that plan, looking forward to expanding on his ideas while your synapses are still firing.

“Well, here’s my thoughts so far. Landmine identification, the coding for that will be easy. The device already has the scanning capability for obscured objects. All I have to do is enable the specific object for full-time recognition. The hard part will be testing. I’ll have to meet with weapons development to develop prop landmines for simulation.”

You glance at the notes on your laptop, “Voice control - easy. Mic’s already installed and all I would have to do is add speech-to-text recognition, repurpose the wrist control coding, and then…testing.” Your hand finds the side of your face as you think it over, “Well, I may need to sample voice lines from you and a couple of your friends…” You loosely gesture with the same hand as you continue, “But there may be workarounds to that. Put a pin in that.” You’re on a roll now, “Now the hand controls - that might be more complicated. I’m thinking I’ll have to start fresh with the hardware.” You look up, “Then again… it already has the scanning capacity. I could probably just teach the current model with software alone. But the coding will take some time to figure out.”

Your eyes find him again. He’s staring and as per usual you can’t decipher it.

“Y’know,” you continue with a smile, “You could help me come up with hand signals?”

He nods.

He doesn’t give you much to work with, does he?

“I’ll need references of your hands. To teach the AI, is that okay?”

He looks down in a way that makes you feel so, so ashamed. If he is hesitant about recordings of just his gloved hands, how would he feel if he found out about what you did? About the video living on your phone?

After a moment he looks back up at you, “I’ll do it.” His voice is stern as usual, always treating everything with importance, with determination.

You give him another shaky smile, “Might be awhile. Wanna sit?”

He pulls up a stool to his end of the table and you instruct him to put his earpiece on as you return to your software on the laptop, trying not to trigger the memory of the last time you watched his feed. You pretend to resync your devices, glad he can’t see your screen. A wave of shame washes over you.

You’re both collaborating for some time, you offering a prompt and him stiffly coming up with a corresponding hand command. You supervise his feed, having him tilt his hands so the AI has references from multiple angles.

The rest of the meeting is professional and you manage to steady your obsessive thoughts as best you can. It’s hard to observe his hands and not think about the video, about what you watched those same hands do.

About how those hands would feel mapping all of the curves of your body.

How they would feel gripping onto your hips as you rode him.

How they would feel sneaking up your thighs, teasing you.

Somehow, you make it.

Once you decide you’ve covered enough references, Konig heads out, and you hope to continue staving off your thoughts by wasting no time on incorporating his ideas into your design. You’re hoping to have a least one rough draft done before next week’s meeting, so you plan on hunkering down and forfeit your Friday night to work overtime.

—————————————————————-

It’s late in the evening, you can tell by how your eyes are burning, strained from staring at your bright screen. You don’t bother to check the actual time. It would just bum you out. Spending your Friday night working. Not that you would have been doing anything partially exciting if you hadn’t. You probably would have just spent your evening analyzing footage anyway, just of a more perverted genre.

When you finally call it quits, the base is barren. Everyone’s gone home or retired to their quarters by now. It’s quiet after the base door shuts behind you, automatic locks clicking into place.

You’re feeling better after today’s meeting with Konig. Somewhere in the previous week you’d convinced yourself that he knew, that at any moment he was going to report you, and at any moment security would bust in the lab to escort you out.

Seeing him again, even though you couldn’t always figure out what he was thinking, reassured you that he hadn’t somehow telepathically figured out your terrible deed. You don’t think he would have bothered to keep helping you, or even be able to look at you without disgust if he did know.

The meeting also re-sparked your feelings of arousal and excitement. The knot in your lower abdomen made its presence known again. So much more desirable than the spiraling guilt. You’ve come to lean into the highs, enjoying it while you can, knowing soon you’ll be feeling nauseous at the thought of yourself.

You don’t know how much longer you can take the rollercoaster. This week has been exhausting. You can’t believe you’ve allowed this man to root himself into your life, seeping into every facet.

Career, personal, sexual, and - well, you’re still in denial about the romantic feelings - but it’s incredibly impressive how this man was capable of fucking your entire life up for the small price of a couple of hours and a few exchanged words.

When you finally get to the privacy of your home, you let out an audible groan. Loud enough to carry but quiet enough to not disturb the neighbors. You just needed to let something out, it was getting frustrating.

You didn’t want to think anymore, you didn’t want to think!

“Long day at work?”

You freeze, and the sound of heavy footsteps fill your ears. Two armed soldiers with fully equipped gear stride from the depth of your home, meeting you at the entrance.

The sight of them alone is enough to intimidate you. You instinctively back against the locked door, your trunk obscuring a hand moving towards the doorknob.

“Tsk, tsk. I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”The taller of the two soldiers wears a black balaclava with a skull stitched in, his unimpressed stare drilling into you. You hear a click, and your wide eyes lock on to the gun in his hands, pointing right at your core.

You slowly release the doorknob, raising your shaking hands so they could see your palms.

“That’s good babe,” The other soldier speaks, but you’re too busy staring down the barrel of the gun to worry about it.

“I have to admit I’m a little upset with you,” Skull-face, as you appropriately nicknamed him, speaks as his eyes bore into you, “You kept us waiting a long time.”

He’s got some sort of thick accent laced into his grave voice, they both do, actually, but you’re too busy trying not to piss your pants to be able to place the region of origin.

A lump forms in your throat and you don’t think you‘ve taken a breath since you heard the unfamiliar voice in your home.

It’s violating. Them being here. Where you go after a long day of work to relax. Where you eat, sleep, shower, and just be.

How dare they defile and taint your safe place, where you hide away and pretend the exhausting world around you doesn’t exist?

You’re stuck, unsure of your next move and paralyzed with fear.

“We think you have something we want.”

You’re not sure what they mean, but you nod in compliance anyway. Not much you can say no to against two heavily armed men. You finally break your gaze away from the gun and take turns making frightful eye contact with them. You speak after a failed attempt of swallowing your fear, voice soft and broken, “Take it.”

They exchange a knowing glance with each other, the man with his face exposed bears an irritatingly smug grin.

Skull-face approaches you threateningly, sending fear down your spine and making your skin crawl as you push yourself further into the door. He leaves no room for pleas as he flips his gun around, the stock coming down on your forehead with enough force to knock you out cold.

————————————————————-

Your splitting headache was the first thing you registered when you came to. You can’t seem to concentrate, the fog in your brain so extreme your thoughts are incoherent. You let out a meek whimper as you attempt to open your eyes, the lights in the room stunning you and intensifying the throbbing pain in your skull. You wince, closing your eyes again to block it out.

A few moments pass - and the next thing you notice is the dryness in your mouth, unable to manage a swallow from the dehydration.

Water.

The only intelligible thought you’ve had after registering your discomfort, the instinctual desire stronger than the dizzy haze clouding your brain.

You lift your head, trying to move but your weakened muscles fail you.

Your muscles are weak, yes, but what’s really keeping you in place are the restraints.

You wince again, eyes scrunched to block out the brutal light as you tug to confirm you’re secured. Your wrists were bound behind you, your shoulders overextending around the back of the chair you were planted on. Your ankles bound to either leg of the chair. There’s another restraint wrapping under your arms and around the back of the chair, keeping your upper half upright. There’s a rashy burn underneath the coarse ropes that dug into your skin as your unconscious body leaned into it.

You let out another whimper from the back of your coarse throat. While you weren’t alert, every instinct within you notified you of the danger you were in.

Gotta move.

You try to squint one eye, but it still doesn’t save you from the flash intensity of your headache. Your eyes are stinging on top of it and you realize you’re partially blinded, vision blurred and doubled, stained red with your own blood.

You grit your teach, determined to figure out where you are. You try to concentrate your vision but to no avail.

Even so, you can tell you’re not at home, and you’re not on base.

Once you make your discovery, one that expended what little willpower you had, your eyes clench back shut, desperate to alleviate the migraine.

A secondary location, you thought to yourself through the pain, I’m fucked.

You can’t hear anything, the ringing in your ears deafening you.

You let out one more defeated whine before resting your chin on your chest, pinching your eyes closed.

You have no idea how long you drift in and out of consciousness for. During the brief moments you come to, you’re so disoriented you can’t make sense of your thoughts, and that coupled with the debilitating pain in your head is unnerving enough to make you cry tears of pure confusion.

It’s your neck snapping back to follow the hair yanking on your scalp that jolts you awake, and try to open your eyes to find the threat but they’re still not working as they should. Underneath the debilitating ringing, you can hear the sound of muffled male voices, unable to make out what they’re saying.

You gave up.

You were wounded & trapped, and in nature that meant a death sentence. You were in no shape to properly defend yourself. Couldn’t see, couldn’t hear, couldn’t move, couldn’t think.

You were as done as the toast made from your own designs.

After wincing, your eyes screwed shut, you go limp and give in to the man physically controlling you like a sadistic puppeteer.

The muffled voices are louder, you still can’t make out their words but you can tell they’re having some sort of argument. They’re yelling at each other, and your scalp becomes collateral as the one tightens his grip on your hair to match his escalated volume

He’s right in your ear now and it’s not helping with the headache.

Just hurry it up, You manage through the haze, just hurry it up and put me out of my misery.

He throws your head forward to the position it was in before, slumped over as much as the ropes would allow with your chin pointed to the ground. The force rattles your skull in a way that makes you see a searing white behind your eyelids. What little water you had left in you was escaping through your swollen eyes lids and down tear-stained cheeks.

Just kill me, please.

——————————————————-

When you come to again, you’re no longer sitting. You’re flat on your back. Your neck secured so your head is in line with your spine. Your headache takes the front stage but the pain has noticeably subsided. You try to open your eyes again, but the lights above you are still excruciating.

You let out a low moan and shut your eyes again.

Your ears still ring, but a good portion of your hearing has returned to you. You hear your name, followed by, “are you awake?”

You grunt in response, unable to form sentences.

“Can you open your eyes for me?”

You wince, trying to shake your head but unable. Instead, you grunt again before parting your lips. You tried to say, “Lights,” but your voice is so hoarse it comes out broken and cracked.

“What is it?”

You try and clear your throat, putting all your power into your strained voice, “Lights.”

They understand, and while you still can’t hear the flick of the switch, you can tell from behind your eyelids they’ve been shut off.

You try to mutter a “Thank you,” but give up a quarter of the way through.

You slowly open your eyes, still burning but blood wiped away from them. Your vision is still blurry, but no longer doubled.

“Do you remember what happened?”

You try to shake your head, but can’t. So you force a weak, “No.”

“Do you know where you are?”

“No.”

“Do you know what today’s date is?”

You just grunt, closing your eyes again. You didn’t know the answer but you were too fed up with the questions to respond.

“Can you see?”

You grunt again.

“Okay, how ‘bout this? Can you wiggle your fingers for me?”

You try to lift your arm in the direction of the voice but your action is cut short, your arm jerked still by a restraint on your wrist. You open and close your fingers slowly at the maximum range the restraint will allow.

“How ‘bout your toes?”

Your toes move slightly, your calves aching at even such a mild movement.

“Good, thank you. How’s the hearing?”

Kill me or leave me alone, you think.

You eventually freeze the owner of voice out, finally leaving you alone to rest.

The next few days are a miserable, confusing blur. Somewhere along the way you’re informed you’re in medical, being treated for your extreme concussion. No skull fracture, thankfully, but they suspect the bruising is severe if it was enough to knock you unconscious.

The concussion had scrambled you good, and you were not nearly as sharp as you usually are.

It took you a whole five days, not that you could keep track of the passing time, before you realized that you were not at medical on your base.

You were in medical, restrained to a hospital bed-

in enemy care.

————————————————————

There was nothing you could do. Restrained to your bed, sedated with painkillers when they thought you were becoming too active.

“To help you rest.” They told you, but you couldn't trust a word that came out of their mouths.

Medics are supposed to be neutral, bound to an ethical code to heal the injured, enemy or not. That didn’t stop some medics from harboring grudges after years of patching up their own soldier’s brutal wounds of war.

The next time the medicine wears off for a long amount of time, with no medics in sight, you conveniently get visitors, the soldiers that had visited you in your home.

The events had been beaten out of you, but the traumatic event had seeped somewhere deeper into your psyche, and you knew deep down you were in trouble at the mere sight of them.

Skull-face especially, you don’t know how or why, but your intuition tells you he’s responsible for this. “Ready to answer some questions? Or do you need me to put you back to sleep?”

You can tell by the sharp edge in his voice he doesn’t mean the painkillers.

“Maybe I’d be able to answer your questions if you hadn’t given me brain damage.” Your patience is running thin, and an ember ignites a flame inside you, “Who knows what information you knocked out of me.” You stare directly into his eyes, brows furrowed, the tone of your voice inviting trouble in.

He already took everything away from you. At this point you don’t care if he puts you under. You’re begging him too. Every time you wake up you just want to go back to sleep. You don’t want to deal with it, any of it.

Skull-face makes a move to advance but the maskless soldier stops him by putting an arm out, laying it firmly across his to hold him back.

You don’t flinch, eyes now staring down the soldier with a stubbled jaw and a mohawk that ended in a widow's peak. It’s a haircut you find highly unusual for a soldier.

Your face doesn’t crack, but you squint at the pair, “What do you even want to know? I don’t even work on the field, I have no information.”

Skull-face looks down at you, “Oh, we know.” That stupid accent and that stupid mask. If you weren’t restrained you think you would have launched at him, risking it all to get a few good scratches in with your fingernails. He reaches into his pocket and your eyes widen and your brows retract at what he pulls out.

Not a weapon, no.

It’s your design, the AI-powered earpiece, and your wrist remote.

Skull-face notices the realization that sets across your face, “Awh, looks like your memory is working fine after all.”

The flame inside you laps at your skin, your features flushing with anger. A lot at Skull-face, for being such a cocky prick, but mostly at yourself.

You did this yourself. You figured your day of reckoning would come eventually. That karma would bite you in the ass, and those who are affected by your designs will stand by and laugh at your demise.

You should have just stuck with redesigning kitchen appliances.

“Why don’t you show us what you’ve been cooking up, huh? We know you’ve been busy.”

The pair share another knowing glance, Mohawk snickering at your expense.

“How did you get that?” You ask through gritted teeth, knowing there’s no way they could have gotten into the highly secured base.

“What is it?” Skull-face asks.

“It’s an intercom.” You grit, the ache in your head pulsing. You miss the painkillers.

“Don’t lie.”

“I’m not.”

Mohawk steps in, “It’s okay, we all get embarrassed about our porn.”

You furrow your brows at him.

What the hell was he talking about?

Skull-face elbows him in the side, but it doesn’t keep his partner from smiling, “What is it?” He asks again.

“It’s an intercom.”

He’s getting sick of this game and he goes to step to you again but Mohawk cuts him short. “Ghost!” He says firmly.

Ghost, that was Skull-faces name. Or call sign, at least. You hated him, but you’d wished the other soldier would just let him at you. You didn’t care anymore.

Mohawk looks at you, “Look, there’s only so much I can do,” gesturing to Ghost, “Can’t we all just get along for a little bit, yeah?”

“How about you get along with deez nuts.” You laugh at your dumb joke, a laugh influenced by the daze of concussion and painkillers. You’re in hysteria, the laugh spills out and doesn’t let up. A release of built-up stress and frustration and anger that seeped out uncontrollably. Cackling at yourself for ending up in this situation. Only you would be capable of such hijinks. The laugh leaves you out of breath and with eyes full of tears. You don’t even care how it exacerbates the headache, or how you’re coming off as insane. It feels too good to let out the pent-up emotions, one way or another.

Your elation is cut short with a squeak as a gloved hand cuts harshly into your trachea. Ghost squeezes, roughly lifting you by the neck before shoving you back down on the hospital bed, his grip tighter than before. His voice is low and filled with caution, “I am getting sick of you.”

If you could breathe enough to talk, you’d tell him the feeling’s mutual. Instead you gag and sputter, which he takes as a sign that you are still getting air, and forces more of his weight onto your neck.

Your hands fail to defend yourself, the restraints holding you from fighting back. You’re getting close to blacking out, your laugh having already knock most of the wind out of you, but Mohawk pulls Ghost off of you, his hands firm on Ghost’s shoulders, “Stop! Stop.”

You involuntarily gasp, desperate for air, trying not to choke on your own spit. For a moment all you can hear is the blood rushing in your ears, flowing desperately to replace what Ghost restricted.

“Come on, last try.” He warns, and you can tell in your voice he means it.

You eye him carefully, still heaving for air. When you collect yourself, you speak, “I’ll show you.” You say, voice weak and breathy. You try to hold out your hand, but get stopped by the restraints.

Mohawk glances at Ghost, but Ghost keeps his stern eyes trained on you. He stays still for a moment, studying you with his arms crossed.

You roll your eyes, your chest still huffing as you reclaim your air, “Don’t trust me? Fine. I’ll walk you through it. Put the fucking bracelet on.”

He stares for another moment before taking the device from Mohawk. Must of handed it off so he could strangle you better.

He puts it on his wrist.

“Now tap the top.”

He follows your instructions, the wrist remote’s projection displaying above his wrist.

“Go ahead and open your settings.” You guide him through it, activating a few select overlays. “You got it. Now put the earpiece on.”

Ghost hesitates, looking over to his companion before he slowly reaches up underneath his balaclava, attaching the earpiece.

“Yep, and while you’re in there, go ahead and hit the button on the base.”

You watch as your design activates, displaying the transparent overlay over his eyes. He’s taken aback, unnerved by the unidentified design being so close to his vulnerable eyes.

“Ta-da!��� You say sarcastically, showing off the full range of the restraints as you offer weak jazz hands. “So I’ve given you some information. Maybe you can give me a little information, yeah?”

He doesn’t say anything as he removes his hand from his mask.

“Where am I?” You ask.

“You know where you are.”

“How’d you find me?”

“We tracked your cell phone.”

You squint, “Why were you tracking my phone?” It doesn’t make any sense, there’s no way they would have been able to pin your cell phone information back to base. You don’t use it for work and there’s no way you had connected to the private Wi-Fi. It’s apples and oranges, you think.

Mohawk steps in front of Ghost and holds out his phone in your direction. It takes a moment for the image to come into view, your vision still impaired. When your eyes adjust, the screen shows you something that makes your blood turn cold.

It’s the video of Konig jerking off.

“Okay! Okay.” You wave your hands, “Just put that away, I get it.”

When you connected your phone to your software to transfer the recording of Konig, it briefly connected to your laptop.

Base internet has state-of-the-art firewalls and encryptions to prevent surveillance, hack-in, key logs.

Cell phones do not.

So they’ve been tracking you all week, and who knows what kind of information they were able to pull from your software? From your laptop, containing dozens of government secrets?

No, you think, they wouldn’t be going through the trouble of keeping me alive if they had the information on my laptop.

“What’s the matter? Embarrassed that gettin’ your rocks off caused a security breach in confidential information regarding warfare development?” Mohawk mocks.

Well, yes you were, now that he mentions it. You’re actually very worried your perverted little stunt will somehow end up forever immortalized in history books.

In the moment, though, your main concern was making sure that Konig wouldn’t find out, as you had started transmitting the device’s feed to him as soon as Ghost turned the earpiece on.

Part Three

[jenctrl]

The thinkerers

Chiba Y/n or Chiba Akari, 20, doesn't know a thing or two about socialising, spends most of her time reading and avoiding everyone. "Raskolnikov-esque" aka has a God complex (is enlightened above all), but also feels like the worst person in the world, and those are the reasons why she's alone (is a student too). Loser #1

Sato Harumi or Umi, 23, Y/n and her might seem intelligent, but they share one brain cell which is usually in overdrive. Has known Y/n for three years and despite being in a different country she does her best to be there for her best friend after Y/n moved to South Korea to study. Loser #2

Choi Yeonjun, 22, is the only person who tried talking with Y/n more than once, and it actually worked as she considers him a mutual. He always invites her even though he knows she will decline. Has the confidence of a God, and no one is convinced he's real (anxiety is scared of him). Pro socialiser.

Pham Hanni, 18, part of a whole different building where the film/theatre courses are held, but hangs out at the writer's department. Claims to hate most people in her department building (still friends with everyone). Has forced herself into Y/n's life after they talked once at a party Y/n actually attended. (Lowkey Loser #3)

masterlist

face claims; y/n (aespa, winter), harumi (insta: pepczn)

Taglist - @yxlis @yncoreee @sixflame438 @sunshinez4 @starstruckgoateepuppy @winieter @luvvhaerin @neptunedayss @saysirhc @idkwhatim-doinghere101

[thedragon-and-hisboy]

I was wondering if you can do Tuffnut + touch?

sure thing! :)

What could he feel? How many different sensations? Could he list them to himself? Start with the left hand.

Easy: pain.

Pain in lots of places, actually.

Tuffnut's eyes cracked open. The room around him was lit by dim torches. No light filtered in through the windows, because there weren't any. The walls were grimy and streaked with dirt. The floor he was sprawled on was also filthy. Damp, too.

The pain was mostly emanating from his left hand. He squinted at it and saw that two fingers were bent at angle usually impossible without a mallet.

Or... it had actually been Ryker. Tuffnut didn't tone down his usual sense of humor when in danger. If anything, his brain into overdrive to provide a bright side or hilarious slant to the situation.

In this case, he'd said something unflattering about Ryker's facial hair. He hardly remembered it now. Ryker had certainly taken offense, however, and grabbed hold of Tuffnut's hand.

The first sensation was a wave of heat from the joint that had just been overextended. Then the pain washed in. He tried to muffle his yelp of pain but Ryker still grinned.

"And there's more where that came from," the hunter said darkly. "You should learn to shut up."

He couldn't help himself. Voice choked with pain, Tuffnut said "And you should learn to take a joke!"

The second finger was faster than the first but ten times more painful. This time he screamed as Ryker shoved him back down.

Ryker had left. Tuff had been left to wallow, but he must have fallen asleep. Now, he sat up and bit back a groan as his hand throbbed. His middle and ring fingers were going to take their sweet time healing, if he was any judge.

No matter while he was rotting in a cell, of course.

How much longer would he be doing that? A good question.

A distant and muffled sound told him it probably wouldn't be too long... dirt and dust flaked from the ceiling. The riders always liked to arrive with a bang.

It was about twenty minutes later (1,187 seconds) that his cell door exploded. Meatlug stuck her face in, grinning widely and wiggling hard. Behind her, Fishlegs whooped. "Ruff, he's in here!"

His twin vaulted over the dragon in the doorway and landed by his side like a cat. "Tuff! You okay?"

"Don't touch my hand," Tuffnut said urgently. The injuries had definitely swollen and they certainly didn't hurt any less. Ruff hissed through her teeth at the sight of the fingers bent the wrong way.

"Ouch. Who did it?"

"Ryker," Tuff said with a lopsided grin and shrug. "Some guys can't take a joke. Touchy."

[thebrokenmechanicalpencil]

The first few minutes.

(I wrote a quick thing about my organic's first few minutes on Cybertron, feels a little rushed to me. I may take this down and re post it again with some edits if I see fit in a couple of days. I never know till then. Hehe @quibble-auk made me want to write this with some of her interesting questions about the Pretender's biology. Check out their art. Do it. It's literally so good.) (Oh, ugh body horror? Maybe.)

-

When his back hit the solid metal ground he heard the cracks and snaps along what used to be his spine. The creature that had plummeted from the stars opened his mouth to scream, but not before his throat began to burn and scorch at the influx of cybertron’s air. Pain fluttered and burnt his flesh as the pile of scales writhed. Agony snapping his rather advanced brain into overdrive before the creature’s inner organs could crumple and shut down from the poisonous inhalation. Said creature groggily screamed mind racing trying to understand his situation. In mere moments to any on looker, luckily for the organic there were none, the torturous breaths slowly became less so.

He could feel the unfamiliar crawly movement of his flesh slipping and squirming into different shapes to accommodate the sudden change in environment. Trembling he slowly gained his bearings, nothing smelt right. An experimental sniff left his sinus’s popping, the upper left part of his brain already mutating the cells to accommodate. Not fast enough however to stop the pain, prompting the young thing to let out a whimpering howl at the hisses of his own flesh.

Past that, the world smelt of harsh acrid things. It was such a shock that once his poor snout had repaired itself, his stomach clenched. Bile rose further adding to the thing’s delirium. In a battle with the urge to void his stomach, the world decided it was moving with or without his consent. So his cells took over. As he swallowed down another rise, he felt the rest of his body harden and begin to shift, understanding the danger before he comprehended it. As it did so, it clicked that the world was rumbling. It sounded like a stampede of those runners, thrumming and crashing through the long banks of his territory. But it brought no comfort. Because he couldn’t smell, taste or see a runner, he saw lights. Over the edge of the crater his entrance from the atmosphere had caused, bright rays of sunlight soared above him. It couldn’t be sun, his groggy mind whispered. I can’t smell any sun, any warmth.

While he forced himself up once more, the nausea still clenching his insides, the rays of the not sunlight only grew wider. Stiffness ached in his cold muscles as he stood and climbed out. Twitching he stepped up to find the new world unwelcoming. With a hiss he shoved a clawed appendage up to protect his eyes against the harsh lights as they reappeared again. Smells unlike anything he had smelt assaulted him, along with noises. Clicking and whirs exploded around him. With a whimper he peaked behind his claws and almost threw up again at the sight. Figures. Big ones. All staring at him. Eyes digging poking and ripping at his exposed burnt flesh. Not good. His breathing kicked up to terrified gasps as his instincts screamed that he was in danger. Horrible danger. In his still hibernation raddled mind he took a step back, falling back into his crater. The shot of burning light ripping along his crest. Hardly missing his skull. Sliding down the bank he panted and choked as the vocalizations of the figures grew louder, lights brighter. He felt his legs elongate, arms stretch. His skin had just thinned as the first foul smelling figure jumped in the hole. In an act of pure desperation, he beat down his new wings.

Up like a shot out of the crater and away from the voices. The air whistled and hummed past his face, and he swung his wings up  to try and level out his pattern, as he had a thousand times. He almost relaxed then. But this was not the thick moisture laden air of his swamp home. No. This air was thin. With the addition of no winds to catch the downward motion of his flaps, he began to fall. Choking a scream as he started his return, like the planet couldn’t stand for his feet not to be on it’s rugged surface. With a twist he fell into a steep glide, trying his hardest not to panic. Then the vaults of fire started flying. His right wing was caught immediately. The satin membrane tearing. The thing croaked with pain trying to right himself as more blasts tore past him.

Only to suddenly dip. Hitting the ground and sliding quite a distance, skin ripping and grinding a trail behind him. In a heap he laid pain fizzing in every nerve, exhaustion darkening his mind. Panic was the only thing keeping him from giving into another long sleep. Groaning he looks up to find a creature pinned under him. Limp and smelling strongly like the figures had. Inside the creature’s skull his brain clicked. Unable to stop the new wave of panic at the sudden new wriggling of his bones, he scrambled away from the figure. Its skin bright hues of green and face a stormy grey. Slamming a fist to balance himself was all he could do as his body morphed beyond anything he had ever himself been. His balance growing up his spine and legs cracking from the force of his cell’s commands. Images flashed too. Pictures of creatures on two legs, things that evoked a deep rooted sense of fear. What felt like hours of discomfort slowly ebbed as any stores he had left began to deteriorate. His last meal barely enough to make him slightly resemble the cybertronian he had crushed. Sobs echoed around him as he once again forced himself up, instincts once again begging him to retreat.

Hide. Feed.

(Introduction for this sad boy) (Next)

[anonymous-dentist]

Espera entonces es como si el virus usara de marioneta los cuerpos de los muertos? o.o

solo quiero confirmar si entendí

More or less!

Think of it like this:

Tom dies, but the virus makes his immune system go into overdrive. Some parts of his body regains its facilities, but, his brain is dead. He isn’t there anymore.

But the virus is alive, and its entire purpose is to live, so it’s going to make Tom’s body do what it needs to do for survival. But viruses aren’t really alive, biologically speaking, so this one doesn’t really know what the body needs to survive and keep the virus “alive”

Humans just so happen to be the virus’ primary target because of the way it was created. Remember, its only purpose was to bring the dead back to life, and the virus knows it needs to spread to do that. So the virus goes for the nearest human to infect them and spread and save them from dying, and the easiest way to get to the nervous system is through white blood cells, and the easiest way to get to them is through blood. Hence the biting. And, from there, the body’s muscle memory kicks in and it gets what food it can get from the human being bitten

So it’s kind of a mix! The virus takes care of a lot of it, but the body itself does some things on its own. The human being inside is dead, because the parts of the brain in charge of consciousness have been destroyed by an overactive immune system heating the body up to a dangerous degree, but the rest of the brain survives just enough to try and keep the body alive

If that makes sense. I’m not a biologist, but I think diseases are super fun, and I think viruses are fascinating. They aren’t actually biologically alive! They’re just kinda! There! And I feel like they could possibly be used by the same types of guys who make vaccines for some crazy experiments to avoiding death, some kind of hubris-fueled bullshit to try and avoid the inevitable

[adracat]

yes, hello. I’d like to attack you with unrelenting happiness for the next few minutes of your time. it’s a feedback loop originating from and re-projecting back to you.

first of all, seeing your deconstructions after stumbling upon your ao3 makes me regret missing out on the live updates from you and the community here (aniwave comments are dogshit)

thank you for your posts. they let me think critically about and appreciate g-witch that much more from novel analysis perspectives. reading back a bit, especially to your take on scenes such as ep10’s communication clear up, and seeing these pieces given the gravity and respect they deserve, is taking the bite off of the series’ conclusion.

speaking of treating the sulemio shaped hole in the networks from now on, a red tempest is the kind of fic one wishes they could distill and take intravenously at maximum drip.

it won’t be for everyone, and you think law of causality is your best (haven’t read it yet), but it feels like you’re writing professional grade work just for me with how it seemingly doesn’t miss or waste a line. you present a tight ship regardless of whether that’s how you run it. the story feels compact and layer woven yet flows along seamlessly and with that wonderful sense of OC unlimited potential, dropping shadows here and there but keeping me fully on my toes. still in the rising action, but hopefully multiple full arcs…? (worth!)

the spots of canon that you spun into a universe feel weighted, alive with the way your voice gives an inherent gravitas even to small supporting details, and nothing is more alive than your characters.

you do them so well, it’s impossible to stress enough. regardless of where they’re going in the future, where you’ve had them come from and be is so genuine and, in most cases, compliant/paying close homage in their personalities. your dialogue is a breath of life. eri and chuchu particularly, and prospera especially.

there are small things that are subtle like suletta being a bit less anxious at the start, and there are larger things that are less subtle like all of prospera— yours of whom I love— but everything’s working believably and in sync as you craft this beautiful story. my only complaint is that I think the next release is gonna be a sulemio heavy chapter during the job’s sudden distress, and it isn’t this weekend’s release date yet.

there’s a lot else, like the many juxtapositions, the slow burn, and other emotional/literary devices, but while I’ve already spent too long trying to put just this much of a review/praise bomb together, I’ve gotta jaw on a bit more about your fantastic perspective work with clear voices for each heroine. it’s so exciting getting into the younger couple’s heads when it comes to each other. you’re probably going to slaughter me with elnora and notrette, but ch11’s suletta and mio are already doing it with their pining.

thank you. it’s a joy and a pleasure. I hope to read you for a long time to come. I’d ask to share some of your brain chemicals, but reading the product makes mine just as happy. I hope that means we share a brain cell; then I could rise and meet the caliber. o7

That’s so sweet of you! And absolutely; sending you spiritual braincells 🤗 I put a wealth of thought into all my works but something about Sulemio and Prospera✨ sends my brain into overdrive. Law of Causality and A Red Tempest are passion driven works that I’m happy to share with likeminded people. If you ever do decide to give AASB and its sister works a try you may find interesting connections. ART is a bit of a spiritual sequel in a way. Though admittedly ART Prospera may be a rascally devil but is intentionally more likable than LoC ‘Prospera’. I decided to make her pathetic in ART for funsies 👏

Thanks so much for the kind words ❤️Encouragement gives me wings to confidently move forward—just like our merry cast!

[beaversatemygrandma]

Yapping about this week. It's been a week. And I've been prescribed a Very Eventful med. (for three days. It's almost over thankfully.)

So, that tonsil being swollen for SIX WHOLE DAYS. I went to work on wednesday, helped set some stuff up, looked around, realized they didn't need me that day At All, said I should go to get that taken care of, the boss sent me to a specific urgent care. I got put on steroids. The swelling is gone now, which is nice. So is the pain. I'm chilling.

Kind of. My heart rate has been at the resting "unfamiliar and anxiety inducing" state since wednesday at 3pm. Like busy walmart level heart rate. I'm fine, that's the calm me in a stressful area, but not when I'm at home and at work. I live in those places. That felt concerning. I had so much energy and so little brain cells active. I chatted my coworkers ears off to the point where they're just enjoying the crackhead energy I'm bringing to the table. I don't remember much of yesterday's shift, but I think I'm hitting on the newest hired safety operator now. Idk why. Idk how. But we've been talking A LOT. And he just goes out of his way to chat with me now. Which continued today. Even through me staying late to close, he's there, I'm coming down, and somehow he's able to just start asking questions, pulling conversation out of his ass as we're waiting for the last few people to leave, and somehow making me laugh through the headache and back throbbing that's coming up now that my body isn't on overdrive. And getting my weird ass little personality lore stories. This guy is actually a pretty fun one. I ended up exposing the fact that I'm scared to handle anything too sharp to him today, because one of the other operators left the razor blade we've been using for various things on the water fountain of all places. We HAD CUSTOMERS TODAY. That should NOT be there. That couldn't stay there obviously. So, I asked him to grab it and put it behind the counter to where we had a labelled sticky note so we knew to use that later to get excess paint of the office windows. He's holding that thing like it's radioactive and I'm just sitting there explaining that I could probably do it, probably use it, it'd be fine and great for like 10 minutes, then I'd slice my finger open and in turn pass the fuck out. Apparently he's hesitant about this type of thing too, but he still did that. And then proceeded to offer that I can call him over the radios at any time if that ever happens and i do need help to not pass out. Then proceeded to say something along the lines of "Hold on, that was an exposed weakness. Vulnerability. You trust me, don't you?" And I'm just "???? I guess so." I've had a very strange two days with this guy. The office girls couldn't keep up with me bc they didn't have their usual crackhead energy, but he could, and he kept it going and I think he was enjoying every bit of me being fucked up on strong steroids. Tomorrow when I take the last one in the morning and in turn come down around lunch time is going to be interesting and I feel like he's going to be the only one who really gets what's going on with me during that. He's a good dude. I think I've successfully made a new work friend. One that isn't a noncon friendship of being forced together all the damn time. It's been a bit since they fired my friends. I've missed having that kind of thing going on. It's fun. It's just strange that I had this thought in the back of my head to actually proceed to hit on him. Like, yeah, I was being really chatty and just going on with everything, but like the obviously flirting. Fucking with his hat and shit. I stood behind him for a second, processed that thought, and was just "Don't you add more complications for yourself." and proceeded to continue on to what i had to do wordlessly. (Though seems to be a safer option than my current one, he's a few years younger than him, though still a good amount older than me. Weird, but mostly culturally weird bc he's from portland. It's a good weird... The younger operators have weird things about me, but somehow i keep going for the strange 30-somethings that pop up. Don't get it. Tbf everybody hired there is either 18-20 or 35... and me. right in the middle. hm.)

So That was a THING.

Anyways, the guy that i already have shit going on with, which again, another reason I Do Not need to add complications for myself. We finally had a night where we hung out after not seeing each other for nearly a week. We were going to actually work on the stereo, but he was just "let's chill for a little bit, then we'll get started." We got a fire going, started talking, didn't stop. It was obvious that he hadn't really had a chance to rest in that whole time we hadn't seen each other. It was a night that I was slowly coming down from that day's steroid doses and just rambling on endlessly on this entirely adhd stream of thoughts from both ends. It went places. And tbh, I didn't realize how much i missed doing that with him and that was why I continue to spend time with him when i can. We had another night after that of fucking with the stereo, redoing a few things, and ultimately realizing that it was time to call a professional. That night was honestly boring. Then tonight, he drags me through a whole damn thing as I'm just sitting there waiting for the okay to swing by. His somehow-not-ex-wife was giving him shit again. Basically trying to push herself on him as his responsibility, and just shoving in his face everything wrong with her life and how it's entirely his fault (It's not. They've been separated for two years.) So I get the whole "hang on, my wife is in crisis mode." So I'm just there like "You said you wouldn't. I've already given you this talk." (Not to mention that I have mentioned that this is one of his baggage red flags and somewhat of a dealbreaker....) And yeah. He was. So I'm sitting there for like a half hour. Annoyed. Coming down. About to send him a whole ass paragraph text of "She doesn't deserve you and you don't deserve that shit." Because really, he is too nice for his own good in that situation. I finally get the okay. I delete the paragraph. I head over. Finally get that back crack so my back is no longer throbbing. Then I literally just ream him about getting a fucking divorce and how it's a toxic cycle on how she keeps coming back to him for help, usually through guilting him and trying to get money. And he's just standing there, taking this whole thing silently. Then when I'm done he just says "...My mom just said the same things to me" in kind of a defeated way. I just then reiterate to get a divorce and block her number. And then apologize for being aggressively blunt about it. But apparently he took it as me actually looking out for him bc i was saying what he needed to hear and not what he wanted to hear. And honestly he seemed a touch more positive after that and actually agreed. So, I swear to god if he doesn't. This is something I'm going to keep pressing on until I see proof. Because I was literally about to start telling him how his whole plan for us was actually feasible. It was actually something that I'd want. It is, but not if she keeps showing up like that. But we'll see how that goes. Because apparently steroid induced crackhead energy me is already looking for another backup plan. Which is insane considering that a side effect is a lack of a sex drive. Which is definitely happening. But this is???

Either way, this guy better give me another nice time and actually remind me why i put up with his bullshit real soon after tonight. That was something and he has got to get rid of that awful ex already. Because apparently steroid me has other plans. Let's hope I don't make any fast mistakes here. Don't need more. I've been in a drug-induced manic state for three days. It's been eventful. Makes me think really. I do think with my pussy sometimes. I've been thinking with my brain and heart the last few days, no other thoughts from below. Just a "don't get a yeast infection from the antibiotics again." Which has just been a lot of greek yogurt and kombucha. At least with that realization, I at least put up with that guy without that kind of thought going. And not just put up, but actually care enough about him that I started reaming him about his toxic attachment to somebody who really doesn't care for him and basically just gave him the second version of what his mom did.

But what the fuck was i doing at work today????

[optiwashere]

Written for Smutmas 2023.

You just know that I had to start out the month this way, right? Here's some post-epilogue fluffy smut that takes advantage of some of the dialogue Shadowheart says in the Selûnite ending. Telling Asheera she wants to be "whisked away someplace quiet" sent every single brain cell I have into overdrive.

You can check out the schedule for the month here!

Rating: E for Emotions & Oral, my Beloveds

Category: F/F

Ship: Shadowheart/Trans Fem Tav

Tags and AO3 Summary under the break.

Tags: Explicit Sexual Content, Porn with Feelings, Fluff and Smut, Romantic Fluff, Post-Epilogue, Trans Female Character, Half-Orc Tav, Cunnilingus, Multiple Orgasms, Blow Jobs, Body Worship, Emotional Sex, Girl Penis

Summary:

Now that everyone is departing the long-awaited reunion, Shadowheart is buzzed on wine and needy for a little more than just a chaste peck on the lips. Takes place just after the epilogue.

[lil-bitty-lubdubs]

The Basement Series-Septima Pt.1

Part 1

She awoke slowly, the world coming into her consciousness at snail speeds. Her brain felt heavy as if cotton was stuffed into its membranes. Her vision foggy though every light about her shimmered too bright for her to directly look at. Her strength was sapped, too weak to even raise her head up off the floor…

            Table. It’s a table… or bed,  she told herself. She was too far up for it to be the floor. Where is this? It was a dark room. Windowless. High celling. A basement. She tried to remember. Glove. A black glove covering her mouth. She remembered as fractured pieces of her past her coming into her consciousness. Rag. The glove was holding a soaked cloth. The stench- awful. Then darkness took her.

oh shit! She tried to panic but her heart was slow. Abnormally slow though steady. She turned her head to look around. There was bright earth blinding lights above her but the rest of the room was in shadow. It was a dark, dank place with no windows, no soul. It was the kind of place Bundonians would go to pay homage.

            “Oh God…” she crooned softly to herself, but someone heard.

            “Ah! You’re awake darling.” A man’s voice startled her though her heart only elevated slightly.

It was as if her heart was carrying a wide load behind it reacting too little too late, but the longer she was awake the more the weight was lifting. “Good. I’m glad to see those eyes.” His shadow appeared approaching from the left. That’s when she noticed it. The heart monitor just next to her bedside. She peered at the lines moving and shifting on its screen. She was confused a moment. Then she saw the wires attached to it. She traced them with her eyes from the machine straight to their source. Her chest. She realized she was unclothed save a thin white sheet covering her nudity. Her awakening heart picked up its beat, fear setting in. “What the hell…?”

            “I see you’re beginning to understand the fun we’re going to have together.” The man’s voice was cheerful, calm, and slick as a snake’s skin. He was out of the shadows now. He was not very tall though a bit heavyset, but muscular probably around 35. Brunet. He wore a white lab coat like a doctor would on a bad TV show. He took her wrist gently, pressing in to feel her pulse.

            “What?” She asked. “What do you mean? What the hell are you talking about? “Who are you?” she spoke each phrase louder than the next until she was yelling. “You’re crazy. You’re insane! Let me go!” she whimpered trying to get her other hand out from under the sheet.

            “Oh but you will see …uh…”he looked at a plastic ID card…”Septima is it darling? I’m Cal. Dr. Cal if you will. We’re about to embark on a journey, you and I, and have so much fun along the way. He reached down under the sheet and slid a hand between her legs as she wiggled. “Mmm. Wet.” His eyes glistened lust.

            “Nooo!” she let out a scream. “Don’t you touch me!!” she yelled as loud as she could. He remained unphased. Taking his hand out as he yanked off the sheet uncovering her completely.

            “No!” She screamed again, feeling exposed and vulnerable. This is not going to end well.

            “Now, now, its alright.” He murmured and patted her hand locking his whole palm over her wrist while pulling her arm well above her head, holding it down.

            “Let me go!” She railed. “Stop. Let me GO!” she thrashed weakly.

            The doctor used his free hand to turn a nozzle and a sizzle was birthed into the air. An oxygen mask descended towards her face.

            Septima willed her heart into overdrive and flailed one handed even harder. She tried bringing her legs up to kick him but found they were already strapped to the table. She held her breath as he fixed the mask over her head and attached it with the elastic straps holding it in place with his hand as she tried to claw at it. In the pool she had a 4 minute breath hold. She could probably hold out for 2-3 now with all the energy she was exerting.

            Clearly the doctor was surprised how long she could hold it and began to feel impatient. Perhaps even angry. Good.

            “No. No. No darling Breathe. You need to breathe in Septima.” he urged. She refused.

He turned and grabbed a toilet plunger looking thing with his free hand as he locked her other arm together with the one above her head. He settled the contraption right in the middle of her abdomen, just underneath the ribs. “Breathe in. Breathe in. BREATHE!” He willed her, but she stubbornly held out.

            By now her heart was thudding in her chest right up against her sternum. She could feel the urge to breathe rise up, but it didn’t overwhelm her. Yet. He held out a moment longer giving her a chance to comply before thrusting his weight behind the plunger. It riveted a shock wave of air from deep within her chest all the way up her esophagus. It resulted in what sounded like a grunt as air left her lungs. A significant amount of air, but she refused to take a breath. He thrust again. More air leaked out of her. “Come now darling.” he said through gritted teeth. Yep. He’s angry. That strengthened her resolve. Maybe he’d run out of gas soon. He thrust 3 more times in quick succession though these weren’t as forceful as the first 2. But now, her lungs were empty. The burning in her chest grew every second. Spots danced before her eyes.

She needed to breathe. She had to. AIR. It was all that mattered. She gave up the fight and inhaled. A pure deep, clean lungful of cold oxygen tainted with sweet tasting gas. Relief flooded her chest, her eyes rolled back. She took another shallow breath. Her head already spinning.  But she was still intent on resisting further.  Clearly he knew what she was thinking because he leaned into the plunger contraption again. The breath left her inflated lungs. Too soon!  she screamed inside. She breathed in deeply again mouth open, desperate for air, her resolve failing.

One more time he thrust. By now she was barely conscious though still aware, lungs automatically filling in half bursts. Her body just stopped responding. Her precious heart slowed its rate again. Abnormally slow. It was calm and steady no matter how much she wanted it to kick into gear.

What the hell did he give me? she wondered. “Wrraanmrg…” was all that escaped her mouth.

“Yes. That’s it darling. That’s it. Give In to it! That a girl. Gooood. That’s right. Take a deep breathe. Just give in. Good girl! Yes darling, that’s it! Breathe! Just breathe in.” he crooned into her ear, one hand sliding right between her breasts to feel the surge of her chest rise and fall.  She was no longer in control and she was losing consciousness. She yielded herself to him, no longer caring as his two fingers nestled in to feel her carotid pulse.

[fantasiawandering]

Could use some good vibes

LC health stuff under the cut

So I'm in month 18 of Long COVID. It has ups and down, but I've been very, very down the last almost 2 weeks. We're a bit closer to answers -- basically (and I share this because all the clinics in my province closed, so we really only have each other to rely on for potential answers), COVID and LC are known to mess with the immune system. Sometimes it can interfere with T-cell production, and sometimes your immune system gets thrown into overdrive and causes system-wide inflammatory reactions. They think the latter is what has been happening to me. I've had an undiagnosed infection for I'm not sure how long because I'm not reacting in a typical way to infection. But it's caused inflammatory reactions in my guts, eyes, and heart. The latter has been the scariest. Once we figured out what was going on, I'm now on antibiotics for the infection, anti-inflammatory drops for my eyes, and ibuprofen for everything else. The heart palpitations have calmed down considerably, as have the chest pains. But I've been terrified for almost two weeks, to the point where I sigh in relief when I wake up because hey, you made it through the night, and it's at the point where a minor twinge in my ribs kicks off an adrenaline rush of fear. I'm on my own, and I really feel it late at night, and I could use some good vibes my way if you have any to spare.

I should make it very clear, all of my doctors think this is the kind of thing that's scary to live through but not actually dangerous, and my logical brain understands that. But logic isn't in the driver's seat of my brain at the moment, and my brain is VERY good at spinning out into worst-case scenarios, and sometimes I get very sad and scared, and I talk to my little sister every night, but I can't let her know quite how scared I am, and I just need to get it out of me, you know? Thanks for listening. <3