#Epsilon writes something

[church-gets-pegged]

first of all I love how we keep getting accidentally system coded characters in rvb. second why the fuck is Omega/O'Malley the common denominator for ALL of them what IS it about that purple dude!!!

[m00ngirl777]

Can I request a oneshot with that trend where girlfriends go sit in their boyfriends laps while they're gaming or studying, it has so much potentiallllll for fluff and smut

If This Was a Movie

Peter Parker x reader

REQUEST

“Man, I can’t, I gotta study, I told you, I gotta do well on these midterms… I’ll hang out next time, have fun buddy,” With that he hanged up, and grabbed the stack of books, papers and his bag, when he heard a knock on his door. 

“Ugh!” He put everything back down and went to open the door, now a little frustrated, “Broke, what the he-” He rammed the door open and stood dead on his tracks when he saw you. 

Summary: Sitting on peters lap, he’s busy AF, college peter, you go visit him in Boston , he’s so happy to see you but it’s midterms week, but you haven’t seen each other so you can’t keep your hands off, so then you find yourself in this situation, in the library, he’s studying like crazy, coffee and food runs for your boy, sitting on his lap, and you can’t help but tease him until he’s had enough pent up frustration from all the stress of his first midterms and not seeing you, so he lets it out on you when he grabs your hand and drags you to the old literature section because no one in the engineering building is going near there, and fucks his frustrations out on you against the Jane Austen collection. Sue me babe.

A/N: hi so, as I was writing the summary, that scene from YOU, literally came to me, where joes like, youre not wearing a bra blahblahblah, if this was a movie id grab you and wed go a it at the stacks, or smth along that, hence the title, anyways enjoyyyyy. again I am sososososo very sorry I took nearly three months to answer this request, I don't know why I am the way I am, I sorry. anyways hope you love it, thxx for reading, love u, byeeee. xoxo. -N.

p.s. my requests are open my loves<333 but I might take three months to answer :( SORRY

TW: SMUT, RAW, NO PROETECION BABES.

WC: 2008

- - -

“Hey man…yeah…yeah… I-I know… but I gotta… g-uh…yes… mhm,” Peter really wanted to end the call, don’t get him wrong, for the first time in his life he felt like finally he fit in, even if he didn’t, college treated him different, he didn’t only matched, but surpassed the intelligence of his peers, accompanied by great humility which for the first time gained him respect instead of a shove, or a push, or a basketball to the head, or his lunch on the floor, the teachers encouraged him, as faithful as he was to you, and as uninterested as he was in in any other, he felt a little taller anytime a girl would smile, or giggle, or blush at him, something he had never known. He still had Ned at his side, but he was also very pleased at his new friends, the guys that were on football scholarships, that had urged him endlessly to join the Sigma Alpha Epsilon fraternity, and how they would, what felt to him, beg him to come to endless parties, and hang outs and so on. He was cool, he was respected, he was wanted, he was admired, and if he didn’t study for the upcoming midterms he would also be very fucked.

As wonderful a boy as Peter is, this type of attention can get to anyone's head, because for the first time in his life, people cared, not that he was Spider-Man, but that he was Peter Parker, he wasn’t failing, god knows hes too smart for that, he simply could not afford to fail anything or he would fail the course. 

“Man, I can’t, I gotta study, I told you, I gotta do well on these midterms… I’ll hang out next time, have fun buddy,” With that he hanged up, and grabbed the stack of books, papers and his bag, when he heard a knock on his door. 

“Ugh!” He put everything back down and went to open the door, now a little frustrated, “Broke, what the he-” He rammed the door open and stood dead on his tracks when he saw you. 

“Peter?” 

He pulled you in the tightest hardest hug you've ever felt, you instantly wrapped your arms around him, hands traveling to his, of course shaven head, it was an initiation ritual, it was more a buzzcut now anyway. 

“Miss me, baby?” He nodded hysterically, face buried in your neck, as he pulled you in the dorm, shutting the door, he couldn’t let go of you. 

He pulled away to kiss you, cupping your face, moving his lips against yours with a familiarity unmatched. You spent about five minutes against the door, Peter whispering the sweetest nothings into everywhere he kisses, I love you for your neck  neck and jaw, gorgeous and beautiful for your cheeks, I missed you into your mouth, and a combination of all for your ear, temple and forehead. You kept scratching the back of his head, caressing his neck, touching him, telling him with your hands everything he was saying with his words, your hand went down to his sweats, pulling on the waistband to reach for him, but before you could get a grip he gently pulled your wrist away and let out a soft groan, head on your shoulder.

“What’s wrong baby?” You cupped his face. 

“I gotta…study,”

“Awww, you gotta study baby?,” He nodded against your neck getting closer to your chest. 

“You… you can stay here… or,”

“No way, I’m studying with you,” It’s not that he didn’t want to, he just knew he’d get nothing done, still he couldn’t find it in himself to deny you, so here you were, in the mostly empty library, attempting to study. 

“Peter, why are you so stressed? You're probably the smartest guy here…like… I remember seeing a lesser version of this in highschool, and I was in none of the AP’s, you totally got it,” You were practically sitting on his lap, your hand caressing his neck. 

“I know… I really don’t want to fail,” He said, concentrated on the problem. 

“You won’t,” You kissed his cheek before getting up, grabbing your bag.

“Baby, where are you going?” Damn those puppy eyes. 

“I swore I saw a coffee shop just outside, want anything?”

“Coffee, just regular,”

“‘Kay, I’ll be back,” 

Soon you where back with a caramel latte, and a cold brew with cream. Peter thanked you and let you back in his lap, and in an attempt to adjust yourself you ended rubbing down on him. 

“Y/n,” He grasped at your hip to keep you from moving more, which led you to relax back into him, biting your lip softly when his thigh ended up being nuzzled between yours, slightly pressing on your core, just enough to want more. 

“Sorry,” Your cheeks flushed slightly as you sipped your coffee, feeling the cool bittersweetness aid the heat you were starting to feel. 

He nodded, and went back to concentrate on his problems, equation after equation, number after number, variable after variable, just never ending engineering stuff your history lit majoring brain didn’t even want to begin to understand. He kept mumbling the problems quietly, going over them as he wrote, it always turned you on how smart he is, even in highschool with way simpler material it impressed you, watching him know made your mouth dry. 

“Did you like your coffee?” You asked going to sip it.

“Yeah, its nice, thank you babe…” He answered in automatic, and it still made you giddy, very softly grinding down on his thigh with the excuse of adjusting yourself, you were really trying to cut him so much slack. It wasn’t his fault that you showed up unannounced in his midterms week, you’ve just missed him so much, and you needed him so bad, but he really needed to get this done, so you took deep breaths, and settled on sitting down on the cushioned booth, your thighs over Peter’s, leaning against him in a way that wasn’t too constricting, and your fingers playing with the very short hair at the back of his head, placing the softest kiss every other minute along his jaw, or neck, or face. 

Peter was trying to be grateful you were being understandingly loving, and tried to concentrate on studying, with your warm thighs over his, your arm around him, your hands on him, the combined natural scent you had, the smell of your growing slick, and your perfume, clouding him, he was really trying, but he was also excruciatingly hard. 

“Wanna see something?” Peter asked, a little fed up.

“Uh… sure, yeah,” You let him grab your hand and a little forcefully drag you into the book shelves, going through one after the other, until you were at a dark little corner, dust settled in a full collection of Jane Austen, the first, united edition, you were in between probably the only two shelfs of classic literature in this multiple story library. 

“Oh my god… how old are these copies? Is this what you wan-” He turned you around and shoved you against the shelves, kissing you with a sickening hunger, so different from the softer initial kiss you had shared, “You are… the only person… here… that gives… a crap… about those…” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence, jerking, as he grinded against your inner thigh, your hands would usually pull at his hair, but right now you could only scratch his scalp, which he still very much enjoyed. 

“Hmm, baby please… please,” He whined in your ear, as he rutted against your thigh, and how could you deny him, your needy, frustrated boy, that missed you so very much. 

“Shh, yes… yes whatever you want Peter… shh,” You didn’t know what you were about to do, but you knew you had to be quiet, you whispered in his ear as you cradled his head, he picked one of your legs up, and his other hand went between your legs under your skirt, rubbing your clit through your panties, as he kissed your jaw and neck, he pushed the panties to the side, and massaging your bud, wanting you to get as wet as possible, his mouth on yours, swallowing any moans that were a little too loud. 

Effortlessly, he lifted you up wrapping your legs around his torso, hands on his neck and shoulders, as he freed himself, giving a couple jerks before aligning his member to you, biting your sweater to prevent him from crying out, one of his hands went under your sweater, massaging your breast as he kissed your neck and whispered sweet nothings to you, perfectly still, letting you start to rock against him if you needed it.

“I love you so much baby, I’ve missed you so much,” Peter had dreamed for weeks of seeing you again, he’d figure you’d come visit, you’d never stay at a frat house, so of course you'd book the nearest lush hotel you could find, and he’d make love to you all night long, in a fresh big bed, he’d imagine that, and other scenarios very similar to that, sometimes he just asked for you to send him a voice note of your day and that along with the polaroids you had sneaked into his bag with a couple of your panties would be enough for him to satisfy himself in these two months he’s been in Boston. Never would’ve he imagined this scene, where he grabbed the shelves, fingertips and nail beds white as he started to drill into you, breathing hard, slam after slam, leaving you to do nothing but take it, as you clung to him, face on his neck, letting out the smallest of whimpers, that just fueled him to pistol even harder into you.

You felt everything, how his length reached the deepest inner most part of you, stimulating the nerve endings, making you feel the tingles all the way to your chest, his pelvis, lined with hairs not as kept as usual due to the lack of need, rubbing you with every thrust, his desperation and way he fucked you, like he’d die if he didn’t feel the walls of your pussy around him right this moment, feel how they clench around him when he makes you come, theres nothing he wanted more, but you were absolutely cockdumb, no words, no actions, no will in your body, you just felt your pussy and how it was being fucked raw.

He bit down harder on the sweater to stop himself from moaning and grunting in this library as he stilled inside you, very deep withing you, feeling how his warm spend pumped inside you, like gasoline, fuelling your quiet mewls, even more when he rubbed you until you came so he’d feel that perfect extra pressure as he finished coming, almost as soon as him, leaving you both breathless, shaking, and frozen.

“Peter…what the fuck…” You leaned your forehead o his shoulder, breathing hard, baffled by what you just did. 

“I know… I know…fuck,” He breath out softly as he pulled away, making you whine, he put you back down and readjusted your underware, then pushed himself back in his pants, “fuck, I’m sorry, I-I ju-”

“Shh, it’s okay…” You ran fingers through your hair, trying to re-adjust yourself, starting to feel soaked from your combined spends, knowing there was no way you could just go back and sit down to keep studying.

“I’m gonna go back to my hotel… you should finish studying and you can come by later… yeah?” You cupped his face placing a soft kiss on his mouth and cheek, he nodded, wanting to be around you, but knowing he needed to finish this. 

“Okay… yeah, I’ll just finish with the guide,” He said, but made no effort to move. 

“I love you, I’ll see you later, Pete,” You kissed his cheek, pushing him away gently to walk him back to his table. 

“Yeah, I love you too,”

[literaryvein-reblogs]

How to write diva like characters, like blingy, dramatic, cool asf characters. I feel we don't talk about socialites and PPL like these but I do wanna put them as a main character

Writing Ideas: Diva Characters

a list of related tropes

The Beautiful Elite: They aren't just beautiful looking. In addition to being healthy and fit, with beautiful skin and hair, their whole life is beautiful. They are more fashionable than anyone else, more sophisticated and charming than anyone else, and are usually both rich and socially powerful. Their clothes are all way too expensive for you to ever own. They live in an elegantly furnished Big Fancy House that is so clean and well organized they look like they are Living in a Furniture Store. They get to hobnob with famous people so much that they may casually refer to them on a First-Name Basis. To a certain degree, this is Truth in Television. In most societies, wealth and attractiveness are highly correlated; the wealthy have much greater access to resources for improving their own appearance, through fitness classes, plastic surgery, healthy food, cosmetics, hairstyling, wardrobe, etc. Moreover, attractive people often have better access to social, financial, and material success, whether through marriage or professional opportunities. And even beyond all that, the very standards of beauty itself, especially feminine beauty, are customarily centered around a demonstration of wealth.

Cosmopolitan Council: The one trait that ties everyone together is that they are all in possession of skill, authority or money, and in excessive amounts. The members will probably be heavily accessorized with gaudy jewelry or a scar to prove their moral alignment. In short, the implication is that each and every member has a varied and storied past… which we very likely won't learn.

Non-Idle Rich: A rich character does a job involving public service (often a cop, soldier, or doctor) despite obviously not needing the pay. Instead, they do the work to help people or for personal satisfaction — or to avoid boredom. They will often have conflict with both their family — who wonder what they're doing down in the muck with the "common people" — and their work peers — who class them sight unseen as a dilettante after thrills. They spend all their time proving themselves.

Socialite: Cultured and rich, and knows how to handle any social situation (or at least upper-class ones).

Socially Scored Society: A setting where everyone's reputation is ranked/scored, and it affects their quality of life.

The Diva: The strong, dark, beautiful woman. She's often a go-getter, chasing stardom, wealth, or just recognition for her talents. If she becomes an Idol, she's not constrained by the pressures of always appearing youthful, innocent, and approachable.

The Prima Donna: An overbearing, egotistical entertainer.

Hidden Heart of Gold: Someone is mean, has become famous for it, and is proud of it, so when they do something nice, they keep it secret.

No Fame, No Wealth, No Service: Places that only let in celebrities.

Old Money: Families that have been wealthy for many generations, and maintain their lifestyle through stewardship of an existing family fortune.

The Sheltered Aristocrat: A character who has lived a life surrounded by luxury and pomp and shielded from the everyday trivialities and mundane issues which the lower classes have to contend with. They see themselves as pure and untainted by the hardships of the outside world, but their Ivory Tower worldview is based on books and tutoring, so they are in for a rude awakening when they leave the castle.

You Are the New Trend: A famous person has his mannerisms copied by everyone.

Examples

Brave New World is one of the most famous examples. A Dystopia where everyone is raised to be a Stepford Smiler, and everyone looks twenty years old (except the Epsilons, the lowest caste; they are barely human).

F. Scott Fitzgerald was fond of The Beautiful Elite trope: Dick and Nicole Diver appear to be Beautiful Elite at the beginning of Tender Is the Night. But deconstructed it in The Great Gatsby, a classic novel that starts off by showing all the glamor of the rich, then revealing the ugly truths behind why some of them are this way. The Beautiful and Damned also starts out with this in play until the main couple's awful life choices start catching up with them.

Elizabeth Roffe in Sidney Sheldon's Bloodline. Despite being able to simply sell her shares of her family's company, she decided to run the company.

George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire: House Lannister is the richest and most glamorous of the Great Houses. They are tall, beautiful and golden-haired. Jamie and Cersei Lannister are regarded as some of the most dashing and beautiful members of the nobility. The expected physical perfection of the Lannisters is part of why Tyrion Lannister, a deformed dwarf, is so reviled by much of his own family.

The Park family in Parasite live in a large, isolated house in the middle of densely packed Seoul to symbolize how sheltered they are from the real world. They casually spend large amounts of money with no real thought, as exemplified by how they ask for "ram-don" — which combines two full servings of instant noodles — topped with expensive sirloin steak for a snack. They serve as Foils to the poor Kims, who are of such modest means that they have to fold pizza boxes to try and make ends meet.

Pride and Prejudice's Lady Catherine de Bourgh is a widow of Blue Blood with a vast fortune and huge income. She's nosy, haughty, and extremely meddlesome. She thinks everybody will do what pleases her.

Sleeping Beauty (1959): As a baby, Princess Aurora is given the gift of beauty by the good fairies, as grows up into a lovely young woman.

Darling (1965) is about Diana Scott, a beauteous model from Swinging Sixties London, who gets into multiple romantic entanglements, attends high-profile charity galas, and flies around the world for various jobs. However, her personal unfulfillment, amorality, and disillusionment with the jet set are running themes, and the film ends with her stuck in a marriage to an Italian prince.

Soul (2020): Dorothea is a downplayed example. She's framed as the height of jazz performers, and definitely has sway over who plays and how in her band. She's quick to hire, fire, and challenge her bandmates to keep up. Her experience in the field also gives Joe the advice he needs to hear about the difference between chasing the dream and living it.

The Great Gatsby: Tom Buchanan and Daisy come from old money and high society. It's put in contrast with Jay Gatsby, who is Nouveau Riche and must engage in Conspicuous Consumption to appear to fit in.

Sources: 1 2 ⚜ More: References ⚜ Writing Resources PDFs

Here are some tropes and examples you can use as inspiration. You can find more in the sources linked above. Choose which ones you would like to incorporate in your story. Hope this helps with your writing!

[raine-dance]

Tbh Red vs Blue didn't really intend to lean too far into the dissociative lens with Leonard Church as far as I can tell. He's an AI that's a reconstruction of a real person, through the use of brain-mapping technology. Church, the AI, became a system through... conventional traumatic means, and that's almost where they leave it in terms of direct reference to the disorder. But it's still interesting to look at things within that lens, and while I do eventually intend to collect my thoughts into a video essay, I think I'd like to share one train of thought here because I think it's legitimately interesting.

Everyone knows about the cliché of the murderous alter. Red vs Blue's most notable example is Sigma. Now I know that on this sentence alone, many would criticise me calling Church the best DID representation I've seen in media, especially given that they also misnomer the disorder as MPD, but I think Sigma is the most interesting example of the trope, because he actually has something to say about the treatment of those with dissociative disorders.

For one, I think that character context is important. Church (as in Alpha) was created to be a murder machine - the Director would force Church to split and extract the new split into its own AI unit, given to Freelancers with the express purpose of making them more effective soldiers. Almost everyone in the series is a killer, although some are more effective than others, and nowhere is this description more applicable than Project Freelancer.

With that in mind, the Freelancers were given seminars on the workings of AI - in the series, an AI fragment might try to "metastabilise," or reconnect with other fragments of the same AI, to achieve a sense of wholeness. If I recall, AI were supposed to remain inactive for these seminars, but Agent Maine was fond of Sigma due to Sigma's ability to act as a mouthpiece for him after an injury, and Sigma was made aware of the concept of "metastability." As such, he decided that he wanted to achieve metastability, and this decision kicks off the vast majority of RvB's plot.

There are many things getting in the way of Sigma's plan, however, and first and foremost is the fact that all of the other AI fragments have been allotted to other Freelancer agents. While there may have been a conflict of interest for Maine, Sigma had a clear goal in mind, and was ultimately conditioned to achieve it - the AI units were made to kill, and this is a large part of why he proceeds with his plan.

So, why am I mentioning this? I'm not just here to defend this writing decision, I said this plotline had something to say about the treatment of systems, and it does, either intentionally, or, more likely, not - first, it deals with how the world surrounding systems form how they react to the issues the world involves them in, something that is true of not only us, but of everyone. Second, it challenges the idea that final fusion is the healthiest and only acceptable treatment for systems.

The only reason Sigma strives for something analogous to final fusion is because he was told by someone who should be an expert that this is the only way forward for him. The only way to achieve, in direct quote, "humanity," a goal he had already been striving for. And the tragic thing is that he believed that this was the case when the viewer looking at the show through a dissociative lens already knows it isn't, both in real life, and in the series.

Church, as in the Alpha AI, and later Epsilon, is one of the most human characters in the show. He's a lot of things - a bit arrogant, very brash, and often pissed off, but he cares about his friends, and does everything in his power to help them succeed, even sacrificing himself as Epsilon for them. He was human once, and as an AI, is a reconstruction of that former humanity, and he still manages to retain it. As Epsilon, he achieves functional multiplicity until the plot forces him to go through final fusion to save his friends, and the act, in the timeline of Seasons 15-18, at least, literally kills him.

The treatment of systems matters so much to me. And despite starting out as a crass comedy show about the shittiest soldiers in the galaxy, with the relevant seasons having released 13 years ago, the series still manages to treat us with more respect and challenge more issues relating to how society treats us than most, if not all media that deems us interesting enough to be plot-relevant does now. I have a lot of thoughts about it all, and whenever I feel like it, I'll probably write more about it. Thanks for reading, if you did make it this far, I'm just rambling and all, but if this matters even half as much to someone else as it does to me, that makes me happy.

[literallyjusttoa]

A redraw of the timeline of Apollo's life I made half a year ago! Sadly for some reason CSP decided to completely delete poor Post-First Punishment Apollo (the fifth one), but luckily I took a picture of it before hand so y'all can see it, even if it's lower quality ;-;. If you want the story behind these designs I dumped like 2000 words about it in my og post, which you can see here!

Some quick addendums I forgot to put in last time + fun design details:

Apollo replaces Helios as the god of the sun after the Trojan War, around 900 B.C.E-ish.

Baby Apollo has horns now! This is a trait he inherited from his titan side and then quickly lost during his battle with Python. It's a nod to his first domain being shepherding as well.

Just to clarify, post-first punishment Apollo goes before post-Daphne Apollo, it's just I couldn't place them in the right order bc csp sucks

The symbol I used on Main Apollo's fabric is called a delphic epsilon! It was used as a symbol for Apollo's temple at Delphi in Ancient Greece and represented a worshiper's initiation into light.

The blue-ish silver ribbon Fall of Greece Apollo has belonged to Artemis. As I stated in my first post, Apollo spends a large amount of time away from Olympus between the fall of greece and his time in Rome, so he kept the ribbon to have something of his sister's in the meantime.

Also for Fall of Greece Apollo, his cloak is fading for two reasons. One, he's spending a lot more time performing his duties as the god of burials, making his role as one of the first bridges between the living and dead much more prominent. The underworld is pulling at him just as much as it is pulling at the casulties of Greece. Two, Apollo is not spending time on Olympus, nor is he actively speaking with any of his worshipers. This is causing belief in him to diminish, so this is the closest he has ever gotten to fading. I swear I will write a whole thing about the period at some point I have so many ideas.

The sheep 2nd punishment Apollo has is a Chios sheep! They are actually native to Greece, and also adorable I love them.

I think that's all for now, I hope you guys like the art!!!

[ye4gerism]

Stick to Your Books

★ chapter four. in which you attend a frat party with jean….things immediately go to shit. previous chapter.

content ★ college au, frat party, alcohol, first kisses, fake dating, black reader friendly

author’s note ★ hi guys. i actually hate frats oml. i’ll never write a frat chapter again. series masterlist.

"Anonymous" 2hrs

EDR THROWING TONIGHT. BE THERE OR BE SQUARE

2k upvotes

Tonight was the big night; EDR was throwing. Epsilon Dionysus Rho, as they were formally known, was one of the most sought-after fraternities at U of P - whether you wanted to be a part of it, if you wanted to get with one of the brothers, or even be allowed into one of their parties.

You and Hitch were getting ready together. You had tried to avoid conversation with her due to yesterday's events as she and Marlo had put you in the strangest situation. You know that feeling of a sneeze building up but never actually sneezing? That’s how you felt with her in the room. Hitch was itching to speak to you, as she tried to encourage a conversation today. She had offered to do your makeup but you respectfully declined.

"I think I got it tonight." You don't look at her, instead focusing on setting out the makeup you had. Hitch stands by your desk sheepishly for a moment before going to sit at her own.

Between the shopping trip and now, you figured that putting Hitch at a distance would be appropriate. Your situation with Jean was not only official but temporary and you didn't need her getting in your head or your business, especially if she wasn't going to play nice.

Oh. And her fuck ass boyfriend, Marlo. What the hell was his problem?

"I saw you eating breakfast with your little friend."

"It's just that you're really smart, you know? You don't need to date a guy to get a job you know you can get on your own."

"I just don't think he deserves all that."

Where was all of this extra attention coming from? You huff at the thought and shake your head before starting your makeup. If there was a word to describe your predicament it'd be 'ridiculous'; what are the odds that all this would happen to you?

You finish up, satisfied with your look. At the most perfect time, you get a text.

Jean Kirstein

⤷ jean kirstein in the lobby. should i come up?

y/n better if i meet you down there. i'll be quick

You get up from your desk and grab a small, black, leather purse hanging off one of the sides of your bed. You open it, making sure you have everything you need: lip gloss, I.D., body mist, keys, pepper spray.

All good to go. The only thing, or rather person, you planned to leave behind was your roommate. You weren't going to let Hitch ruin your second party for you. You walk up to the door and begin to turn the knob.

"Hey, wait! Marlo isn't here yet," you hear her call out.

You look over your shoulder and stare straight at her. “Jean’s waiting for me downstairs. I’m going out with him.”

Tonight, you had opted for a white halter neck corset top, a jean skirt, and a pair of tennis shoes you couldn't care less about. Putting on the clothes was like putting on a different identity; you weren't Y/N but rather the Girlfriend. But what was her name? Did that title define who she was? You don't know why Jean and Mikasa separated but you wonder if the pressure of the title was a factor.

Probably not. She was - correction - she is Mikasa Ackerman. Calm and confident defined her. It must have been something Jean did, because how do you lose a girl like her?

You finally reach the lobby and see Jean and Connie standing together. As you get closer, you observe how other students, probably on the way to the same party, gawk at both of them. Jean finally spots you and his eyes light up. You could help but smile and wave.

"You look good," Jean says when you reach them. He places both of his hands on your shoulders and leans down. When his eyes close, you realize what's happening: your first kiss with Jean. You close your eyes too but do nothing with your lips. His lips gently sit on yours and you find yourself pressing against his. His lips feel soft - like he actually took care of them. You could feel a little bit of glide as you tried your best to make the kiss look believable. Did he have a little bit of chapstick?

You pull away and you both stare at each other for a moment. Did he feel it too? The feeling of your heart jumping? Your breath escaping your lungs?

Then you remember: this is a façade. It was all for show. He probably didn’t feel shit.

“Hi Connie.” Your voice is shaky.

Connie stands close by, hands in his pocket. He doesn’t look convinced, or at least he doesn’t look that way in your eyes. “Is he bothering you?” he jokes. Your heart settles.

“I'm a little confused - I thought you guys met last week? Kissing already?” the boy questions. Your heart picks up again. You have your story but you don't have anything to explain the kissing. He then lightly punches Jean on the arm. “Kirstein, you fucking dog! At least let the relationship marinate before all the lovely shit. She’s not your girlfriend yet, right?”

Jean’s quiet but his eyes are wide. He looks over at you, as if he were looking for an answer in your eyes. However, you’re equally as lost.

“Right…” he answers, uncertain. “I guess I’m getting too excited.” Jean puts an arm around your shoulder and squeezes you close. “Sorry about that.”

There were so many obvious holes in your story. Yes, you had agreed to be his fake girlfriend but you also met exactly a week ago. Some parts of this plan needed revision.

You’re about to ask Jean and Connie if they’re ready to go but your eye catches the sight of another individual - Marlo. He brushes past your group but not without taking a quick look at you. Just problem after problem. Why didn’t you pre-game? Why weren’t Jean and Connie pre-gaming? Weren’t they the professionals?

“We should go. This residential hall is making me break out in hives,” Connie jokes.

As Connie turns around, Jean tells him to shut up. He offers you your hand and you take it. Your hold is a little tight, making Jean pause. “You alright?” he whispers. You swallow your spit and put on a brave face before nodding.

You finally arrive at the very packed EDR house. The walk there had to be the most draining walk you’ve ever had - not because it was far, but the thought of cleaning up had you stuck. By the time you walk inside, you’re ready to find where the drinks are. You didn’t get to drink a lot last week and figured if Jean were by your side, you’d participate a little. You’re ready to follow Connie to wherever the hell he was going, sliding between girls under bright flashing lights, but you’re pulled back by Jean.

Your back hits his front and his hands lock your arms against your body. He bends down, his lips grazing your ear. His entire presence sends a shudder down your entire body. “Let’s lay off on PDA tonight. Connie’s right, we only met a week ago. Just do everything at 10%.”

“Jean, what does that even mean? This was all your idea, remember?” you say back.

Jean’s grip on you loosens but doesn't move. “Just…just figure it out,” is all he can manage. He leads you into the crowd until he spots Connie and some other guys. When you reach the group, you realize it’s Reiner, Porco, and Floch from the other night.

“Hey fellas,” Jean greets. His hands find your waist, “You might remember this beautiful lady from the other night.”

“Yeah…” Floch hisses. He looks at you like he wants to kill you.

“Oh, I didn’t know Hitch’s quiet little friend was the same girl who threw her drink at you,” Porco elbows the ginger. The guys chuckle and Floch’s annoyance increases.

“And I was right about her too…what are you? Some fucking groupie? How do you even know Jean?” he hits back. You freeze. You knew he was mad but was that needed? His comments incite multiple ‘woah’s from his teammates who all take a step towards Floch to reprimand him some more. You stand awkwardly behind the group as their voices draw attention from others.

You look around you, hoping to find another familiar face. You recognize a freckled face moving through the crowd and you start to feel hopeful. Separating yourself from the drama you make your way up to here. “Ymir?” you call out.

She stops and looks over the crowd before locking eyes with you. “Y/N!” Ymir moves over to you and takes your hands. “Hi! You’re here!” She looks over at the group of lacrosse players still arguing. Ymir rolls her eyes and decides to take you into the crowd. You look over your shoulder, looking for Jean but he’s too focused on going off on Floch.

Ymir leads you outside and you begin to realize how hot the EDR house was. “The air feels so good,” you say with an exhale in your voice. Ymir walks you over to a table with three beverage dispensers. “Jungle juice?” she asks, “I had some earlier. I’m fine. Just a little tipsy.” You look at her then the dispensers. “You also don’t have to!” she clarifies.

“Fuck it, I’ll have some jungle juice.” You grab a red solo cup and pull the tab of the dispenser and pour yourself about a quarter of alcohol. You take a sip and turn to Ymir. “Not bad,” you say.

Ymir gestures for you to follow her and she takes you over to another side of the lawn, where you observe a few other individuals seated. You only recognize one face - Historia’s. “Hi Y/N!” she greets, “I didn’t know you were coming. Where’s Jean?”

“Inside with some of his teammates,” you reply. You take a look at the ground for a quick second and observe all the solo cups on the ground. Do the EDR guys clean all of this up after every party? What a pain.

“Y/N, this is Annie, Bertholdt, and Armin. Annie’s a tennis player and Bertholdt’s on the basketball team,” Ymir explains as she points to each respective person.

“So are all of you athletes?” you joke, “You were all born little super humans?”

Armin, the blond, seated with a grey boxy tee on and arms crossed, shakes his head. “I don’t…I actually manage the media for the lacrosse and baseball teams.” You sigh and sigh of relief and everyone around you starts to laugh. “I do play club golf. So, I am a bit of an athlete.”

“Should I do a sport too? Is it too late?” you ask, half jokingly. It didn’t sound like a bad idea - getting active, traveling to different parts of Paradis, built-in friends.

“I mean you used to dance, right? Dance team’s pretty decent and I don’t mind putting in a good word for you if you wanna cheer,” Historia offers. “Regardless of what you choose, you’ll still end up cheering for Jean on the sidelines.”

Ymir pokes your sides. “Ooohh…lovebirds?” You swat her hand away.

Bertholdt furrows his eyebrows. “Lovebirds?” Fuck.

“Yeah, Jean and Y/N are lovey-dovey. Always eating together and going out. Aren’t you, Y/N?” Historia continues.

You purse your lips trying to make up a response. “We’re…we’re just talking,” you simply say.

Armin and Annie, the other blonde (so many fucking blondes) share a knowing look. “Didn’t Jean just break up with Mikasa? You know it’s a little weird to start plotting on someone who just got out of a relationship?” Annie asks.

“Who said I’m plotting? What the fuck? I just met you.” You feel an uncomfortable hole in your stomach. You weren’t big on confrontation and like you just said, you just met all of these people. What do you do when one of these individuals decides to give you the Floch treatment?

“Sounds pretty guilty to me,” Annie continues. You did feel a little guilty but you couldn’t pinpoint why. Was it because you were doing such a shitty job at being a fake girlfriend and the holes in your story were getting bigger every second?

You chug whatever’s left of your jungle juice before looking at Ymir. “I’m gonna head out. I don’t want to be ‘a little weird’ and ruin the mood,” you say. “Nice meeting all of you.” You don’t give Ymir a chance to say anything as you immediately turn on your foot to return to that hot ass house.

What the fuck was that bitch trying to say about you? That you were weird and not some ‘girls girl’? What the hell! It’s not like the guy has publicly claimed you as his girlfriend. And is she giving him any trouble about any of this? You work your way around the house, trying to find a table or the kitchen in hopes of finding that box wine you wasted on fucking Floch last week.

As you continue to look around for another thing to drink, you finally catch Jean. He looks like he’s supposed to be having a conversation with someone but he’s looking off into the crowd. Was he looking for you?

You attempt to look closer and as you do, it becomes clear - he’s looking at her.

The sight of Mikasa talking to another guy had him in a trance and you were quickly reminded that he’s only known you for a week. Whatever seemingly romantic interactions you’ve had with him don’t compare to being with her for years. You look over to see if she’s noticed him and to your surprise, and slight annoyance, it looks like she has that same look of yearning. She looks at the guy and later pretends to be distracted by the crowd - it’s a whole routine.

So you had a few options: let them share this moment as you look dumb and lost in Jean’s arms or look like the girl who’s so excited she bagged an athlete and kiss him right here, right now.

At this moment, is he yours or hers?

You say a bunch of ‘excuse me’s and ‘coming through’s until you reach Jean. You tug on his hand and he looks down at you, startled by your presence. “Y/N,” he says loudly, “Where have you-”

“Shut up!” You grab his face and pull him in for a kiss. You’re not sure what you’re doing. Are you supposed to put your tongue in his mouth? Jean quickly pulls away from your grasp.

“Are you okay? What are you doing?!” he questions. You don’t answer as your focus is now on Mikasa, whose face is unreadable. Is she disgusted? Does she think you’re desperate? Her face finally changes - it looks like she laughed…and that guy is looking over too.

You feel stupid. Embarrassed. Like there’s a hole growing in your belly. Why did you do that?

“I’m going home,” you say to no one in particular.

“What? I can’t hear you.” Jean cups his ear in your direction. You push past him and try to find your way to the front. You hear him calling your name but you don’t mind him. You made it outside to the front where rejected students are either lingering around or begging to get in. You don’t hear Jean yelling for you anymore - you must be in the clear.

You walk away from the EDR house and as you begin your journey, you’re not sure if you want to cry. What the fuck just happened?

“Y/N.” You stop walking, and your heart almost stops. You look over your shoulder and it’s just Jean. Feeling safe, you start your trek. “Y/N,” he tries again.

“You were looking at her. I was gone and you were looking at her. Why weren’t you looking for me?” you start.

You hear him sigh. “I told you to take the PDA down a notch. So…I assume you found someone to hang out with,” Jean replies.

“Oh, I found some people. I got introduced to her fucking friends! Your friends, Ymir and Historia, let it slip that I was seeing you and it didn’t go over so well with them.”

Jean doesn’t say anything and you choose not to follow up either. You’re closer to your dorm and you’re so ready to shower and end this night.

“Why did you kiss me?” he asks, breaking the silence.

You stop walking and turn around. “Why were you looking at her?” For the first time this night, you finally get to look into his eyes, which reflect a mixture of confusion and guilt.

“Listen, I know she's your ex. And I know this whole ordeal is for your image and an internship you promised me," you start, "But is this plot also to make her jealous? Because now, I’m frustrated.”

And a little jealous.

Jean stares at you, guilt rushing from his eyes to his face.

"I don't want to do this if I'm only being used to make Mikasa Ackerman jealous."

You open your bag and take out your keycard. “Let me know what you think. Good night, Jean.” You start to walk away before Jean comes up behind you, placing his hands on your shoulders and turning you around. He holds you firmly in place.

"What are you-"

"Be quiet," he responds lowly. Jean inches closer to your face before capturing your lips with his. The kiss starts off soft. Just his lips enveloping yours over and over again. His hands find a spot on your waist and later one goes to your back and pulls you closer. Your hands rest on his chest.

This isn't something you do every day. In fact your last kiss was in high school with this random idiot who only Goddess Ymir knows what he's up to now.

He's rougher now. You start to panic when you feel his tongue entering your mouth. It's sudden. It makes you gag. You recoil and push as hard as you can on his chest and he gets the memo, pushing himself away from you.

"Jean..." you breathe.

"I'm sorry-"

"No kissing outside of your little events...remember?" you remind him quietly.

Jean takes a step back. His hands are stuck to his sides and he's unsure of where to look. He opens his mouth, "Maybe I should..."

"Kiss me again," you finish. You didn’t want to remember this night on a bad note. You just wanted one thing to go right.

His eyes land on you once more and they're wide. "That's not what I-"

"Kiss me again," you repeat, determination present in your voice. You take a step toward him and reach your hands up to your face. Jean concedes, meeting you halfway. He pecks your lips and he does it over and over again until your kisses are less organized.

You pull away first again and he lets out a breathy chuckle. “We need to practice your kissing skills. You’re obviously not experienced.” Compared to when he picked you up, this kiss felt more intentional. You wanted to do it over and over again. Secretly, you hoped he actually wanted to practice.

“Well, we all aren’t certified kissing professionals like you, I guess.” You roll your eyes. “I can walk back from here. Good night, Jean.” You take a moment to look at him - his messy hair, the stupid sparkle in his eyes - before turning around and finishing your journey back to your dorm.

“Hey Y/N?” Jean calls out. “I’m sorry.”

You stop to look at him. You’re not sure what to say back. So you smile. Smile and wave.

"Anonymous" 15m

Eren and Mikasa confirmed???

80 upvotes

[its-no-biggie]

easily the funniest thing restoration did though was hand us a perfect explanation for why it isnt canon. like oh, epsilon ran hundreds of simulations before he destroyed himself, and even he doesnt know if this one is real or not? well then, obviously. it isnt real. you would know how easy it is to write something off as not canon, wouldnt you? uno reverse motherfucker, i do not accept your fanfiction as canon. this was clearly a simulation and not even a good one

[ssstarlighttt]

For all Ruben/polo uni crew and the just dancers, what are you favorite ways to characterize them and their interactions? Like ways you make dialogue flow, personality traits, individual backstories, etc

OOHHHH wow ok this is a loaded question and I would LOVEEE TO ANSWER IT HEHE

when it comes to dialogue flow and dynamics i LOVEEEE banter and just general playfulness you probably know this if you have read any of my fics but that is how i love to communicate with my friends so ofc i’m projecting it onto my faves. particularly cherry bc ik she’s sarcastic and snappy as hell with everyone. cherry and ruben especially bounce off each other a lot bc of the way their friendship grows. ruben and polo moreso have like giddy playful banter where they’re bound to start laughing in the middle of it. but overall it’s just a fun group where they know how to bounce off of each other and have fun!!

brief personality rundown of the gang and how i like to write them!

ruben on the surface is a very dudebro guy, but he’s a very creative and attentive person with a bit of pent up anxiety, especially when it comes to how others perceive him.

polo is very hyper and zones in on his hobbies, but he knows how to be down to earth and can be very supportive.

unai is a very “take it slow” guy. taking a gap year taught him that he doesn’t have to rush into everything, so he’s a very roll with the way life takes you kind of dude.

epsilon is the exact opposite. that boy’s adhd has the hamster wheel in his brain going a mile a minute he needs to do EVERYTHING and he needs to do it NOW. he’s very shy and closed off at first but when you find common ground with him it’s a slow and steady warm up.

cherry is confident and does whatever she wants. she’s also a pretty direct person in most circumstances. she’s not one to let other people’s perceptions deter her.

urban is literally just a chill guy. bro just likes to play drr and do his engineering homework he is living life HOWEVER he’s very kind and soft spoken which is something people don’t often expect from him.

and ok backstories honestly other than small details like ruben’s move and unai’s gap year they all have lead pretty normal lives. leaving out small details on purpose for surprise but literally other than the school is hard why do i have so many papers they’re all basically just normal people. except for epsilon being able to climb buildings and be spiderman basically but whatever

i know this was one big yapfest but i love my little guys TEEHEE 😋

[crowttore]

Segment Membrum Virile Attachment Catalogue

Notes: If you know me, you'll know that making something like this is nothing out of the ordinary. If you don't know me, sorry. Massive thank you to all my lovely followers and anons who helped come up with cursed ideas, love you all <3

Tags: Il Dottore's segments, crack treated very seriously, really bad ideas for dicks

'Membrum virile' -> penis

Unless otherwise stated, please circle only one (1) item in each set of square brackets. Violation of this rule will lead to a complete disregard for the segment's wishes and a set of randomised parts will be delivered instead. Good behaviour and satisfactory work performance can be rewarded with additional parts.

Well met [Zandik/Dottore/Il Dottore/Doctor/Insert Segment Code]! Perhaps you remember a past, but find yourself unsure of how much belongs to you. Fret not, all will be explained in due time.

For now, there are some practicalities to settle. You are a 'Segment', a physical manifestation of the pinnacle of Il Dottore's knowledge and dedication. The body your consciousnes inhabits is largely bionic in nature with a primordial component. An in depth explanation is assumed superfluous as you should have access to the memories containing this information.

Some parts of your body have, for practical reasons, not yet been attached. The objective of this pamphlet is to allow each segment to make an informed choice of personal modifications.

Section 0

Each segment of model type 'Epsilon' and onward is equipped with one standardised reproductive organ of a preset size. The size is determined by the body type of the segment and is not negotiable. The phallos can be adjusted to lean either right or left depending on preference.

All attachments have been grouped into categories with related utilities, please select one (1) from each by circling it. If none are selected, a random attachment will be selected for you.

If you chose 'Zandik' at the beginning, please skip to section 6. If you chose 'Insert Segment code', stop dawdling and get back to work.

Section 1

[Laser ruler / carpenters ruler / screwdriver* / drill / spirit level / flashlight / laser pointer / plunger / paint brush** / lever] *Bits can be changed **Large brush

Section 2

[Bottle brush / electric mini-fan* / laser thermometer / grater / hand blender / portion scoop / faucet / bottle / straw / rolling pin] *Not recommended if synthetic hair has been added to the body

Section 3

[Travel mug / comb / hand* / feather duster / hairspray / toothbrush / vacuum cleaner** / 50mL test tube / scratching post / deodorant stick] *Specify either right or left **Can double as leaf blower

Section 4

[Flute / calligraphy pen / paint brush* / blowpipe / scalpel / palette knife / foam tube / music bow / spool of thread *Small, round brush

Section 5

[syringe / gun / knife / whip / scissors / mace / nailgun / flamethrower / baton / herring*] *Must be used to cut down the mightiest tree in the forest

Section 6

[Tied together napkins / confetti popper / worm on a string / sticky hand toy* / groan tube / jack-in-the-box / bubble wand / toy shark / pool noodle** / rainbow slinky] *Must sign agreement to never use on other segments **Only available in blue

"One Il Dottore can fit so many dicks in him!" ⭐⭐⭐⭐⭐ from a beloved anonymous source

I do also write actual fics

[leonardalphachurch]

eeeek day 7 already!!

logrimmons (locus, grif, simmons), texsis (tex, kai), locpez (locus, lopez), or wash and epsilon (either romantic or platonic) please!

(i would love to give you a shitty drawing/writing in return smiles)

-skateboard-theta

i talk all the time about texsis and have already drawn them making out sloppy so im skipping that and for epsiwash well. i will draw them making out sloppy style for you but i feel like these two are also smth thats on my mind enough i dont need this event to talk about it

okay i decided to put logrimmons and logrif together in another ask. so this post is going to be just locpez

i think thats the first time ive ever drawn lopez. anyway

okay i said grif was the most normal person in the logrif thing and thats true but in terms of personality lopez is the most "im literally just standing here". also i just realized i never talked about what grif saw in locus. well. have you seen locus. next question. anyway i LOVE the locpez revolution lately. i think theres obviously a lot to be said about them both being latino and so thoroughly dehumanized but i think theres ppl more qualified to talk about that than me lmao. in terms of the dehumanization tho i think the way that lopez at no point ever expresses a desire to be "human" and yet still doesnt even for a second doubt his own personhood would be SUCH a good contrast to locus' whole thing. like while i do think lopez actually has an incredible amount of empathy and compassion hes also kind of a dick so while he would understand locus being Like That hed also be kind of like. well thats fucking stupid youre clearly not a weapon youre a person. ive literally dated a weapon and guess what? she was also a person. i also think obviously lopez would appreciate having someone around who can understand him but thats also like... like clearly something drew locus to felix originally i think he would like how much of a dick lopez is

[fragmented-ghost]

Various Red vs Blue aus that I have but never talk about but want to

I have quite a few aus for RvB that I don't really post about because I don't really know how to explain them all on their own but I want to talk about them. So like if you're interested in any of these send me an ask or comment or something.

Of course I have the fic Little Pistol, where South manages to escape the Meta with Theta and crash land on Chorus. I really need to get back to writing this fic.

I also started writing Still Here, an Au where Maine comes back after the Meta got emped and manage to keep himself and Washington from getting put in prison. However I'm probably never going to finish it but I still want to talk about it. I do want people to know that they WOULD have picked up Doc and traveled with/befriended him.

I have the Fragment!Wash au, where Post Implantation Epsilon manages to create another fragment based on the memories he got from Washington.

Not a full au but I do have this post, with a meme for a hypothetical time travel fic where Locus + Washington + Carolina get sent back in time and Locus accidentally becomes a freelancer

No fics or posts for this one, but I do have a roleshift au. Highlights include York and Carolina taking the roles of Grif and Simmons respectively. Church and Donut swapping roles. Washington as Texas and Tex as both York and Kai, so on and so forth.

[the-ninja-legacy-whip]

I have Harumi brainrot near-constantly these days, so:

How does Harumi meet Killow and Ultra Violet? Why do they want to resurrect Garmadon?

Does Lloyd look after Fang when Harumi dies, or is Fang already dead by then (idk how long a fictional spider would live lol)

Does Harumi like the baby Great Devourer, or is she scared of it?

Since Harumi isn’t a princess, is the whole ‘assassins are after her so she has to huddle up with the ninja on the bounty’ thing still valid, or is it something else?

When do Lloyd and Harumi officially start dating?

Okay that’s it if any of these are spoilers just ignore me lmao

OH extra thing: does your fic have a playlist? Either a playlist you just personally listen to while writing or a list of songs that actually represent these guys lol

How does Harumi meet Killow and Ultra Violet? Why do they want to resurrect Garmadon? <- It's spoilers for how they meet, but Ultra Violet has personal reasons for getting entangled in Elemental business (as her mom was the previous EM of Shadow before Shade + her father was the EM of Surprise before Jesse and she got NONE of those powers mannnn), but I'm still workshopping Killow. Killow might end up being UV's cousin honestly (cuz of the 'Descendants of Shadow getting that shade of skin color' thing), and their reasons for resurrecting Garmadon are because Harumi sways them on Garmadon's philosophy from Season 2 still being 'correct', even if he was ultimately defeated for it in the end. But with bringing him back, they plan to do things 'right' this time (...in a sense. we're missing several seasons of context inbetween here lmao)

Does Lloyd look after Fang when Harumi dies, or is Fang already dead by then (idk how long a fictional spider would live lol) <- Given that Fang is a male tarantula, they don't live as long as females would (probably why he was a cheaper pet for Hutchins to buy). Females can live for decades, while males...would be lucky to squeeze out a couple of years, if not just a few months. And Fang is already Not-A-Baby when Harumi gets him. So, unfortunately, Fang would probably have died long before Harumi does ;w;

Does Harumi like the baby Great Devourer, or is she scared of it? <- nah Epsilon loves her lmao . Harumi is wary of her ofc, but it grows on her and shows her not all snakes are out to eat her parents

Since Harumi isn’t a princess, is the whole ‘assassins are after her so she has to huddle up with the ninja on the bounty’ thing still valid, or is it something else? <- Undecided, but also elaborating would lead to more spoilers than I dare to risk :d But, more than likely there will be different reasoning for her sticking close with the group again.

When do Lloyd and Harumi officially start dating? <- ...they technically don't, actually (and I know a couple people recently were freaking out that they would. even if they did, it would NOT be anytime soon hrnnnng). But as with most things involving the Garma Farm, it's complicated. Along with several messy unfortunate emotions towards each other. But they're never, like, 'officially' boyfriend and girlfriend... though their dynamic, uh, 'evolves' prior to Season 8, shall we say (it's aaaall part of the tragedy~)

does your fic have a playlist? <- my good bud @chaos-vulpix has basically taken the reigns on such a project, ranging from character-specific playlists, ship playlists, and even event-specific playlists! With immaculate taste and choice as well *-*)/

There's a biiiig masterpost of them right here if you're in the market for something/someone specific, but I'm not 100% sure its up to date right now it hardly is i promise i still luv u Chaos, SO my playlist tag might work better for a catch all, if you wanna absorb everything there is to offer! (there's plenty for Lloyd, Jesse, and Harumi tho, no shortage there <3)

[tunastime]

Recovery One

Washington undergoes experimental surgery: installing Project Freelancer's AI program into his head. Epsilon tries to break his way out of Washington's skull. Washington deals with the symptoms of a thing that wants nothing but to escape.

aeuhmmm so I got a little silly with the freelancers again and decided to write something about what wash and epsilon might've gone through before it was extracted for obvious reasons. this is chapter one! tagged this pretty heavily on ao3 but tw for blood, injury, medical procedures, emotional hurt/comfort, and trauma. (3238 words) (read it on ao3!)

The walls of the Mother of Invention seem colder tonight. It's like Washington's body is a heat source, and the hard beds of Recovery One are the sink, drawing every last shred of warmth from where his flimsy surgical clothes meet cloth. He can feel the handful of sensors stuck to his skin, along the inside of his left wrist, keeping careful track of his heart rate, his oxygen, and his blood pressure. The base of his skull is still aching, a thrum that settles equally in the channel of his spine. 

Cold, shivering, curled pathetically on that hard mattress, Washington is trying to sleep. He's twitchy, stomach twisted into rough knots, and every time he shuts his eyes the spinning of the world only gets worse. The gravity on Invention is generated by a massive column of constantly pulsing electricity, but if Wash were to step foot onto the ground below him, he's certain he'd float upward far too quickly. Or fall face down. One of those would definitely happen. 

He tries to breathe through the wave of nausea that passes. It's all a byproduct of the chip in his skull. The voice is quiet for now. They're fighting to use the same body—his body, with all its human joints and mostly untorn muscles and surficial bruises and just a handful of really broken bones. It hurts like something electric shudders just under the first few layers of skin, or like someone took his nerves and ran them through the shredder. He kind of feels like the paper in the shredder, or the shredder itself. Or maybe the paper when it’s half in the shredder and half out. When's the last time he held a piece of paper? Did people still shred paper? He breathes again.

He's under a 24 hour watch. Twenty four hours of this. He screws his eyes shut and the ship around him swings back and forth on a pendulum. He digs his fingers into the muscles of his shoulders and tries to breathe through it. The stars start to fade after a moment of breaths through his teeth. North used to joke about how anxious Theta made him—that swing of artificial fear through his nervous system, how he had to breathe through the waves of adrenaline to keep himself level. Little spikes happened now and then, making a purely perfunctory condition ten times worse, but North seemed to nurture himself until the feeling gave way to something productive. 

Wash isn’t having that much luck. 

It wasn’t something easy to pin down. He wasn’t just anxious, or sad, or angry. He wasn’t happy, or disgusted, or a middle combination of the emotions he knew how to regulate. It felt like a swirl of everything, of nothing, completely out of his grasp. The AI—Epsilon—was having a field day as he tore open the synapses of Wash’s standing memory and tried to make room. And Wash was fighting back. The lines had already begun to blur and Wash could only assume the after-effects were due to that unalignment, that unmeshed surface. Epsilon needed a blank slate. It was the only thing Wash wasn’t able to offer.

When he breathes again, his stomach turns violently. He lurches, hands grasping at the cool bedside, swallowing hard. His hands shake as they hold onto the smooth surface below him. Okay, fine—eyes open. Another breath out of his teeth. He can taste sour in the back of his mouth. 

The world is foggy when he opens his eyes again. He drags himself up slowly as his head continues to spin like a wobbly top. The top sheet comes with him, wrapped over his shoulders as he drags himself into the bathroom. There’s a moment where he wobbles, stepping forward for the first time, socked foot firmly set on the floor. He can’t even think—the quiet that was there seems to settle into a background of whispers he can’t make out. He speaks out loud to himself, trying to get a word into his crowded brain, or to force himself to step forward.

“I need a drink, that’s it,” he says, in a voice he’s not sure is entirely his own anymore. He swallows again. Anything to get the taste out of his mouth. He can hear that echo of a voice bounce around inside his skull as he drags himself forward uneasily.

“Please,” Wash manages to garble out. “I can’t… I can’t help you.”

He manages to stumble to the doorway of the bathroom, sheet left crumpled at his feet as he braces hard on the edge of the sink. His breaths come fast and hard as he stands upright, fingers white-knuckled where they grip the countertop. The world tilts, and he feels his body slump into the wall  beside him. The white light of the room does little to obscure the sheen of sweat on his face, or the way his hands shake as he tries to turn on the faucet. He cups his hands. The water is cold on his flushed and feverish skin. He presses his cool, damp palms to his eyes and drinks from his hands. Washington breathes. The world seems to settle as the cool air hits his skin. He’s not seeing double for now.

The moment of reprieve is short-lived. His stomach folds over itself, rolling a cold, then hot wave across his skin as he doubles over the sink. The voice inside his head is slamming against the walls of his skull like it could break through. He can’t understand the words, how they crush and morph together against the new spike of pain behind his eyes, but it sounds like screaming. Something scared, and horrified, and desperate, pleading. But maybe that’s him. 

He gags. The rest of his dinner comes up in the sink. He coughs, trying to swallow it back down, nose stinging. He heaves in a breath. His eyes water and he doesn’t stop them from dripping off his cheeks. 

Breathing heavily, Wash drags his hand over his face. It comes back damp, still shaking. He can taste iron in the back of his throat. When he looks in the mirror, eyes dark and sunken, it’s like he can barely recognize the face looking back at him. Wash shuts his eyes tightly. He holds to the edges of the sink, breath shuddering and whistling as he inhales. More tears fall; fear, grief, nothing actually his. 

“I can’t—” he says, he sobs, as the voice—Epsilon—pleads. Pleads for him to make space, to be something other than he is, to let him out, to let him go. “They won’t—” 

Across the room, there’s a quiet knock on the door. He jolts, eyes darting to the closed door. Another knock. Wash brings up a shaky hand, wiping the tears from his chin. He rinses off what he can from his hands, pulling tissues to dry his face. He can still taste the film of bile in the back of his mouth. Washington steadies, blinking his eyes fully open.

“Wash, it’s North. Came to check up on you.”

North. Oh. Wash shudders as he laughs, just a little. Sure. He leans back from the sink, lowering himself gingerly to the floor to grab the sheet. As he steps carefully to the bedside, he replaces the sheet and begs that he finds his sense of composure before he opens the door.

“Coming,” he manages, voice wavering.

He makes his way around the bed, hand braced slightly on the wall as he steps over. The door slides open as he stand in the doorway.

North is standing in his pajamas, a concerned sort of pull to his face. He smiles a little when Wash opens the door, but Wash is too busy staring at his own socked feet and North’s boots to really notice. North’s voice is soft when he speaks. It reminds Wash of the one time South blacked out during dive training and North wouldn’t leave her side.

“How’s it goin’, buddy?” North says gently.

“Best day of my life,” Wash jokes, laughing weakly. North huffs out a laugh, folding his arms.

“I know they’ve got you under watch, so you’re in good hands,” he says, inclining his head. “How’s the headache? The tingling? Anything blurry?”

Wash takes a second, sighing and shutting his eyes. It’s funny that North would say that, isn’t it. He gets the shuddering feeling of something not his own as he stands propped against the wall, trying to hold himself up.

“Still painful,” he manages, pressing his hands to his eyes. “Everything’s blurry.”

“Yeesh—” North says, sucking in a breath through his teeth. “You’re taking it slow though, right?”

Wash nods.

“I’m trying to,” he says. “Best I can given the circumstances. It’s hard to sleep with all the…” He waves his hand around listlessly around his head, as if trying to get his point across. The voice. The emotions. Whatever chugged through his memory and forced itself in. It was an almost-physical, painful sensation. North nods knowingly. Wash doubts that he knows much at all.

“I’m sorry, Wash,” North says, his concern sincere. “It’ll get better with time, though. You’ll have a few days to settle in before the Director sends you out on missions, I’m sure.”

Wash nods again. It’s the most he can really do. His head feels like it’s full of soup gone sour.

“Right,” he says slowly, the words thickening in his mouth to a paste. “Right, I hope so.”

North smiles. He can tell, all of a sudden, as he does every time North summons Theta to the front, how right he was for his AI, how much the nurturing nature he so eagerly kept hidden blossomed when it was needed, when it would be properly appreciated. That smile alone settles a warm swirl through Wash’s chest, trickling into his lungs and his heart. The same happens when North reaches out, cupping his shoulder with his broad palm and squeezing, just enough to feel the heat of his hand. He jostles Washington slightly as he does. Wash manages a smile, huffing out through his nose, his eyes falling shut again as he lets the comfort of touch sink in for just a moment. As North draws his hand away and Wash straightens, North says:

“Alright, I’ll let you get back to resting, okay Wash?”

Wash hums in response.

“You let me know if you need anything. We’re all just down a floor—I’m sure York and I wouldn’t mind stopping in.”

Wash sighs, finally pushing himself to a stand, away from the wall. He doesn’t say anything, but a creeping realization settles in the pit of his stomach, right next to the warmth that used to pervade his joints. He swallows. Instead of feeling nothing, he feels burning in the back of his throat, up his nose. He nods regardless.

“Good deal, buddy,” North smiles. He nods, just a curt bob of his head. “Alright, I’ll be seein’ you.”

“I—” And all of a sudden, the feelings pervading, the ones not his own, rear their head. He swallows roughly, trying to make out a sentence. He mumbles out his next words, vision blurring. “Please don’t—”

“Wash?” North asks, startling, the twinge of concern now laid thick in his words. Wash startles too, blinking hard. What was happening to him? He shakes his head, turning it from North for a moment as he wills himself back to the present. He isn’t leaving, North lives here. He won’t just abandon him. But he can still feel the weight of the word goodbye. The weight of see you soon.

“Sorry, I’m just…” Wash shudders out a sigh, trying to find a viable excuse. “I’m on edge I guess. Don’t worry about it.”

North’s eyes widen.

“Wash, your nose—” he says, moving forward to help him. Wash takes an instinctive step back, cupping his hand around his chin. He can feel the warm dribble of blood now, the taste of iron in the back of his mouth. He shakes his head as he keeps North at arm’s length, turning to fetch tissue from the bathroom. 

“It’s fine,” he croaks out, fumbling for the sink. He runs his hands under the warming water, tipping his head forward. Blood drips into the sink but his eyes are screwed shut too tight to see it. Wash can barely hear North’s voice above the running water, but he hears the door to his room slide shut. Reaching for the tissue, Wash swabs gingerly at his nose, still tasting the metallic tang on his teeth. As he turns back to the room, North is hovering at his bedside, concern written across his whole face. Wash watches his jaw work, his upturned eyes wide and searching Wash’s expression. Washington shakes his head.

“It’s fine,” he says again, barely a sound at all. He jams part of the tissue up his nose, swallowing back whatever was left in his mouth. North gestures to the glass of water still half empty at Wash’s bedside. Wash sits, his legs giving out beneath him, and he drinks.

North takes his time getting to the space in front of him, circling the end of the Recovery Bay bed like Wash were an injured animal about to bite him. Luckily for him, Washington feels far too heavy to move any of his limbs, as if all the energy had been siphoned out of him and into the air, leaving it charged and staticky. He couldn’t find the strength to bite even if he tried. He smooths his hand over the pant leg of his hospital clothes in calculated movements. The scratchy fabric is so thin he can almost feel his body heat through it. Or lack thereof. 

“I don’t know how fine it is, Wash,” North says, folding his arms. He leans against the arm of the chair across from Wash, not exactly sitting, but not really standing. “I certainly wasn’t getting nosebleeds like that with Theta.”

“Well,” Wash manages hoarsely, shutting his eyes tight again. “With all due respect, Theta was a little more… stable.”

“Epsilon’s unstable?” North asks. Wash flinches. He can feel that paper shredder sensation again as he shrinks back. “Wash?”

“It’s okay,” Wash mumbles. “It’s just—side effects.”

North’s face grows taut and stern. When Wash flicks his eyes up to read his face he’s met with a strong set to North’s jaw. North shakes his head, sounding unconvinced.

“It’s not supposed to be this bad,” he says. He drums his fingers against his arm.

Wash sighs. The sound is curt when it leaves his chest. It’s all the energy he has left to expel before it dissolves into an empty hollow in his chest.

“It’s nothing,” he says.

“Washington,” North starts, leaning off the chair and moving toward the bedside. Wash curls further over his lap, as if trying to move away from whatever suggestion North could have for him. It’s not something so easy to fix. It’s just. It’s just—

“It—” Wash takes a long, laborious breath in. He feels something very small break inside his chest as he breathes out, his exhale shuddering. His vision goes blurry in the few feet in front of him, from knees to floor, that he can see. “I don’t—”

“Hey…” North soothes. He lowers himself to Washington’s side, hand coming to cup his shoulder. Wash leans, half intentional and half not, into the touch as North squeezes his arm.

“The memories aren’t mine,” Washington babbles, unintelligible to anyone but himself. “I don’t want them in my head.”

“I know,” North placates regardless. And for a moment, it feels like he means it. It doesn’t really matter if he does or doesn’t. The arms that come around him are strong and warm and solid and friendly as Wash makes contact with the hollow of North’s shoulder. He doesn’t mean to collide and fall so easily, but the arms around him hold on, and hold firm, and he begins to think through the haze of memories not his own that he really didn’t have much say in the matter. North draws him in regardless and Wash sinks himself into his side. He cries and no sound escapes him. He squeezes his eyes shut. Faintly, he can hear North whistle out a breath, through the shff of fabric as he slowly and gently drags his palm over the line of Washington’s shoulders.

“I just need it to stop,” Washington chokes out. It doesn’t matter who’s speaking. The relentless tug of war continues on in his head, even if he can’t hear it, even if it won’t really surface. It doesn’t matter who wants their memories back. It just matters that his body feels like he’s been electrically shocked: drained, shaken out, and hurting.

“Breathe, Wash,” North soothes. Washington does as he’s told, the air scratchy in his throat. He shudders out the breath, trying to keep each stable and even. North doesn’t say anything for a while. He lets Wash breathe and lean into his shoulder, and the silence gives Wash a moment of reprieve as his mind goes quiet. He just focuses on breathing, in through his nose and out through his mouth. North leans just slightly back into him, cheek resting on the top of his head. 

Wash blinks his eyes open. He stares into the middle distance with his vision still blurry, and North’s weight against him keeps him, rather than whatever threatens to invade his memory further, grounded. Wash makes an unintelligible sound as North sighs.

“Great, Wash,” North says lightly. “Doing great.”

“Well, I feel like shit,” Wash manages, almost amused.

North hums softly in agreement, but doesn’t really respond. His hold around Wash grows a little tighter, though, firmer around his shoulder and forearm as Wash sags. His eyes shut again as his breaths remain even, face pressed to North’s shoulder. He’s a bit too large for them to properly fit together, even as they sit side by side on the bed. He lets go of a long breath as the rush of previous anxiety, the new bubbling fear, and exhaustion slip out all at once. In their wake is a pit of nothing, absent of emotion, in his stomach. Tired lingers instead in the same space, around that nothing. He can feel his body grow heavy against North and he has half the mind to mention how tired he actually is. But North hasn’t moved, regardless if he’s noticed or not, and the hand on his shoulderblade, and the head resting against his, remains. The world goes blissfully soft for a moment, his body heavy and his mind quiet. It’s only when he blinks his eyes open again that he realizes he’s lying down. North is gone.

He squints at the room around him, lifting his head slightly. He’s on his back with the sheet draped over him, comfortable against the pillows. For once, his body and head don’t ache, and whatever voice that might be screaming is silent. When he lifts himself further, the room spins, tipping violently this way and that. Wash lets himself back down. For now, he decides that the comfort he has is better taken than lost, and he shuts his eyes.

The world goes muted and grey around him. His body sinks to the mattress.

He has a feeling he won’t wake again for some time.

[auraworkshop]

Hello Aura!! Aaaa, okay. I’m not here to write a success story yet! But to ask if I’m as close as I felt just a couple of moments ago.

So, I found about the void, the I AM, the golden state, aaaall of it a couple of months ago and I went through probably all the stages of someone trying to get the life of their dreams.

Overconsumption, doubt, and spurts of obsessive motivation that honestly took me nowhere. I have ADHD so the methods where I had to close my eyes, stay still and affirm never did a thing for me. I’d do them, six minutes at most would pass and I’d feel like a failure.

Procrastination got a hold of me and I’d feel more motivated to script and write what I wanted than actually go and try to get it because part of me knew I’d last very little. I tried yoga nidra, hypnosis and subliminals with very little progress and most likely because of my own laziness because in my mind if I was so powerful then why did I have to try so much. I have to mention I’ve used subliminals in the past and I’ve gotten little to no results so at night I’d cry and ask what is wrong with me. Since I know they work and the law is real.

Yesterday I came across a couple of posts with ADHD friendly methods where they say to let your mind wander and to let it do its thing. Plus others saying to mentally listen to music? But that’s not what I did.

I made a playlist of songs that wouldn’t bore me and I wouldn’t feel inclined to change the song. in total an hour or so. I knew if stayed still enough my body would be numb, I wouldn’t feel my fingers, my toes, etc.

If I concentrated in the songs instead of how tedious it is to stay still then it’d be easier for me.

I didn’t know if this was the floaty feeling everyone talks about until I decided to look into the black of my eyelids and try to see beyond that while affirming. my void is full of stars so I started to affirm they were slowly appearing and suddenly I did feel like my body was lifting up from my bed and numbness extended through my whole body including my face. Pins and needles like when your arm falls asleep, some of my muscles tensed and my heart started pounding for a second, I kept affirming but the song playing plus the excitement of feeling something overwhelmed me and I started to go back.

I paused the playlist and went to listen to epsilon waves and affirm but the idea of waiting for everything to happen again overwhelmed and frustrated me.

Was I close? How should I go forward? I sorta need advice directed at my situation because I can’t relate to most void posts.

Thank you for your time!!

I can relate to this so much. Trying various methods for so long with no result yet people were out there telling me that I must keep persisting. But I just didn't understand how to persist through the frustration of getting no result. It was only when I let go of this desire and I stopped caring about anything that anything and everything happened in the best way. I cannot even think of a single method that I followed to enter the void. I just stopped caring and let my mind wander.

You've already experienced a shift within your state of consciousness if you have reached a stage where you were listening to music and letting your body go numb. You need to let yourself flow without overthinking or overloading yourself. That is why it is important to start small because the feeling of going to the void state will come in fragments at first. That's just how the state of consciousness manifests itself. Let your mind wander and flow. Do not limit yourself with doubts of why it is taking so much time or why it's not working because that is exactly what it is, trust the process.

Everything you just experienced is a confirmation that you are exactly where you need to be. It is not a coincidence that you suddenly felt pins and needles throughout your whole body. This means exactly that your consciousness has started expanding, you've gone beyond your ordinary state.

You do not have to wait for it to happen again because you are already experiencing it. What you should be doing right now is continue with the process but you are going to be more patient. Be mindful and observe that which has changed in your perception, be aware of the subtle shifts ! 🤍

[kade-is-here]

RvB Secret Santa for @funsizedcrow!

(@redvsbluesecretsanta)

I chose to write a WashNut fanfiction-it’s my first time writing a ship fic, and I only had a vague idea of what I was doing. Happy holidays, and I hope you enjoy!

(Forgive me if it’s cringe >_<)

Drabble One: Love Between a State and a Pastry

God, Donut had no right being that hot.

The simulation trooper had a habit of swinging his hips every which way and cracking inappropriate jokes like a middle schooler fresh out of the closet. In reality, both of those traits should’ve been an immediate red flag to Washington, who had sworn on his life on multiple occasions that he was straighter than the eastern border of the state he was named after. So, why was this lightish-red soldier that liked to hold wine-and-cheese hours and bake vegetarian cupcakes making Wash’s cheeks flush on more than one occasion?

Speaking of the wine-and-cheese hours, Caboose had a habit of dragging Agent Washington to them whenever he could. At first, his actions were annoying to Wash. Of course, after what happened with Church/Epsilon and Temple, Wash couldn’t exactly say no. But now he was happy to go along with the sim trooper.

“And this one,” Donut exclaimed, holding up a glass of some kind of red wine, “is called Pinot Noir, which goes well with Brie!”

Donut-Franklin Delano Donut-watched happily as the Reds and three Blues(Carolina, Wash, and Caboose) indulged in their own wine glasses and small porcelain plates with the creamy white cheese spread on crackers. Wash didn’t want to admit it, but he almost forgot to actually drink his wine until Caboose made a face after sipping his own and handed the glass to him.

Good god, Wash thought as he stared at Donut, something about those eyes and something about that face just-

“Wash,” Caboose piped up, “this tastes gross.”

Donut sighed, stepping in front of Caboose. “Y’know, Boosey, a little birdie told me that you come here for the cheese and crackers and not the wine!” He teased, his blue eyes crinkling upwards as he smiled, even the one on the burned side of his face.

“A little birdie?!” Caboose gasped. “Admiral Sprinkles, you never told me that you had a bird!”

“It’s an expression, Captain. But I’m sure that Wash would be happy to finish off your fancy grape juice!” Donut turned those brilliant blues towards Agent Washington. If Wash was an AI, he was sure that he would’ve short-circuited. God, this was cheesy.

“Yeah, sure,” Washington said after clearing his throat a few times to make sure that his words wouldn’t come out as awkward squeaks. He took the glass from Caboose’s much larger fingers, sipping at it.

Wash almost made a face too, but he tried to be polite. “It’s, uh… earthy,” he offered, trying to use terms from those wine websites he browsed before going to the meetup. Not because I want to impress anyone, he told himself, but because I don’t want to look stupid or out-of-place.

“Donut, I hate to burst your bubble here, but this tastes a bit like the piss of a dirty Blue!” Sarge spoke up.

“How do you know what Blue piss tastes like?” Carolina challenged Sarge.

“I- why, you-“ Sarge spluttered for a whole three seconds, before glaring at the redhead, his white mustache bristling. “You scheming, conniving Blue!”

Okay, so maybe Wash didn’t have to worry about being out-of-place.

Washington ended up receiving a lot of glasses of wine from Caboose. He passed several of them to Donut, who seemed to have the alcohol tolerance of an African Water Buffalo. Seriously, how does a guy drink that many glasses of wine and not even have a wobble in his hip-swinging step?

After the hour was up, Sarge seemed intent on getting the Blues out of Red Base.

That fact was obvious by the way that as soon as he had his helmet back on his head he bellowed, “GET YER FILTHY BLUE ASSES OUTTA HERE!”

“Actually, Sarge,” Donut hummed as he stepped in, “I’d like for Agent Washington to stay behind to help with the dishes.”

“Why, you insubordinate little-!”

“Thanks!” Donut chirped as he hooked his arm through Wash’s, doing a little twirl before leading him to the kitchen as Sarge continued yelling curses and threats about doing pushups or washing the windows and whatnot at their backs. Donut ignored the older soldier like a pro.

“All these dishes need to be hand-washed. If someone didn’t take a bite out of their food, set it aside. Otherwise, toss it. The wine gets poured down the drain.” Donut commanded him, suddenly holding quite a bit of superiority over the former Freelancer. It reminded Wash of the whole time-traveling shenanigan, and how impressive the pink soldier could be when he asserted himself.

“Roger,” Washington replied, nodding. Donut got to work putting away the leftover food and putting away the plates and glasses, while Wash washed(hah) and dried the dishes. They worked in silence for a good few minutes, before Donut spoke up again.

“Is there any reason why you were staring at my face so much? Maybe you’re into me, hm?” The latter half was in a teasing tone, but the former was dead serious. The former Freelancer was so startled that he almost dropped the wine glass he was scrubbing. That would’ve been bad. Donut, noticing that, kept talking. “You didn’t cause it, and I know that you’re no stranger to scars, so what’s up?”

Washington took a second to evaluate the risks of telling him. Oh, screw it. I’m brain damaged. If it goes wrong, I could blame it on that.

“Your first assumption was correct.” Wash told Donut, keeping his tone strong and stoic like how he used to tell the higher-ups in the Freelancer program about the results of a mission.

The silence that followed seemed to wrap itself firmly around Agent Washington’s neck.

“…well, then.” Donut mumbled.

“I’m sorry, sometimes I say some things-“ Wash tried to say, but Donut spoke over him with a much brighter voice.

“That just tickles my pickle!”

“What the FUCK, Donut?!” Simmons, who was passing by, yelled, a comedically timed voice crack shoving itself into the middle of his sentence.

“Don’t worry about it, Dick!” Donut singsonged back. Simmons sighed heavily as he continued walking. “Anywho…”

Wash startled when Donut suddenly appeared right next to him. “Well, I’m sure that you’ll be overjoyed to know that I’m into you, too!”

Washington blinked. He had not expected it to go that well. “…oh. Okay, then,” he stammered.

“Do you wanna kiss?” Donut asked.

…well. That was fast. This guy does not mess around, Wash thought.

After staring at the sink full of soapy, dirty dishes, the former Freelancer nodded.

“…affirmative.”

Donut had to stand up on his tiptoes to kiss him, and Washington had to bend down a little, but their mouths fit together perfectly, like two pieces of two completely different puzzles that just so happened to work out.

God, his lips taste as sweet as his name does.

Drabble Two: Agent Washington’s First Sleepover

“YES! HOORAY! I AM SO EXCITED!” Caboose shouted at the top of his lungs, bouncing around the base like a hyperactive puppy. “THANK YOU, TUCKER AND AGENT WASHINGTUB!!!”

The former mentioned soldier sighed, shaking his head. “Yeah, yeah, Caboose. It was just to get you off my back for a night.” Caboose was either too excited or had heard that line too much to care.

The reason why the big blue soldier was currently off-the-walls was because Wash and Tucker had agreed to allow Donut to come over to the base for a “sleepover.” According to Tucker, events like that had already happened several times; apparently, Donut just told the Reds it was a spy mission. If you can call watching children’s movies and eating cookies out of a stash that Caboose got from who-knows-where spying.

Anyway, it didn’t take much for Washington to agree. There weren’t many chances for him and Donut to hang out, and this seemed like the perfect opportunity. Hopefully Caboose would let him join.

Speaking of which, the soldier had started yelling even louder, and had disappeared from the room. His voice, while muffled, was coming from upstairs. Wash, concerned, ran up the stairs to the roof of the base.

“Caboose, what’s-“ Washington started to ask, before cutting himself off.

“HELLO, SERGEANT SPRINKLES!” Caboose bellowed down into the valley, waving with the enthusiasm of three separate Cabooses. Washington stepped up beside him to see if his suspicions were true.

Donut skipped-no joke, skipped-over the hill in front of Blue base, carrying a matching pink duffle bag and waving back. “Hello, Caboose! Hello, Agent Washington!” The lightish-red soldier waved back. Wash raised one his hands to wave, but Donut had already disappeared. And so had Caboose.

Washington muttered a curse, running back down the stairs.

“How could something so big move so quietly and fast?” He mumbled to himself.

Turns out, the two simulation troopers were down in the common room in the barracks, piling pillows and blankets to make a surprisingly well-made pillow fort.

Washington cleared his throat, drawing the attention of both bright blue and deep brown eyes.

“Gentlemen,” he started, attempting to sound all commanding like the leader he was, “I would like to request your permission to join your sleepover.”

Caboose blinked, setting down the chair he was carrying a few feet away from the couch. “…wha?” Sometimes if the soldier wasn’t focused all the way, spoken words jumbled together. Or, at least, that’s what Caboose told him.

“He wants to know if he can join, Caboose,” Donut explained.

“Oh!” Caboose visibly perked up. “Well, Agent Washington, Commander Biscuit and I would have to discuss that.”

The blue and pink soldier turned away from Wash, conversing quietly. At first, Washington was nervous, but then he realized that Caboose was saying “suspicious whispering” and Donut was just murmuring nonsense.

They both turned back to him a few moments later.

“Well, Wash, we talked, and we decided that you can join our sleepover! Yay!” Caboose clapped his hands together, and Donut did jazz hands and echoed that “yay!”

Washington sighed with relief. “Well, what do we do first?”

“First,” Caboose started, suddenly with the seriousness of a commander explaining the risks of a mission, “we build a fort. THEN, WE SIT IN THE FORT AND WATCH MOVIES AND EAT COOKIES!” He yelled that last part, grinning widely.

“Sounds… fun!” Wash tried to sound excited. Honestly, he was just there for Donut. The cookies didn’t sound too bad, though.

First, they all got out of their armor. Washington felt a little awkward without it, but since the other two weren’t wearing theirs, he felt like it’d be awkward if he was the only one.

He helped Donut and Caboose finish up the pillow fort, and then the blue simulation trooper scampered off to fetch the cookies.

“So,” Donut purred, leaning into Wash playfully, “you came here for me, huh?”

Wash sighed, trying to ignore the smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Maybe,” he teased, “or maybe I’m just curious and I want cookies.”

“Wouldn’t blame ya,” Donut grinned, leaning back onto a pillow. “Those cookies are better than a guy’s-“

“I FOUND THEM!” Caboose cheered mercifully, barreling into the fort and crashing into a pile of pillows and stuffed animals that Donut had seemed to have arranged for this exact purpose.

The two simulation troopers got the TV working as Wash sat back. He wanted to help, but they insisted that he relax, saying that he was an “honored guest” and that he “deserved to chillax.”

The first movie they watched was Shrek. The former Freelancer ended up sandwiched between Caboose, Donut, and plenty of plushies. Washington ended up counting the passage of time by the amount of cookies they ate(chocolate chip, and almost impossibly rich and buttery) and the movies that passed. Alice in Wonderland, Finding Nemo, The Corpse Bride…

Eventually, Caboose fell asleep, and it was just Donut, Wash, and Coraline.

Donut turned to him eyes twinkling gently in the light from the stop-motion film. “Guess we’re alone now, huh?” Wash found himself nodding back.

“I guess we are,” he agreed. They stared at each other for a moment. Washington didn’t know what Donut was doing, but he knew that he was drinking the sight of his boyfriend-was that the word? Was that what they were?-in like water after a hard P.T session.

Donut leaned his head on Wash’s shoulder, before tilting his face upwards to kiss him on the chin. Washington felt his face flush with warmth, before he leaned his lips down to kiss Donut’s hair.

Rustling and sleepy mumbling from behind them interrupted the two lovers. (Really, was that what they were? Truly?)

“…mmmhhhhh… you two are kissing…” Caboose murmured, looking up at them with barely-open eyes.

“Yeah, Boosey, we are,” Donut told him. “Go back to sleep, buddy.”

“…‘kay.” Caboose rolled back over, his soft snores resuming only a minute later.

“I knew he was an easy sleeper, but wow.” Washington shook his head, mystified. “You’d think he would have questions.”

“Considering what Grif and Simmons do, I don’t think anything really fazes him anymore.” Donut grinned, sitting up and kissing Wash on the cheek.

He paused, before kissing him back. “You wanna go to bed?”

“Yeah, sure,” Donut shrugged, nodding back at the TV, “the movie’s over, anyway.”

He was right; the credits were rolling. Washington leaned forward and turned off the television, laying down on a pile of pillows. Donut laid down next to him, under the same blanket.

“Goodnight, Agent Washington,” Donut whispered into the dark.

“Goodnight, Donut,” Washington found himself whispering back.

Drabble Three: Obligatory Hurt/Comfort(and a li’l bit of a beach episode) TW for violence, gore, nightmares(PTSD), main character death

Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit, shit-!

Several sets of heavy footsteps pounded behind Wash-Agent Washington of Project Freelancer-as he ran through the hallways of some ship in some part of the galaxy. Bullets flew all around him, barely missing his gray armor.

Then, more bullets flew towards him. At first he panicked, then he noticed the light blue hologram and the teal armor.

“Carolina-?!” Washington called as the firing on both sides slowed down, then stopped.

The other Freelancer nodded, lowering her gun. “Hey, Wash. Lovely weather we’re having, eh?”

“What am I, chopped liver?” Epsilon muttered. Carolina sighed, shaking her head.

“We gotta move, boys. The other guys are down that hallway.” Carolina pointed to the passage on the right, the walls littered with bullet holes and burn marks. “I’ll be right behind ya.”

Washington nodded, then took off down the hallway. “Hey, I’m here-!” He called as he turned the corner, then stopped in his tracks.

The Reds and the Blues were littered on the floor or slumped against the wall. Actual, it was hard to tell who was Blue; there was so much blood, everyone was the same color as Simmons or Sarge.

“…guys?” Wash croaked hoarsely. “Team? Come on, speak to me-!”

He knelt down in the middle of the bloody mess, crawling around on his hands and knees and shaking the men. No responses, no heartbeats, no nothing—just silence.

Wash’s vision blurred as his shoulders slumped. “Carolina…?” He called. When he didn’t receive a reply, he called again, louder. “Carolina!”

Washington stood up, his armor now covered with the gore of his fallen friends. There was no trace of Carolina, not even when he rounded the corner to look down the hallway.

He tightened his grip on his gun, then almost fired when the toe of his boot hit something.

An AI chip?

With trembling hands, Wash crouched down and picked it up. The numbers on it read 001, which meant that it was Epsilon’s.

If the Alpha was there but Carolina wasn’t, that wasn’t a good sign.

Washington took a deep breath, then felt around the back of his neck until he found the slot for his implant. He gently pushed the chip in.

Just like the first time that Epsilon was in Wash’s head, a pounding headache strong enough to force the Freelancer to his knees took over.

Terrified, angry screams filled his head—some of them his own, some of them the AI’s. The blurriness in his vision became tinted pinkish-red, and the last thing Wash saw before he blacked out was the simulation troopers’ bodies laid down next to him.

And when his eyes shot open again, he was looking at a dimly-lit ceiling with a fan whirring in the center of it.

Wash-Agent Washington of Project Freelancer-gasped and panted, gripping at his head and his neck. The pain was fading, the the implant slot was thankfully empty.

Rustling and sleepy murmurs came from next to him, and the soldier quickly felt under his pillow for his combat knife. It wasn’t there. He didn’t have a weapon.

The person next to him sat up, squinting.

“Wash? Y’okay?” He mumbled, his bleached hair sticking out all over the place before being forcefully flattened by Washington slamming him down. “WHOA-! Wash, it’s me, Donut! Your boyfriend!”

The Freelancer paused. “Boyfriend…?” Wash whispered to himself, before quickly sitting back. “Oh, fuck, Donut, I’m so sorry-“

The simulation trooper sat up again, waving a hand in dismissal, “Oh, it’s fine. I’ve been pushed down harder by smaller men. But are you okay?”

Washington blinked. “…nightmare,” he mumbled in reply after a few seconds.

“Ah.” Donut nodded sagely. “Do you wanna talk about it?”

Wash quickly shook his head. “No. No, thank you.”

“Do you wanna go outside and look at the ocean for a little bit?”

Now that Wash said yes to. Donut helped him up since the soldier’s legs were still shaking, put a shirt on(one of Wash’s. Not that he minded, of course), then led him out to the back porch in the rental house they got on Chorus since everyone needed a break.

The lovers headed down the path that led to the beach. The ocean was beautiful; Chorus’ moon, Aria, lit up the water, and the waves gently lapped against the soft sand. Stars covered the entire sky, and in the ocean, little spots of neon blue light made their own constellations.

“Those are the eggs of the coral they have here,” Donut whispered to Wash. “I don’t know why they’re bioluminescent, but it’s pretty nonetheless.”

Washington nodded wordlessly, just staring at him. The cool night breeze that fluttered the leaves of the palm trees by the beach also gently lifted Donut’s hair, still as messy as when he first woke up.

Apparently, the simulation trooper got the memo, because just like the first time they kissed, Donut stood up on the tips of his toes, and Wash leaned down. Their lips pressed together, then pulled apart, and the men just held each other, staring into each other’s eyes before looking out at the ocean.

After they went back to their room, Wash slept soundly, and woke up to the smell of frying bacon and the ocean’s waves crashing outside from the(most likely open) back door.

Donut had stayed beside him the entire night; in fact, the trooper was still asleep and still in Wash’s shirt.

Despite the fact that the rising sun was already casting its light into the room through the gaps in the blinds, Wash-Agent Washington, former soldier of Project Freelancer-decided to stay in bed a little longer. The morning could wait. He was on vacation, after all.

[futurechancer]

So, you have so TPTM OCs, don'tcha? What did Epsilon Girl, Genesis Girl, Solar Girl, Pulse Girl, Media Girl, Booru Girl, Corrosion Girl and Atheneum Girl go through, in a brief summary? What do they represent? Sorry for bothering!

LOOKING AT YOU LIKE THIS

EXPLANATIONS BELOW THE CUT

epsilon girl

she's the first girl i invented and was originally meant to be more similar to genesis girl in theme :) but in terms of theme epsilon girl is a bit. complicated.

she's basically a projection of my fears of change, wasting time, and not making a mark on history rolled up into one mess of a girl. she doesn't particularly have much of a backstory aside from feeling like she grew up faster than everyone around her

genesis girl

the girl of the hour (aka the girl i have the most concrete story for)!! her name is more a remnant from when she and epsilon girl were gonna be the same girl than anything else. i kept it because it's. a star thing i think.

she's most often correlated to stars because. something about people taking her at face value and appreciating what shows on the surface yet fearing her incomprehensibility.

she actually has a backstory! basically she's a theatre kid with gifted kid syndrome and undiagnosed autism. she fails to relate to her peers because of these things. now that i think about it like half my girls are basically just that. SHI

solar girl

fun frog fact! genesis girl and solar girl are the same :) consider solar girl to be a b-side to genesis girl that explores another part of her character (take note because this happens again)

solar is basically the gifted kid syndrome aspect, the song itself (so far) basically describing feeling either like an utter failure or a god to be praised with no in-between based solely on successes or failures in daily life. also there's religious imagery in the lyrics it's a fun time i might post the lyrics one day

pulse girl

she's probably the most straightforward in theme :3 hypochondria and otherwise fearing sudden pain and death!! a part of it is wholeheartedly trusting pop science and like. the shit your grandparents tell you. thinking cracking your knuckles causes arthritis except it's constantly checking to see if you're having a stroke despite no predisposition that would imply one

she doesn't really. have much a backstory BUT ONE DAY I WILL GET TO THAT PART. i thinj

media girl

one of my favorites actually :3 she too is pretty complicated so uh. she's basically made to encompass certain fictionkin/fictive experiences (hence 'media'). conforming when the way you work is inherently a deviation from the norm, struggles with identity, desperation to be liked, yk.

i was uh! not in a good place when i wrote this song but it ended up surprisingly rather rid of my more personal issues. media's whole backstory is basically trying to find people of her.. proclivity i guess?? in hopes that they were the missing link, despite having been burned so many times. the lyrics never really imply a sort of. happy ending for her but i think she would eventually feel better about herself

booru girl

but it gets worse before it gets better! this song is the only reason media girl is so rid of my personal issues bc this one's full of them /lh

and whaddya know? booru is media's b-side! :3

booru girl is sort of a delve into a single specific relationship media/booru must have had (that. mirrors the one i was in at the time. at least in part)

her name is in reference to online imageboards and the insane content they can sometimes hold within (it's a minor plotpoint in her story that she. looks at those on occasion idk)

it vaguely goes into her obsession with how people perceive her. her willingness to act for anyone who's willing to offer her any love. her willingness to express her hurt. to be hurt more, even. there's more i'll talk about another time perhaps but there are Implications in her story

writing this song in particular was a bit regrettable if i'm being honest but i also think it's a story that should be shared.

corrosion girl

her entire existence was a split second decision on my behalf

she's gone through her entire life not allowed to feel emotions because she doesn't express them properly! :3 and because of this she trained herself to never. feel basically. because expression emotions has been inexorably linked with hurting others in her head now.

now she struggles to connect with others because of how cold she acts. as if she's a statue. catatonic.

her name is sort of a double entendre? partially being about the thing a battery does and partially being about weathering stone

atheneum girl

the latest girl!!

she's sort of a spin on the whole 'quiet in the library' thing, her name basically just being a fancy word for library

her backstory is basically that Something happened to her in the past and she fears if she speaks up someone related to it will find out and ruin her. she thus feels as if she can't even talk to her therapist about what's really weighing on her! yaaay :)

like booru there are also some implications to her story that!! yeah

but otherwise thematically she's just representative of the fear of speaking up

oh yeah also

gay