#he just looks like that because he has a genetic condition

[creativity-deficient]

Random Tweek Tweak hcs bc im thinking bout him yet again :)))

-Has an undiagnosed anxiety disorder, made worse by the increased use of Methamphetamine over the years and mistaken for adhd (canon/implied canon). He is also on the autism spectrum and has OCD

-Has mild Seborrheic dermatitis, a skin condition that causes red and flaky patches of skin and usually flares up due to stress. It starts mainly on his head/under his hair as a kid but worsens in his teens years. Also has dermatillomania (a skin picking disorder), as well. Both of these become a lot worse in his teen years, but do become a lot more manageable for him as an adult. Still however, he does have some faint scars from all the picking and scratching over the years.

-Small tubby lil guy :) (sorta?? implied canon??), below average in height and considerably pudgy compared to most of his peers (genetics/stress eating). Loses a lot of this weight in his teen years due to health issues, but does gain a lot of it back as an adult. Also has a pudgy baby face that he never quite grows out of, even as an adult.

-His eyes a blue hazel, a rare eye color

-Sometimes snaps and hums to calm himself down.

-Enjoys baking as a casual hobby, though he’s still an amateur and doesn’t know how to make much. (implied canon)

-Once joined every school club because he had an anxiety attack and couldn’t decide what to pick

-Habitual nail chewer, again something he usually does due to stress. Nails are very short and stubby because of this

-Bandages on his fingers due to burns, skin picking, and nail biting

-Chronic ice-chewer

-Never learns to tie his shoes. Kept tripping over his laces before finally taking them out. Untied laces to laceless shoes to crocs to socks with sandals to velcro shoes pipeline

-Also never learns to drive, too much stress. Forever in his passenger princess era ✨

-Lowkey a backseat driver, though not in a “know it all” type of way. He mostly just freaks out the entire time.

-Can not sleep in the car because he’s afraid the second he closes his eyes, they’ll crash.

-Doesn’t know much slang/internet lingo and has absolutely no idea what his peers are talking about half the time (pretends he does and usually just ends up looking stupid 😔)

-Has a fear of rubberhose cartoons, as well as those weird old stop motion Christmas movies (he just finds them unsettling)

-Told about the secret family recipe as a teenager by his father, and is reasonably freaked out about it. Is forced to keep his mouth shut about it and suffers through major withdrawals before his parents are eventually exposed and arrested for the distribution of meth/counts of child abuse. Spends most of his high school years in therapy and rehab, though it’s all made easier with Craig by his side

-He and Craig try breaking up their freshman year of high school, both of them feeling like they need to try new things for a bit. It lasts about a week before they get back together.

-TERRIFIED of scissors and refuses to let anyone come near him with them. Grows his hair out long as a teenager before finally caving in and shaving it off as a young adult. He now keeps it managed, but Craig is the only person he trusts to do so.

-Did once try to cut his own hair in middle school though, and he spent weeks looking like a train-wreck before finally letting his mom fix it.

-His relationship with his mom is considerably better than his relationship with his father, and though he never quite forgives her for what she’s done, the two of them are able to reach some sort of closure with each other in Tweek’s older age

[esterigermaine]

We know the concept of albinism exists for at least Drow, but I wonder if it exists for other DnD races as well.

What I am trying to say is do you think Astarion has ever (or would be willing to) tried to pass himself off as an Elf with albinism?

[i-cant-sing]

Yandere Batfam x reader who cant feel pain

HEhehehe i just remembered a disease and I just had to write about a reader with it x yandere batfam.

Have you guys heard of CIPA? Its "Congenital insensitivity to pain with anhidrosis" which is basically a genetic condition when a patient cant feel pain to any noxious stimulus and can also not sweat, and yall are probably like "but SNoWWW, that doesnt like a diSEase. More like a superpower!!!" um no. You need to be able to feel pain or else you wont know what part of your body has been injured and get help before its too late. You could have thumbtack plunged in your foot and u wouldnt know unless it got infected and u probably saw ur foot changing color.

And now yall are like "but SNoWw, the anhidrosis part, where u cant sweat, sounds nice! who would to look like a sweaty pig in this age????" NO! Sweating is a necessary physiologic phenomenon because it lets your body cool down as it releases heat. If you dont sweat, you'd overheat and DIE!

Okay now that we've covered the basic info, lets get into it:

So, Batfam finds out about reader when she's just running into danger with little to no care for self preservation, and they dismiss it as you being just another dumb teen wanting to be hero and "change the world". Time passes by and Bruce is impressed by your passion and decides to take you under his wing.

It isnt until months later that Bruce discovers something odd about your behaviour. You were standing in the kitchen with the rest of the batkids, laughing and having a good time when he saw Dick had pulled out a hot pan of cookies from the oven and placed it on the aisle. The pan slipped, and without thinking, you had grabbed the hot pan with your bare hands very calmly and placed it back on the aisle, without so much as a hiss of pain or even a sweat.

And now that he thinks about it, Bruce has never seen you sweat. Not during training, not during summer, not even when after you ran laps around the mansion.

With a quick search on the Internet, he finds out about the disease and of course its Dick who he confides in first about his suspicions. Soon, the rest of the batfam has heard the rumours and now they're all watching you keenly to see if its true.

But Jason is the one who tests out the theory quickly by spilling some hot tea on your hand when you were busy talking to Tim about the importance of sleep. The room goes dead silent as they watch your hand turn red, yet you fail to react. It took you a few seconds to realise that they're all looking at you, and when you follow their gaze, it takes you a few seconds to react.

Or fake a reaction.

You shriek, pulling your reddening hand as you run to the sink and run it under cold water, your mind trying to come up with an excuse. But you know its too late when Bruce's hand comes to clasp your shoulder, pulling you away from the sink as his eyes examine your injured hand and... you.

"Bruce I-"

"I know, Y/n." He gives you assuring nod, carefully bandaging your hand as you sat in his office. "You have CIPA, hm?"

You looked down. Why bother lying? He's Batman, he'll find out anyways.

Bruce lifted your head and smiled gently at you. "Its okay. I'm not disappointed in you. I just... you could've told me." You shook your head. "If I did, you would've treated me differently... like a freak."

He sighed. "You are different, but I would've never treated you like a freak. You're not a freak. If anything, between us, I'm more of a freak than you." He was talking about being a hero, but you giggled at the thought of him referring to being a rich dude who cosplays in spandex.

Bruce cupped your cheek and smiled. "I promise, no one will treat you like a freak. But we will have to take some precautions for your safety."

-

He lied. You've never felt more like a freak than you do now.

Every single day would start off with Dick waking you up and sticking a thermometer in your mouth because he needs to make sure that you're not overheating, even though Bruce has set a thermostat in your room that he controls and he's programmed it to turn your room temperature change by the hour.

Then Dick would start checking you all over for any bruises or injuries, even a scratch, that you may have caused yourself in your sleep. Originally, Damian was the one who had a whole checklist as he examined your body, but that all ended the moment you smacked him when he asked you to lift your shirt. Dick would just have you go and check yourself in the bathroom and trust you when you said you're all good. Also, you're much nicer to Dick than you are to the rest of the brothers (its his puppy dog eyes and that sweet voice that compels you to do as he asks. He's just too nice.)

Dick would then lead you to down for breakfast with the family, where Alfred already has your glucometer out because of course, they must check your blood sugar level every day, lest they find out you're diabetic or something. Only then would you be served your meal, which is a highly nutritous, perfeclty seasoned, balanced dish because they want to make sure you dont have any vitamin deficiencies (because how would they know???? you dont feel pain). But you cant eat just yet. No no, whichever brother is closer, most often Jason, will first taste your food to make sure its not too hot to consume (because you dont realise you've burned the roof of your mouth that one time when Tim ate a slice of pizza that was fresh out of the oven and huppahhuffpuhh the morsel out). Jason would then give you the go to eat and you finally do. You make sure to finish the whole plate (because otherwise Bruce will make note of it and then interrogate you "medically" why you didnt feel like eating all of it?)

After breakfast, while the rest of the batkids get to go to school and work, you dont (because Bruce thinks that your immune system could be weak and he cant risk you catching any diseases from the outside.) No, you get a special trip to the infirmary where Bruce and Alfred do a more thorough medical check up, taking your vitals, JOTTING IT DOWN, while Alfred hooks you up to an IV drip of vitamins. And even though they go to such extents to ensure that you're healthy, they still take you to a skilled doctor once a week for regular check ups. Bruce wanted to keep the doctor in the house to do daily check ups, but you talked him out of it that you dont want to feel like a lab rat who has her blood taken every day. Once a week is fine, Bruce.

Once the medical check up is done, Bruce would then take you with him, either to Wayne enterprises where you sit in his office as he imparts you "business education that no school can teach you." which you believe because... well he has managed to triple the Wayne wealth even after his parents death. If he's working from home, then he'll let you accompany him in his home office where you can either read a book he chose for you (because Bruce prefers to homseschool you himself) or do a puzzle/case he created specifically for you. If he's working in the batcave, then he'll let you tag along but you can only work here by brainstorming or doing some computer research, but in no way are you allowed to ever go on field and fight. No, not since your last incident.

Just 2 months ago, you were patrolling with Jason (because Bruce refused to let you go alone now. He just wont risk it) and you encountered some bad guys who were a little more well equipped than you two had expected. A fight broke out, and in the process you got hurt badly. Of course, you didnt realise it because you didnt feel any of the punches or the bone fracturing. Jason could only look at you in dread as you smashed your head against the villain's head until the guy passed out, all while your nose bled, you were covered in bruises from top to bottom, AND you had a bone sticking out of your arm.

"Jay? I think I'm hurt?" You asked as blood coated your teeth.

After that, Bruce forbid you from going out on the field altogether because you just dont know when to stop. If it werent for bones sticking out or blood dripping down your face, you wouldnt know that you've been injured.

Anyways, at lunch, almost everyone has returned from work/school and you get yet another balanced meal (temperature tested by another brother). You're now scheduled for some exercises, usually conducted by Damian (under Dick's supervision because otherwise, you'd just be smacking that devil's spawn.) You guys use the gym in the basement, where Damian makes you run on the treadmill for some time, during which he does not take his eyes off you once because he needs to know when he should stop you, especially since you dont sweat or are even huff. If he didnt keep time, you could probably run for a long time and not realise that your legs or lungs are begging you to stop and take a break. As you hop off the machine, he's immediately taking your temperature. He does it after every exercise he makes you do.

After that is done, you spend time with Tim who likes to have you try on little gadgets that should "help you feel pain", but so far, he hasnt had any luck (but he doesn seem to be doing good in disguising trackers in your daily wear things). Oh and Damian loves to join in because he gets to sneak up on you and prick you with needles to help Tim see if your sensory pathways work. They dont, but you dont need your pain receptors to detect Damian coming up behind you as you smack him when he tries to prick you.

Then dinner is served, and then you're ushered straight to bed where Dick, or more often- Bruce has you do a self check like the one Dick does in the morning, but Bruce also makes sure to check your eyes to see if you "accidentally scratched your cornea" or whatever, tucks you in, tells you that he's so proud of you for how youre handling this and that you can come to him anytime, for anything. He kisses your forehead, wishes you goodnight, and leaves.

Half an hour later, Jason sneaks into your room with the goodies- junk food and video games. You two have the strongest bond because Jason is the one who treats you the most normal, and Jason does it partly to piss off Bruce but partly because he cares about your mental health. He knows it cant be good for you to be cooped up in the mansion under supervision like a bird in a gilded cage.

So sometimes, he sneaks you out of the mansion and takes you out on late night rides on his bike. You can even watch him fight villains, but you're sat far away and can never interferre.

Unfortunately for you two, this sneaking out will have to end because Bruce had recently decided to set up some cameras in your room because he wanted to make sure you slept well without any abnormal breathing patterns. Bruce hopes he doesnt have to use restraints on you, because he's not blind. He knows you're uncomfortable with this intricate routine and knowing your impulsive self, you'd probably break your own bones to get out of these restraints. And then he'll be forced to use sedatives and he really doesnt wanna rely on drugs... he likes your company when you're not droopy.

And as Bruce had anticipated, you broke down. You finally tried to leave, and he could see the color draining your face as you realised that there is no leaving.

"Why isnt the door opening?" You asked Bruce, as his four sons slowly surrounded you.

"You dont have to run away, Y/n-" He tried to calm you down but you flinched away, eyes wide as you looked at him like he was going to harm you.

"Bruce, why isnt the fucking door opening?" Your voice trembled, shooting him teary glare before focusing your eyes back on the boys who were closing in on you.

"You're meant to stay here, inside, where its safe." He answered, heart aching at the alarmed stance you took, your fight-or-flight was going to kick in. He took another step towards you, hands raised in surrender. "We can keep you safe-" thats all it took for you to bolt as the boys began chasing you. Realistically, you knew you couldnt escape them but something about their intensely concerned calls for your name had you jumping out of the window.

Glass shattered and sharp shards embedded themselves in your skin and feet, but you didnt react to them. No, your brain wasnt screaming in pain, it was screaming for you to get out!

Adrenaline pumped you to run into the dark woods surrounding the mansion, but you were soon knocked to the ground by Dick, who cushioned your fall by placing you on top of him as his hands wrapped around your form like a cage. "Y/n, calm down and listen-"

You began thrashing in his arms, screaming in agony. "Let ME GO! YOU'RE HURTING ME-!" Dick's arms loosened instinctively and you took that as a chance to elbow him in the throat and run, thanking some deity for letting Dick forget that you cant feel pain.

But your relief is short lived as Damian catches you and pushes you to the ground harshly. "Damian! Be careful! She could break a bone-"

"Bones can heal, Drake." Damian barked back, pulling you up before he pushed you against tree. "Let me go, you maniac-" Damian's hand clamped around your throat, making you shut up. "You're the one who's a maniac. Look at you! You've fucking hurt yourself because if your astounding stupidity!"

You whimpered, clawing at his hand wrapped around your throat. "Dami- p-please let go- you're hurting me!" You cried out, but your eyes went wide as he squeezed your throat and bared his teeth at you. "Not falling for it, dumbass." So... fooling Damian wasnt as easy a feat as it was fooling Dick.

You stopped the act and looked at him dead serious. "Let me go, Damian, or-"

"Or what?"

Or what? Or what? Did he think you were out of options? Out of escape plans?

You dont know why, but that triggered something inside you.

Damian and Tim could only watch as you suddenly slammed the back of your head against the tree. "Y/n-" He gasped in horror as you leaned your head forward before slamming it back against the hard rough surface. This time, Damian's hand that was wrapped around your neck felt your blood around his fingers.

"Its my life and I get to decide how I should live it." You sneered before raising your head again to bash it, but Damian's hand quickly slipped from your neck to the back of your head, cushioning it when you smacked it back, the skin on the back of his hand breaking as it made contact with the bark.

You pushed him away and tried to make a run for it, but Tim grabbed your wrist. You tried to pull away, but he had a death grip on it. "Y/n, stop! You need to listen-"

"Oh is that so? I think I need this." You used your other hand to punch yourself in the face (because Tim would've dodged it if you punched him), making your nose bleed. But you didnt feel any pain, and now you were acting like a super soldier zombie that has no concept of self preservation who is going through fucked up lengths to prove her point.

Your eyes caught the sight of a glass shard poking out of your thigh. "Wanna see something cool?" You pulled out the shard, not paying mind to the blood oozing out. "Y/n, stop-" Tim begged, and you saw Damian froze in the back as you raised the shard.

They didnt know what your next target was- slashing your wrists, slitting your throat, or stabbing your stomach, but fortunately, they didnt have to find out as Jason came up behind you and injected you with a tranquilliser.

Sadly, you never felt the prick or sensed the hero sneaking up behind you.

thoughts? also, what other diseases would u guys like me to write for. i just adore these cool medical abnormalities lol

[ladycharles]

Occasionally JK Rowling says or does something so offensive to my sensibilities that I must speak. Sadly, today is one of those days.

This post, and the "male" she is referring to is a cis woman boxer from Algeria. There is an unconfirmed report that she might have an intersex condition in which one's chromosomes are XY. She may not even have this condition, but even if she does, it does not mean anything but that she has an unusual DNA quirk. We do not call Tom Cruise a woman for having an extra X chromosome, for example (nor would I expect Rowling to accept it if he decided to compete as a woman in the Olympics).

Now Rowling, upon being pointed out that she essentially pulled the twitter equivalent of Austin Powers punching that old lady because she "looks rather mannish", moves the goalpost. She claims, against evidence, that she an unfair advantage, going so far as to imply that simply by competing with a rare condition this woman has cheated.

This might seem bizarre coming from a self professed FEMINIST. It is the contention of anti trans "feminists" like Rowling that womanhood is being erased and destroyed by "trans ideology"; Yet here a cis woman achieves a olympic victory and they accuse her of being a man, of cheating. They erase her achievement, they erase her womanhood.

The subtext is racist and misogynistic - a strong Algerian woman with features that do not reflect Western beauty standards is being denied the very womanhood that TERFs claim to protect. She has lost to women before, she has no clear advantage... Yet by virtue of her looks and a possible rare genetic condition, she is now a "man" and a fraud.

This doesn't surprise me, and I suspect that anyone who has had to deal with TERFs will agree. But in case anyone is shocked here's my take:

TERFism has always been a reactionary movement. While it draws from second and third wave feminists and has an ideology on paper, any space with TERFs will tend to feature mad crusades accusing cis women of being trans on looks, attacks against sex workers that are harsher than those on the men who make that industry dangerous, few towards actual men, and a sense of outrage that trumps any real ideology.

It is feminism much like how "National Socialism" was socialist. And like the Nazis did with socialism, it uses the idea of feminism to legitimize attacks on perceived enemies while preserving the status quo. For TERFs that's traditional gender roles, which they have twisted into something that protects women rather than subjugates them. (This is not to say TERFs are Nazis, but it is a decent comparison because fascism is the ultimate reactionary ideology; full of symbolism and mythology yet devoid of any substance but machismo and hate.)

In a nuanced, good faith society, we might discuss trans women in sports using science to determine whether there are unfair advantages, and consult stakeholders and experts in sport and biology. We might study if chromosomes do impart an advantage, and weigh that against the other myriad genetic advantages like long reach or faster muscle gain to determine if there is any problem with current regulations. We might not do these things too, considering we have gone the entire history of sport without a single women's league collapsing from secret "male" invasion.

In Rowling's world, we first attack the winning woman as a "man in disguise" and rail against her without evidence. We have people replying "just look at HIM, he is clearly male". We have people writing violent revenge fantasies in which the Algerian woman gets beaten by a man or a gang of women to "teach her a lesson"... and JK does not once jump in to say any of it is inappropriate or hurtful to women who happen to have androgynous features, like some less fanatic people sharing the story have done.

When this is how their "ideology" reacts to an apparently "male looking" woman winning, we have to ask whether the liberation of women was ever the goal.

And the one thing that makes it all make sense, IMO, is that it's the lashing out that's the point. These people seem to enjoy calling a cis woman a man in much the same way they enjoy calling a trans woman a man. They enjoy the feeling of power as together they act cruel towards a woman who had the audacity to beat a white European. They seem to relish the ability to present themselves as feminists in one breath while brutally harrassing and demeaning women. Unlike ordinary bigots, they constantly bring up their crusade, as if they're growing dependent on the thrill. The cruelty, as they say, seems to be the point.

The danger of these ideologies is really becoming obvious ahead of the US election. Years of social media bubbles and astroturfing have made people like Rowling convinced that they are a silent majority, ironic for people who can't shut up.

Times like this I think are important reminders of where this can really lead. They may spin about being gender critical or concerned about women when the pressure is on; This is what these people do when they think they can get away with it.

This is the dark heart of their movement, beating loud enough to hear.

[fillinforlater]

Pink Sheets of the Gangbang Queen

Male Reader x Kim Gaeul

Length: 1759 words

Tags: post-gangbang-unclarity, a fuckton of cum, the biggest creampies you can imagine, sluttiest_woman_ever!Gaeul, riding, reverse cowgirl, mating press, cumming again, surprisingly sweet

TW: nasty, a lot of cum by different people

Credit: @friskyriskywhisky had the idea and wrote most of it, I just expanded it as far as I could. Maybe there will be more Gangbang Queen stuff, but this was basically just a double BFH lol

(A/N: Have fun with this crazy, short piece!)

“I want one more…”

Gaeul lies on her nasty bed, which is not only the size of a New York apartment room but also a lot more comfortable. The fresh evidence of sin is all over the once royal pink bedsheet befitting of a princess, a queen to be more accurate. Her comically large pillow is full of wet fingerprints, there are even hints of Gaeul bending over it because she loves it when men penetrate her from behind and fuck her into the soft thing. The headboard and the walls nearby are all smeared with her own slick and the cum from the dozen of guys who unloaded a week's worth and then some for her, on her, because of her. Who knows how much genetic coding is now dripping down those walls, or the side of her bed or along her thighs.

Either way, Gaeul knows that the pungent creampie of hers only feels this good because at least ten horny men put their spunk deep into her cunt. Be it fat cocks, long ones, small, smelly, oddly shaped—Gaeul takes them all and her insides shape to each accordingly. For the horde of cocks it’s an incredible feeling with a surprising snugness, while Gaeul yearns and shouts (as long as there is no shaft testing her gag reflex) for them to finish quickly and deep. Though a marvelous feeling, she is never satisfied. She needs one more, she doesn’t even care if it’s the tiniest rest or a gigantic, creamy load—all that matters is that he cums inside her.

Gaeul’s once-animated and sex-crazed sexual partners have either left or completely passed out on the floor next to her bed—except lucky you, the only one lying naked next to her. Lucky you, who she now eyes, admiring your features while you're half asleep. She crawls over and gently flips you onto your back, stirring you awake in the process.

In your state of extreme grogginess, you aren't able to tell at first if you're being eaten alive or attacked by a savage animal. Just when your fight or flight response springs into action, a pair of lips press against yours. They instantly calm you down like a mothers embrace after a lucid nightmare. You can't help but smile unconsciously at how gentle it feels. Gaeul’s floral-scented shampoo reassures you who's currently kissing you, her touchy, wet and tender fingers reminding you of the first time she checked out your body…

It was a rainy night in one of the many underground bars in Seoul—the type of bar that makes you raise an eyebrow at first, someone with connections has recommended it, looks suspicious; then you fell into the trap of fun conversations and nice liquor that ultimately led to a selection ceremony. This was the moment you realized why this was not a commonly visited place.

Everyone went silent at her entry. Gaeul, the well-known (at least for most people that regularly visit these exclusive bars) gangbang queen was craving men tonight, many men. She was not picky, in fact, there was only one condition you had to fulfill:

“Three days worth of cum. If you had sex or jerked off during the last three days, you’re out for tonight.”

No one dared to defy her or lie to her. She diligently checked everyone’s balls and was extremely thorough, especially with you, who she gently pushed against a bar stool, hand past your waistband. Your breath hitched, hers too when her slender fingers caressed your balls.

“Tall, horny—and at least ten days of cum.

“I’d love for you to join the after party in my pink bed.”

That’s how Gaeul found you, touched you, lured you in and turned you on, like she does at this moment…

It's been minutes now, with no signs of stopping or letting go from Gaeul, her lips still fully attached to yours just to occasionally back off and peck at it again. The last remnants of a dream that could never match this disappear. They are replaced by memories that slowly creep back and your heart drops. You remember what happened not long ago, right on these pink sheets—don’t lie to yourself, you know it happens every other night.

Those soft lips of hers were satisfying other men not too long ago, fully enveloped around shafts of different shapes and sizes. That tongue of hers glided across the cockhead of multiple partners and made sure that no spot on their balls was left out. She would fill her mouth with as much manly musk and precum as she could before her throat was getting assaulted by who knows how many cocks, endlessly coating the back of it with thick cum and forcing her to gag and cry, which everyone knows is a huge turn on for the gangbang queen.

It’s those lips that form a seal around yours and it’s that mouth you attack lazily with your tongue.

Who are you to complain though? Gaeul is the greatest kisser your lips have ever met. Your obsession with her took control of your life even though you had no chance with her. You're just a nobody when Gaeul is the well-beloved queen. The gangbang queen - for those close enough to be her little circle filled with lust and desire. Yet somehow you saw a chance and took it, even if it means taking sloppy seconds (or thirds? Fifths? Wait, how many guys are here again?).

Your mind snaps back to the present when you feel your cock poking at her entrance. Hang on, did she even—fuck! You shiver in both pleasure and disgust. You're plunged into her sloppy cunt, extremely tight, even after being abused by multiple men (some girthier than the ridiculous sex toys she has in her collection). 

Gaeul’s walls hug your tip first, then slowly adjust to your size, like they have become your personal sexy toy. The pleasure really kicks in when the gangbang queen puts your hands on her hips and adds your name into the mixture of huffs and moans. Her incredibly damp cavern and how slippery her whole crotch is against your own, it displays a reality you don't want to admit: You're fucking Gaeul through the creampie of other men. Using the foreign substance as a sticky wannabe lube as you slowly ramp up your pace, you're thinking with your other head only; that’s not an uncommon occurrence with the gangbang queen around. 

Sex with her has you drunk, dazed, carelessly chasing your own high. You want to be the only one to have your load inside of her cunt. Gaeul yearns for breeding, and the sperm of all the other disgusting men, still unconscious in this room is deemed not enough. At this moment you decide to fuck the creampie out of her and replace it with your own.

You're frantically thrusting in and out of her, she replicates your passion as she rides you. Heaps of old cum get forced out with the assistance of gravity but mainly due to the pump that is your cock and the endless pumping into her cunt. Gaeul switches to a reverse cowgirl position and it's only now that you notice that her ass got absolutely filled as well. 

This should not be a surprise, she is the gangbang queen after all, yet you want to look away. This is exclusively other men's cum leaking out of Gaeul and onto your abs. It feels extremely wrong, fucking filthy and somewhat gross. The eagerness of the girl on your dick makes you forget that though. For a short while, you just admire her back, her small, shapely ass and the way her moans are in perfect harmony with the sound of flesh hitting flesh and cum being squeezed out. 

With your whole cock still buried inside her, bottoming her out, you two clumsily get into a mating press position. Gaeul is the most flexible girl you know, her small frame easily capable of folding and bending into every position you want. This position quickly becomes your favorite, because you don’t have to see her leaking asshole anymore, but you know that she is gaping and the worthless spunk steadily leaves her anal cavity. 

Every time you thrust into her, you see and feel her whole ass and thighs ripple. Shock waves across the smooth, stretched, spotless skin gets sent in all kinds of directions because you dig your hands into it. There's still a disgusting amount of cum defying gravity, defying your forceful pounding into Gaeul, but you are sure that if you just keep on fucking her, and press her whole body into the mattress, the petite gangbang queen will leak out all the rest. Through the lewdest of sounds and a clear lack of stamina, the thought of Gaeul filled with nothing but you pushes you through.

You feel the knot inside you loosen, strings and little last spurts of cum hitting her cervix as your tip is right up against it. Gaeul has her feet right up against your back, her heels pulling you deeper inside her. She's still rutting against you, her clit drawing circles against your crotch enjoying the friction and satisfaction it brings. The art of the orgasm, Gaeul has mastered it. In her scream, you find an infinite sea of bliss. It draws out your orgasm a few more seconds; perfect seconds.

Post-nut clarity kicks in and you try to block out the other people who are regaining consciousness in the room. Witness how ethereal her beauty is under the ceiling light. You want to kiss her. You want to tell her how much you love her. However, the harsh reality kicks in harder than the post-nut clarity as she shifts her gaze away from you and looks at the time. You close your eyes, take a deep breath to cherish just how fucking good her cock-warming cavern is. 

You pull away, unfazed at the mess in front of you at this point. Party time is over and you’re victorious but defeated, a bit deflated even. Why is the girl you’re falling for the wrong type of queen? 

"Hey..." Gaeul reaches out and grabs your forearm and pulls you a little closer to give you one last peck on your cheek. "Drive safely, okay?” Her fingers tiptoe towards your hand until it reaches the back of your it, her thumb gently rubs circles on it. A new level of intimacy that makes your heart stutter. “Message me when you’re back home."

[rottenomelet]

yandere jjk thoughts

warning:: nsfw! i’m eighteen and you should be too! hints of kidnapping, non-con, and coercion. nothing is ever really explicitly stated but - still.

a/n: there’s no real rhyme or reason behind this - winter is just my favorite time to snuggle up and read about crazy ppl. also i wrote this in lowercase originally so u see a spot i missed, no u didnt. u can leave requests for different characters if u wanna

Gojo Satoru

In no world could I ever imagine Gojo Satoru treating you like a real human being.

He is the strongest. There is no one who could destroy him. He can see all. And the issue isn’t just that he’s the best, it’s that he’s been told that since the day he opened his bright eyes. He has a big ego and it’s justified because there is no one better than him.

And sure he’ll indulge you. He'll laugh at your jokes and console you when you cry. But in the back of his mind, in every kiss to your forehead, in every smile, there will always be a domineering aspect. Because he knows that you are insignificant in the grand scheme of the world. you are only important because he deemed you worth something.

You’re not quite a toy or a pet to him. You’re more like - an indoor plant to him. Something that needs nurturing from his caring hands, watering and sunlight granted to you by him. You adapt and grow according to his needs and his conditions. But at the same time, you are to be cherished. never handled too roughly, case you begin to wilt. You don’t have to do much but sit and be nurtured and be pretty while he gives you whatever he deems necessary for your survival.

It fascinates him, really, how simple your little life is. How much you don’t know and never will know because as a flower, all you need to understand is that water and sunlight and love are given to you before you’ll even realize that you need it.

But you still have a job to be pretty and sometimes that’s sitting on the bed, still, as he observes you or bouncing on his cock. It just depends on the day.

Geto Suguru

Suguru is a calm man, a quiet man. He makes decisions based on logic. He is not exactly one for emotional outbursts, and even at his angriest, he rarely raises his voice.

But you.

A little non-sorcerer that can’t even see curses somehow made him look twice. Little unimportant you constantly runs through his mind. What you’re doing, what you’ve eaten, what places you’ve gone to. Who you’ve talked to, who your friends are. Your hobbies, your interests. Your lips and your eyes and that special something between your legs.

Just thinking about you, even innocently, makes him harden. It’s uncomfortable, it’s infuriating, it’s maddening.

He thought, surely someone in your family was a sorcerer, a powerful one at that. But no, your family is normal. You are, genetically, as average as they come.

He doesn’t treat you softly at first, doesn’t have a mind to. You’re a filthy little nothing, after all. When he fucks, he fucks without care. Suguru treats you like a doll, not made of porcelain but made of cloth, one he can throw around and still be in decent condition. He keeps a hand pressed to your mouth, to keep your voice down. A blindfold around your eyes so he doesn’t have to look into them. Your hands are bound behind your back so you don't touch him even by accident. Flat on your stomach, unable to see or feel or say anything is how you find yourself every time. He doesn’t even come inside of you, the only thing you’re grateful for.

It’s scary, how roughly he treats you. But it’s downright terrifying when he begins to lay softer hands upon you, begins to kiss instead of bite, caress instead of pinch.

Nanami Kento

He is a very traditional and stern man.

You are, silly, to him. stumbling and bumping and in general, unsure of yourself and what to do. But he sees potential. Even when you’ve tripped over thin air or broken something by accident, there’s a certain grace to your movements. A grace he wants to harvest and invest in.

And while he wants to give you direction, he also doesn’t have the patience or time to teach you like he wants. So, it’s best to ‘learn on the job’ when it comes to Kento.

Learn how to cook his favorite meals and bake the sweets he loves just right. When he’s okay with speaking and when he needs quiet. Remembering to kiss him goodbye every morning and remove his coat for him every night.

Learn how to suck his cock right - which vein is most sensitive, when to suckle and gag and slurp, what noises to make, and remember to always always swallow. He hates messes after all.

Learn his favorite positions. The lingerie sets he like best. How loudly he wants you to be. Accept his cum in your tummy with a smile.

It’s not hard - please him and you will be rewarded. Rewarded with pleasure, with time outside, with gentle hands.

And if you stumble or forget, he will easily remind you of your job.

Mahito

You’re his personal entertainment. You’re an experiment.

Mahito is incredibly laid-back, even lazy to an extent. He lets you roam and explore and fall. He doesn’t care what you do as long as you stay within the four walls he’s placed you in.

It's hard to understand him. For a curse, he’s always laughing, finding almost child-like joy in the most odd things. Whether that’s watching an animal documentary or wondering if a human’s neck can extend like the turtles on TV.

One thing you do know is that he likes games and he likes playing with you. The only problem is you don’t when the game starts and ends, the rules or even if you’re playing right. Oftentimes, you find yourself playing a game that you don’t know the rules of and Mahito has named himself the gamekeeper.

He usually starts by asking a question. Something simple like “What time did you wake up?” or “What did you eat today?”. You find out the hard way that no matter what you say, you’re always wrong.

Say you woke up at ten? Then you’ll find yourself pressing into the mattress, drooling on your pillow as he drills you, punishing you for waking so late in the day. You had a slice of cake earlier? Then don’t be surprised when you’re in the kitchen licking icing off his cock as punishment for an unhealthy lunch.

Itadori Yuuji

He's the jock that gave you a chance. That made you feel special and pretty and popular.

He's sweet. He gives you his hoodie when you’re cold. He drives you home after school. Buys you lunch when you can’t afford it. Takes you on nice dates.

He wants you sitting front row at all his games, wearing his varsity jacket so everyone knows you’re his girl. He twirls you and kisses you in front of the whole school when he wins, the whole thing right of a cheesy rom-com.

But, surely, you didn’t think he was doing all that for free? No, he wants compensation. He deserves a reward for treating you so sweetly. It's only fair.

It doesn’t matter if you’re ‘not ready’. No, no, you’re just nervous, sweetheart. But he’ll be gentle with you so calm down. Yeah, calm down when he slides a hand up your skirt on a date to the movies. Be quiet when he asks you for head in the janitor’s closet between classes. And don’t make a fuss when he slips his cock inside of you, raw, even though you begged him to use a condom.

‘Rubbers hurt,’ he says. ‘It feels better raw’,’ he pleads. ‘Don’t worry - I'll pull out.,’ he promises.

And you better be understanding when he comes inside of you. Afterall, he’ll buy you a plan b.

Choso

Whatever you do, do not stress this man.

He’s going through enough as is. The last thing he needs from you is any attitude or ungratefulness. Even an upset face will have you with your knees pushed beside your head and Choso making you scream, all while watching you with that same tired expression.

Choso is the oldest of ten siblings. He is used to dealing with bratty behavior. He handles your tantrums with grace - once you’ve finished throwing things and screaming, he’ll only ask if you're finished. And then he will be upon you.

But, beyond punishment, he is caring and quiet. He prefers it when you speak, likes it when you prattle on about your day or your favorite show. He likes it when you’re happy.

[malereadermaniac]

Nasty Dog ~ Wriothesley x Male Reader drabble

I lied (lol) i'm back in a small writing mood Here's a Wriothesly drabble cause he's hot. Nsfw / MDNI ~ amab m!reader / FDNI Word count: 433 Cw: sweat n scent kink

The fact that it's cannon that Wrio constantly has a scent of sweat and musk lingering around him is insanely hot

You can imagine how damp it gets in the fortress, and clean water must be more difficult to access even for the duke himself; so his grace defo chooses to save water by only showering once or max twice a week! He's so responsible

That in addition to the amount of work Wriothesley does for the fortress, the fights he partakes in, his own workouts, and his wolf-like genetics, his lack of showering just makes his natural musk more intense

You know when your boyfriend is near by just by his sexy smell; you may as well of been pavloved (classically conditioned for my psyche peeps) to recognise the man's scent and look for him

Hugging the man always gets you hard, just cause his manly smell floods you nostrils no matter where your head is pressed against his body; but if you're face smushes anywhere near the duke's pits, holy hell you get drunk off of his smell

When the two of you fuck, the room stinks even better than with anyone else you've been - the scent of his natural smell mixes so sexily with your own scent n cum

His T-T-T-Face is also another factor that adds to your boyfriends sex appeal - his sexy smirks, sharp features, piercing eyes and thin stubble just gets you going and moaning more that the monster he's packing

(His TITTES are also a bonus)

Wrio is real good with his hands too, his veiny, calloused hands spreading your cheeks n toying with your hole almost everynight; his thick fingers curling into your prostate and spreading your entrance for his dick

Oh and fucking hell, when your sweaty boyfriend works out he likes to have you near him - not only to sometimes work out together, but also because his grace loves to watch you squirm around from your uncomfortable hard-on due to your boyfriend's manly, sweaty, muscular body and more intense scent

Wriothesley just loves to tease you with his musk, he knows you reallllyy dig it so the taller man gets such an ego boost turning you on by getting you to 'accidentally' sniff his musky, sparsely haired pits

And his pubes are such a crazy turn-on; his dark, bushy pelvis stinking so damn good, Wrio's natural musk just so manly and intoxicating - the smell taking up half of your mind every time you blow the man!

Overall your boyfriend is just a nasty dog, and you fucking love it.

[bonniepop]

title: of rumors & wrong assumptions parts: 1 / 2 / 3 character: iwaizumi hajime words: 1,800+ warnings: more violence towards oikawa's person. notes: i totally forgot to fill this up lmao

—

the following days at school were hell.

well, not really. but they felt like it.

“he keeps glaring at me,” you whimper, sitting across oikawa, trying to hide yourself by curling inward and having him shield you.

you were both hunched over your shared library desk, completing your partner lab report on your iodine clock experiment, two tables away from iwaizumi’s as his class settled on the other side of the library. oikawa had mentioned that they were working on their research for english.

truth be told, iwaizumi had been glaring at you since last week whenever you were with your lab partner in any capacity. whether you returned a greeting, asked a question, passed by him in the hallway, or simply just as looked in oikawa’s direction, iwaizumi’s glare was soon to follow. it was hard to miss the way his eyeballs practically singed the back of your skull in their endeavor.

“who?” oikawa looks over his shoulder. “oh, he’s not glaring. that’s just his normal face.” he wiggles his fingers at his best friend, who is clearly unamused. 

"you mean looking like he wants to kill me is normal?"

oikawa turns back to you. "i think the crease in between his eyebrows is genetic; his dad has it, too. but it looks good on him, doesn't it?"

gay, the voice in your head pipes up. instead of responding, iwaizumi simply narrows his eyes at oikawa for a second before looking back down at his own notes and proceeding with his work.

“so when he looks like he wants to kill me, that’s normal?” you ask, picking up the experiment manual and dragging it closer.

“yeah, but don’t take it personally.” oikawa smiles. “he looks at me that way all the time!” he returns to your work, peering over the experiment manual and copying the text unto a sheet of paper.

“you have really nice handwriting,” you comment after a few beats of silence, watching him neatly loop and cross and curve his characters.

“thanks,” he says with a smile. “when i was in middle school, my mom made it a point to train me and my sister in penmanship.”

“sounds like torture.”

“helps with volleyball,” he shrugs. “steady hands and all that.”

“you sound like you're making this up.”

"why on earth would i do that?" the volleyball player rolls his eyes. "anyway, real or no, it’s better than that thing you call handwriting,” he disparages, shooting your notes a pointed look. "what's worse than chicken scratch?"

“hey!” you snap, bundling your notes in your arms. “it is not that bad, and also, mind your own business. i make decent grades with this chicken scratch, you know!”

“i’m surprised our teachers can even read that.”

“oh, fuck off,” you say, giving him the finger. 

he laughs and changes the subject. “anyway, did you hear?” he leans in closer, raising an eyebrow. “people think we’re dating.”

you flush, but you can’t help the look of disgust that mars your features. “i know. it’s so gross.”

the teasing expression on his face falls and he straightens. “hey!” he cries, and some students around you turn their heads to look. “i’ll have you know that i am prime real estate!”

“shut up,” you hiss, yanking him down to divert attention. “first of all, you're not my type. second of all, you play volleyball, not baseball. baseball is clearly superior!"

"says you! i'd rather shine in a sport thanks to my sheer physical prowess, not because i'm good at hitting balls with sticks."

you shake your head. "you know, girls don’t like it when the guy’s ego is as big as the moon.”

“i’m just being honest,” he defends. “volleyball is the superior sport."

"i read somewhere that volleyball is just an extreme version of don't let the balloon touch the floor."

"then baseball is just hitting a piñata that's a moving target.”

“a more impressive set of conditions.”

“we're going nowhere," oikawa declares, waving the conversation away. what is your type, then?”

“not you,” you answer with a straight face.

“be serious!” he leans in conspiratorially. “i bet i know who your type is.”

you roll your eyes. “sure you do.”

he smirks. “it’s iwa-chan, isn’t it?”

your heart thunders in your chest and your belly flip flips around. “maybe,” you say, trying to play it cool. “or hanamaki. or matsukawa. anyone but you, really.”

he gapes then huffs, offended. he folds his arms over his chest. “you’re just saying that to get a rise out of me, and i won't fall for it.”

“i like guys who at least pretend to be humble about being good-looking.”

that makes him smirk. “so you think i’m good-looking?” he says a little louder, and you take your manual and smack his arm when you notice the students around you obviously trying to eavesdrop. “ow!”

“shut the fuck up,” you hiss.

oikawa scoffs as he rubs his arm, and you can feel the heat of iwaizumi’s familiar glare on the side of your head 

you chew on your bottom lip. “how’d you know, by the way?” 

“know what? that iwa-chan was your type?”

“no,” you insist, intent on changing the subject, because the embarrassment that you might’ve been obvious would’ve killed you. “that people think we’re—eugh—dating.”

he frowns. “hey. i’m not that bad a boyfriend.”

“didn’t your last girlfriend dump you?”

“i don't see why that's relevant,” he says stiffly, ignoring your jibe. “anyway, some of the lower year girls asked me if it was true,” he says, uncrossing his arms and pondering.

“oh my god, it spread.” you run a hand over your face. “what did you tell them?”

“i didn’t get a chance to answer. iwa-chan hit me in the head with a volleyball before i could.”

“what?” you nearly slam your hands on the table. “so people actually think we’re dating? why didn’t you answer?!”

“because they were bothering us during practice,” iwaizumi answers, suddenly standing next to your table, and you nearly launch yourself out of your seat in shock.

“iwa-chan!” oikawa greets, motioning for him to sit. the chair scrapes against the floor as the vice captain of the volleyball team takes a seat next to you, of all places. “have you met my lab partner?”

you’re too terrified and nervous to speak, but iwaizumi answers for you. “yeah," he grunts in agreement, then grunts out your name. “you’re a friend of tomo’s.”

you nod, words delayed. “yep. i’m a friend of tomo’s.”

“oooh, common friends,” oikawa teases, then jerks and smacks his knee beneath the table. people swivel their heads and chortle when they find the volleyball captain rubbing his leg beneath the desk, face scrunched up in pain. “ow! don’t hit me!”

“don’t be stupid,” iwaizumi grunts. he props his research materials on the table opens his notebook, silently getting to work.

you tap oikawa’s wrist with the pen in your hand as soon as his tears subside. “hey, keep writing!”

“would it kill you to say ‘please’?” he grumbles, pulling the report close and continuing. you work in relative silence, dictating notes for him to include in the report and answering any questions about values and measurements.

you completely forget that iwaizumi's even there, until he sighs and puts down his pen. he cracks his neck and stretches.

“you okay, iwa-chan?” oikawa asks.

“yeah,” he responds, voice low and raspy and it sounds so good that you bite back a whimper. “english is hard.”

you purse your lips in thought. would it be presumptuous of you to help? but maybe you could be useful, and if he really needed help… it might also make him like you more, and lessen all the glaring whenever you were within five feet of his best friend…

“um, can i see?” you decide to ask, and with a nod he slides his notes over to you. “what’s this?”

“translation,” iwaizumi responds gruffly. “can’t figure out what this word means in this sentence. doesn’t it mean the direction, as in 'turn left'?”

after a few scans, you nod, finally understanding. “ah, yes, but here,, ‘left’ is the past tense of ‘leave.’ like, when someone forgets something or leaves something behind.” with your pen, you point out words. "see here? 'she left her phone.'"

iwaizumi looks sort of scandalized. “what?”

“yeah, here, look—”

unbeknownst to you, oikawa’s watching as you explain it, taking in the way his friend leans forward and the extra attention he’s devoting to you as you speak. 

iwaizumi shakes his head. “so ‘left’ means the direction," he motions with his hand, "but also the past tense of 'leave'?” he flips back on his notes. "past tense, past tense... ah, verbs that have already happened?"

“yeah,” you explain. “most english words have their past tenses end in 'd', but irregular verbs—like this one here—they don't follow that rule.”

the captain lights up. “you speak english? you’re not in the english class.”

“um, yeah.” you blush, pulling back and straightening. “my, uh, my grandparents lived in america for a time, so i kinda learned from them.”

a disturbing smile spreads across oikawa's face. “fascinating," he says, sounding not unlike a snake with a plan. "maybe you can help iwa-chan here,” he says with that weird, slimy smile, reaching across the table to pat his friend’s arm. “he’s studying to take a the college entrance exams in the states! he’s not that smart at english, so you should help him!”

said friend was looking at the hand with disgust, which made your lip twitch. “don’t touch me,” he spits.

“aww, iwa, it’s okay. she knows you can be nice to me! you don’t have to hide your true self.” oikawa suddenly jumps away in fear when the wing spiker flexes for a punch, and you hide your snort behind your hands. 

oikawa whimpers, pathetically collecting the papers in front of him. “you two are mean! you deserve each other.”

iwaizumi flushes and glares. “hey. don’t be like that.” he turns to you. “sorry, he’s really inconsiderate about people’s feelings.”

you blink in surprise and raise your hands up in surrender. “no, it’s okay! no, ah, no feelings hurt here. he’s been annoying me all afternoon, so. yeah.” 

confusion makes itself known on iwaizumi's face. “annoying you? aren’t you… you know... um—”

your belly twists unpleasantly, and you force a laugh to hide your embarrassment. “oh, the, uh. the rumor.” you shake your head. “no, we’re not… that.”

when the laugh isn’t returned, you blush and clear your throat, looking down at your chicken scratch in embarrassment.

"oh. but i thought..." he trails off, and you shake your head without looking at him.

a few seconds later, he clears his throat to cut the awkward silence. "okawa, may i speak to you for a moment?” iwaizumi goes, already getting up.

oikawa's tongue is poking out the corner of his mouth as he concentrates on his notes. “wait, i'll just finish—”

“now,” iwaizumi bites out, grabbing his captain by the collar. he looks at you and bows. “give us one second.”

your lab partner is dragged away, and you can hear the mumbles of the students around you. you slump over in your seat. not again.

[ghcstao3]

Soap returns from a solo mission bitten by a werewolf. He is now Ghost's height, much stronger, has sharper teeth 24/7 and senses dialed up to 15.

He can't hide it at all and has to answer many questions from 141 and medical.

Had it been someone like Ghost, then maybe the change would’ve gone undetected longer than the near-instant discovery of Soap’s… condition… upon returning to base.

But alas, it wasn’t—and no matter who, everyone is at a complete loss. Because what is one meant to do with a suddenly souped-up soldier?

That’s still to be determined.

“What do you mean ‘genetically modified wolves’?” Price frowns. “You were sent after an arms dealer.”

Soap shrugs shoulders that are too broad to truly be his. He still looks like he’s trying to figure out how to fit new, bigger, sharper teeth comfortably in his mouth, but failure has been evident in the slight lisp the sergeant has since gained.

“S’what I said, Cap,” Soap says. “Dunno what else I can tell you, other than I got scratched up real good by one.”

The sergeant lifts the hem of his partially-torn shirt to show where, presumably, he’d been injured—but there’s nothing more than a few angry red lines and dried blood.

“Christ,” Price sighs. He scrubs at his face, then lifting his hat a moment to drag a tired hand through his hair. His exasperation settles in pinching the bridge of his nose.

Though, only for a few seconds. Price is then squaring his shoulders, resetting his stance, and turning to the two other members of his task force that had been hovering all the while. He points to Gaz and Ghost.

“At least one of you stay here, make sure he doesn’t go anywhere,” he orders. “Get medical to run tests, but nothing too extensive. I have—“ Another long-suffering sigh. “—several calls to make.”

Ghost elbows Gaz just as the sergeant looks about to make a quip at Price’s expense. A gesture that says, save it.

Price stalks out of the room, tense. Soap shoots a sheepish fanged grin at Ghost and Gaz.

This would be an interesting next few days. No matter who this was to happen to.

Soap just happened to be the unlucky victim this time, apparently.

[copperbadge]

I’ve been watching a lot of Olympic surfing since it’s soothing and beautiful sprinkled with moments of mouth-dropping excitement and it got me thinking - would Monday compete for Askazer-Shivadlakia? I could totally see the royal family on a boat screaming at the top of their lungs for her :D

I see you've seen the picture of the king and queen of the Netherlands at the Olympics :D

[ID: A photograph of two people wearing orange hats and sunglasses, looking very much like a mom and dad cheering on their kid; the woman has a floral peasant blouse on, and the man is wearing a ring tee that reads PARIS with a VIP badge around his neck.]

I swore I had made a post about Monday competing in the Olympics but it turns out it was a discussion carried out in comments. :D So allow me to elaborate....

To represent a country in the Olympics you have to be a "national" of said country. Broadly, that's anyone who has significant allegiance to a country. By the time August 2024 rolls around Monday will have been a resident for two years and she has a royal visa plus biological children who are citizens, and her brother-in-law is the elected head of state, so I'm thinking that qualifies. Fons-Askaz is a popular surf spot but it's mostly tourists, so she's not taking a spot from someone who should be representing the country, which is important to her. One reason Monday and Eddie like Shivadh culture so much is that it's very like their own -- sportsmanship is a closely held value.

Now, not to be a killjoy, but would Monday choose to compete in the Olympics? Like a lot of sports, surfing has its own competitions, and does she want to associate with an organization that she must, being her, have serious ethical concerns over? Setting aside that she's competing in Tahiti, and I can't find much coverage about how Tahitians feel about that, olympic host cities regularly do brutal clearances of unhoused and poor people, constantly overspend on elaborate athletic facilities that then rot emptily, and in the case of Paris, create what critics have called a "two tier" system based on how much you can pay. As I predicted, temperatures in the olympic village are regularly hitting the eighties indoors, and those who couldn't afford air conditioning struggle to compete at the level of their wealthier peer countries. An Italian gold-medalist swimmer has taken to sleeping in parks because he can't sleep in his room. Monday can bring her own personal chef to Tahiti with her, but that's because he's her brother. Not to mention the issues surrounding the way wealth improves training and skill, the way genetics play a part, and the appalling record of the IOC on gender and race.

As may be evident, I'm not a fan of the olympics. I don't watch them and haven't for 25 years now. I'm not going to claim the reason is ethical concerns, because I just plain don't give much of a damn about olympic competition and I follow soccer which is as abusive and toxic just in different ways. But it doesn't help that there are so many issues. And yeah, it absolutely is also thrilling and fun, which is why I feel bad talking about this! And for some sports truly it is the only place they get to show or compete (don't get me started on television networks who get to call what is and isn't broadcast, let alone archived) but this is a moral question athletes are going to have to start to grapple with.

And ALL THAT SAID....

Monday knows this will realistically be her last olympics. She will still be competing at the elite level for a few years and will have a long career as a coach if she does well; she might even qualify in 2028, but at that point she'll be in her mid thirties and likely not still in championship form, and will have had time to train Shivadh surfers so they can compete. And Gregory is not only fond of Monday and kind of in agreement about the olympics, but he is very, very loyal to the woman who carried his children.

So she has nothing to lose, really, and competing in the Olympics, especially if she does well, is a fantastic way to bring attention to how fucked up they are.

I doubt I'd ever write it, except maybe as a short story, but if I did it would be about Monday declaring herself an Activist Competitor, putting the olympics on blast every time she's got a mic in her face, and plotting it with the boys ahead of time so that when the press or even the IOC runs to them, they shrug and say, "What do you want us to do about it? We agree with her. If the IOC doesn't like it they know what to do," basically daring them to fix their shit or ban her.

And there is some fun to be had with it too! You've got Georgie becoming an inadvertent icon as Monday's girlfriend, Gregory and Eddie cheering her on while holding the twins, Joan (and possibly Noah, given he'll be on summer break from college) romping around the place with recording equipment. And also fun, Michaelis and Jes agreeing to go to Paris instead because there are other Shivadh competing and they have to represent the side.

Monday didn't even ask the others to join her in activism because she didn't want them to risk their careers at her say-so, but they are Shivadh, after all, and one of their favorite things to do is fuck shit up, so they absolutely would lead an insurrection in Paris, probably wearing shirts that read WE'RE TOO HOT TO SLEEP. Jes absolutely has a shirt reading NB FOR AC.

I think you have to actually commit war crimes to get a country banned from the olympics (and even then, sometimes you get a pass) but I do think it would be funny if the Paris contingent caused so many issues that I could title the story "We Got Banned From The Olympics And All We Got Were These Dumb Gold Medals". Especially if the gold medals aren't even olympic medals, they're medals Gregory had made to reward the Shivadh athletes for their actions. Gold medal in activism for everyone!

[memecucker]

The family tree of humanity is much more interconnected than we tend to think. “We’re culturally bound and psychologically conditioned to not think about ancestry in very broad terms,” Rutherford says. Genealogists can only focus on one branch of a family tree at a time, making it easy to forget how many forebears each of us has.

Imagine counting all your ancestors as you trace your family tree back in time. In the nth generation before the present, your family tree has 2n slots: two for parents, four for grandparents, eight for great-grandparents, and so on. The number of slots grows exponentially. By the 33rd generation—about 800 to 1,000 years ago—you have more than eight billion of them. That is more than the number of people alive today, and it is certainly a much larger figure than the world population a millennium ago.

This seeming paradox has a simple resolution: “Branches of your family tree don’t consistently diverge,” Rutherford says. Instead “they begin to loop back into each other.” As a result, many of your ancestors occupy multiple slots in your family tree. For example, “your great-great-great-great-great-grandmother might have also been your great-great-great-great-aunt,” he explains.

The consequence of humanity being “incredibly inbred” is that we are all related much more closely than our intuition suggests, Rutherford says. Take, for instance, the last person from whom everyone on the planet today is descended. In 2004 mathematical modeling and computer simulations by a group of statisticians led by Douglas Rohde, then at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology, indicated that our most recent common ancestor probably lived no earlier than 1400 B.C. and possibly as recently as A.D. 55. In the time of Egypt’s Queen Nefertiti, someone from whom we are all descended was likely alive somewhere in the world.

Go back a bit further, and you reach a date when our family trees share not just one ancestor in common but every ancestor in common. At this date, called the genetic isopoint, the family trees of any two people on the earth now, no matter how distantly related they seem, trace back to the same set of individuals. “If you were alive at the genetic isopoint, then you are the ancestor of either everyone alive today or no one alive today,” Rutherford says. Humans left Africa and began dispersing throughout the world at least 120,000 years ago, but the genetic isopoint occurred much more recently—somewhere between 5300 and 2200 B.C., according to Rohde’s calculations.

At first glance, these dates may seem much too recent to account for long-isolated Indigenous communities in South America and elsewhere. But “genetic information spreads rapidly through generational time,” Rutherford explains. Beginning in 1492, “you begin to see the European genes flowing in every direction until our estimates are that there are no people in South America today who don’t have European ancestry.”

In fact, even more recent than the global genetic isopoint is the one for people with recent European ancestry. Researchers using genomic data place the latter date around A.D. 1000. So Christopher Lee’s royal lineage is unexceptional: because Charlemagne lived before the isopoint and has living descendants, everyone with European ancestry is directly descended from him. In a similar vein, nearly everyone with Jewish ancestry, whether Ashkenazic or Sephardic, has ancestors who were expelled from Spain beginning in 1492. “It’s a very nice example of a small world but looking to the past,” says Susanna Manrubia, a theoretical evolutionary biologist at the Spanish National Center for Biotechnology.

Not everyone of European ancestry carries genes passed down by Charlemagne, however. Nor does every Jew carry genes from their Sephardic ancestors expelled from Spain. People are more closely related genealogically than genetically for a simple mathematical reason: a given gene is passed down to a child by only one parent, not both. In a simple statistical model, Manrubia and her colleagues showed that the average number of generations separating two random present-day individuals from a common genealogical ancestor depends on the logarithm of the relevant population’s size. For large populations, this number is much smaller than the population size itself because the number of possible genealogical connections between individuals doubles with each preceding generation. By contrast, the average number of generations separating two random present-day individuals from a common genetic ancestor is linearly proportional to the population size because each gene can be traced through only one line of a person’s family tree. Although Manrubia’s model unrealistically assumed the population size did not change with time, the results still apply in the real world, she says.

Because of the random reshuffling of genes in each successive generation, some of your ancestors contribute disproportionately to your genome, while others contribute nothing at all. According to calculations by geneticist Graham Coop of the University of California, Davis, you carry genes from fewer than half of your forebears from 11 generations back. Still, all the genes present in today’s human population can be traced to the people alive at the genetic isopoint. “If you are interested in what your ancestors have contributed to the present time, you have to look at the population of all the people that coexist with you,” Manrubia says. “All of them carry the genes of your ancestors because we share the [same] ancestors.”

And because the genetic isopoint occurred so recently, Rutherford says, “in relation to race, it absolutely, categorically demolishes the idea of lineage purity.” No person has forebears from just one ethnic background or region of the world. And your genealogical connections to the entire globe mean that not too long ago your ancestors were involved in every event in world history.

[creatingblackcharacters]

I am writing a story where an older Black man, late 60s to mid 70s (I haven't fully decided), is one of the main characters. Is there anything I should keep in mind about how aging affects Black people? In particular I was thinking about giving him gray hair, but I've heard that Black people don't typically go gray as much or in the same way as white people do? I could be misinformed though, which is why I'm hoping you'd be willing to help out. Also if this is insensitive please let me know so I can be aware of where I'm wrong going forward.

Thanks for everything you do!

Well, everyone doesn't age the same lol. How you age depends on your genetics, your diet and exercise, and the type of life you live, really. Some people are 80 and look 60, some are 70 and look 90. My partner's Grandfather looks as peppy as ever and he's 70ish. We definitely go gray, though not everyone goes like... Platinum silver or white. My granny had silver hair as brassy as dimes at 50, that turned a bright white... She was also really physically active until she got dementia. My grandma has been a matte gray for twenty years; wheelchair bound, but her mind's sharp as ever. My grandad was salt and pepper that eventually turned gray, also sharp minded.

But the regular signs of aging are ubiquitous- wrinkles due to less elasticity, eventual muscle atrophy, losing teeth. Some of us get more moles and dark spots. So the specifics just depend on the person. I'd suggest looking up references for what you have in mind, as well as considering what his lifestyle is like (E.g. If he spent years lifting truck beds for mechanic work and didn't focus on muscle care, his back probably hurts.)

Some other things to keep in mind is how aging while Black includes dealing with a lot of outward pressures. In other words, racial disparities (e.g. economic, health care, environmental) affect how we age as well. The likelihood of high blood pressure and diabetes is quite high. Doctors also tend not to take our pain and issues as seriously, especially Black women. Very often things can and do go unnoticed due to both a lack of trust, or simply not going because... Money and access.

(What I've linked here is majority Black American experiences, but you can look for these examples in other countries just by inputting that on Google)

5 Health Conditions Black Folks Commonly Face As They Get Older

How Racism “Gets Under the Skin” and Prematurely Ages Black People

Aging While Black: The Crisis Among Black Americans as They Grow Old

[quirkwizard]

Oh quirk wizard. The mangas coming to an end and what a vestige is has been left a bit open ended, So what do you think they are? Do you think they’re truly alive? Also do you think a quirk based around these vestiges could exist?

So vestiges are genetic remnants of a Quirk user. Specifically, a Quirk user who has had their Quirk passed on or stolen. This is something specifically tied to the Quirk itself and them being passed on. These aren't things that come about normally and are pretty unique to "One For All" and "All For One" given their nature of Quirks that tie so heavily into other abilities and the taking of them. Before that point of power, these vestiges were barely anything. Only fleeting voices or apparitions in dreams. The only reason they appear so vividly and interact with the current user with "One For All" and "All For One" is because they have such powerful and evolved abilities that the vestiges are able to do that. And while their power is limited, they can still influence the power of their own Quirks, such as when Bruce and Kudo denied Izuku their powers and the other user's bailed Izuku out of getting brainwashed. This can even extend to fully taking someone over, but it requires a very specific process and vessel to make it work, hence why All For One conditioned Tomura.

And while I often joke about them being ghosts or spirits, that isn't really what they are. They are just a copy of the original user held within the Quirk. Think of it like uploading your brain to a computer, but instead of computer code, it's genetic code. It may look and act like the original, but it is only a copy. Now, this does raise the question of why doesn't All Might have a proper vestige? People have theorized that, since Toshinori hasn't passed on, he can't become a vestige. However, that doesn't make any sense. It can't be because he isn't dead since All For One is able to appear as a vestige with Tomura while the real one was still running around. The real answer is fairly simple: it's because he doesn't have a Quirk. Toshinori was Quirkless when he had the power, so he didn't have anything to pass on or anything to make a vestige in the first place. So while something is copied over with the Quirk being passed on, he can't fully form a vestige within "One For All".

[the-bad-batch-baroness]

Infectious

TBB & Fem!Reader

Chapter 3: Rumors on Scorro

Summary: You're completing your final practicum on Kamino as part of the experimental non-clone Combat Medic program. After graduating top of your class, and being inducted into the prestigious 407th Medic Unit, you get assigned to Clone Force 99. Neither of you are excited to be working together and tensions run high. However, those tensions dissipate when the Bad Batch unexpectedly falls ill while on a covert mission. Running against an unknown clock, it’s up to you to figure out what’s causing the illness before it ultimately kills you all.

Pairing: TBB & Fem!Reader

Characters: Hunter, Echo, Crosshair, Wrecker, Tech

Tags & Warnings: BAMF fem!reader, enemies to friends, humor, action, angst, hurt/comfort, canon typical violence, mild suggestive themes, explicit medical descriptions, whump

Word Count: 5.7k

Author's Note: WE'RE BACK BABY!!! Yeah, that's right. Finally. After all of this time, the next chapter has arrived 🥳 I told y'all I would be updating my other series fics in the new year, and I meant it. This chapter has some Echo angst in it, because why not. FYI, since it's been 9 months, I went back and edited the first two chapters to match my current writing style. No plot elements changed, just style, grammar, word choice, etc. As always, please enjoy 💚

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

As the ship leaves the stormy atmosphere of Kamino, you turn your head to look out the transparisteel viewport and are greeted by the sight of endless stars twinkling brightly across the ebony horizon. You smile wide knowing this view will never get old. The galaxy is vast and beautiful, and getting to see it up close and personal, while also doing something you love, is priceless. This really is a turning point in your life. A new chapter to be written and explored.

When the ship levels out, you unstrap from the jump seat and start exploring the Marauder. You have a feeling you’ll be spending a lot of time aboard this ship, so you want to familiarize yourself with it as much as possible. You walk back towards the stern, where Wrecker is, and look around, but there's not much to see. Then make your way back up toward the bow and step aboard the bridge. You weave between Hunter and Crosshair, and stand behind Tech.

“So, where are we going?” you ask while looking over Tech’s shoulder at the controls.

Without turning around, Tech answers. “Agamar. It’s a rather barren planet found in the outer rim. The terrain is inhospitable to most, but we will manage.”

“What’s the mission?” you ask further, excited by the prospect and intrigue.

“There’s a separatist base they want us to route,” Hunter says. “A simple in-and-out mission.”

You nod your head at the explanation, but he makes it sound like routing a heavily guarded separatist base is a walk in the park. You have to remind yourself that they are an elite force of clones and are genetically modified for the toughest conditions. It amazes you that such clones can even exist and your fascination with them grows. You wonder how they look in action and if they live up to all the rumors the regular clones whisper about on Kamino. Only time will tell.

Hunter rolls his shoulders and cracks his neck. “Get some sleep, all of you. We’ll be there in a couple hours.”

You want to say something funny, like 'aye aye captain', but decide not. Instead, you simply nod and make your way back to the bunks. Laying down on the flat rack, you stare up at the ceiling. There are too many pre-mission jitters vibrating through your body to fall asleep. Even after shutting your eyes and calming yourself, it's just not enough. So, you toss and turn, getting more aggravated that your body won’t drift off, since being tired for your first mission is not an option.

You sigh and sit up, then peer around at the others who are soundly asleep in their bunks and chairs. You’re not sure how they can fall asleep so fast. It’s either a genetic thing or a military training tactic, but whatever it is, you don’t have it. You decide to get up and pace around to try and wear yourself out, and when you do, you hear something. The ship is quiet and your ears perk up immediately at the sound. Wanting to investigate it, you quietly slip around your squad.

One by one, you pass by them, waiting and listening to hear who made the weird sound. Not Wrecker. You move on. Not Crosshair either. You check the next one. He’s making noise for sure, but not the sound you heard. It’s not Tech either. You move towards Hunter, a little nervous that he might wake up and catch you staring at him, but you pause and listen. Nope, not him. You purse your lips. That only leaves Echo. Carefully, you tip toe over to him, wait, and listen.

He's not making a sound, and with a shrug, you turn to leave, thinking you’re a level of crazy for hearing things on a quiet ship. Then it happens again. You turn back around and look at Echo. He’s sleeping rather soundly, with soft rhythmic breaths and gentle rises and falls of his chest. No breath obstructions, you note to yourself. You wait and watch for a moment, then he says it again. It’s faint, breathy, and almost unrecognizable as a word, but you hear it regardless.

Fives.

You knit your eyebrows at the odd utterance, and wait a little longer, listening to see if what he mumbles changes or if he’s repeating the same word. After a couple standard seconds, Echo says the same breathy word again. Fives. You wonder what it means. Maybe it’s a special numerical sequence from his time back on Skako Minor? You shrug at the mystery, but are happy that it’s not a breathing issue. You turn to leave him be, but he mumbles something else.

Fives come back.

Oh. Your heart drops. It’s a person. He’s dreaming about someone he knows, or maybe someone he once knew. You sigh and let your eyes turn soft, knowing exactly what it’s like to dream about loved ones. It’s been several years, but you still dream about your parents. Sometimes you can’t fill in all the gaps of your dreams as you slowly forget things, but it still pulls at your heartstrings every time they show up to give you a hug in the realm of sleep.

As your thoughts wander a yawn escapes past your lips. Finally, feeling tired and ready for sleep, you return to your bunk and crawl onto the hard surface. Laying on your back, you close your eyes and take a few deep breaths to settle yourself. You still wonder who Fives is and what they mean to Echo. Your psychology books tell you that dreams can be a subconscious escape or a subconscious desire. Knowing next to nothing about Echo’s past, it could be either one.

You take another deep breath and exhale slowly. Closing your eyes, you let yourself drift off to sleep, but in a split moment, a rough hand shakes you back awake. You shoot up and hit your head on the bunk above you. Ouch. Nursing your newly formed bump, you use your other hand to rub the sleep out of your eyes. When you come out of your groggy haze, you can hear snickering coming from the rest of the squad. Ha ha, yes, very funny. You think to yourself.

“Rise and shine,” Hunter mocks as he walks away from your bunk. “We’re here.”

Gathering your composure, you swing out of the bunk and head over to the cockpit for the landing. You look out the viewport as you enter the atmosphere of Agamar and your face lights up with excitement. This is it. Your first mission. You want to squeal, but something tells you that no one else is going to appreciate it, so you keep it internal. The ship lands on the rocky surface of the planet with only a slight wobble. Tech wasn’t kidding when he said it was inhospitable.

Your excitement grows as the squad gears up with their packs, and you follow suit the same way. You double check your pack to make sure you have all the medical necessities and do a mental headcount of your supplies. Once satisfied with your inventory, you sling it across your back and toss your bucket snug on your head. You’re all set to go on your first mission. The ship door opens, light beaming in, and your heart begins to race. This is it. This is your moment.

You take your first steps forward to leave the ship when Hunter stretches an arm out to stop you. “Not you,” Hunter says. “You’re staying here.”

“What?” you question. “But what about the mission?”

“Your mission is here,” Hunter says. “You’re staying on the ship with Echo.”

“But, sir!” you argue. Your feelings of excitement crumble. “I belong in the field!”

“You belong where I tell you you belong, medic,” Hunter snaps back. “Or are you ignoring an order from your commanding officer on your first mission?”

You huff and clench your fist. “No, sir."

“I didn’t think so,” Hunter says, then turns to face Echo. “We may need a quick extraction, so keep your ears on.”

“Understood,” Echo acknowledges with a nod.

Hunter nods back and heads out of the Marauder with the rest of the squad, well, the rest of the squad except you. You remove your bucket, plop down on your bunk with an angry grunt, and lean your head back against the wall. This entire assignment has been one big pissing match, and every time you think you’re making progress, you get sidelined. How are you supposed to make Kix proud if you don’t see any action? You release another angry grunt and cross your arms.

“Careful,” Echo says. “You’ll lose your voice if you keep grunting like that.”

You roll your eyes. “Aren’t you upset being stuck here?”

“No,” Echo answers. “It’s not unusual for someone to be left back with the ship. Keeps people from stealing it.”

With such a small squad of men to work with, you guess that makes sense, and since Echo is your unofficial chaperone, it makes sense that you were left on the ship with him. However, even though you try to explain it to yourself in those practical terms, you still think it's to spite you. You sigh. At this rate, you’ll never get to prove your worth as a Combat Medic to any of them. To these special clones, you’re just useless dead weight and not worth their time.

As the planetary rotation moves forward, you find odd things around the ship to busy yourself with, but you’re still bored. Echo is not much of a conversationalist and he hasn’t moved from his spot in the cockpit. You end up sprawling yourself across the seat in the gunner’s nest and looking out the window at whatever draws your attention. There’s some trees, a little snow on the ground, and a few stray wildlife that come into view. Nothing too spectacular, that’s for sure.

Finally, after hours of sitting by yourself, you decide to go back to the cockpit and sit with Echo. You're still curious about this Fives person he mentioned in his sleep, and you think maybe now might be a good time to ask him about it. You walk into the cockpit and sit down in the chair across from him, bending one leg up onto the chair and resting your chin atop your knee. Echo silently acknowledges your presence and returns to looking at the setting sun over the horizon.

You fidget with your fingers as you mull over whether to ask him about what you overheard last night. It might be private, and he may not want to tell you, but your curiosity is getting the better of you. “Echo,” you ask. “Who's Fives?”

Echo shifts uncomfortably in his seat and stays silent for a couple of minutes. “How do you know that name?” he asks. His words hang heavy in the air.

“You…” you begin, then pause, unsure of how to tell him. You don't want to sound creepy, but honesty is the best policy. “You said it in your sleep.”

Echo sighs, but doesn't turn his gaze from the orange sunset. “Shouldn’t you have been sleeping too?”

“I’m not used to sleeping on ships,” you answer. You can tell by the tone of his voice that this is a sore subject and you're starting to regret bringing it up.

Echo swivels his chair to face you and worries his lip. His eyes are full of sadness and his countenance is engrossed in pain as he searches for the words he's looking for. A small smile flashes across his lips. You wonder if he's thinking about a memory.

“He was my brother,” Echo says, his voice quiet at the strain of saying his thoughts out loud.

You can tell by his choice of words and his tone of voice that this brother isn’t around anymore and you feel a twinge of sadness settle in your gut. You understand a thing or two about the loss of a loved one. “What happened to him?” you ask.

“He was murdered,” Echo says, his fist tightening as he looks back out the viewport. “By one of our own.”

Your expression turns from sadness to shock and then confusion. A clone killing a clone? Does that even happen? Why would a clone do that? Your mind rushes a mile a minute trying to wrap your head around the idea, but you cannot seem to reconcile it. It’s too bizarre of a concept to comprehend. Every clone you've ever met was a brother to the one next to him. So, for a clone to kill another clone, it’s like a family member killing another family member. It’s unheard of.

“I’m sorry, Echo,” you offer as a consolation. “You must miss him.”

“Yeah,” Echo says, his voice distant. “I do.”

“I miss my parents all the time,” you say, trying to bridge the gap and build a connection.

“I remember you mentioning they’re dead,” Echo says as he turns to face you.

“About ten years ago,” you add. Now it's your turn to look out at the sunset.

“I’m sorry,” Echo says.

“It’s fine,” you shrug. “It hurts, but it doesn’t hurt like it used to. I know they’re out there watching over me, somewhere.”

Echo snorts. “You believe in that Jedi force stuff do ya?”

“Not really,” you answer with a small laugh. “But everyone needs to believe in something.”

“That’s fair,” Echo says.

“When I look up at the stars,” you begin with a smile while staring fondly out at the horizon, “it’s almost like I can feel them with me, you know? Watching over me as I make my way in the galaxy.”

“Sounds nice,” Echo says.

“I bet Fives is watching you too,” you say, then look at Echo with soft eyes. “He hasn’t left you alone, just like my parents haven’t left me.”

“Maybe,” Echo shrugs, then chuckles. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he came back to haunt me.” His brief small smile fades as his countenance reverts back to a frown.

“We’ll see them again some day," you say, trying to stay hopeful. “I just know it.”

“That would be something, wouldn’t it?” Echo half-jokes, but you can hear the part of his heart that wants what you're saying to be true.

He wants to see his brother again, desperately. So much so that he calls out to him while he sleeps. He must agonize over Fives’ death. You understand because you’ve been there. You’ve stared death in the face, the kind of death that leaves you thoroughly alone. You don't need to understand psychology to know what his subconscious thinks about on a daily basis, and your heart hurts for him, but you know there's nothing in your medpack to mend a shattered heart.

You and Echo stare out of the cockpit in silence and watch the sun fall beyond the horizon, sharing in this solemn moment and appreciating the company. The veil of night arrives and the stars begin to shine in the dark sky. The billions of bright burning lights feel comforting. The stars aren't very visible on Kamino, but here, on this planet, they are bright and beautiful. You relax your shoulders and lean back, thinking that maybe this assignment isn’t so bad after all.

However, your sweet moment is interrupted by Hunter’s voice over the comms. He’s calling in that quick extraction now and by the amount of yelling and blaster fire in the background, this is going to be a hot one. Echo relays the affirmation, sets the coordinates, and lets Hunter know that both of you are on the way to pick them up. You're slightly surprised that Echo included you in the transmission, but now is not the time to be celebrating your first taste of inclusivity.

“Civvy, strap in,” Echo orders as he starts pressing buttons and flipping switches to get the ship going. “This is going to be a bumpy ride and I don’t need you falling out of the ship.”

Ah, there it is. You sigh and head back towards the jump seats and strap yourself in for the wild ride ahead. Echo expertly maneuvers the ship to the squad's location and brings it in low so they can climb on board. You can hear the blaster fire outside and as the door opens to the ship, you watch them file in while firing off blaster bolts to cover each other. It’s the first time you’ve seen any of them in action and you're a little awestruck. They don’t move like other clones.

Tech next to Echo and Hunter yells for them to get them out of here. The ship moves again, this time more aggressively, as the enemy continues to fire at the Marauder. Wrecker moves to the gunner’s nest and shoots down the vulture droids that are following behind. You tightly grip the bars on the jump seat as the ship rocks from the blasts. Thankfully, the shields are up. The ship flips upside down, sideways, and every other way you can think of to out maneuver the droids.

At long last, the ship breaches the atmosphere and moves into space. Tech initiates the hyperdrive and pulls the handle down to enter into hyperspace. Once safe in a hyperspace lane, you let out the breath you were holding in, then flick the safety release on the jump seat and push them over your head. You get up from the seat and wobble forward, not realizing your legs turned to jelly from all of the excitement, and let your feet stabilize before trying to walk.

“Woah, that was fun!” Wrecker hollers as he brushes by you and moves towards the cockpit. “Echo, you should have seen this place. It was crazy.”

“Not as crazy as being sling-shot across a ravine,” Crosshair grumbles and pushes past you. He sits down in one of the swivel chairs and starts cleaning his rifle in silence.

“I said I was sorry,” Wrecker apologizes. “But we won!”

“Correction,” Tech says as he lifts a pointed finger in the air. “I won.”

Crosshair rolls his eyes and pulls a few credits from his pocket and hands them to Tech.

“Much obliged,” Tech says as he stuffs the credits in one of his many satchels.

The exchange has you lost in bewilderment. Clearly, something happened during the mission and you’re curious to know the details. You look at Echo, hoping he'll ask for more information about it, but he doesn’t, leaving you more curious. You do find it odd, however, that they had some form of amusement out on the battlefield. From your time on Kamino, most clones don't find blaster fire fun. Clone Force 99 really is different compared to the rest of the clone forces.

“I assume your mission was a success?” Hunter asks while walking by you, breaking you from your thoughts.

“Yes… sir,” you answer with a twinge of hesitancy, a little unsure of what your mission was other than staying on the ship with Echo.

“Good,” Hunter says. He reclines in one of the empty swivel seats and clasps his hands behind his head. “Glad to hear it.”

You can’t tell if he’s being serious or if he's trying to make fun of you. Either way, you brush it off and focus on more pressing matters, like what's next on the mission agenda. Will you go back to Kamino? Or will you wait for more orders? That’s what good soldiers do, isn’t it? Follow orders? You’re still unfamiliar with all of this, so you’re not sure what to ask or what to do with yourself. Rather than make new issues by asking more questions, you retreat back to your bunk to relax.

But the boredom of waiting creeps in and you start to doze off. Your eyelids are heavy even though you barely spent any energy this rotation. It doesn't take you long to remember that you didn’t get much sleep the night before and now that the adrenaline is wearing off, your body is telling you it needs rest. You don't fight it and let your body go to sleep, hoping you won’t be woken up. As a medic, you must get rest whenever you can so you can be at your best at all times.

This time you wake up on your own terms, when your body feels rested. You’re not sure how long you were out, but no one bothered you so you assume everyone is still waiting for new orders to come across. You sit up in your bunk, without hitting your head this time, and stretch out your arms. You roll your shoulders and crack your neck. The bunks aren’t exactly soft, but they do their job. Swinging your legs over the side of the bunk, you get up to use the refresher.

As you head towards the refresher, the rest of the squad is huddled around and speaking amongst each other. Hunter looks serious and has his arms crossed, which can’t mean anything good, and Echo is arguing with him, again. You forget the refresher for a moment and walk over to add your presence to the mix. Hunter notices and glances at you before turning back to Echo. Not realizing where you are standing, Crosshair gives you a small jab on your behind with his rifle.

The sudden touch startles you. “What was that for?”

“You’re blocking my view,” Crosshair hisses. “Move.”

You roll your eyes. “You could've just asked me to move, you know. That's borderline harassment.”

“If you looked more like a window than a door, I wouldn’t have to borderline harass you,” Crosshair snarks and flicks his toothpick in your face.

Your nose scrunches and eyes close when the little wooden projectile hits your face. As your frustration builds, you take a deep breath to calm yourself. You want nothing more than to tell that sniper where he can shove his rifle, but you won't. It's not worth it because it will only fuel his bullying further. Instead, you choose to let it go. This time. There are points where you will cross the line, and he keeps dancing around that line. If he ever crosses it, you'll let him know.

“Can we get back to more important things?” Hunter asks, shifting his gaze between you and Crosshair.

Echo huffs and shakes his head. "I don't like it."

"We don't have to like it," Hunter says. "Orders are orders."

"What orders?" you ask.

Hunter swivels to face you. "There's rumors of an imperial base operating out of Scorro." Tech pulls up a holo of the planet and Hunter continues his explanation. "According to our intel, the GAR sent a squad of clones to scout the base, but their comms suddenly went silent. Another squad of clones were sent after them with the same result. Now they want us to investigate."

"Do they know what happened to the clones?" you ask, curious as to what's causing Echo's skepticism.

"No," Hunter crosses his arms. "They were never recovered."

"No one went back to get them?" you ask.

"It would be a waste of resources," Tech adds. "Besides, based on the trend, sending another clone squadron would yield the same results."

"But aren't we another clone squadron?" you ask, this time your nerves bleed through.

"Stop worrying!" Wrecker exclaims. "We can take on whatever they throw at us!"

His words don't make you feel better about the situation. While Echo is the only one openly objecting to the new mission, Hunter's facial expressions tell a different story than what he's leading everyone to believe. Your first inkling was the fact that he hasn't shoved you aside for this conversation. In fact, he's answered your questions without issue. He's serious about this in a way he hasn't been since you've met him. The fact that Hunter is worrying, has you worrying.

"I still don't like it," Echo frowns. "How'd they lose two clone squadrons without so much as one distress signal?"

"Maybe a new type of droid?" you offer. "Or their signals were jammed?"

"Groundbreaking ideas," Crosshair says.

"Everything is a valid option," Echo adds.

Crosshair rolls his eyes.

"Enough," Hunter says. "We're going to Scorro to investigate the rumors and to find the missing clones. Double-check our supplies and prepare for anything."

With the sergeant's final words, everyone scatters to prepare for the mission, except for Tech who punches in the new coordinates and sets the course for Scorro. You linger in the cockpit, silently observing Hunter as he pulls out his knife and twirls it around his fingers. The mission makes you nervous even though it shouldn't. You'll probably end up staying on the ship again, but maybe that's not a bad thing. You shake your head at the thought. That's not why you're here.

"Sergeant–"

"You too," Hunter says before you get a chance to ask. "You're coming with us."

You smile and nod. "Thank you, sir."

"Don't get the wrong idea," Hunter adds. "I need Echo for this mission, and I'm not leaving you alone on the ship."

"Yes, sir," you frown then turn back towards the bunks to get yourself situated.

Of course it would be too good to be true. For a second, you thought he actually wanted you on this mission, but he just wants to keep an eye on you. As a medic, you can help the missing troopers if they need medical attention, which you're confident they will. Your presence on the mission should be vital, not just an afterthought. Although, you shouldn't be upset that you're going on a mission, but you wish it was because of merit and not for the sake of babysitting.

Regardless, you will do your best on this mission and prove to Clone Force 99 that you are a good medic. That they need you. You're not sure how, but you will. When you get back to your bunk, you triple-check the supplies in your pack and stock as many bacta patches and stim shots as you can fit, plus some essential fluid and mineral packets, ration bars, and a few medical odds and ends that make sense to bring along. You want to be prepared for anything.

With your preparations made, it's another waiting game until you reach Scorro. You don't remember reading about that planet in your studies, but apparently it's rather primitive in nature, which is why no one has settled on it. It's an abandoned planet, making it a great outpost for mercenaries, pirates, and separatists. Pulling out your data-pad, you do a little more research to see what you can find out, but come up with the same dismal results that your holo-texts had.

It's not much longer before the Marauder drops out of hyperspace and the olive-green planet comes into view. When the holo-text said that Scorro was primitive, it wasn't kidding. It looks new and unabused by modern progress, and its vegetal hue is highly alluring. Your curiosity has now surpassed your trepidation about the rumors and missing clones. You're excited. This is a great opportunity, even if it's dangerous. The closer you get to the planet, the faster your heart beats.

“According to the scanners, there are no active fauna on this planet,” Tech states. "But the air is breathable."

“Just because the air is breathable doesn’t mean it’s good for you,” you point out. “Carbon monoxide is breathable but you’ll die before you figure out it’s bad for you.”

“Correction,” Tech adds. "The air is non-toxic towards human life-forms."

"Glad we could sort that one out," Crosshair says. "Any more words of wisdom?"

You narrow your eyes at him. "No."

"Take us in," Hunter says. "Land just outside the coordinates of the last clone squadron."

"Affirmative," Tech says, then flips a few switches before piloting the ship into the planet's atmosphere.

Once the ship has landed, Hunter addresses the group. "Our mission is to locate the two missing clone squadrons and investigate the rumors about an separatist base of operations. We'll use teams of two and spread out in an 800 meter radius from the last known coordinates. Keep the comm lines open and have your blasters at the ready."

Everyone nods and gears up, including you. Before you put your bucket on, you glance at the medic mark on your shoulder pauldron. No matter what happens, you have a job to do. You're a medic first. These men, your squad, are in your care and it's your responsibility to make sure they all survive. Steeling yourself for what's to come, you bite back every lick of fear that tries to take hold in your mind. You've trained hard for this, and you're not going to get cold feet now.

The side loading ramp opens and the bright sunlight of the planet blasts into the dimly lit ship. No turning back now. You follow the rest of the squad out of the ship and step onto the fresh earth of Scorro. For someone who grew up on Coruscant and spent the last cycle on Kamino, this much vegetation is mesmerizing. The sun is so warm, and the earth beneath your feet is so soft. This virgin planet is breathtaking. You take a few more steps forward, then Hunter stops.

"Tech, Crosshair, go east," Hunter says while pointing in that direction. "Wrecker and I will go north. Echo and Civvy, you'll go west.

The group nods and heads out in their respective directions.

"Stay frosty men," Hunter says over the comms. "There's no telling what we'll be up against out here."

You and Echo silently walk towards the western end of the perimeter, keeping your eyes peeled for any signs of the clone troopers or separatists. After a couple minutes, the silence grates on your nerves, but Echo seems focused right now. A little too focused. You know this mission bothered him from the beginning, but there seems to be something else about the way he carries himself that indicates it's not just about the mission being odd. There's something deeper.

As you continue forward, your foot kicks something hard. Looking down, you catch a glimpse of the familiar white plastoid clone trooper helmet, which is attached to a body shrouded by tall weeds. Your stomach flips. You weren't expecting to find one of them so quickly.

"Sarge," you say in the comms. "I found a trooper." Crouching down, you check for a pulse, but as you expected, there is none. "He's dead."

"We're making our way to your position now," Hunter says. "How'd he die?"

While your medic training didn't have an autopsy course, you inspect the body for the usual suspects. The armor is still intact and there's no signs of a struggle, which you find odd. There's no blaster marks, claw marks, bites, or scratches on the armor either. The black bodysuit isn't even ripped. He must have died from something. You pull back some of the black bodysuit and notice the tissue is necrotizing, but you don't see anything suspicious. Then you scan the body.

"Civvy, status," Hunter interjects over comms.

"I'm not sure how he died," you admit while reviewing the results of the scan. Echo looks over the body too, but doesn't come up with anything substantial. Not that you needed a second opinion.

"What do you mean you're not sure?" Hunter asks. "You're a medic, you should know how people die."

"There's no wounds," you explain. "He looks normal. Fine, even. Besides being dead." You don't mention it, but the fact that there are no organisms feasting on the clone's flesh also baffles you. You'd figure there would be more decay markers, but there's not even a single worm.

Hunter and Wrecker make it to your position and Hunter looks over the body, confirming what you said. "Then how the kriff did he die?"

You look up at Hunter from your crouched position next to the body and shrug. "We'd need a full autopsy to determine that, but the scans indicate no internal injuries either."

"So, he died from nothing?" Echo asks.

You shrug again. "Maybe he had a heart attack. That doesn't show up on portable scanners."

"Eighteen clone troopers died of a heart attack?" Hunter asks, his voice sounding distant.

"No," you rebut. "But maybe this one did."

Hunter points past you and you stand up to see what he wants you to look at. You tilt your head from side to side, scanning the area he's pointing at, when a glint of white pops up on your HUD. Then another. And another. Your eyes widen and your mouth gapes. The ground is littered with seventeen more troopers half-covered in tall weeds. The first squad and the second squad, dead mere meters from each other. You've never seen so many dead bodies before.

You feel your stomach grow queasy, and you rip off your helmet to vomit. As a medical student, you've seen cadavers, held organs in your hands, been bathed in blood, but nothing prepared you for the sight of a mass death. There's something menacing and sickly about it. You know most clones are never retrieved from battlegrounds and you know most clones will never see a proper burial, but knowing and witnessing are two different things. It's heartbreaking.

"You all right?" Echo asks.

You pant from the spasmic exertion, but find your voice. "I'm fine."

Tech and Crosshair arrive at your position soon after, and take note of the bodies. Everyone feels it now, the pressure looming thickly in the air. Something happened on this planet. Something killed these eighteen troopers and it killed them silently. There's an anxiety that creeps in as you wonder what it possibly could be. What is the silent hunter? How does it find its victims? And how can you and your squad escape from it? Perhaps, it may even be too late.

"I've got a bad feeling about this," Echo says to Hunter.

Hunter sighs. "Me too."

Chapter 1 - Chapter 2 - Chapter 3

Masterlist

A03

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[radiance1]

[Another Teddy Bear Danny au]

So after the accident, 5-year-old Danny didn't end up in the zone, but instead on his parents basement floor like usual.

A while later his parents have been running tests on him, nothing that would hurt, only things like checking the condition of his body, using a stethoscope to see if he still had a heart, drawing a bit of lifeblood (via syringe) and testing his genetic makeup.

Nothing like dissection, like they would've wanted to do to any other ghost, but not to their son, never. Every test they put him through is utterly safe and harmless.

Like, a visit to the doctor's office.

Even giving him some candy for his efforts, when they found out he could manipulate his body to gain a mouth and the cutest little fangs. Surprisingly, he still had organs, except his stomach acid has been replaced by ectoplasm, that seemed to breakdown whatever food thrown in there into pure energy.

After the tests, they send him off so they could... work on a few things. Mostly the results of their tests, and how to make the ghost portal decidedly less lethal than it was currently capable of being to not have a repeat of this incident.

After working through all of the tests they could do, they finally let him leave the house, after determining that everything should be fine for his current body.

What a mistake that was.

You see, not a lot of people in Amity Park really practiced stranger danger. Everyone looked out for each other, most people knew everyone in certain ways, and tourists were basically null, so they didn't have much to fear in that area.

So, children were just allowed to go out and about because they basically knew most of the adults.

Of course, such a thing came back to bite them hard in the ass. For under a little a week, was Danny kidnapped.

By who? The Fentons had no way of knowing.

===

Danny really liked the man in white, they were really nice! Heapproached him while he was out on the playground. Jazz dropped him off here and said she would be back in a few minutes because she wanted to go get something that she forgot, even said on the way back she would get ice cream!

A while later, while he was trying to climb up the ladder of the slide, he was struggling to do so, then the guy helped him up to the top of the slide! He even did it more than once too!

Then, when he was in the sandpit, he was a bit weirded out because the sudden lack of kids in the playground, but it was fine! The guy even helped him make sandcastles, he was really, really good at making sandcastles, and even helped Danny make the bestest one he's ever seen!

Another while later, and Danny was getting a bit concerned about where Jazz was, she said she wouldn't be long, but it was a while since he saw her. He was waiting with his new friend for a bit, before a bit more time later his friend suggested that they go find her.

So, Danny sat in his friend's arm, and they left to go find his sister.

===

Jazz was running far later than she thought she would've. Due to repeated interruptions along the way, but she bought Danny a bigger portion of ice cream as apology, so she hopes he would forgive her for taking so long.

When she got there, the ground was entirely empty.

She looked around desperately for her brother, before running home to tell her parents.

===

Danny like experiments, so they didn't hurt, only felt a lil bit funny, like ticklish funny, and he gets some candy at the end of it too!

So, yea, Danny did like experiments.

Now though, he found he only liked the experiments done by his parents. They didn't hurt, and felt comfortable and safe because his parents were there and because they made it as comfortable as they could.

But the ones done by the people in white suits and lab coats didn't feel comfortable, or safe.

They hurt.

Blunt things didn't hurt, as they soon realized because of his cotton stuffed body, and his organs were also quite resilient to blunt force. Then they cut him open, and that hurt, hurt so much that he cried and wailed and shook his everything to try and get them to stop.

But they didn't stop, never stopped. They even took pride and joy in making him squirm around. They looked at and treated him as if he wasn't even human, which yea he techna- technicly- technically wasn't anymore since he heard his parents talking about it but still, they were being really mean.

They said words that went right over his head, at least when his parents used words like that, hey explained what it meant in smaller words.

He hated this place, he hated the men in white suits, and he hated the ones in lab coats even more.

He wanted to go back home.

===

5 years later, the GIW base was raided due the Anti-Ecto acts being a violation of rights, unearthed by the Fentons and brought to light by the Justice League.

The heroes who raided the base found multiple ghosts held captive, the most sickening thing being that the oldest ghost wasn't even 20, only being 18 years of age, when asked their age.

They opened up a room that was locked down tightly for some reason, perhaps a volatile experiment gone wrong or perhaps, another Conner situation. But no, all that was there were two Teddy Bears stuffed away in the corner, trying to make themselves even smaller than they already was in a desperate attempt to not be seen, when they hesitantly stepped in the room, one of them removed itself from the other one, spreading its arms out to either side of itself and standing in front of the other one protectively.

Its face shifted, as a mouth appeared. It bared its fangs and let out a low, animal-like growl as ice started to spread onto the ground from itself and a mist fell from its mouth.

===

Danny didn't know what the muffled sounds that managed to penetrate the wall meant, not what was causing them exactly. Maybe they caught a new ghost? He didn't know.

When a while later, did the door to their cell prison open, did Danny have a choice to make, one he didn't even need to think twice about. He may not know all of his powers correctly, nor know how to properly use them and he most likely wouldn't be able to do much damage.

But he wasn't about to let them hurt his new baby sister, sure, she may be a clone and they expected him to not like her. But he didn't care what they thought, if they think they could take her without a fight.

Well, they were dead wrong.

[ezkel]

Chronically/terminally ill regulus and doctor in training James...

regulus black has been ill since he was 11 years old, a genetic disease. his father died of it, he'll die of it, his life has been nothing but waiting for the countdown to hit zero. Never letting himself get close to anyone because he won't live long and no one should feel sad watching him die, especially when the one person he wanted there left when regulus was 15.

James Potter has always known he wants to help people. when he was younger he thought he'd be a superhero, when he broke his arm at 14 he decided the way he'd be a superhero was by being a doctor; saving people the way the doctors saved his arm.

-- angst I suppose -- tw death --

regulus happy and in love for the last few years of his life knowing that when he dies he'll break James' heart, but reg never thought he'd experience love and happiness as he does with James. So he does his best to cling to that love even knowing that his condition is worsening and James might blame himself. he does his best to assure James that it's just his genetical disease, that he loves him and that even if he dies from his condition he'll have been happy to have had James even if they weren't forever. regulus can feel himself deteriorating and knows he should try to distance himself from James so he doesn't destroy James when the countdown ends but regulus can't bring himself to break James' heart. even though he knows he'll break his heart no matter what.

regulus slowly losing control of his limbs towards the end and James loving him unconditionally, James loving regulus so deeply that everytime he sees him in the hospital something inside him aches. James knowing their love is doomed but loving him regardless, doing everything he can to get help for regulus hoping that they can find a way to elongate his lifespan, knowing they can't cure him but maybe they could let them love for just a little longer. James speaking at regulus' funeral about how he'll never love anyone or be loved by anyone as purely as he was with regulus. James and Sirius crying together about how much they miss him. James looking after chronically/terminally ill patients like reg that have probably never felt truly loved after their diagnosis

Sirius who watched his baby brother distance himself from the moment he got the diagnosis. Slowly coming to terms with the fact that his brother has the same diagnosis as their father who is deteriorating by the day, their father who died the night Sirius turned 16. Sirius accepted that his brother would die but watching it hurt him so deeply that when he left he horrifically felt relief that he wouldn't have to watch his brother rot as they did their father. Sirius who watches as his best friend falls in love with his estranged brother who might not live long enough for Sirius to make amends for abandoning him. Sirius who watches in horror as regulus slowly resembles their father towards the end knowing that his brother won't survive another year. Sirius who cries his eyes out as James breaks apart telling him regulus didn't make it back from the hospital this time.

--

i really want a fic like this, 😞😞😞