#will likely be actively monitoring the testing the whole time

[zeichannnnn]

⚠️ In regards to the natlan controversy (and Sumeru by proxy)

Do NOT accuse people of being racist just because your skin colour cannot be found in a game. Learn to know that people don't live in the same situation as you.

Please read this fully for the reality of things I'm sorry for getting political, skip if you don't want to interact

I’m kinda sad at the fact that a lot of people are quick to hate, judge, and scrutinise Hoyo without understanding the situation.

With recent teaser of Natlan characters, people are rightfully upset at the fact that the characters shown to hail from Natlan… don’t exactly look the part. With characters lighter than my own skin tone (I’m a Chinese Southeast Asian by the way, heya) people are calling hoyo bullshit and accusing them of being a racist for failing time and time again at giving us characters with POC shades of skin. Now I’m not here to defend Mihoyo for their actions, or to tell you to stop being mad at the situation being the way they are. No, I’m here to shed you some light of how life is as a game company under the rule of the Chinese Communist Party (CCP) and Xin Jin Ping (XJP cause I won’t be bothered to type his whole ass name)

I've highlighted points of each section

Any pages that requires translations, I recommend using DeepL instead of google translate because you can check the meanings of specific words and it's translation are better (imo)

Skip to the last part if you just want a summarised version

Before we get into the nitty gritty that is Genshin drama, I'll give you a run-down on what and how China works.

check the part "In relation to Genshin's design choices and how China's beauty standard influences it" if you want to go straight on to the point

People’s Republic of China

is a Unitary Marxist–Leninist one-party socialist republic. This means that China is under a one-party (Chinese Communist Party) rule with communism ideology on how they rule and govern the country and socialist standards for how they manage their economy and everything else. [.]

The CCP holds a very nationalistic view

[.] which is commonly used as propaganda [.] for them to garner either sympathy or control over the people of China. These nationalistic view, in its raw and most rudest form, simply states that Chinese people are pure by upholding traditional Chinese culture (that's not even traditionally Chinese, more or less more catered towards communism and the CCP's ideologies which are that they're great and everyone else is wrong) and not mixing themselves or tainting themselves with things that are not pure (i.e. anything that isn't Chinese, from China, belongs to China) This nationalistic views, which glorifies China and detests anything foreign (i.e. culture, language, people, etc.) have led to a lot of xenophobia being built and nurtured inside of China's society [1] [2] [3]

Aside from the CCP's nationalistic views,

China's society is very censored and monitored by the CCP

[.] Google, YouTube, or more specifically, the internet itself is heavily banned by the government, electing the people to use the CCP's private internet that allows them to be monitored 24/7 through IP location and private information. [1] [2] [3] [4] Aside from heavily monitored and controlled internet access, people in the real world are also actively being watched and monitored through CCTV with facial recognition features and an AI that can predict people's action (yes, exactly like the akasha, and yes, Sumeru arc is based on reality, I won't talk about it here but feel free to read between the lines and compare it with the sources and news articles I'm about to drop on you) [1] [2. Behind paywall] [3] [4] [5]

With its censorship in mind, let us talk about what brings us all here:

the gaming censorship in China.

In order for a game to be published in China, whether it's made by an indie or a multi-billion dollar company, the game has to go through a complicated preliminary test made and assigned by the CCP to play, test, and go through your game before publishing it anywhere in Chinese media [.] This test includes you company's paperwork, your game's paperwork, the things you're displaying in your game, and the story it's trying to tell. There are not that many rules on what should and should not appear inside of your game, such as: polyamory, the undead (in both graphic and non-graphic manner), etc. That should be considered tame and should cause no problem, however, we do have a problem with one of the rule given which is: Emphasizing Cultural Sensitivity.

Emphasizing Cultural Sensitivity

in the article I've mentioned before, describes it as "Games should impart “correct” information on politics, law, and history, as interpreted by the authorizing agency." Now what does "correct" information entail? Who fucking knows because truth is relative. Facts, when in the eyes of the CCP, are relative to what they believe is to be right and what they want us to believe is right.

Now with that out of the way, let us get into the main deal.

MiHoYo

(not to be confused with Hoyoverse/Cognosphere which is their international branch) is a is a Chinese video game development and publishing company, founded by three classmates from university Cai Haoyu, Liu Wei, and Luo Yuhao [.] That means that Genshin Impact's development, ever since it was at its infancy, first-established days, and updates until the near future, are all subjected onto that game censorship law that I mentioned earlier. Now you might all be wondering, what does all of those rules have to do with genshin characters having dark skins? To that I point you towards the fact that MiHoYo and the CCP are and have been actively working together ever since around September 2021. [1] [2]

Cooperation between MiHoYo and the CCP

Ever since Genshin Impact's massive hit both nationally and internationally, its massive fanbase has hit the internet no one has ever seen before. It is the first ever Chinese game that has gotten world wide acclaim and with that, new eyes begin to look upon China. It is no surprise to anyone that Genshin is very particular about showing and promoting Chinese culture to the outside world. Genshin has somehow become the face to Chinese culture in just a year, with limited events such as Lantern Rite and Moonchase festival to showcase China's cultural beauty. With world-wide acclaim comes a price, wherein the CCP no longer treats Genshin as "another game" but a tool that they can use to promote and advertise themselves into the global population.

Begin the censorship and micro-manipulation of things in Genshin

New gaming censorship dropped after the Genshin Impact became a hit in the industry, with even Venti and Gorou as examples of characters that should not appear in media published in China (effeminate man) [.] In additional to the list I've linked in the "the gaming censorship in China" section, a lot more additional rules have been added to that list, such as: queer representation, morally grey character, but I what I want you to look at more is the section where "historical elements, including characters, maps and clothing, should conform with mainstream accounts." in addition to that, a self-regulation pact was made between game companies and the CCP that bans any and all content that is deemed "politically harmful" and "historically nihilistic." Now focus more onto that "historically nihilistic" point, what does that mean?

Historical nihilism

is a term used by the CCP and many Chinese scholars to describe research or discussions deemed to contradict an official state version of history in a manner perceived to question or challenge the legitimacy of the CCP [.] TLDR; it's a term used for when what you're saying clashes or goes against what the CCP said. Why is this important you may ask? It's because that now, at this point, if anything Genshin does something—whether that'd be plotline, design etc.—that the CCP thinks shouldn't exist or be represented, they have the lawful right to block or stop it from reaching the final product. Now this, this is what happened to Genshin's Sumeru and Natlan cast.

In relation to Genshin's design choices and how China's beauty standard influences it

white has always been a predominant part of modern Chinese beauty culture, for some reason (I don't know and I'm not going to go that deep into it, research it on your own if you're curious) In fact, it's not only China but also Asian culture in general. White skin has always been hailed as pure and beautiful here in Asia, where the line "as pale as the moon" is a common compliment to give to someone. Skin colour that are tan or even darker are connected to being dirty or stinky. Despite the younger generation not really adhering to that view, the older generation (calling out the CCP here) upholds that standard till this day. Pin straight hair, round eyes, pale white skin, and a thin figure are the standards put upon those born as female. Their male counterpart are not that different, with lean and fit being the preferred body type rather than big muscles or bulky forms.

The reason behind why this is the case is because of Asia's strict social code in rules and appearances. We must appear prim and clean, that means no dyed hair, no tattoos, no piercings, and minimal make-up. Anyone that goes against those rules are regarded as delinquents or deviants that usually break the rules and do criminal activities (despite it not being the case) Having a bulky stature also applies to that list, regardless of what gender you are, and especially for men. You're regarded as dangerous, criminal, bad influence if you look like that in public (this is why we don't have that much bulky characters gang and why we were robbed of heavy muscles Itto orz) (he deffo was very bulky in the original design, probably similar to the Nobushi but it got nerfed in final product)

Given all of that in mind, it's no wonder that Sumeru's and and Natlan's casts are mostly white... but were they always that way?

The original skin colour design for Natlan cast might've been darker than what we have in the final product.

As a lot of people have mentioned (especially with the many beautiful edits I'm very fond of) the character designs for Natlan's new up-coming rosters looks better with darker skin tone. Take for examples this edit right here:

taken from @ rarepairz on twitter [source]

Their designs (with darker skin tones) seem to pop more, giving highlights onto their clothes and accessories in comparison to the original design. Here are more examples of this happening:

taken from @ Wabs_nabs on twitter [source]

It is especially clear to anyone with basic colour theory that the colour used for designing the clothes and accessories and highlights in the hair look better with darker skin colour. There is *intent* on making it this way in comparison to woeful ignorance of making them look white as hell. If they were to intentionally to make the characters look white, they would've chosen a better colour for the clothes, less bolder ones and eye-popping ones to contrast with the already luminescent light that's emitting from the skin.

And this is not the case for only Natlan, by the way! The same thing happened when the Sumeru cast was first leaked. Case in point this:

taken from @ animuswonder on twitter [source]

and my personal art of Cyno and Nari:

Look at how much contrast there is between their colour palette or how much resonance there is, with Cyno his more cold-colour attire and hair, in comparison to his deep dark warm skin or Tighnari that's the epitome of a "spring girl" like come on man. There's INTENT in those designs, to have more darker shades than they are in the game. Sadly, they just can't do it due to censorships. Why? Because, as I have mentioned before, darker shades of skin are represented as dirt here in Asia as we glorify pale skin more.

The representation of uniqueness and differences in Chinese game is not common due the fact that most Asian countries are homogenous, which means they prefer everyone and everything to be the same, to look the same, and follow and do the same things. They do not advocate for uniqueness, they do not advocate for individuality, they advocate for us to conform and to follow like a sheep in a herd. Because of that, most people spend their whole life trying to whiten up their skin, keeping them light, and those who are darker than most are shown prejudiced and scrutinised.

Mentioning again the fact that MiHoYo and the CCP are working closely together, Genshin Impact is currently being used as a cultural weapon by the government. With MiHoYo showing numerous time that they've donate and support Chinese cultural heritage, the CCP is using that fact and holding control over Genshin as a way to promote and advertise sympathy towards Chinese culture and the Communist regime by proxy. It's like how your parents are getting you to eat broccoli brownies in hopes that you'd eat normal broccolis and other vegetables by proxy. Everything and anything that Genshin shows in its game are now under close inspections of the CCP and colourism especially will not fly-by their radar.

In conclusion

Your anger and hatred towards the new characters’ designs are justified, however the person you aim those anger and hatred should not be towards Mihoyo, or Liu Wei, or any of the staff members but towards the situation and the laws and the local government MiHoYo has to adhere to.

We're already lucky to have MiHoYo even wanting to represent and shpw different cultures from different parts of the world, telling us engaging stories, and incentivising us to think more and to be be more of us instead of following the crowd and to judge those in power (if you are literate and have the ability of a 6th grader, you know the theme Genshin Impact is showing in its story). In a world where they aren't able to live as freely as people outside of mainland do, they shouldn't have to put their life at risk by creating a game that goes against the CCP's laws that will lead to a deduction to their social points (yes, those actually exist, WAKE UP). Yet they do, they update every month, telling stories, creating characters with many characteristics that goes against Chinese gaming laws, just for us to enjoy.

Do NOT accuse people of being racist just because your skin colour cannot be found in a game. Learn to know that people don't live in the same situation as you.

You are right to be mad, you are right to be upset, but do not condemn them for something they hold no power to. It's between their lives and your fantasies and if you choose to value your delusion over their livelihood then that just shows what kind of a person you are.

Where's this conviction towards other game companies aside from MiHoYo? Where's the rightful air when it comes to companies that breathe much fresher air? Do they not have the same responsibility? Or is it because you actually do not care and merely want to point your unbridled emotions towards something or someone? If so, you're pointing at the wrong person.

[ryanmarshallryan]

Experimental Vore Study - another gay vore story by Ryan Marshall

Theo often wondered how or why he had developed his vore fetish. He was happy experiencing it but always thought it would be interesting to better understand what in his brain decided that getting swallowed whole was equal to prime sensual elation.

The perfect opportunity arose when he was referred to join a well paid scientific study relating to understanding the brain patterns of those experiencing sensual arousal in relation to various fetishes. After filling out some forms to verify he’d be a good candidate, and sending some of his self written vore stories for context of his fetish, he was invited to participate officially.

The first time Theo visited the facility for research testing, his experience focused on doing scans of his brain activity and other vitals while talking about his vore fetish, reading vore stories, and viewing photos and drawings depicting vore.

Theo expected to do a bit more of the same thing on his second time visiting, but was surprised when he was called into a new area. An attendant put a couple monitors on his body, but Theo wasn’t really paying attention to what they were doing as he could hear odd sounds coming from nearby. In one direction down a hallway he could hear what sounded like a whip, in another direction there were strange crunching noises. He thought he even heard sensual moaning. Were they having research participants arouse themselves or something?

Theo was so focused, trying to figure out what he was hearing he didn’t notice the head researcher standing in front of him, beaconing him to follow.

They entered a large brightly lit, entirely unfurnished room.

“We’ve been processing all of the tests we’ve run analyzing your brain and are ready to move on to the next phase of testing,” the researcher began, “Theo, I’d like you to meet your results,” he said, shifting his gaze over Theo’s shoulder.

Theo turned around to see an incredibly large and handsome man. The tall man had a wide face and square jawline, framed by his medium-short black hair, and adorned with bushy eye-brows, a stylish goatee and a remarkably large mouth. His shoulders relaxed backward, with his gargantuan gut ballooning out in front of him, looking as though it could fit a yoga ball if stretched out a bit. He had thick thighs, and Theo could tell by the black hairs sticking out between his shirt buttons that the man was also well covered in hair.

“Oh wow, you’re hot,” Theo whispered to himself, then realizing he had been staring at an unfamiliar man’s body for far too long, tried to catch himself, “Sorry, hi - I’m Theo, what is your name?”

Theo reached his hand forward and the man grasped it firmly and pulled Theo in incredibly close, reaching his other hand around Theo’s shoulder and whispering in his ear “I’m your fantasy.” The man smelled amazing too, as though he were wearing Theo’s favorite citrusy body spray.

Theo, though aroused, pushed backward and stumbled a few steps towards the head researcher. He looked back and forth and processed, saying “What do you mean meet my results?”

The researcher gestured towards the big handsome man in front of them and explained “We have developed a method of simulating a person’s sexual fantasies to see it play out in real time.”

“You hired an actor, to seduce me?” Theo looked puzzled from the big man to the researcher.

“I’m not an actor, I’m your sensual desires brought to life,” the man said.

“He’s not a real human, he’s a synthetic recreation imitating one’s behavior and body form, but with unique abilities to stimulate your specific sensual desires,” the researcher continued, as though this made all the sense in the world.

Theo looked again at the big man, “Well whoever you are, what’s your name?”

The big man smiled and pondered for a moment, “Let’s see… as I’ve gone back through your memories and feelings, there are so many names to choose from. Perhaps that gainer you dated a few years back? Or hmm… no what about that vore pred you used to roleplay with online? No… might as well be something generic then…. What about Brian?”

Theo stared at the big man, or Brian, in confusion. Had the researcher hired an actor and shared lots of personal data with him?

Brian, as if reading Theo’s mind continued, “Let me introduce myself beyond just a name. I, Brian, just started existing a couple days ago. I’m loaded with information about your interests and sensual desires, and that helps me better help play out your fantasies in reality. I thought maybe we could start with a feeding session, and then I’ll swallow you down for real.”

“Swallow me down for real? I’m sorry I don’t know if I’m comfortable roleplaying with a random actor I just met, I usually like to roleplay with people who are into vore aswell -” Theo started saying.

“Oh, don’t worry, He is literally created for your pleasure. So eating you is perhaps his only interest right now,” the researcher began, “he’s basically a not-human man-eating garbage disposal, who is only hungry for you.”

“Excuse me” Brian began, somewhat offended, “I am more than just a human garbage disposal… I also have a really cute butt!”

It was true, Brian did have an incredibly aesthetically pleasing butt.

“I can see our boy, Theo, here isn’t believing that I’m really what I say I am, so how about a demonstration,” Brian remarked. As Brian began walking forward, Theo reflexively moved out of the way, not sure if this strange man was about to attempt to eat him. But to Theo’s surprise, Theo was never the intended target.

Brian took the clipboard out of the researcher's hand and tossed it to the side, “You won’t need that where you’re going.” The researcher’s eyes widened as Brian lifted him off his feet and pulled him towards his now gaping maw. Brian didn’t waste any time with the stunned researcher, lubricating the researcher’s face with saliva, and swallowing hard, pulling the researcher’s entire upper body into his throat in mere moments. Theo, as shocked as the researcher, reflexively reached out his arms as if to help the researcher, and then noticed he was getting a bit hard.

Brian swallowed again and again, and the researcher fairly quickly got sucked down his throat. Brian’s shirt buttons were exploding off his shirt one by one and landing across the room. Theo watched as Brian swiftly untied the researcher’s shoes and ripped them off. Theo blinked and the researcher was entirely out of view. Brian’s stomach was indeed massive, that fleshy yoga ball was stretched and taught.

Brian gave a great big belch and turned to Theo, “Now what do you say? I’m still pretty hungry. Maybe you could feed me some snacks from that buffet over there.” Brian turned and gestured behind him. Theo glanced and noticed that the once empty room now had an entire table adorned with steaming hot dinners, drinks that looked remarkably like gainer shakes, chocolates and sweets, and more.

“How did that get there?” Theo exclaimed, “And how did you - ? Is the researcher all right?”

Brian approached Theo and patted his meaty hand on Theo’s back, “I told you, I am equipped to provide anything that will aid to your sexual fantasy, like food for you to feed me.” Brian guided Theo towards the table as Theo processed what just happened.

“You just summoned a table of food out of thin air? And the researcher -” Theo continued, stopping in his tracks to turn and face Brian, placing both hands on either side of Brian’s gut and jiggling it. Brian’s gut, or more likely the researcher, responded with wiggling and muffled noises of confusion.

“Well obviously. I’m hungry. I wanted food. Food appears. There you go - and don’t worry about my old creator, he’ll be fat - I mean fine… he’ll be fine,” Brian explained with a warm smile, interrupted by a belch in Theo’s face that warmed his whole body.

“So you’re magic or something?”

“Magic is only science not yet understood by the masses, is it not?”

There was a moment of silence and awe as Theo stared at Brian, his squirming belly full of another human being, and the table of food.

Brian handed Theo a plate, “I may provide the experience for the ultimate fantasy, mate, but you gotta participate for this to work. C’mon fill ‘er up and get this food in my belly!”

Theo took the plate and turned to the food, continuing to stare in mild confusion. Brian shook him out of his daze, literally by gut checking Theo, bouncing his belly against his side and knocking him off balance for a moment, “C’mon then, or I’ll have to skip the feeding session and eat you right now.”

Theo caught his balance and began piling food onto a plate, mashed potatoes, baked chicken, penne and turkey meatballs, and assorted cheeses. “You can’t eat me! Not - well, I mean it’d be hot for sure - but it’s a fantasy - like what are the mechanics of this, like is the researcher being digested?”

Brian slid his warm hands onto Theo’s side and pushed his belly up into Theo’s back a bit, dropping his voice low to say “Only if you want me too… I know the stories you’ve written…” Brian’s mouth was so close to Theo’s ear now, Theo could feel his hot breath down his neck and shivered, feeling like in a split second he could be gliding down that gullet if he wasn’t careful. “You want me to digest you, don’t you, Theo.”

“I never said that,” Theo turned abruptly, reaching up and pulling slightly on Brian’s goatee for him to open his mouth, and using the other hand to tilt the plate piled with a feast inside. “Start with this before you try to eat me. We’ve got to discuss things first. Sure I’ve written lots of vore stories with digestion… but I’m always around to write another one, so maybe I’m into reformation? I don’t know - but in the real world I’d probably like something safer. You know? Like maybe you should fill up on bread before I go in to neutralize stomach acid and let me out later?”

Brian swallowed the pile of food in his maw, and smiled, “Fill up on bread before you go in? Sounds like you know you’re going in then… how about… I'll fill up on you first!” Brian knocked the plate out of Theo’s hand, grabbed his shirt, rent it open, and leaned forward to give a great long lick with his tongue from Theo’s belly button up to his face.

“Oh my!” Theo exclaimed, shivering again in arousal, as Brian was undoing both of their belts, and pulling their shirts off.

Brian pushed Theo up against the table with his belly, mashing Theo against some warm gravy and mashed potatoes that were now stuck to his back. Theo felt the massive weight of the man pinning him and knew he had to think quick to delay Brian, who had shoved Theo’s face in between his nipples and was scooping mashed potatoes of Theo’s back and eating them and moaning.

“Yurgh knor whergh aia wangh!” Theo shouted.

Brian pulled back abruptly and playfully, “You want me to eat you right now and digest you into belly fat? That’s what I thought I heard - all right, in you go!” Brian said all of this very fast, while putting a hand on the back of Theo’s head and shoving it into his mouth against his tongue.

Putting swiftly lifted a finger into the air in front of Brian’s field of view, and waved it scoldingly at Brian.

“All right, all right, you’ve got my attention,” Brian said reluctantly, folding his arms and resting them with a “hmph” onto his belly shelf, which squirmed, gurgled loudly and kicked at him.

“Okay so you know my favorite vore fantasies then? Well you’re missing two very important factors. You think you’re all that, Mr. Omniscient Vore Genie? You’re not even arousing me correctly,” Theo taunted.

Brian melted into a sarcastic smile, but focused eyes rapt with attention and hears ready for feedback.

“One. I’m more of a fan of one on one, usually romantic vore. Maybe I’m selfish, but I want the whole house to myself if you know what I mean. Plus I don’t think the researcher really wanted to be in there and you know consent is the sexiest.”

Brian sighed knowingly, “All right, I suppose I could let him go… After all, you are the reason for my existence, Theo. I suppose I have a soft spot for you.” Brian poked his belly slowly showing how soft his belly fat was. He waited, intently watching Theo for a reaction.

“Nice pun, but I’mma need you to actually let him go please… before he digests,” Theo stated, seriously.

“Anything to get you in here, Theo,” Brian replied, lifting his fingers up and snapping forcefully into the air. Theo blinked and noticed Brian’s belly almost deflated a bit, and behind Brian, back by the door, the researcher appeared out of thin air on the ground, soaked in saliva and remnants of some of the food Brian had just eaten.

The researcher stood up abruptly, then slipped on some mashed potato. Brian turned around and snapped his fingers again. Just like magic, the door to the room swung open and the researcher was blown out into the hallway like he had been struck by a sudden gust of wind. The door swung closed and locked itself.

Brian turned back to Theo, as his gut rumbled in protest at how suddenly empty it felt. Brian looked back and forth between Theo and his growling belly, “C’mon man, how can you deny such a mournful cry from such a beautiful belly? Don’t you have any empathy for it? All my stomach wants is to knead your soft skin, warm you up in it’s fleshy hot tub, squeeze and embrace your sexy curves, and brutally digest you and melt you into belly fat. Is that so much to ask?”

Theo lifted his eyebrows. “... Yes.”

“Okay…” Brian said with a downward inflection signaling disappointment, strolling over to the table lined with food. He began grabbing handfuls of cheese and crackers and throwing them back into his mouth and swallowing them all whole, “If you’re sure…” He picked up a large casserole dish and proceeded to drop the entirety of it’s contents down his throat without even motioning a swallow. “I guess I’ll just have to fill the void in my stomach with normal, boring food…” He started juggling buttered corn cobs, then one by one tossing them down his gullet, sliding easily into his belly, “Since you’re too afraid to live out your ultimate vore fantasy,” with this final verbal jab at Theo he picked up a comically large spread of pizza, rolled it into a ball and shoved it into his mouth, choked a bit, then pushed it in with his hand. Theo watched the large pizza ball distend Brian’s neck and chest until resting, gurgling and stewing inside Brian’s massive paunch.

Brian turned to Theo, getting close and belched in his face once more, this time leaving his mouth wide open for Theo to see inside. It was impressive not seeing a single piece of food left inside his mouth.

“You still haven’t cracked the code to eating me yet,” Theo said, placing one hand on his hip, and the other, tauntingly prodding the giant’s belly in front of him.

Brian rolled his eyes, then did a funny motion like he was a robot malfunctioning. “Does not compute! Does not compute!” he said in a funny, droning voice. He switched back to normal “Only joking, I’m not a robot… I’m not a human either though. Well you know, actually I suppose you don’t, but ugh come on!” Brian in his frustration picked up a pitcher of gainer shake and chugged the whole thing in one gulp. He picked up a box of melted ice cream and chugged that as well.

“I can’t believe you still haven’t figured it out. What’s my favorite food? What’s my favorite roleplay fantasy?” Theo urged Brian on. Brian looked stumped. His stomach seemed to lurch and groan more than normal, almost as if his stomach knew before he did.

“Oh come on, I only know everything about you, how am I supposed to know what you -” Brian paused and Theo could’ve sworn a literal light bulb seemed to go off in the back of Brian’s throat. “Ice cream.”

“Now you’re getting somewhere.”

“You love ice cream. And you love to imagine a pred covering you in ice cream, warming you with their tongue as they taste you and can’t get enough so they eat you!” Brian fist pumped into the air, lunged forward and pulled Theo into a great embrace and began dancing around the room with him chanting and repeating in a low sing-song voice “Covered in ice cream, I’m gonna eat you, this ain’t a vore dream, you’re nothing but food!”

They tripped over themselves, laughing as Brian fell onto his back and Theo flopped onto his belly and jostled around on top for a few moments.

“Well, I’m not just food, but I appreciate the flirtatious sentiment,” Theo mentioned.

“So you ready?” Brian said, raising his eyebrows in excited hopefulness. Theo smirked and nodded.

Theo was still laying on top of Brian’s belling and smiling at his face, so he was quite surprised when Brian reached his arm out and grabbed a tub of cookie dough ice cream out of no where.

“Where did that come from?” Theo asked in awe.

“Doesn’t matter where it came from, only matters where it’s going. Where you are going,” Brian said licking some ice cream off his fingers, then grabbing a chilly handful and dropping it on Theo’s skin.

Theo rolled off Brian as he shivered with the funny sensation of the cold ice cream on his skin.

“Oh no! Are you cold? Let me fix that for you,” Brian said playfully, licking up ice cream off of Theo’s chest, while simultaneously scooping more ice cream onto all parts of Theo’s body. Theo laughed as he got tickled, and moaned at moments of sensual pleasure. Brian licked all the way down to Theo’s toes, and remarked “You know, this ice cream tastes good, but you taste better.” Brian slipped Theo’s toes in his mouth and sucked them into his throat, moaning to show agreeable taste.

Theo continued to laugh, as Brian worked his way up Theo’s legs moaning and groaning in hunger and approval like he was eating for the first time in a week. As Brian got to Theo’s hard on, he put extra pressure to knead the member with his throat, and squeeze Theo’s balls tightly in his esophagus. Brian reached his hands forward and massaged Theo’s chest and nipples, working his hands down to grab Theo’s hands and slide them into his mouth alongside Theo’s waist.

“What is happening?” Theo remarked in awe and ecstasy as he felt himself reaching climax elation. Theo’s body writhed and relaxed as Brian pulled his entire torso into his maw. Theo felt his feet plunge into a whole stew of partially digested buffet foods, and kicked around, surprised at how roomy everything was inside. Brian jerked his head back a bit to coax Theo’s shoulders past his jaw, then paused for a moment, tasting Theo’s neck and looking one last time into Theo’s eyes. Brian smiled with his eyes and did one final swallow, sending Theo completely into his fleshy dome of dinner soup.

Theo panted and felt around his surroundings, feeling the clammy walls of Brian’s stomach, growling and creaking as it reacted to his touch. He felt a sudden jostle and knew Brian had slapped his gut and was now rubbing and caressing it from the outside. Theo could see a faintly dark outline of Brian’s massive hands rubbing back and forth against the red tinted light faintly emitting through Brian’s many layers of stomach muscle and fat.

Brian jostled his belly, and Theo rolled around inside, getting comfortable and feeling the stomach walls tighten and release around him, like a strange fleshy hug. So this is what vore really felt like. He could feel his skin tingling a little bit, but with all of the other food inside the gut, the stomach acid was quite diluted and he felt fine.

“Brian! So what happens next? Are you gonna snap me out of here before I get digested? Like the researcher guy? Or have you decided to turn me into belly fat?” Theo called from within.

“What do you think? This is your fantasy experience, remember?” Brian replied, giving a great big belch and throwing his arms around his belly and hugging Theo tightly, “I’m made for your fantasy, bud.”

“I’m thinking…”

[amloveabledeathmo]

Accidental? Marriage Johnlock au idea

So we all know Sherlock is not as emotionally distant and mature as he likes to pretend. I think he is a very emotional individual who cares deeply but has problems expressing it.

Anyway, he gets Mycroft to stop monitoring his online activities in exchange for a case or testing clean or something. So he starts online dating. Sherlock falls hard for this ex military man. He refuses to tell his family any identifying information about said man because he doesn't want them to tell him anything bad or bully him.

Four months in to the chatting the man says lets get married and Sherlock is overjoyed. He plans the whole wedding invites all of his family, the other guy says he'll invite his side and Sherlock even ends up getting a suit for the man.

Day of the wedding, Sherlock is getting all his stuff prepped to go to the venue and the man texts saying it was all a joke and he's married and was just looking for fun. Sherlock panics because he doesn't want his family to say stuff to him about being too emotional or Mycroft to say I told you so or you should have let me investigate him.

Sherlock decides he needs air and he needs to think and starts walking to a nearby pub. He realizes that he's more upset about what his family will say than about the man breaking it off, he also finally admits to himself that he suspected the man was married the whole time.

In his introspection he isn't paying attention and physically runs into John who is in full military dress. Turns out John was coming from a ceremony honoring him and his unit. Sherlock can read how upset John is and decides to take a chance.

"You'll probably think I'm crazy, and maybe I am, but I just got left at the alter, well I will be left at the alter in two hours technically. I can see life isn't going your way either so what do you say? Do you want to get married? No catch of course. We can divorce really quickly."

"My sister just got kicked out of a ceremony that I was supposed to be honored at for causing a drunken disturbance and I have a week to get out of the temp housing, why not."

They both stare at each other and start giggling. Sherlock takes John back to 221 B, grabs his stuff and hails a cab and away they go to get married.

Of course Sherlock's family ends up loving John and are all sympathetic when he admits his only family is his sister and she was too drunk to attend.

Cue shenanigans where they actually end up falling in love and decide to stay married.

I'd love to hear your thoughts @moosefrog @am0o5 @tragedyinmyveins @sunnyrosewritesstuff @skinnyscottishbloke @crazylazydays @consultingtribble

[i-hope-this-is-a-phase]

Insult to Injury

A Test Drive by Zuesue for @honelle56 (T | WIP | 3k)

#injury recovery #emotional hurt/comfort My contribution to the End of the Summer Fic Exchange. Updates each day until complete

Thank you to @fujogie for sponsoring the collection, and thank you to @jess-total-mess and @dreastmilk for betaing.

Happy reading!

Fic underneath for those who prefer Tumblr over ao3

Dream remembers when George and Sapnap got the UTV.

He's not the greatest at keeping up with Sapnap's streams, but he tries to catch as many as he can. And when both his roommates are participating, he thinks it'd be rude to miss even with all the code he still needs to get done.

When they had gotten home, Dream had asked why they'd gotten a car they wouldn’t use.

“Bro lacks the vision,” Sapnap had said, making George cackle into his hands.

“I don’t lack anything,” he had retorted, which had made George wolf-whistle and Sapnap laugh. “No, shut up. George needs a car he can actually drive so he can learn.”

“He’s stupid too,” George chimed in, and if Dream had chucked a pillow at his head, that’s his business.

“No, no, listen,” Sapnap said. “It has all the shit a regular car has, brakes, steering wheel—”

“Wow, dude knows what’s in a car,” George drawled.

“—and it has a speed cap, so George can get all his fucking driving experience without being a menace to society.”

It had taken some convincing (because UTVs are fucking dangerous according to Dream), but Dream had come around to the idea, even if it was mostly lies so they could have a UTV. And even then, it had been a good source of happiness for them in the following rougher months, which Dream only saw as a positive.

It was a random day in May when George asked if he’d watch them ride it.

“You’re so boring, we’ve been at this all day, and you want to keep working,” George laments.

“It’s not that, I’m almost done—”

“You’ve said that already. Four times.”

Dream pauses and glances away from the monitor to where George sits. There's a computer now in the gym so they can fix code as they work. George is turned toward him in the office chair, and Dream notes the tiredness in his hunched-over posture. They’ve been at this for hours, he will admit, and George has been a great help the whole time. Has been for a while actually. “I have?”

George rolls his eyes, but he smiles. “Idiot,” he says. “Break for tonight. We can start again tomorrow.”

Dream looks back at the monitor. He is really close, he just has to adjust the rendering a tiny bit and—

“Dream.”

He glances over again. George is still smiling, but there’s a no-nonsense look in his gaze. “Please? Just for tonight?”

Dream looks again at George, at the days-old stubble, the hoodie he’s been wearing for two days just so he didn’t have to abandon Dream while he’s been working, and thinks he deserves a break.

He makes a show of rolling his eyes as he gets up.”You just want me to get you food.”

George’s eyes light up, but he still scoffs at Dream. They each have to play their parts. “That’s not true.”

“Is true.” He stretches up, feeling the cracks in his shoulders and spine. “Fuck.”

George laughs. “Bro’s getting old."

“Like you’re one to talk.”

George hunches over and makes a groaning noise. “Oh, I’m Dream, and my poor back hurts from all the dicks in my ass—”

“George!” he exclaims, scandalized, and George laughs again, bright and loud in the space.

“We should do something,” George says.

“Like what?”

“Like, go out, do something active. I’m too tired to sit.”

Dream walks toward George, and the two make their way out of the gym. “How does that even work?”

“Dunno, but my butt’s gonna fall off if we don’t do something.”

“Well, we wouldn’t want you to lose your best asset.”

“Asset. Ass-et. Get it?” He elbows Dream’s side.

“You’re so dumb.” They’ve reached the kitchen, and George beelines for the fridge. He pulls out a bottle of water and (quite dramatically) drinks it all in one chug. “We have a fridge in the gym,” Dream reminds him.

George shakes his head. “Doesn’t taste right.”

Dream doesn’t get it, but he knows George has his quirks, like only wearing a specific brand of sock because it’s “just right” or the way he tidies his sheets but not the pillows when making his bed. “Well,” he says, “since you’re no longer dying of thirst, what do you wanna do?”

George thinks for a minute before he brightens. “Have you seen me drive the UTV yet?”

He hasn’t. Every time George and Sapnap went to mess around with it, he politely excused himself. Although he likes that George is getting "driving" experience, he has his reservations about the safety of it.

Then again, George has been quite accommodating for his antics, so maybe it’s time he returned the favor.

“No, you wanna grab Nick?”

“Yeah!” George runs off, and Dream hopes Sapnap isn’t busy and George isn’t about to terrorize him.

Even if it’s fruitless.

An hour later, Dream sits watching his idiot friends drive up sandy hills on their UTV. The off-roading park allows members to keep their vehicles there, fueled and ready, and since it’s not on Dream’s bill, he’s happy to watch them goof off all night long.

Just then, he sees the UTV careen over a hill and come crashing down thirty feet away.

“Holy fucking shit!” Sapnap yells from the driver’s seat, a wide grin plastered across his face. George whoops beside him, clearly gleeful.

A few seconds later, he sees George and Sapnap undo their seatbelts and make their way over to where Dream is sitting.

“Impressed?” Sapnap asks, breathing heavily.

Dream hums. “Thought George would be driving,” he says, “since it’s his car after all.”

“Am I not good enough for you?” Sapnap gives him a puppy-eyed look.

Dream laughs. “You’re a good driver, Nick.”

“Hell yeah!” he shrieks. George pouts at Dream.

“I’m a good driver too.”

“Not from my point of view,” he says. George meets the challenge with a blaze in his eyes. He smirks.

“Alright.” George walks off, and this time, climbs into the driver’s seat.

Sapnap plops down next to Dream and pulls out his phone, aiming it toward George. “Woo!” he screams. “Kitten’s driving!”

He can see George scoff from where he sits. He takes off, doing a tight turn before hurdling up a hill.

Sapnap cheers beside him, and Dream thinks, This isn’t so bad.

“Dream, look!” he hears. He shields his eyes and looks to where he heard George.

The UTV is now on top of the biggest hill. George is standing next to it, waving.

“I’m gonna go down it!” he yells.

“Do it, pussy!” Sapnap yells back. Dream nudges him for the comment, but he joins the cheering.

George slides into the driver’s seat and straps himself in. Dream hears the motor roar from where he sits, and he watches the UTV gun it down the hill. Sapnap raises his phone higher, most likely to get a better angle as dust billows behind the truck. It speeds down the hill, toward the ground, and—

It happens.

The UTV catches on a rock. It flips.

One.

Two.

Three times.

It slams into a hill.

It stops.

Then, silence.

“GEORGE!”

Dream takes off running toward the UTV. He was wearing his seatbelt, he’s gonna be fine. "GEORGE!"

But then why hasn't he answered yet?

“George, are you good!?” He’s at the UTV. He climbs the hill to get closer. “George?”

George is hanging awkwardly in the harness, barely sitting in the seat anymore. His eyes are open, gazing forward. He's breathing, though. Dream can hear it. He reaches out a hand and presses it against George’s face. It’s an awkward angle, the UTV is slanted on the hill, but he needs to see, needs to feel that George is alright.

George’s face is sticky with dirt and sweat when he presses a hand to his cheek. But it’s still warm and soft like Dream always imagined, and he can feel the breath on his arm.

George blinks, and Dream breathes.

“George.” His other hand brushes the hair out of Georgge’s eyes. “You alright?”

George is still hanging in his harness. Dream leans over to unbuckle him and accidentally nudges George, causing him to hiss.

“Wha—did I hurt you?” Dream asks, pulling back a step.

“Head,” George groans, and something bad curls in Dream.

“Your head...hurts?” George tries to nod but groans again.

“I don’t—didn’t hit it,” George says. Dream gently, ever so gently, cards his fingers through George’s hair to feel for bumps or blood.

He finds nothing, but when Dream looks to George to tell him, he notices something.

Dream looks at people. A long part of his career was watching his friends on streams, and, since his face reveal, he has spent a lot of time memorizing what people’s faces look like outside of a screen. He knows what George looks like, can tell how long his stubble has been growing, when he needs to take George to get a haircut, what he looks like when he's tired, upset, in pain.

As he’s looking into George’s eyes, there’s something wrong. They aren’t focusing on Dream; they’re dazed and unfocused.

And the bad feeling inside Dream gets worse.

“Let’s get you out of there.” He’s careful this time as he leans over and unbuckles George, carefully distributing George’s weight onto him as he pulls him out onto the sand.

At that moment, Sapnap appears.

“I called for help, they’re getting another vehicle to come pick us up and take us to the road,” he says, and Dream loves him.

“Thank you, Nick.” He looks back at George, who’s squinting at Sapnap.

“Look funny,” he says, and Dream chokes.

“And you look stupid.” But there’s a tenderness to Sapnap’s gaze, and Dream understands he’s equally as worried as he is.

A vehicle comes over the hill and stops next to the UTV. With a bit of maneuvering, they get George secured into the back alongside Dream. Dream has his arm slung around George’s shoulder for support as they navigate back to their car.

“We’re gonna get you checked out,” he promises. “We’ll drive straight to a clinic.” George doesn’t respond, but he presses closer to Dream, and that's enough for now.

Time both moves fast and slow as they get George to a doctor. Fast in that it's a blur. Slow as in every bump that makes George wince makes fear twist inside Dream.

He was wearing a seatbelt, he thinks. He’s gonna be okay.

The nurse checking out George is thorough. She asks questions, flashes lights, and writes her findings on a clipboard. She gets George’s details from Dream (he has George’s insurance card saved into his phone) and tells them the doctor will be in soon before she leaves.

George lays on the hospital bed. They turned down the lights in the room, so George isn’t squinting anymore. But, his face still conveys pain.

“My head’s still hurting.”

“The nurse says she can’t give you pain meds just yet.” If he didn't know already that giving pain medication would only slow the nurses down, he would’ve gone to the pharmacy himself to grab some for George. But, his mom’s voice reminds him that pain is often a good symptom of where the hurt is, and so he stays put.

“Don’t worry, George,” Sapnap says. “When we get back, I’ll let you have some of my special gummy bears.” He wiggles his eyebrows, and George snorts.

“Thanks, I guess.” There’s silence for a second. “Did you get it on video?”

“What are you—oh yeah!” Sapnap pulls out his phone and taps in his passcode. “It was kinda sick actually.”

“Can I see?” George tries to sit up, but Dream (ever so gently) pushes him back down.

“No. The nurse said no light until the doctor returns.”

“Oh, c’mon Dream,” Sapnap whines.

“Oh, c’mon, remember? He used to say that.” George has his stupid grin on his face, and Dream is only a bit relieved that he’s at least feeling well enough for mockery.

Just then, the nurse comes back in with what Dream supposes is the doctor.

“Hi everyone!” she says, focusing her attention on the figure in the bed. “You must be George.”

“Yes ma’am,” he says. Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Sapnap muffling a laugh.

“I am Dr. Smith. I’m the resident neurologist for this floor.”

“Neurologist,” Dream says. “So it is a brain problem.”

She nods, but there is no tightness to her face when she looks at George. “You seem to have a minor concussion. I was told he was in a car accident?” She looks toward Dream at that.

He clears his throat. “Well, yes and no,” he starts. “He was messing around with our UTV, but he was wearing a seatbelt though, so we didn’t—I didn’t think he’d get hurt?”

She hums. “Concussions don’t necessarily occur because of impact. They occur when the brain bounces around inside the skull.”

“The UTV flipped a bunch,” Sapnap says. “Could that’ve caused it?”

“Yes, that would explain the bruising. I would still be very glad you were wearing a seatbelt, for I’m sure we would be having a very different conversation if he was without it.”

George is still hurt though, Dream’s brain adds. He shakes it off.

Dr. Smith is talking again to George. “We’ll be giving you a list of what you can and can’t do during your recovery. You’ll most likely want to avoid computer screens, TVs, anything with bright lights. You’ll also want to avoid doing anything mentally strenuous for the first few days. We saw a lack of concentration in your testing, so we want to keep on top of that.”

George speaks up: “But, my work—it's all computers and screens.”

Dream turns to George. “We can figure stuff out or take a break,” he assures. “We can pause the project for now.”

George’s face looks pained again. Dream wishes they could give him medicine. “No,” he says, “I can’t, you—”

“We can provide a doctor’s note if necessary, but using electronics will stunt your recovery. For at least two weeks, you need to stay away from screens.”

Two weeks, Dream thinks, as Dr. Smith goes on about migraine recovery. George is gonna hate this.

George looks like he’s hating this. His lips are pressed together in a thin line, and his brows are furrowed. For a moment, Dream wants to smooth the lines out from his face, but he knows now is not the time.

“We’ll be keeping you overnight for observation.” Dr. Smith gives Dream a form. “We’ll get George to a room as soon as a gurney frees up.” She hands him a pen as well. “If you need help, press the call button.”

And with that, the two leave the room. George turns to face the wall.

Dream looks over the form. It’s various medical jargon and information. He starts filling it out while Sapnap goes over to George.

“So, concussion,” he states. Dream hears George scoff.

“Glad you were paying attention,” he snarks over his shoulder.

“Well, since I’ve actually been concussed before, I was going to offer to grab all the usual shit you need, but since you’re being a little bitch—”

“Nick,” Dream interrupts. He would usually let them fight it out, but Dream sees the tense lines in George’s back, and thinks this isn’t the time. Sapnap glances over to him and must see something too because he huffs and backs off.

“Got it,” Sapnap grumbles. He turns back to George. “Want me to grab anything else while I’m out?”

George turns his head back over. “Sushi?” he asks, and Dream can see a glint of mischief.

Sapnap must see it too, because he softly laughs. “Should’ve guessed that.” He grabs his phone and stands up. “I’m assuming you’ll be staying too?” he says to Dream.

Dream nods. It isn’t a question in his mind, but it makes sense why Sapnap asks.

“K, see you at home.” With that, Sapnap walks out, making sure to shut the door quietly behind him.

Dream continues to work on the form while George stares at the ceiling. A few minutes later, a team arrives to help George get up to the observation room. Dream follows dutifully behind, carrying George and his phone.

Once they’re settled in, with George in the bed and Dream sitting in a chair beside him, finally done with the forms, he finally asks the question.

“How are you feeling?”

George continues fiddling with the sheets. The hospital provided pajamas for him, as it was long past the early evening it was when they took the UTV for a spin. The lights are dimmed low, shadows casting across the room and across George’s face.

“Could be better,” he mumbles. “Head still hurts.”

“The nurse gave you pain medication, right?” He’s sure at some point a nurse came in and gave George pills.

“Yeah,” he says. “Still hurts though.”

Dream nods and scoots his chair closer. There’s a beat of silence, then George says, “I’m sorry.”

Dream looks at his face. “For what?”

“The pause—it was only for tonight.”

“The pause,” Dream says again. “You mean…for the project?”

“Yeah,” George mumbles, hunching over slightly as he continues to fiddle with the sheets.

“George, I don’t—I’m not thinking about that right now,” he says. “I’m just so glad you’re okay and that it’s going to be okay.”

George rolls his eyes. “I’m not gonna be able to work for weeks, Dream. How is that okay?”

“Because—okay, look.” He reaches out and grabs George’s hand to stop him from tearing the blanket to shreds. George’s hand falls still under his touch. “The project’s been delayed so many fucking times. One more time is not going to kill us.”

He feels George’s hand twitch under his palm. “But it’s not—it was stopped before because of the code,” he starts. “Not because of—not because I couldn’t help.” He hasn’t met Dream’s eyes yet.

Dream moves and sits on the bed. George’s hand twitches again in his grasp. Dream squeezes it, gentle, soft. “George,” he says, “two weeks is not the end of the world. This stuff, this technology, it’s gonna change the world. It can wait two weeks while my best friend recovers.”

He sees a ghost of a smile flash across George’s face. He presses on: “The nurse says no screens or bright lights for at least two weeks. So, you can’t code. But you can help me render shit, set stuff up once your doctor clears you, or we can sit in bed for two weeks. But all that really doesn’t matter, because I’d rather you get better quicker than you hurting yourself because you want to help me.”

“And I’m fine waiting for you,” he adds. “We’ve already gotten this far, and we’re this close. A two-week break isn’t going to change that. Plus.” He turns to smirk at George. “Weren’t you the one before now who was asking for a break?”

George groans, but he’s smiling now, and that’s all that matters. “Alright,” George says. “If you insist, I guess I could take a break.”

“I’m glad.” He’s smiling now too. George turns his hand over to squeeze Dream’s. Once. Twice. Three times. Dream’s smile grows wider.

“I love you.” Even in the darkness, he can see George’s blush, and it makes Dream’s heart flutter.

“Idiot.” But he’s smiling too, and that’s all that matters.

[going-to-ikea-for-the-fries]

Ayo can we get a hot ass "keep my wife's name out your goddamn mouth" Kathy x John

Kathy does routine physical exams obviously and in the showers Price overhears some locker room talking about his wife, how they'd like those hands to go further, like how she bosses them around etc.

Cue him rounding the corner to give them a solid punch and "Don't you dare utter my wife's name again"

Up to you if she rewards him ☺️

yes you fucking can!!!!

That's My Wife!

pairing: F!OC: Kathleen "Brass" Moore x John Price words: 1.5K~ cw: jealousy, protectiveness, arguments, violence, injuries (mentioned), misogyny, sexually-charged comments, "locker room talk", smutless smut.

The worst time of the year for the army medical staff at Tidworth is September. Oh, how the nurses and doctors hate the month of September during which, for two weeks straight, they see nothing but soldier after soldier for health checks and physical exams to confirm that they’re fit for service.

It’s, unfortunately, repetitive, mind-numbing and time-consuming. It’s also, unfortunately, a whole hands on deck situation. So, everyone who’s not actively doing something else, gets called in to help process the soldiers.

That’s how Kathleen ends up, every year, in the clinic, helping physicians assess the soldiers. Her jobs tend to be easy. More of the same that she tends to already do: measuring heights and weights, calculating their BMI and body fat percentages, using the stethoscope to listen to their heartbeat and breathing, manning the blood pressure gauge…

And, of course, the most interesting stuff. Conducting stress tests and having to strap all sorts of machines and sensors to the soldiers and monitor how they perform as they run on a treadmill, as well as doing physical checks on old injuries, scars…

In short, she spends a long time in front of shirtless men… and even longer touching their chests, arms, backs, and sometimes their legs, to check for injuries, which often ends with her crouching or kneeling at their feet.

And, of course, the stupid soldiers can’t keep their mouths shut. More often than not they make a few remarks about taking her out later, about coming to see her more often, of being lucky they get her for their checks…

It’s a nightmare. Kathleen hates it. In fact, she wishes she wasn’t tasked with that every year… But the choice is her or risking one of the pretty new interns having to do it, girls who haven’t yet developed the thick skin she has, and would likely giggle and get flustered at the lads behaviour… instead of calling them out on it or just downright ignoring them.

September, as it turns out, is also a nightmare for John. But he only figured that out today.

After his Bravo team finished training for the morning, John allowed them to hit the showers and he stayed behind to finish some work and talk with Soap.

As they enter the locker room, the rest of Bravo team is already in the communal showers, talking loudly amidst themselves and laughing, their voices echoing amidst the spraying of the showers over them.

John pops open his locker and starts shedding his workout kit, tossing it into his bag on the shelf. Soap isn’t far from him, a few lockers up, in the adjacent wall, his locker door having his name ‘MACTAVISH’ inside the clear plastic name tag holder, with a post-it naming him ‘F.N.G’ scotch taped below it.

John doesn’t need to pay much attention to know they’re talking about women, especially, the nurses from the nearby Tidworth base. All of them had gone through their check-ups in the last couple of days and, as is typical, they couldn’t keep their traps shut about the pretty women with soft hands doting all over them.

“Oh, mine bent over and pushed those tits of hers right up to my knee.” One of them said.

“Lucky bastard. I got a bloke.” Another replied.

Oh, how many times John had told them to be quiet and keep those sorts of talks to themselves when they were at the barracks, and not in public… But did those knobheads listen? No, never.

John grabbed his towel and 2-in-1 shampoo and bodywash and headed into the showers, taking up one of the vacant spots and drawing the curtain after hanging the curtain just outside his stall.

“I swear she was giving me the look… Definitely wants a piece of me.”

“No bird would want a piece of yer ugly mug.”

The lads continued talking as he let the water run over his body and began quickly lathering himself up with his 2-in-1, washing his hair and face aggressively before running his head under the falling shower water.

“I’m not devout, but this new batch’a nurses they got this year makes me a believer.”

“That’s right, brother.”

One-by-one they started vacating their stalls, still chatting loudly about their check-ups and the young women that treated them, lounging about the locker room and making each other laugh.

“But that arse of hers… I just know she’d bounce so well on my cock-”

“Oh that’s nothing. You didn’t see her last year before they changed the colour of the scrubs… That blue colour just… mmmmm…”

John finishes his shower not long after, wrapping his grey towel around his hip and tying it up to stay still. Then, he collects his 2-in-1 bottle from its perch atop the metal piping of the shower and starts making his way back.

That’s when he hears it:

“It’s no wonder the Captain’s peacockin’ himself around like that… I mean have you seen the size of her tits?”

John’s blood runs cold. They wouldn’t fucking dare. They wouldn’t talk about Kathleen. 

No. 

Not they. 

Him.

Sergeant Ellis Evans. 

One he’s always had problems reining in.

“Captain’s lucky is all I’ll say… Body like hers… Hell, even I’d forgive that bloody attitude of hers.”

The others laughed as Evans continued.

“I mean, I’m sure Kathleen’s mouth’s good for more than just talking… Gotta be good on her knees.. They call her ‘Brass’ for a reason, right? Bet she leaves ‘em with a nice polish and shine once she’s done.” 

That did it.

John rounded the corner into the locker room and, abruptly, the room fell into silence, breaths hitching and the temperature dropping into an uncomfortable ice.

But John didn’t stop walking at the doorway… In fact, he beelined right for Evans.

“Captain, I-” Evans immediately tried backtracking. “We were just joking, we were just-”

“Keep my wife’s name out your bloody mouth.” John grits at him through clenched teeth before he throws a right cross to Evans’ face.

-

It’s just past 7P.M. when Kathleen comes in through the front door. John has made dinner for them and little Charlotte is already asleep in her crib by the time she does.

She sets her bag down in the entrance, takes off her shoes, and pads over to the kitchen in search of John.

“Hi…” She greets him softly as she approaches the table, causing him to swivel on his chair to greet her, wrapping his arms around her waist. 

She presses a kiss to his mouth, which he returns. “Hi, Da’lin’.” He murmurs to her once they separate.

“Is she down?” She asks in a soft tone as she looks at him.

“Mhm… Full belly and empty diaper.” He tells her, which makes her smile softly, seeming relieved.

Kathleen feels exhausted, as usual, still not used to the work-life balance that comes from having a 4-month-old baby who doesn’t like to sleep + and a physically demanding job that runs on a 12-hour-shift schedule. 

John swivels back to his previous position, nursing a glass of whiskey with his left hand, the right one resting on the table, the knuckles covered by a blue gel ice pack.

“So that’s what happened...” Kathleen muses as she glances at his iced hand, before backing away to grab herself a plate of food from the cupboard.

“What is?” John murmurs as he glances at her, watching her serve herself of some frozen lasagna and salad.

“One of your lads ended up in my emergency room after some ‘roughhousing gone wrong in the locker room’... I was musing about what he did all afternoon.” She quips as she pads over to the table again again.

“Hm.” John mutters quietly, seemingly a mix of embarassed and annoyed at that fact.

“So what did he do?” She asks as she takes a seat on his lap, perched on his lap, as she pops a cherry tomato in her mouth.

“Talked about you.” John murmurs, wrapping his free arm around her waist. “Only I get to say debauching things about My Wife.” He grumbles as he looks up into her eyes.

Kathleen rolls her eyes at him and shakes her head, but she can’t help the smirk that takes over her rudy lips as he calls her ‘his wife’. “My, Mr. Price, defending my honour, huh?” She jokes as she pops a bit of lettuce in her mouth.

“Defending my honour… and yours by proxy. Just an unforeseen consequence of it.” He tells her, trying to act nonchalant about the fact he broke a man’s nose, eyesocket and three of his ribs, for demeaning his wife.

“Right… Of course… How stupid of me…” Kathleen teases as she leans toward him, pressing a soft kiss to his lips, which makes his blue eyes close, a smile taking over his features. 

“As opposed to… what exactly? There isn’t much up there other than thoughts of my cock, da’lin’.” John remarks, causing her to roll her eyes, annoyed, and flick his head away from her by pushing his cheek, annoyed.

“I can very well just stop thinking about it all together… And I’m sure you wouldn’t want that when I was just about to reward you for defending me…” Kathleen teases as she pops another cherry tomato in her mouth, eyes locked on John and the way his pupils dilated, his cock already stirring awake in his joggers against her ass in her green scrubs.

[the-cat-and-the-birdie]

NERD!MIGUEL IS SO REAL I LUV HIM <3333

NERD!MIGUEL IS THERE I KNOW IT

Like...You saw what he said to Gwen when she called it a watch (which IT IS).

[omg she's so tiny small next to him]

He's a NERD. He thinks this stuff is COOL. He's WAITING FOR SOMEONE TO ASK.

Like I imagine he's used to it by now - people's eyes glazing over when he begins to explain something technical or program-y, like Lyla's algorithms or the Multiverse Anti-Glitch feature of the watches.

He's put SO much work into all of this, the whole facility and the tech.

He made Lyla himself, but he knows that most people aren't really interested in that. So he's learned to simplify things.

If you ask a question, like how he made Lyla - he'll answer it basic and to the point.

_-_ 'She's an AI. She's my assistant and the notification system within your watch.'

He probably won't even look up from his work, thinking it's just the routine questions everyone asks before moving on to the next thing.

BUT IF YOU ASK FURTHER - Miguel's like

Because it's not often someone actually like...does that.

It's probably very rare that someone shows interest in his technological, engineering, or physics studies - all of which he's INCREDIBLY talented at and actively working on

You ask him how long it took him to make her, he says a year or two.

You tell him how impressive that is and BOOM NERD!Miguel.

He's telling you how her voice detection took the longest, and how her multiverse-monitoring probability algorithm was something he had to tweak twenty thousand times.

You compliment him about the design of the watch, he's like

_-_ 'I still have the protypes.' And he's ready to show you different ones, different shapes and materials he considered using, but eventually ruled out through experiments and tests

AND DON'T GET HIM STARTED ON THEORIES OH GODDDD

You mention the words 'String Theory' or 'Time Dilation' around him and you will NEVER hear the end of it.

He has so many opinions on it he's never had the chance to share.

Ideas and theories about things like fourth dimensions, worm holes, black holes, and dozens of other theoretical scientific concepts.

I mean, he MADE time travel. He is an EXPERT in that stuff.

I would KILL to have a Time Travel Movie Marathon with Miguel.

Sitting on the couch and watching things like Back to the Future, and he describes what they got right, what would be impossible, how it could work in theory.

He probably talks through the whole movie, and picks each one apart. You watch Doctor Who and he WILL NOT SHUT UP.

He's probably AMAZIINNGG at math.

Like math IS science. It's the answer for science. So he's probably a natural master.

You can be like 'Miguel, What's 34% of 12,967?' - Without blinking he'd be like

_-_'...I'm guessing 4408, or something? I don't know, am I right? Ask Lyla, don't ask me.'

But you don't need to ask Lyla cause HE'S RIGHT

HISTORY TOO!

I mean... the man time-travels. I think he'd have at least a good grasp on history, and time periods. Thinks like ancient roman historians and how their thoughts effect modern science, and how certain events effected the flow of time throughout history.

I imagine he finds it so fascinating, seeing the vast differences that can span in universes, just from one small change. Maybe he even finds comfort in it, seeing how histories and stories have a natural flow in a way fiction can only hope to imitate.

I love me some Nerd!Miguel.

I wanna get in bed with Miguel and by that I mean I want to sit next to him as he sits in bed reading a book on the Theory of Relativity with reading spectacles and a mug of sleepytime tea okay

A Miguel who runs up to his partner like 'Read this,' and he's all proud as he hands you a notepad full of numbers. But to him it's a formula he's been working WEEKS on, one that'll make Lyla run smoother, and everything much easier and he wants you to think he's cool for it

A Miguel who spends date nights watching NatGeo documentaries for fun

NERDY NERD MIGUEL DORKY MILD NERDY MIGUEL

[squidd325]

Hi, I want to ask do you have any headcanon about how Fang date boboiboy 's element?

Oh, absolutely! Thank you for asking, be prepared in advance for a 100-page essay though >:D /j

To me, Fang and BoBoiBoy have a chill, playful dynamic with each other. 

I personally like the initial direction of the Original series that BoBoiBoy and his elements are the same person, the only difference is the core personality that shapes into which element. 

Galaxy is still relevant but more in terms of world-building and less about characterization is my most preferred take :>

⚡ With Halilintar:

As Halilintar represents anger and Fang has a lot of pride, I feel they’re the easiest to provoke each other, either playfully or consequently leading to a fight (at the end of the day, they’d just show off their powers and act cool about it).

They’d have solo training sessions somewhere devoid of people, that’s the kind of ‘ideal’ date for them.

🌪 With Taufan:

Taufan embodies the desire to be free and out with the world. Fang fought for his autonomy at the end of Season 3 Original. I feel they’d be able to empathize with each other a lot.

Taufan loves the sky and space, perhaps he’d tag along with Fang on space missions, watching the stars through the window while Fang is driving, just the two of them in the monitor room is enough for a ‘date’.

⛰ With Gempa:

Fang and Gempa are very grounded in their duties, responsibility and diligence are qualities both possess. 

They’d bond over midnight coffee and piles of paperwork, while jokingly telling each other that this is like a date.

It is, isn't it?

🔥 With Blaze:

Whenever they find each other in the same room, Fang would know BoBoiBoy is distressed about something, and Blaze would want to spend time with him.

And spend time they do. Soccer, basketball, any physical activities,... you name it. Only that Blaze gets over-excited at times and may or may not accidentally damage something(s) and/or place(s)...

In the end, Fang just invites him out for ice cream instead.

❄ With Ais:

Ais has that “don’t care” attitude that tests Fang’s patience more times than not. This BoBoiBoy handles emotions by pushing them away and Fang would call him out for that.

Yet, Fang gets overwhelmed sometimes. Ais would just silently motion Fang to join in his activity, which is to lie down and do nothing. None says a word and it can be perfectly kept that way.

🌵 With Duri:

Duri wasn’t explored thoroughly in the Original Series, so I can’t exactly tell what he represents. I like to think he holds a mischievous strike though, it’s part of his childlike personality and aligns with BoBoiBoy’s whole person.

Duri would prank Fang to no end. And as annoyed as Fang is, he isn’t unfamiliar with pettiness. They’d pull all sorts of tricks until one gets tired and calls it quits. Then it’ll just be a pleasant afternoon where they tend to the garden together. That’s dating for them, I suppose.

☀️ With Solar:

Goodness, they contrast each other to the core. Light and dark, contradicting yet complimenting one another. Solar is always eager to show off his wits, and Fang never goes down without a fight (when it comes to BoBoiBoy, that is).

In every library that exists, there are THEM. The library at school, in space, on another planet, etc. I imagine them going through every book, competing to see who understands the subject most.

No books could tell them how actual dating works though. Still on the right track, imma tell ya...

[codename-mom]

Paternity test

Summary: Aaron has doubt about Jack being his now he is nine and still doesn't look like him. Dave tries to find a solution to reassure him, but it can be a double-edged sword.

Characters: BAU team (Callahan era) + Jack Hotchner

Contents: TW mention of Haley's cheating, alcohol, anxiety and I think that's all.

PS : English is not my mother language so they are necessarily mistakes. Sorry about that.

___

                Jack finished his exercise and looked up at his father. He hadn't moved an inch since he himself had sat down at the living room table to begin his homework. The giant was concentrating on his computer screen, eyebrows furrowed, lips pursed, his right hand regularly twitching, as it always did when he was deep in thought. The little boy got down from his chair and walked towards the sofa, his heart pounding. He wasn't afraid of his sire, but he still impressed him a little.

“Dad?”

“Yes, Jack,” he answered without looking at him.

“Can you check if it's okay?” he asked, placing his notebook on the armrest.

“I'm listening,” affirmed Aaron, his attention still fixed on the monitor.

“It's not math, it's grammar.”

The titan immediately ceased his activity and turned his attention back to his pocket roommate. Jack smiled at him, sketching a discreet chuckle. Then he picked up his notebook and read his lines in silence under the toddler's worried gaze. His father spoke much better than most of his teachers and other parents, and he had told him many times that knowing how to write properly would be an asset for his future life. In fact, the boy could feel the pressure on his shoulders as the director's brown irises leapt from one word to the next. It was hard to tell from his unexpressive face whether he was satisfied with his work or not.

“Reread the third sentence,” he said, finally giving him back his possession.

“What did I miss?” he interrogated him, disappointed that he hadn't got it right the first time.

“I don’t know, think.”

His ascendancy rarely made it easy for him to understand his mistakes. For many things, he let him analyze, study and dig for himself, before providing the explanation he needed, when necessary. For others, he readily agreed to teach him what he knew, just as he also took the time to listen to the results of his own discoveries. Jack loved these moments of exchange between them, and cherished them all the more as his father wasn't often at home. And when he was, he sometimes carried on with his duties as branch manager, forgetting about his offspring. Which he appreciated less and less.

“What are you doing?” he questionned as the colossus fell back into his trance.

“Research.”

“For work?”

Aaron didn't react on the spot, squinting his eyelids, before suddenly flinching as he met his gaze.

“… What? No, I... he stammered, his pupils shifting from him to the screen. I’m actually looking for a new place to live.”

“Why?”

He hadn't expected this.

“Because this one isn't very practical for either of us. Especially now that you're older.”

“Why?”

“You need a bigger bedroom, and I need an office where I can work without blocking your access to the living room.”

Instinctively, he looked towards the corridor at the end of which was his den. When he'd had to move in for good, he'd had a hard time adjusting to the old-fashioned decor, the noisy surroundings and the smallness of the place. Now he knew all its nooks and crannies by heart and felt at home here.

“Where are we going?” he worried instantly.

“Not that far, don’t be afraid. I'll make sure you stay at the same school so you can keep your friends, Aaron declared with a smile. And, in any case, we can't go too far away. I have to stay close to Quantico and I can't make your aunt travel miles for you.”

His father's large hand passed through his hair and lingered on his cheek. The FBI agent was smiling in a very exceptional way, but the whole physiognomy of his face, usually hard and cold, changed all at once. All the sweetness in his heart seemed to emerge from its hiding place and envelop him tenderly, soothing him instantly.

“Did you find something?”

“Not yet. But maybe you could help me, he asserted, looking at him. After all, you have a say in it, since you'll be living in it.”

Forgetting his English exercises altogether, he climbed onto the sofa beside him and pressed himself against his arm.

“What should I do?” he inquired, delighted to be able to support him.

“Look at the photos with me and tell me what you think. Would you?”

“Yeah.”

“So correct your third sentence and we'll take care of this.”

“Okay,” he yielded, picking up his notebook again.

Later, on a Monday, Dave invited himself into Hotch's office to let him know it was time for lunch. But as soon as he saw his drawn features and low expression, he knew something was wrong. He approached and shouted: 

“What’s going on? And watch what you say.”

His superior had a nasty habit of insisting that everything was fine, when it absolutely was not. A protective reflex that had already played many tricks on him. But the manager didn't fight. He sighed and settled back in his seat, pushing back the folder in his hand.

“…This weekend, Jack and I visited several homes. The other one's getting too small for the two of us, and I need a more suitable workspace than the living room,” he explained as Rossi sat down opposite him.

“Sounds like a good idea. But I have the impression that the hunt wasn't a good one.”

“In fact, one of them might do the trick, but... - he hesitated – that's not really the point. I didn't really expect to find the gem right away.”

Given the high demand and indecent real estate prices in the capital, it would indeed have been naive to think you'd hit the jackpot on your first try.

“So why the long face?”

“Because of the reaction of the real estate agents when they saw me arrive with Jack. You… you should have seen their faces.”

Surprisingly, Aaron wasn't looking at him, his irises turned to an invisible spot on his desk. He looked defeated.

“Well, what?” his mentor said impatiently, perplexed.

“None of them thought for a moment that that kid with me was my son, he revealed, staring at him at last. And even when Jack called me “Dad”, they still had their doubts.”

“Aren't you being a little dramatic?”

With his former disciple's tendency to see the glass as half-empty, the former retired doubted the accuracy of his statement.

“No. Many asked to see Jack's identity papers, even though they were of no use in completing the application files.”

He had to admit that this supported his hypothesis and he understood better why he wasn't particularly happy.  He dared to put things in perspective:

“At least they check.”

“Dave, these people were convinced I was a pedophile looking for a new hideout!” snapped his wounded interlocutor.

“Aaron…”

“And, at the same time, they have good reason to think so,” he continued, looking downcast.

“Why?”

The novelist had no idea why he would say such a thing. He was used to hearing him self-inflict a multitude of imaginary defects, but this one was beyond comprehension. Especially as there was nothing innocuous about it.

“Look at him, Hotch resumed, flipping the frame on his desk. Look at him and tell me where I am.”

A frozen Jack on glossy paper gave him a radiant smile, his straight, light hair waving in a passing breeze.

“He’s still a child, Aaron.”

“He's nine! the ex-prosecutor reminded him. It's high time he showed some of his father's physical traits. Except he doesn’t. Jack, it’s clearly Haley and... someone else.”

“Don’t say that.”

“So, tell me! Tell me what he took from me.”

 Uneasy, Rossi lowered his eyes to the toddler's portrait and carefully observed his eyes, nose, ears, chin... Apart from the color of his irises – which could also be his mother's – it was difficult to identify his sire's features. However, the elder felt that the kid was still too young to express all his genetic characteristics. Besides, he didn’t like what it implied.

“See. Even you can't answer that.”

“You realize you're implying that Haley went elsewhere.”

“But she went somewhere else, Dave, he asserted without preamble. One… one day when I was unusually at home, someone called. I picked up the phone and nobody answered. There was a silence and then they hang up. Right after that, someone called on Haley’s cell phone. I didn't make the connection with Jack this day, but now it's so obvious that he's not mine.”

The BAU co-founder realized that it had been eight years since his opposite had kept his wife's betrayal to himself, and he was touched that he hadn't been in the loop at the time. Why hadn't he told him about it? He'd been living with this memory for almost a decade, and it must have crushed his self-esteem when he realized that Haley hadn't had the respect for him that he'd had for her in the twenty-five years they'd been together. A memory that continued to undermine even now.

“Aaron, maybe it was someone who had the wrong number.”

“When you get the wrong number, do you just hang up?”

“… No,” he conceded, honest.

“You apologize and explain that you made a mistake. Haley didn't ask for a divorce because I was never around, but because I was too much and had discovered the truth.”

Dave easily perceived the anger rolling through his veins. Even after so much time, even after everything that had happened, he was still furious. The question was, against whom? The most likely answer was: his partner at the time. But Hotch was a complex person who had very little regard for himself, and his eldest wouldn't have been surprised if he resented him too.

“Wait, that doesn't mean that Jack isn't yours. It's playing with fire to have a child with someone other than your husband.”

“Except when the husband doesn't want children.”

Taken aback by this outburst, he widened his eyelids, questioning the giant with his eyes.

“She wanted that kid so badly; she could have done just that. And, once pregnant, she did what it took to convince me to take the plunge.”

He glimpsed a side of Aaron's private life he'd never known about before. The couple he had formed with Haley at that moment had seemed so harmonious that he hadn't questioned further why they had remained childless for so long.

“For… for years, she had put her desire for motherhood on the back burner, but suddenly it became urgent. She put me on the spot for it, he added, his eyes shining. And, as luck would have it, it worked the first time. Normally, it takes several attempts to make it work, even for couples who have frequent relations. But not us. I'm sure of it now, she was already pregnant and I find myself raising someone else's kid.”

“Hold on, Aaron. Breathe. All this is just speculation.”

He ignored all the statistics that ran through his brain about the number of tries one had to go through to get it right – even more so when the mother-to-be was in her forties – just as he refrained from bouncing on the fact that Haley had obviously taken advantage of her husband's unconditional love for her to finally accede to her request. Even if the evidence seemed to be mounting, he couldn't overlook the fact that he didn't hold all the cards and that, even if she had gone elsewhere, there was no proof that she had played him to such an extent.

“What are you going to do anyway? Abandon Jack?”

“No, he retorted immediately. I… I can’t do that. He… he’s not to blame. And… if I couldn't be his biological father, I could always be his... his legal guardian.”

                Dave was struck by the sadness that emanated from these last words. Even if he hadn't actually experienced it, becoming a father was an incredible opportunity, a stage of life like no other. All of a sudden, you found yourself propelled into a completely different dimension, where care freeness disappeared, replaced by a constant attention to detail. One was brutally invested with a long-term mission, which consisted in bringing an innocent and pure being to become strong and skilful enough to survive the ferocity of life; all without turning them into a bloodthirsty and cruel monster. Becoming a father meant making millions of sacrifices and compromises every day for the sake of a single individual; it meant facing up to fears and repulsions, ignoring fatigue, silencing anxieties, mastering annoyance, monitoring one's own behavior, weighing one's words and being able to give it all up when necessary. All this without even knowing if the child will return the favor one day.

                Being a legal guardian was a soulless legal term for the fact that you were just a name on an administrative document.

“But, you know there's a way to check if there's a genetic link between the two of you.”

“I won't do a test,” rebelled Aaron, adamant.

“Why not?”

“No. Imagine that... that he really wasn't mine. What should I do? Tell him nothing, at the risk that he might discover the truth later? Telling him the truth and destroying his mother's image and the pretend balance we've both managed to achieve? I… - he sighed. At least, at the moment, I'm still left with the doubt that he's mine.”

                Rossi left the office and joined the team gathered in the corridor, ready to go down for lunch. Their brows furrowed as soon as they noticed their superior's absence.

“Isn't he coming with us?” worried Penelope.

“No. He’s… he’s cogitating.”

“What? What's that supposed to mean?” grumbled Derek, unsettled.

“Cogitate comes from the Latin cogitare, which means... began Spencer, before all eyes turned to him. That wasn't what you meant, was it?”

Morgan shook his head jaded, but said nothing.

“Aaron thinks Jack isn't his.”

“Again?” exclaimed JJ.

Everyone stared at her, surprised.

“I'm sorry, but this idea has been on his mind for some time now, she justified herself, a little embarrassed. Everyone tells him that Jack looks like his mother and never like him. After a while, I can see why the idea would catch on.”

“When they're born, babies resemble their sire so that the latter can attach more easily to the newborn and thus provide it with all the protection it needs,” declared Reid, perhaps a little too cheerfully.

“Who did Jack look like when he was born?” bounced Kate, who didn't even know what the child looked like now.

The two blondes glanced at each other awkwardly and replied in unison:

“… Haley.”

“Wait, interjected Derek, suddenly enthusiastic, Jack has brown eyes and so does Hotch.”

“Around eighty percent of the world's population has brown eyes.”

“Reid, I'm trying to make a case for Hotch, he growled, letting his shoulders fall back. Don’t help me there.”

Dave refrained from hammering the point home by reminding the ex-policeman that the boy's mother also had brown eyes. 

“Sorry, but the only way to be sure Hotch and Jack are related is to have them take a DNA test,” the multi-graduate defended himself.

“He doesn’t want to.”

“Why?”

“Because without it, he still has the illusion of being his father.”

His reply cast a chill over the assembly. The few snatches of a smile that remained disappeared in a flash, and discomfort seized everyone.

“It's so sad,” commented Garcia, tears welling up in her eyes.

“At the same time, I've always thought Jack had a false air of Sean about him,” said the ex-officer liaison, in a very small voice.

“Seriously?” choked Rossi, blown away by this thought.

“It's true that it could explain the hair color,” supported the technician, who didn't dare meet his gaze.

“Who’s Sean?”

Attention turned to the newcomer to the team, whose embarrassment had given way to confusion.

“He's Hotch's younger brother, Spencer explained. They don’t look alike at all.”

Which was saying a lot. As tall as each other, the resemblance ended there. Aaron was as dark-haired as Sean was blond, and his dark irises were set against a much more attractive blue-gray. And then there were their differences in character: the former's straightforwardness didn't go at all well with the latter's carefree attitude. While both had criminal records, the elder had settled down before he came of age, while the younger was multiplying offences now that he was an adult.

“Hotch took from his mother and Sean from his father,” continued JJ, helping her colleague understand the situation.

“How likely is it that Hotch passed on his own father's physical characteristics to Jack?” suggested Kate, very seriously.

“That’s a good question. If we assume that his mother's alleles are all dominant...”

“We're going to do a DNA test,” proclaimed Rossi, cutting Reid off who was, in his opinion, putting a little too much effort into this sordid calculation given the context.

“What?” croaked the group, bewildered.

He'd expected this reaction, but the Las Vegas native was right: it was the only way to get to the bottom of the story.

“At least we'll know for sure.”

“How do you plan to do it? Derek questioned, eyebrows furrowed. Recovering Hotch's DNA shouldn't be a problem; all you have to do is steal his mug...”

“The DNA of all FBI agents is recorded in the national database so that it can be discarded when analyzing crime scenes.”

“Thank you, Reid.”

“You're welcome,” replied the latter, as cheerful as his colleague was weary.

Morgan sighed and resumed:

“How do you plan to get Jack's DNA?”

“JJ, I thought I'd put you to work.”

“Me? Gasped the interested party, unsettled. But… how?”

“You could organize a brunch with Will where you invite them both. Henry and Jack will be happy to play together, and Aaron won't suspect a thing.”

He'd come up with this plan in the very short time between their conversations, but it seemed feasible. And, by leaning on the young woman, he thought he wouldn't arouse the giant's natural distrust, which, after their conversation, might put distance between the two of them. If only to avoid being told to do the test over and over again.

“Are we talking about the results? Intervened Penelope. What are we going to do once we get them? We're not going to tell him that Jack isn't his, even if it were true.”

“Of course not. The whole plan relies on him not knowing about the test. In fact, if it's not in his favor, we won't tell him anything – and he'll keep hoping he's his real father – and if it is in his favor, we'll be able to prove to him that Jack is really his, he unrolled before adding. And he'll be too relieved to give us the hell for doing the test behind his back.”

The profilers and the analyst watched him as if they'd just suggested bungee jumping off the Empire State Building on a windy day. They, who were so quick to pounce on the slightest crumb concerning their superior's intimate life, retreated with great strides when he offered them a scoop on a silver platter.

“Not all at once.”

They exchanged questioning glances, then JJ spoke again:

“Okay. I’m in.”

“Thanks for your support.”

As agreed, JJ invited the Hotchners, father and son, to lunch at her home one weekend, and she met Dave in his office to entrust him with the few hairs she'd been able to remove from Jack's jacket. That same evening, the agency's eldest went to the analysis laboratory, where he knew one of the employees. The woman in question was a little younger than he, and they had seen each other on occasion outside of the professional context. Intelligent and endowed with a certain charm, she didn't shy away from propriety. In private, at least; at work, it was a different story, and he was going to have to convince her to help him despite the unofficial nature of his request.

“Hi, Dave, she said with a smile as she saw him enter her den. What brings you to this part of the world?”

“I’ve got a favor to ask.”

“I thought so too,” she ironized, resting the notepad in her hand on the bench behind her.

“I'll need to look for a DNA match.”

“Which file is it for?” she inquired, activating the nearby monitor.

She settled down on the stool, ready to launch a computer search so that she could attach the results to the ongoing investigation. Rossi couldn't lie on this point, but he was equally put off by the idea of unpacking Aaron's intimate life to this scientist who was a stranger to the titan.

“It’s… confidential.”

“Are you serious right now?” she retorted immediately, swiveling her seat in his direction. 

She knew perfectly well what this formulation meant. 

“I can’t tell you more.”

“Then, I won’t do anything. These machines are worth a fortune, and we don't run them for nothing.”

He then realized that there must have been some abuse lately, and that the laboratory workers were being watched. He didn't know how it all worked in practice but wasn't surprised to hear her put the financial argument of the procedure on the table. However, he didn't trust those online sites that offered DNA tests for a fee; just as he couldn't see himself contacting an analyst in whom he didn't have absolute confidence. The hostess stared at him, waiting for further explanation.

“Okay, okay, he yielded, raising his hands in front of him. I have a friend who's convinced his kid isn't his. I'd like to prove him wrong for once.”

She frowned.

“You know this kind of bet is a double-edged sword?”

“If he's right, he won't know.”

“But you’ll know.”

“I'll deal with it, he swept with his most casual air. How soon can you get me the results?”

He handed her the sample taken by the former liaison officer. She took it and sighed, before giving him a discreet smile.

“I’ll give you a call when it’s done.”

“Thank you.”

“Wait until you get the results before thanking me.”

A week passed, during which a certain tension gripped him from morning to night, and he was relieved to see a message from the coroner appear on his phone screen. He didn't yet know what she had to tell him, but the simple fact that his mission was progressing soothed him. He left Quantico earlier that day to see her. She was in the same place as last time and handed him an unmarked envelope.

“So?” he inquired, curious all the same.

“I'll let you find out. All I can tell you is that the father has a record.”

Which, in itself, did not exclude Aaron. Indeed, shortly after he and Gideon had decided to give the young prosecutor a chance to join the fledgling BAU, the HRD's vetting department had alerted them to the fact that he had a juvenile criminal record. He and his then accomplice had asked to take a look at it, only to discover that the obviously angry pre-adolescent had abruptly mellowed out three years before coming of age, never to leave the beaten track again. And apart from a few outrages against law enforcement officers, he had committed no crime that would prevent them from hiring him. But that didn't mean he was Jack's father, either; only that Haley had messed around with someone who hadn't been above the law at some point in her life.

“… Okay. Thanks.”

He started to walk away when the scientist called out to him:

“Hey, Dave! It’s not for free.”

“What do you want?” he replied, unsurprised by her remark.

“Look at the results first, then we'll discuss about it.”

Rossi's usual plan was to go home, open the envelope and pour himself a glass of twelve-year-old whisky to celebrate the fact that he'd been right, and could therefore reassure his superior and friend. But when he found himself sitting on his sofa, with that white rectangle in his hands, he couldn't go any further. What if it wasn't him? And what if Aaron's ex-wife really had slept with someone else to have the child she so dreamed of before she played her then-husband? Or, to put it more simply – and more commonly – had she had an ongoing extramarital relationship, forgotten to take her pill, or had unprotected sex and got pregnant afterwards? She would have backed her husband into a corner to cover her tracks. Unless she slept with both of them on the same day or within a very short period of time and didn't know which one was the father. There were so many plausible hypotheses that he didn't know which to believe.

He thought he could handle knowing the truth without blinking. But now that he was within a hair's breadth of knowing it all, he realized the implications and no longer felt as serene as he had at the start of his quest. Could he still look Hotch in the eye, smile at him, and joke with him and, above all, watch him interact with Jack knowing, in fact, that they were not related at all? How long could he keep this information secret? What would the agency director's reaction be when he heard that he was right and, what's more, that his mentor had hatched a whole plan behind his back and then kept quiet about it?

The next morning, he returned to the FBI training center with the envelope still sealed in his hands. The whole team was eagerly awaiting him, huddled together in the bullpen area while their boss held yet another management meeting.

“You've got them, haven't you?” Spencer hooked him up, impatient.

“It seems so.”

“So?” bounced JJ.

He didn't answer, staring at the mail as if it were about to start talking.

“You didn't dare open the envelope, did you?” teased Derek, with a smirk.

“I'd like to see you in my shoes, kid.”

“If that’s all it takes.”

Morgan took the document from his hands, gestured to open it, and then froze. Dave took the opportunity to say:

“Think about the fact that you'll have to work alongside him knowing the truth. And perhaps this truth will have the power to destroy what little self-esteem and self-confidence he still has.”

The ex-policeman rolled his eyes and sighed before handing over his property. The novelist could have savored this victory if it hadn't brought them back to square one.

“What do we do? Should we abandon the project?” suggested the Chicago native.

“I'd love to know the results, honestly, Reid admitted, but I don't want to hurt Hotch.”

“And, at the same time, continued JJ, if this test proves that he's Jack's father, it'll take a burden off his mind.”

“So, we come back to my question: what do we do?”

Everyone casted questioning glances at each other. They wanted to help their colleague feel better, but none of them wanted to be the bearer of bad news, let alone spend the rest of their lives with the weight of the truth on their shoulders.

“In any case, there's no way I'm opening this envelope,” said Penelope, moving away from the group.

“I'll do it, decreed Dave, cheerlessly. It's my idea, and it's up to me to accept the consequences to the end.”

“But if the results are negative, does that mean you'll be willing to take on the job of reassuring him again on the matter, when you'll actually know it's wrong?” pointed out Kate, dubiously. 

“Ouch!” commented Spencer, his irises leaping from his female coworker to his elder.

He hadn't thought of that possibility either, but threw out: 

“Somebody's got to open the damn envelope.”

“Is there a problem?”

The team gasped as they heard the cavernous voice behind them. They turned as one to see their leader standing beside them. They'd been so absorbed in their discussion that they'd stopped paying attention to their surroundings. Hotch looked at them blankly for a moment, then looked at the envelope in turn.

“What is it?”

“What? Ah! Stammered Rossi, unease. Uh… these are the results of a medical test I took.”

“A test? For what?” worried the giant, his eyebrows more furrowed than usual.

“No big deal. It's more of a routine check-up.”

He had tried to adopt his most detached attitude, but the expression on his interlocutor's face proved that he had not achieved his objective.

“Dave, would you tell me if something serious was happening to you?”

“Of course, Aaron. You’d be the first to know.”

The interested party seemed even more concerned, but the ringing of a distant telephone made him look up at his desk.

“I have to go. Don’t forget to keep me in touch.”

“Everything is fine, don’t worry.”

The BAU co-founder patted Hotch on the shoulder as he walked away from them, and they watched him climb the ramp to the walkway and disappear into his office. A general sigh passed through the federal agents' rib cages.

“Are your legs shaking too?” Garcia asked, leaning on the nearest piece of furniture. 

“If it was just the legs...” confirmed the other blonde on the team.

“Well done, Rossi,” congratulates sincerely Derek, who didn't seem to mind any more than his comrades.

“Fortunately, he always worries more about others than himself.”

It would have been a lie to say that he'd thought about it when he came up with this justification, but fact was that the giant's altruism and empathy had made things much easier for him.

“We might have to open that envelope now,” Callahan snapped, curious in spite of everything.

“Wish me good luck.”

Dave followed in Hotch's footsteps, but continued on his way to his own workspace, next to that of the colossus in the suit. He sat back in his chair and placed the envelope on his desk pad. He was afraid. Afraid to open the envelope and learn the truth. Afraid of condemning himself to silence for an indeterminate time. Afraid of having to lie for the rest of his life about the true nature of the bond between his friend and the boy he hoped would be his son. Afraid to face Aaron's scrutinizing gaze every time his insecurities resurfaced.

                He knew that the man behind the wall behind his back hadn't chased fatherhood – his difficult childhood hadn't encouraged him to extend the lineage – but that he adored Jack, nonetheless. More than that, the former pensioner was convinced that if the little boy hadn't existed, Aaron probably wouldn't have found the strength to overcome all the hardships he'd been forced to endure. Without the toddler, he'd never have recovered from the death of the only woman he'd ever loved. He hung in there because there was a four-year-old who needed him. Then, little by little, he had gained confidence in his new role as a single father and, year after year, he had even managed to overcome his grief to the point of getting back together as a couple.

                To reveal to him that Jack was not of his blood was to set him back almost a decade and annihilate all the efforts he'd made up to that point. It was tarnishing – ruining – the last nine years of his life, just as Haley had soiled their twenty-five years together by cheating on him and then filing for divorce. Dave hadn't been there for the birth of their child, but he'd been there for everything else, and he wasn't at all happy to destroy it. On the contrary, he really wanted to help his neighbor relieve his conscience of at least one of his anxieties. And for that, he had no choice but to throw himself into the lion's den.

He took a deep breath and picked up the envelope. So as not to back down again, he didn't wait to open it and extract the tri-fold sheet it contained. The paper was thick enough that nothing could be read from the outside. With his heart pounding against his ribs, he slowly unfolded the letter: first flap first, with the date, title, and laboratory logo; then the next two, clearly displaying the results. A long exhale escaped his lips.  

A few moments later, the profilers saw their colleague cross the few meters separating his door from that of the manager. He had a serious look on his face. He knocked to signal his presence to Hotch, still on the line, who beckoned him in anyway.

“Listen, I understand your concerns, but my team is used to this kind of situation and... Yes, even agent Callahan… he affirmed, rolling his eyes. I don't think this information will be of any use to you... Very well, we'll discuss it in person... Of course… And I'll get back to you as soon as possible... Have a good day too.”

He hung up immediately afterwards and turned his gaze on Rossi, who was standing in front of him.

“Something tells me you're not going to answer them right away,” Dave said with a smirk.

“I have no idea why you would think that.”

“Intuition.”

They smiled in unison, then his superior became serious again.

“What can I do for you?”

“Read this.”

He placed the envelope on his desk.

“These are your medical results, he remarked, confused. It’s private.”

“You wanted to know if I was okay. You'll find the answer in here.”

“Why won’t you tell me?”

“Aaron, open this letter, please.”

Disconcerted by his insistence, the giant obeyed, not without some hesitation. His perplexity gave way to annoyance, however, when he read the document's subject.

“You did a DNA test?” he scolded, glaring at him.

“Keep reading.”

Hotch gulped. He was hesitating, logically. He hadn't asked to know because he didn't want to know. He didn't want to lose the person he loved most in the world. He didn't want to be reduced to a wallet on legs for Jack. Dave understood his reluctance, so he made sure to appear as relaxed as possible. Finally, the branch manager applied himself and unfolded the entire sheet. The features of his face suddenly distorted. Anger vanished and a daze overtook him. Then tears rolled silently down his cheeks.

“I’ll leave you to it. You know where to find me.”

Rossi left the office, leaving his tenant in shock, and rejoined the group that had gathered at the bottom of the ramp. Penelope had emerged from her lair and was watching him walk towards them, her eyes shining.

“So?” she asked, in chorus with JJ.

“It’s a boy.”

Relief and joy took hold of the whole assembly, which found itself smiling and colorful once again.

“Are we sure?” wished to clarify Derek.

“Yes, the match is there.”

“I've got to go and give him a hug!” stomped Garcia, tears of happiness escaping from behind her glasses.

“Penelope, give him time. He's got a few years' worth of doubts to sweep under the rug right now.”

“I'm so happy for him,” declared JJ, moved.

“Me too,” toped up Spencer, grinning from ear to ear.

“I don't know him as well as you do, but I must admit I'm relieved,” revealed Kate, who shared her peers' elation.

“Here he is!”

At the analyst's exclamation, all eyes turned to the manager's office from which Hotch had actually emerged. Letter in hand, he walked slowly towards them, a neutral expression on his face. The general jubilation subsided into discreet smiles. Their superior froze in front of them, and the tension spread to Dave and his neighbors. By having this test done without his knowledge, he had trampled on his privacy, something the giant abhorred. Whenever his men had started poking around in this area, he had always reacted very badly. It was probably the only thing that made him bang his fist on the table about them. Except that this time was different from all the others. He spread his arms and embraced his mentor, saying:

“Thank you.”

“Mazel tov,” exclamed the latter, responding to his embrace with a few friendly pats on the back.

“I'll never know how to thank you.”

“Stop doubting yourself.”

The titan smiled and detached himself from him, but not without keeping a hand on his shoulder. Rossi was delighted to see him so happy. He had succeeded in his gamble. His colleagues approached in turn, and Morgan extended his hand in the direction of the man he'd had to replace at short notice years earlier.

“Congratulations!”

“Thank you,” answered Aaron, squeezing his palm.

JJ was the next to congratulate him, but she allowed herself to give him a hug. Garcia then threw herself at him, her red cheeks bathed in tears. 

“I am so, so, so happy for you! You have no idea.”

“Thank you, Penelope.”

Spencer dared an awkward embrace, offset by the radiant, confident smile that lit up his youthful features. Callahan waited for Hotch to face her before speaking:

“If all your affairs are resolved like this, I'll sign on for the next ten years.”

“I'll make a note of it, replied the ex-prosecutor, amused, before he regained his seriousness by enveloping them with his gaze. I… I should be mad at you for going behind my back, but...”

The end of his sentence disappeared into limbo, his smile revealing the depth of his thought. Dave guessed that he was a little embarrassed to be the center of attention, but that he wanted to share this moment of joy with them.

“Thank you.”

“You're welcome,” said Reid, proudly.  

They all burst out laughing, dispelling the pressure that had been building up.

“How did you get Jack’s DNA, by the way?... Oh, the brunch,” he realized all by himself.

“Sorry,” apologized the culprit.

“Well done.”

JJ immediately blushed, touched by the compliment.

“Well. Clearly, I owe someone a meal now,” he stated as the team filed out of the open plan to retrieve their respective places, and he and Aaron returned to their desks.

“To who?”

“To the coroner who performed the test.”

“If that's all there is to it, just make an expense claim. I'll validate it with my eyes closed,” assured the colossus, ecstatic.

“It’ll be fine, he answered, laughing. Thanks.”

He squeezed the shoulder of his friend and, by now, official family man, before resuming his day's work. Curiously, despite the harsh news they received by email that day, the same calm smile remained on the lips of the BAU agents.

___

I'm still alive! Actually, I put my other works on hiatus just to write this for Father's day (which was last sunday in France), and I'm now back working on three CM AU at the same time. Yes, three. I'm crazy. XD

Well, I hope you've enjoyed your journey. ^^

PS: Yes, I know "Mazel tov" doesn't mean "congratulations" and Aaron knows it too, but Dave is always so cheerful when he's using it that he never told him that he's wrong. ^^;

[britt-kageryuu]

Donnie is going around his lab, checking on works in progress, re-reading test results for past projects he put to the side, and adding some new pictures and notes onto his Multiverse Board.

They didn't feel like they wanted to revisit an old project, but their curiosity was really pushing to see what possible changes could happen if he just poked through to change even just a few variables. But he remembered why he shelved that particular project, and instead adjusted it.

He figured if he couldn't open a way to a different dimension, he could at least make it so that only other versions of their brothers and himself could find their broadcasts and VODs. They haven't found proof of this adjustment working just yet, but then again he was purposefully making sure they couldn't directly come to their dimension. So messages might also be getting caught in that filter.

They stop infront of a set of shelves that have multiple Comic Books, Novels, DVD/Blu-ray, games, and some toys of their alternate selves. They started collecting these because it was the "safer way" to have a form of contact from the different dimensions, plus it made it much easier to watch their whole story and not just see random glimpses that were vastly lacking in context.

Donnie pulls out his custom jailbroken Switch, specially modified to get games from other dimensions, to play through one of the games based on one of their variants. They still had trouble with getting some of the games, but they're sure it's just a 'timing issue' with release dates. Some of these games were purposefully chosen for their multiplayer functions.

They had opened a theoretical 'Multiverse Server' and would leave these online games as an open join, or random drop in, from this server. It was technically the safest way from them to have multiplayer games without some random crazy trying to drop in. But there wasn't any new activity or added members since Donnie had added his families accounts to it.

Donnie had shared the games with their brothers, and they agreed to play a few of them on stream for the hell of it. Maybe if only to cause some chaos and confusion for the audience. The only times they let the audience join a game is through the Patreon Servers, or Jack Box games, and even then it's with limited interactions.

Though Donnie kept this MVS open, just incase one of his counterparts wanted to have some form of contact to their dimension. Even if it's mostly through the chat systems of some random online games.

Donnie tried to keep their mind from wandering while trying to play through one of the games about one of their variants. They were enjoying the game despite the fact that they were slowly running out of possible upgrades without beating the big boss. He had gotten so close that one time, but alas he forgot the trope of there's a second stage that's harder than the first.

They still keep an ear out for any notifications that might come in while he tries to ignore the urge to potentially RIP apart reality, just to meet alternate versions of themselves.

Donnie totally didn't chose a very specific notification sound just incase someone did try to contact them.

These is definitely not a small pile of broken controllers from him, in an uncharacteristic moment, throwing a controller at the wall in rage, because he thought a notification was from a different dimension, and not his father asking for help fixing the projector again.

This is at least partially why he set himself up with multiple things to do, because if he didn't need to do so much, they'd be sitting here all day just waiting for the slight possibility of contact...

Maybe he should check in on whoever's streaming, and see if they wouldn't mind them joining the stream...

Yeah, that would be a much better distraction...

Once he finished this run through in the rouge like game, and double checked that everything was still running at max proficiently!

HE WAS NOT TRYING TO AVOID HIS PLANS TO AVOID MONITORING THE MVS!!!

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

Masterpost

Technically speaking Donnie has breached the Multiverse, it's just they're not allowed to open a portal to them. Thus he's collecting merch, and sending copies of his drones into a void to monitor other Multiverse Merge Points.(AKA TMNT AU meetups)

[finniestoncrane]

Finnie I have absolutely unbearable Egon brain rot atm the need for this man plz 😔

I feel he would def want to do little “experiments” on his partner in the bedroom, testing how they would react to different stimuli and such 😔 man is taking notes making graphs going the whole 9 yards

Homework

Egon Spengler x Female!Reader, word count: 700 mietko honestly this is *chef's kiss* because i cannot express how in love with him i've been since forever ;-; request info • prompt list • send me a request • kofi • masterlist minors DNI!! 🔞 cw: just sex u-u

It was entirely logical that you would eventually be interested in having sex in the lab with Egon, which is how he reconciled the idea with his own conception that he was not adventurous enough to even suggest something like that to. He was in there so often, and you’d insisted it was where he looked best. Because when he was focused and deep in thought he was ‘extra dreamy’. And while it was hard to get him to commit to stepping away from his work, you managed to get him around but letting him turn you into his work, knowing he would be down to experiment.

An hour of convincing, telling him all of the things you could do, letting him kiss you and touch you softly, flirting back in an attempt to seduce him had finally got him excited enough to put the plans into action. So you stood there, watching him carefully move his specimens, the vials of chemicals and various tools. Once there was a clear enough space, you hopped onto the workbench, squealing at the cold metal against your bare thighs, noticing that at the sound, Egon had cleared his throat and readjusted his glasses.

“Already recording a reaction, Doctor Spengler?”

“Should I be taking notes? This might actually make a practical study. Let me get a pen.”

As he turned to find a pen and a notebook, you managed to grab his tie in time to keep him focused on you, pulling him down to you, kissing him and letting your free hand find it’s way to the dark curls on the top of his head. From his throat, you felt a deep, rumbling moan build, filled with pleasure, evidenced by the way his deft and slender fingers began to drift from your hips to the front of your blouse, slowly undoing each button.

While he continued to slowly undress you, he pressed his face into the nook of your neck, kissing it softly, grinning into your skin at the soft gasps you let out against his touch. Once your body was exposed, you felt his hands drift away, waiting in anticipation for what was coming next. But the longer they were off of your body, the more aware you became of the soft scratching sounds from behind you, opening your eyes from the kiss to see that he was leaning his head over your shoulder.

“Egon.”

“Yes.”

“What are you doing?”

“Making notes. It’s fascinating how your body reacts to even the lightest of physical sensations when you are already in a state of heightened arousal. It would make for a highly useful graph.”

“Useful how?”

The sound of the pencil hitting the table, the notebook being slammed shut. He brought his face before yours, dipping your back with his arm, kissing you with an increased passion, soft but firm.

“For future efforts.”

Trying to breathe against his forceful and deep kiss, you struggled out some words.

“Oh yeah…are you going to present them?”

“In graph form.”

Giggling into him, you whispered softly into his ear.

“If only you had thought to strap a heart monitor to either of us.”

Hands gripping your thighs, he pulled you up and around him, carrying you to the grimy sofa that sat in the corner.

“Next time. We can set a base level for expectations on length of activity for now and then proceed from there.”

He looked down into your eyes from his position on top of you, bring his wrist to your face.

“I’ve been timing it.”

“Wow, and did it take-”

“You were aroused from the point of discussion and commitment to the study.”

“I was not!”

Egon sat back, reciting his evidence to you.

“Your heart rate, evidenced by your pulse and breathing rate, was elevated when you came into the lab. Touching your wrist, then your forearm, then your cheek in succession all led to a rush of blood in your cheeks, blushing, a natural reaction to affection, physical or otherwise. When I applied pressure with my grip around your arm, and then stared into your eyes without blinking, you pressed your thighs together, which I assume meant-”

“Ok, ok, ok. I’ve heard enough. It’s impossible to refute. I am very attracted to you, Doctor Spengler.”

“And...would you like to see the evidence of my attraction to you?”

[moosemonstrous]

Ghost Rider Pacific Rim AU - the inherent injustice of being the youngest person in any group

The Wall is nearly ready.

Amadeus likes a good wall, especially if he gets his hands on a printer and some red string. It’s good to be able to put all information in view at once – helps him organise his thoughts, or at least present them in a way that appears organised to a random observer.

“Oh, so we’re in crazy town already?” Tony sighs. “Cho, it’s not been a week.”

The Wall is nearly ready, save for a giant empty space he’d mentally labelled as OTHER PILOT. Now, Amadeus would be the first to admit he can get excited a smidge too quickly, so when he talks Tony through his and Montesi’s findings, he needs to make sure to include absolutely everything. He starts with two near-identical sets-of-four scans of the Maximoffs’ brains.

“No, no, let him talk,” Montesi pushes him into a chair. She’s got her hair up in the messiest bun Amadeus has ever seen on her, and he’s fairly sure she hasn’t meditated once since the first MEG scan came back making zero sense. He’s a great influence on everyone around him. “I triple-checked every conclusion. If this is real…”

“These were taken still in drivesuits, straight out of the Conn-Pod,” he says, tapping the highlighted area in the centre of the sagittal view. “Increased blood flow and activity in hippocampus for up to forty-five minutes after disconnecting from the hardware.”

Next: the original MRI Carter’s team took after the techs fished Reyes out of The Charger. Then, the results of the whole set of tests they took on his first day as their, ah, research participant. Montesi had the misfortune of taking the Hippocratic oath and doesn’t like the kind of language Amadeus got used to in private labs. “Six hours,” he says, pointing at the MRI, “three days,” pointing at the day-one MEG, then: “and yesterday.” He got a little carried away time-wise and didn’t image the scan onto a more user-friendly brain model, so it’s just rows and rows of electromagnetic waves in a table, with the relevant anomalies highlighted in neon green. Tony is a smart cookie; he’ll figure it out.

Smart as he is, he doesn’t really deal in meat brains. “Kid, help me out. What am I looking at? These are all pretty much the same.”

Amadeus just about manages not to clap like a proud parent. “They pretty much are!” He stretches himself across The Wall to point out the similarities in the detected anomalies: “See that? Minimal, but present activity in the frontal cortex, and constant stimulation to the hippocampus.” (Please please please don’t find something obvious I missed this is too interesting to be just. Nothing.) “Six! Days! No aneurysm! No seizures! Not even beginning stages of neuron malfunction!”

Tony pinches the bridge of his nose. “Is this another Spector?”

Amadeus is ready for that. “Nope. His history is muddled at best – we really need to get into that, by the way – but there is no prefrontal cortex dysfunction, and no damage to the anterior cingulate gyrus.” Tony sends him a truly murderous glare over his fingers. “If it was DID, or schizophrenia, or anything, we would’ve seen signs of it by now. We mapped out his brain millimetre by millimetre, alright? There isn’t another explanation, it must be–”

“Don’t say it,“ Tony warns, but Amadeus can’t help himself:

“–ghost drifting! Come on, Doc, back me up.”

Montesi clears her throat. “He’s right.” Before Amadeus can whoop in victory, she adds: “Don’t put that in writing, I have a reputation to uphold.” She straightens the lapels of her lab coat. “Reyes needs thorough monitoring. There might well be nothing on the other end of that drift.”

“Well—”

“No,” she says, already aggravated by their many, many previous discussions on the topic.

“But—”

“No,” she repeats. “Yes, something weird is going on with his brain. Yes, I think we should investigate. But we have no evidence it’s connected to that dreadful jaeger.”

“Yet!” Amadeus is distantly aware that the noise he makes resembles a dying goose. “Tony, just hear me out.”

“Give me a damn minute.”

Both Amadeus and Montesi back away from the Wall to let him inspect the scans at his leisure. Amadeus hates being evaluated in real time; what he wants is to provide supplementary information to every piece of paper Tony looks at, what he has to do is wait for him to draw his own conclusions. Even though his understanding of neurophysiology is at best intermediate, and even though it’s Amadeus who’s supposed to be the biology side of their partnership—

“Take it down a notch,” Tony tells him seriously. “You’re about to vibrate through the floor. Go grab a drink or something, I need a word with Vicky first.”

“It’s my office,” Amadeus grumbles, shoving his hands in his coat pockets.

“It’s my base,” Tony raises an eyebrow, but Amadeus knows better than to challenge him on that. “Run along, come back in fifteen. I’ll need you to walk me through the spongy bits again.”

*

Robbie thinks his spine might have turned to jelly. The wooden bench in the locker room didn’t look comfortable at first, but now he reckons he could stay on it for the rest of the shift. Or maybe the rest of his life.

It’s not the most tired he’s ever been. But it’s somewhere in the top five, for sure.

“Hey, man, that wasn’t too bad,” someone punches his shoulder. Robbie is too numb to figure out whether it was hard enough to hurt or not hard enough to register. “Have some water before you pass out.”

He accepts the plastic bottle. Briefly wishes death and suffering upon everyone who laughs when he can’t operate the screw top with his shaking hands. Finally, shoulder-puncher takes mercy on him and takes it away, then hands it back, open.

“Thanks,” he manages to mumble between sips. His bad eye is all screwy and he can still feel adrenaline pulsing in his temples like a hammer. Is he really supposed to do this every day? He doesn't know if he can find his legs before it's time to pick up Gabe.

“First day always sucks,” says the shoulder-puncher. “Brooks doesn’t normally stay on one person the whole time.”

Oh. Good. Someone else says: “I thought newbies were all air support.”

“No way, he’s too short for air support.”

“I could do air support,” Robbie frowns. He’s... not entirely sure what air support is in this context. He’s only partially convinced he’s actually forming words. Shoulder-puncher grabs the water bottle back before it slips from his fingers. “’m not. But I could.”

“Sure you could, pip-squeak,” Shoulder-puncher laughs. His accent is... familiar. Robbie tries to focus enough faculties to actually look at the guy. On his way to buff, blond, freckled like someone who hasn’t given up on a tan despite all signs indicating it isn’t meant to be. Maybe a couple of years older than Robbie. “You sound Californian.”

“East L.A.,” Robbie confirms. Shoulder-puncher points at one of his mates with a satisfied smirk and collects a bundle of Hong Kong dollars among a mix of cheering and booing.

“Grew up there before my old man got drafted,” he tells Robbie, tapping the side of his nose. “Name’s Guerro.”

The three other guys in the locker room also have names, and Robbie will be very embarrassed he can't remember them in the near future. They're training to be on the ground cover, but just as anyone else in the academy, plan to become rangers as soon as the new jaeger finally gets built.

"Brooks said--" Was that meeting classified? Robbie is too wiped out to care. "Vibranium problems. There's a delay."

"Aw, fuck that noise," probably-Kim drops down on the bench to his right. He makes an exaggerated double-take when he notices Robbie’s bad eye. "Dang, did Brooks get you in the face?"

"Accident," he shrugs.

"Make sure you see Nurse Carter, get some drops for that shit," Guerro cranes his neck to take a better look. "It's too fucking damp here, everything takes forever to heal up."

It's... nice. It's nice to have people talk to him rather than at and over him, and use a language he can mostly understand - there's some Cantonese inserts he's still getting his head around. Guerro and his friends tease him for being too-brain dead to remember the way to the barracks and express jealousy that he gets to bunk with the civilians. There's the tiny, irritating sliver wedged between his ribs that bristles at being the new kid again - always - but Robbie is truly too exhausted to pay it any mind.

Besides, comes a thought, if anyone around here is going to make ranger, it's you.

***

(Thanking @cicada-candy and @rokhal for the Spector idea. Also @wazzappp for help with the science magic bc let's be real in my hands that's the best we can hope for 😌😅)

[tinyshe]

Understanding Sourdough

Sourdough is an enigma, as it’s both simple and complex. It’s a naturally leavened bread that comes from the starter, which is the life force of your bread. A starter is a mixture of flour and water that absorbs the yeast and bacteria from the air and forms a stable colony. The living organisms that feed on the flour and produce gas and lactic acid, which both flavors and raises the sourdough.

Don’t Toss the Discard

When you remove some of the starter you offer the yeast more food each time you feed it so it’s not combatting with so many other yeast cells to get enough to eat. But you don’t have to toss the discard if you don’t want to. Place the discard in a separate container and keep feeding it. After day 7, the discard will be strong enough to give to a friend or use it for baking.

Stopping Your Starter for a Spell

You can dry out your healthy, thriving starter by spreading it in a a very thin layer on a parchment paper-lined baking sheet and leaving it out until it’s brittle. Then, break it into pieces, keep the dried starter in an airtight container, and when you want to use it again, rehydrate it by dissolving it in warm water and feeding it as usual.

DAY 1

In a clear glass jar or similar container, stir together 1/4 cup (32 grams) bread flour, 1/4 cup (33 grams) whole wheat flour, and 1/4 cup (60 grams) warm water (75°F/24°C to 85°F/29°C). Loosely cover with lid or a small cloth. Let it stand at room temperature for 24 hours.

DAY 2

You may or may not see much active during the first 24 hours; regardless, you need to discard about half of the starter. Discard all but 4 tablespoons (57 grams) flour mixture remaining in jar. Add 1/2 cup (64 grams) bread flour and 1/4 cup (60 grams) warm water (75°F/24°C to 85°F/29°C). (This mixture of flour and water is called the “feed” because it is literally food for the natural yeast and bacteria.) Stir until combined. Loosely cover with lid or a small cloth. Let stand at room temperature for 24 hours.

DAYS 3 THROUGH 6

Continue to discard and feed sourdough following the same procedure and with the same mixture as on day 2. The starter should be showing significant signs of activity. Check on your starter every 6 to 10 hours to see if a routine is building.

DAY 7

Discard and feed your starter as you did on day 2. Check activity level by carefully dropping in a small spoonful into a glass of cold water; if it floats, it’s active. If it does not float, it needs a little more time to develop. If there has been little activity in your starter at this point, it might need some help. Consider feeding it twice a day (or every 10 to 12 hours) and leaving it in a warmer spot to increase activity.

DAYS 8 THROUGH 13

Continue to feed your starter daily (or twice a day if it needs the help). Monitor its activity level and smell. It should smell slightly sour and yeasty, kind of like ripe cheese or yogurt.

DAY 14

Congratulations! You should have a healthy, thriving sourdough starter on your hands. At this point, it should rise and fall on a consistent timeline, smell ripe, and pass the same float test from day 7. You should be able to start baking with your starter, and it is ready for cold storage.

DAY 15 AND BEYOND

If you are not planning on baking bread regularly, store your starter in the refrigerator after day 14. Feed your starter as you have and let it stand at room temperature just until you begin to see signs of activity, 1 to 2 hours. Cover tightly with a lid and refrigerate; refrigerated starters need to be fed once a week. To use a starter from the refrigerator, let it stand at room temperature until it peaks and shows signs of activity again after 1 to 2 feedings.

TIPS AND TRICKS

Using whole wheat flour at the beginning gives the starter extra sugars to kick-start the fermentation process and activity level in your starter. If you don’t have whole wheat flour, rye flour is another good option. You can also just use 1/2 cup (64 grams) bread flour on day one, but it might take a little longer to see some activity. If all you have is all-purpose flour, that works, too! Just use 1/2 cup (63 grams) for feedings. Again, it might take longer to see steady activity.

If your starter shows a lot of activity such as bubbles, an increase in volume in the jar, and a fresh yeasty aroma in the first 2 to 3 days and then very little in the next few days, this is completely normal. It’s not yeast building in the first few days but other kinds of bacteria building up and then dying off. Your starter should pick back up again and rise more consistently as the right kind of yeast and bacteria build up and gain strength.

If at any point, but especially during cold storage, a dark liquid collects on the surface of the starter, don’t panic. This is called “hooch” and is completely normal! It is fermented alcohol that releases from the yeast in the starter, and it’s a sign that it’s hungry! It’s safe to consume and use; it just has a stronger sour flavor and smell. You can just stir it into the starter or pour it off; it’s up to you.

[beaisdifferent]

The Sadness of Learning

There is a mourning process that comes with being diagnosed.  And it can be really confusing.  You can spend years and years--sometimes your whole life—suspicious of yourself, knowing something about you is different, and not having the words to describe it.  You can feel so left behind, so disconnected, so misunderstood, so frustrated, and so silenced.  Then the words do come, things like mature for your age, shy, sensitive, lazy, ungrateful, difficult.

So when you put together the pieces as an adult and finally realize that you might need to seek out a professional’s opinion for all these thoughts and behaviors that you hadn’t grown out of yet, it can be so exciting.  You sit for four hours of tests, doing random activities with a stranger who calls you back after a week of thinking on it to tell you that you have autism and ADHD.

That’s it!  I’m not weird, I’m not stupid, I’m not any of those things.  It’s not me, it’s just the way my brain is wired!  It can be so validating, such an important cornerstone to understanding yourself and finding your identity and your community.

But there is also something strangely final about it as well.

I remember after getting my diagnoses, the sadness I felt was unexpected.  I had suspected myself of being autistic for a long time, and though the ADHD speculations were newer, they were firm as well.  It just made sense, this would explain so much of what was going on with me, what had characterized my internally turbulent childhood.  But when my doctor said, “Definitely autistic,” it struck me.

I think I’m still figuring out how to put it down into words.  This is permanent, this is my situation, something I will need to handle and monitor and be responsible for for the rest of my life.  There is something wrong with me.  It’s not going to go away.

I have to manage my neurodivergent self in a neurotypical world.  Even on days I’m just home by myself, even on days I’m working to get to the end of the day, even on days I wish I could strangle the pieces of me that don’t fit in the way the world demands they do.

It’s a lot of work, a lot of research, a lot of relearning how to both find mercy with myself but also take responsibility for my shortcomings, whether or not they really feel like faults.  It’s something that I have to keep in mind all the time, something I have to keep secret from certain people, something I have to hold even when it’s weighing me down.  And it so often weighs me down. 

There is something wrong with me.  I don’t want to have to be positive about it all the time, sometimes it’s really hard and I wish I was different.  There was a period of adjusting to this news, of learning how to swallow it down and accept myself as I was.  I’ve mostly settled in with it now, made a bed for it beside my own so we can properly get to know each other and rest without spite for the following morning.  After over a year of compiling the right resources, I’ve been able to use the diagnosis as a springboard to understand myself and massively improve my life.  This has 100% been a change for the better, I need anyone hesitating to get a diagnosis to understand that.  But there was a period of sadness that came with learning all of this about myself, and sometimes its still here, still lingering as I practice harder than anyone else I know to keep my shit together and fail anyway.

[sullustangin]

Fluffy February Day 26: Rain

SWTOR

Time: KotFE, early days

Words: 697

~~

“Uh… Theron?”

Theron pulled himself out of the mainframe deep dive he’d been doing on the data collected from Asylum.  It was well outside of ‘business hours’ for most planets, but Odessen, as the home base of a revolution, didn’t play by rules very much. 

That, and its ops manager was a complete workaholic, who was only kept in check by the Captain.  Her methods of doing that…

…brought a smile to Theron’s face.  He couldn’t think much further on the subject in front of others. 

Koth was giving a hard look at the security holos that monitored the exterior of Odessen.  “Virtue’s Thief’s pad cam just activated.  Motion.”

“It’s supposed to rain,” he replied, turning back to his work.

“It’s her,” Koth insisted.

Theron cast a look up at the ceiling.  “She’s been threatening to fly off and give the Thief a test drive – can’t go far in her present condition, but it might settle her ---”

“Doesn’t look like she plans on going anywhere.” 

There was a note of …something that made Theron turn to Koth.  “And?  She goes out to check the ship at night.  Sometimes.”  Yes, he was defensive of her. 

Koth made a face, concerned and distinctly uncomfortable, and he continued to look at the security holos.   “She’s wearing her pajamas.”  A beat.  “She might be having one of her… things.”  Koth made a wobbly hand motion, as if to convey ‘off-balance’.

Theron’s temper flared for a split second, but then he recalled Koth had seen her at her absolute worst. 

Koth rushed onward.  “Listen, last thing we need is her down with pneumonia or a cold or even just some of the enlisted trying to get a peep show through her viewports and end up seeing her… not all there.” 

“She’s got a privacy filter up on the ports,” Theron reassured him as he gathered his things to go.

“But Lana doesn’t need to know.”  Both men said that in unison, and Theron departed the war room.

Lana carried enough guilt about Eva’s condition, as it was.  Each sequela ate at her.  She never complained, but Koth and Theron – for different reasons – knew it.

~~

Please let her be here.  Please let her be here.

Theron didn’t know what sort of memories they’d stumble across if she wasn’t.  As worried as he was, as she came into view, his footsteps faltered in the moonlight that peered between the clouds.  It was the night-time equivalent of a sun shower

Eva was standing there, perfectly still, looking up.  Occasionally, the eyes would close in slow, deliberate blinks.  Involuntary shivers went through her; it was barely warm during the day, and night was heading toward frost.  The moonlight and shadows played across her face.  She seemed utterly at peace.

“Eva?”

She looked at him.

The peace did not leave.  The eyes were bright and –

Ok, she was here.  Right here.

“…you do know it’s raining, right?”

Eva nodded vigorously. Then she returned her gaze upward just as the moon wrestled itself out from behind a cloud, and its light gave her an unearthly glow.  “First time since Yavin.”

Theron startled and shook his head.  “Eva, it –”

“Spacer,” she interrupted him, her focus not compromised in the least.  “It might have rained on Coruscant and a whole bunch of other places, but I haven’t been on planet for a rainstorm since –”

“Yavin.”  He said the word softly.

Prior to landing here, on Odesssen, and finally – finally! – falling in together, it had been the last place they’d been together and happy.  It was the last place Eva felt rain.

“And now that you’re here…” Eva bandied the idea about, prompting his memory about what they had done, often, in the rain on Yavin.

Well, might as well make it two for two. 

~~

Koth kept an eye on the security holo.  He saw the brief conversation.  He saw Theron step in, and –

Well, if he was kissing her like that, there was some sort of sane explanation.

Koth turned off the security holo and purged the last half hour of footage.  Let it never be said Koth Vortena was not a good wingman.

~~

@fluffyfebruary

[xxgoblin-dumplingxx]

thennnn if there’s still spaces may i humbly req a threesome for ttt? i’m unsure which pairing+1 would work best for it so i will leave it in your hands if you’re up for it !!

"Aww," Harley crooned, stroking your belly affectionately when you pull on your restraints, whining and arching into the touch. "Look at her Ives, isn't she cute?"

"You mean stuck in a state of hyper-arousal and forced to orgasm at the slightest touch because the pleasure centers in her brain are all activated."

"Yeah," Harley sighed. "What a birthday."

"How you feeling?" Ivy asked, leaning down to kiss you, brushing sweat-soaked hair off your forehead. You'd volunteered to be their test subject but- this had stopped being a scientific endeavor ages ago.

About the time they realized you needed them to help you. To keep you from rubbing your clit into a bloody nub. And to make sure you got enough fluids to compensate for-

A sharp cry and an exhauster moan snapped her out of her reverie and Ivy turned from watching the heart monitor to see Harley working a dildo into you slowly, closing here eyes like she was listening to her favorite song. "Harls-"

"What?" Harley pouted, "Girls sound so pretty when they come. And she can't even try and be quiet."

"You do sound really sweet," Ivy tells you, looking down at you where you're writhing again. Unable to do much more than give yourself over to the pleasure of the sensations as they swallow you whole. Leaving little room for speech, thought, or dignity. And she smiled.

Just what she wanted. Except for the fact that you were so horny the sensation of underpants rubbing on your cunt had set you to near orgasm- so. Not exactly what she wanted... she'd have to make things less intense. She wanted her captives obedient and able to o her bidding. Still. If you were willing, she'd do this again.

It had been nice. Having a willing little fuck toy. Too drugged and needy- like a little rag doll. It was cute. You were cute. And you'd definitely be ready for some birthday cake and a shower by the time you came all the way down.

[crimeronan]

WHEW okay. ROUGH fucking start to the morning but things are gonna be okay now. putting under a cut for people who don't care abt my endless unrelenting medical drama but for those who do. Come On This Fucking Journey With Me.

so, necessary background.

i have been having intermittent medical emergencies since february and my doctor has been trying since march to get me a specialist rheumatology appointment. the rheumatology clinic keeps ignoring the referral and/or saying that they need more paperwork and documentation for it.

my doctor has at this point provided them with

her physical observations of my visibly abnormal symptoms

all of the many many many many Many medications i've been prescribed and their effects on said symptoms

multiple different types of positive ANA showing i have uncontrolled progressive autoimmune disease

all my negative antibody tests (have yet to test positive for any one specific antibody)

my doctor - who is excellent - has also followed up with them repeatedly to try to get me scheduled. because i am dying. like i try not to be super dramatic here bc i don't like worrying people and maybe i'm overblowing my symptoms but like. when you're at the point that one of your partners schedules an impromptu overnight flight to come up and monitor you for a week bc your other partner is on vacation & you're in danger of stroking and being unable to call an ambulance for yourself if someone isn't in the room to notice the signs...... i feel like at that point it's fair enough to say I Am Fucking Dying. i am dying. i've been dying for months. like very slowly and inconsequentially but MORE THAN MOST PEOPLE ARE DYING AT ANY GIVEN TIME.

so two weeks ago, after even more fucking phone tag, rheumatology was like. we have all of your tests and documentation now. we'll call to schedule you in soon :) if we don't, call us in two weeks!

today is, of course, the two week mark.

i thought it was strange that they hadn't called because my current symptom progression is usually triaged as The Top Tier Of Autoimmune Medical Emergencies. and my doctor herself has gotten me in for same-day appointments whenever i develop new symptoms because i am apparently not being fucking dramatic about how fucked up i am.

but! rheumatology is overburdened by a combination of COVID-era backups and a MASSIVE influx of newly disabled people with long COVID. and they're dealing with the same understaffing and shortages as the rest of the healthcare system. so it wasn't THAT weird.

called the clinic as soon as they opened this morning. was put on hold for a few minutes, which is normal.

guy gets back on the line. informs me they actually Don't have the test results that they need to schedule me (even though they TOLD ME THEY DID two weeks ago). and that they can't help me.

at this point i got off the phone and had a hysterical crying breakdown so profound that multiple partners swooped in to make a Shitload of Very Testy phone calls to various places on my behalf. bc they love me and are wonderful i am very loved. i have been taking the whole "actively dying" thing in stride for months for the most part but apparently this morning i hit my Fucking Limit. because OH MY FUCKING GOD.

so after an hour of hysterical crying, the receptionist at my main doctor's office calls back. she has always been very kind and takes calls from me / my partners extremely seriously, because of..... you know. The Everything.

she's just as kind and sweet and apologetic as ever but also there is kinda an undercurrent of apoplectic fury. she's spent some time trying to figure out What The Fuck Is Going On. turns out that

there was one more test rheumatology needed, even tho they said they had all my documentation. ok. fine.

my doctor did in fact order this test immediately after my last appointment.

i did in fact have the bloodwork done for this test immediately after my last appointment. like within an hour.

there was NO REASON for rheumatology not to have these test results.

except.

that the phlebotomist who took my blood.

ran every fucking ordered test.

except.

the one.

i needed.

to get scheduled.

with rheumatology.

so i've been waiting two weeks for fucking Nothing. because i thought i had my referral sorted. and the rheumatology clinic did not fucking inform my doctor that actually! they were wrong! about having the documentation to schedule me in!

the receptionist called up the lab to make sure that they Can run the necessary test. confirmed that they can. then she called up the rheumatology clinic and sent over all of my current documentation all over again and told them to be on the lookout for the final test. THEN she called the lab AGAIN to say, "hey, i'm sending you this order electronically, but i'm making an extra note that you guys need to do it right this time, AND you need to treat this as highest priority n analyze the results immediately. and i'm giving you the specific test number right now to make sure you fucking write it down correctly."

and then she gave ME the test number. and said "write this down. and when you get there, ask them what the number is for your test. and make sure that it matches."

which all took up most of her morning and truly was going above and beyond, all she really Needed to do was resend the lab order n tell me to go get more blood drawn. ESPECIALLY since it's an indie office & she handles ALL of the patient scheduling and bureaucracy.

but she is mad. and also i have dying patient privilege.

i felt much better after this because tbh half of why i was so upset was because i already know i have multiple forms of irreversible damage to various body parts and i really fucking physically feel like i get closer to dying every day and i really cannot fucking deal with being triaged as a non-priority possibly-faker hysteria patient.

but this does not seem to be the case.

so. unless something ELSE manages to go wrong with all of this bureaucratic bullshit, what's going to happen is: i am going to drive to a lab 45 minutes away to get my bloodwork done today bc that's the closest place with same-day appointments. i am going to call my doctor's office and tell them that the blood test was done, bc the receptionist said to call her from the parking lot once i'm finished. my doctor is going to receive the test results and send them to rheumatology either today or tomorrow. and within two weeks (Supposedly For Fucking Real This Time), rheumatology will ACTUALLY FUCKING CALL TO SCHEDULE ME IN.

in the most ideal and luckiest world, i will in fact be triaged as an emergency case. which means things will move fast in terms of both getting a call from the scheduling team and getting scheduled in. however it's also possible that they will have patients who are in, like, multi-organ-failure shutdown crisis, who obviously need to be prioritized above me. i do have endless paper documentation and visible physical symptoms stating that i am very very very sick, so. fingers crossed but i don't want to jinx it.

this post is very long. medical bureaucracy is a nightmare. i am very very very lucky and blessed to have so many life partners who are willing to advocate for me because as you can imagine, none of this is easy to navigate when you are unbelievably fucking sick and have a brain that is progressively losing the ability to retain language or executive function or memory.

in conclusion.

being sick is so stupid.