❝ slept in a ꜰ ᴏ x ʜ ᴏ ʟ ᴇ last night for the first time. three of us were together. it was about 𝚜𝚒𝚡 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝 𝚕𝚘𝚗𝚐 and about 𝚝𝚑𝚛𝚎𝚎 𝚊𝚗𝚍 𝚊 𝚑𝚊𝚕𝚏 𝚏𝚎𝚎𝚝 wide. we slept in our ꜰ ᴀ ᴛ ɪ ɢ ᴜ ᴇ ꜱ and ᴄ ᴏ ᴍ ʙ ᴀ ᴛ ꜱ ᴜ ɪ ᴛ ꜱ plus our blankets. we could look up and see 𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝𝚢-𝚎𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚖𝚒𝚕𝚕𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚜𝚑𝚎𝚕𝚕𝚜 going over. 𝘲𝘶𝘪𝘵𝘦 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘱𝘦𝘳𝘪𝘦𝘯𝘤𝘦. ❞ ─ 𝚕𝚝. 𝚖𝚊𝚛𝚢 𝚜𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚣𝚎𝚛, 𝚞.𝚜. 𝚊𝚗𝚌 ₍ ₆₋₁₉₋₁₉₄₄ ₎
𝚆 𝙰 𝚁 𝚁 𝚄 𝙴 𝙳 ─── an independent, selective, and mutuals only writing blog for CONNIE of ᴄ ᴀ ᴘ ᴛ ᴀ ɪ ɴ ᴀ ᴍ ᴇ ʀ ɪ ᴄ ᴀ : ᴛ ʜ ᴇ f ɪ ʀ s ᴛ ᴀ ᴠ ᴇ ɴ ɢ ᴇ ʀ . heavily inspired by headcanons and the experiences of 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚞.𝚜. 𝚊𝚛𝚖𝚢 𝚗𝚞𝚛𝚜𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚛𝚙𝚜 during the second world war. ᴍ ᴜ ʟ ᴛ ɪ ᴠ ᴇ ʀ ꜱ ᴇ / ᴍ ᴜ ʟ ᴛ ɪ ꜱ ʜ ɪ ᴘ . [ viewer discretion advised ] written by 𝚔𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚢, twenty-five plus, female.
[ 𝙾𝙽𝙴 ] welcome! glad to have you. this blog is a single muse roleplaying blog for connie of the mcu's captain america: the first avenger. as connie is on screen for a total of fifty-seven seconds and hasn't shown up since in any form of marvel content, this characterization is heavily drawn from headcanons and the experiences of the u.s. army nurse corps during the second world war.
[ 𝚃𝚆𝙾 ] i'm a historian by training and have done extensive research both into the era as well as the lives of the women of the u.s. army nurse corps. no knowledge of the period/movie or desire to write in it is required. any necessary info is in the carrd, and i have plenty of alternate verses.
[ 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴 ] darker themes are present as can be expected from the period. if any of these easily trigger you, please take care of yourself and don't follow. i tag common extreme triggers and mutuals' triggers as 'trigger tw'. i have no triggers.
[ 𝙵𝙾𝚄𝚁 ] this is a mutuals only blog which means i only write in-character content with blogs i am mutuals with. do not send me messages or asks asking to rp if i don't follow you. if we aren't mutuals, whether a roleplay blog or a non-roleplay blog, you are still welcome to dm me or send out of character ask. non-roleplay blogs, you can like or reply, but please don't reblog any of my original content. it messes up my activity feed, and i will message you asking you to delete it. as for interactions, i prefer some amount of plotting, but off the cuff is always fine.
[ 𝙵𝙸𝚅𝙴 ] i love aus, and i'm happy to make verses for a wide range of fandoms and time periods. ocs are always welcome.
[ 𝚂𝙸𝚇 ] activity can be sporadic here. as you can see above, i have multiple blogs, and i cycle through them. irl, i recently lost my father, and i have major chronic health issues so hiatuses may be sudden and unannounced. however, i always come back! additionally, most content is queued.
[ 𝚂𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽 ] while very ship friendly, i ship with chemistry and don't autoship. overall, i value platonic relationships just as much or more so than romantic ones.
[ 𝙴𝙸𝙶𝙷𝚃 ] this is a mun does not equal muse blog. i will assume you are a decent person no matter the muse you write unless i see ooc evidence otherwise, and i won't assume any of your beliefs overlap, good or bad. please extend the same courtesy to me.
[ 𝙽𝙸𝙽𝙴 ] i am anti-callout unless substantiated evidence of criminal behavior can be presented. bullies of any sort are not tolerated here.
[ 𝚃𝙴𝙽 ] i don't practice mains or exclusives, but all the power to you if you do.
[ 𝙴𝙻𝙴𝚅𝙴𝙽 ] i've created all the graphics, psds, headcanons, and icons unless stated otherwise in the post, it is reblogged, or it is listed below. please do not steal, but i am usually happy to share if asked!
[ 𝚃𝚆𝙴𝙻𝚅𝙴 ] thank you for reading! check out the caard for more detail with each rule as well as info. i'm kitty, a historian and tailor/business owner/seamstress, and i live in the central time zone of the usa. if you or someone is feeling down, send in the url with 'positivity please' for a few nice lines about you (or them) and/or your (their) blog.
« what emotion do you create from ? »
take the linked quiz out of character, as yourself.
« grief »
You create from grief. It is an endless grief that pours out of your eyes and mouth and fingertips over and over again; a grief too vast to be contained. It demands an outlet, and so for you the act of creation is much like weeping. Your work is a memorial to everything you have loved and lost, all you have longed for and been denied. Much like crying, pouring your grief out into your art brings you relief. The feeling of loss pervades your work, but the depth of your grief also speaks to the depth of the love that preceded it. After all, every tragedy is only what it is because someone had loved something enough to grieve it.
tagged by : @galaxycrxss ( thank you for painnnnnn )
tagging : anyone else who wants their hearts ripped out
heyyyyyyy, i have returned from the trenches. in this case, it was another really cool paid internship (same place, same job as my last one) which was supposed to only be 2.5 months long.
it turned into a glorious five months stint on the east coast with friends and weddings and studying old clothes. i'm slowly getting used to being back home (in all good ways, don't worry. i missed being here in the midwest) and actually now have the time to be back on here.
i'm circling through the blogs at the moment, replying to drafts, answering asks if there are any, and making sure any starters are up if the blogs are still around. not going to post any starter calls or ask memes at this time and will hard focus on threads rather than other things, but if you want to start something new or prefer to drop what we had, just let me know!
it was almost amusing, how the hovering knight seemed to believe that no one, let alone her, failed to notice his increasing presence. certainly, his ability to slip below notice was fairly well developed, but such a skill only could do so much when a prolonged stay was involved. still, for a time, she allowed him to believe his presence remained unregarded. his interest in her work, in the healing down in these halls, was obvious, and far be it for her or anyone else to prevent his learning. though only so much could be from afar…
❝ rivk, ❞ the day her silence broke, there was no formality in her tone, neither was there any element of an order, ❝ can you put your hand where my left is? ❞ she held a bandage’s end there, the back of a shoulder braced to hold the wounded shin of a trooper aloft. she was perfectly capable of completing this task on her own, but it was made all the more difficult by the trooper’s pain medication clearly being far too low, the woman’s constant shifting threatening to send the leg off connie’s shoulder and no one there to help... except him. ❝ please? ❞
@warrued : INSOMNIA : for one muse to find the other still awake at 3am. ... accepting
A plethora of ponderings propel through the multifarious stratums of his bleary mind. Dawn bleeds into dusk, and all the stages in between fade into afterthought. Years upon a star destroyer have offset his internal clock –churning the cosmos into an endless gyre of liquensecent color, stirring in tune with the aeonian agenda unspooling in the back of his head. Work was an inevitable constant that haunted him even in sleep. So seldom was there time to halt and enjoy the simplicity of life, or spare a moment to heed the dull ache in his bones. And yet here he was, condemned to bedrest, in the aftermath of a nasty shot to the shoulder that had unceremoniously slipped beneath the veil of his adept awareness in the wake of a public appearance. Perhaps his age was beginning to catch up with him. Perhaps-
The melancholy thought dissipates with the soft tap of the nurse's footfalls. Fiery lashes shift with dark-ringed eyes, settling upon her with a sheepish glimmer. ❛ You don't have to say anything, ❜ he murmurs, a soft chuckle tangled within the words. ❛ I know by now. I should be resting. ❜ He sighs wistfully, his lips retaining the soft, upward curve. ❛ I can see it in your face.❜ Hux pauses for a moment as the flicker of recollection clouds the forefront of his consciousness. ❛ My mother used to look at me that way too. ❜
fingertips slipped over the surface of the datapad, page after page of files flicking before her gaze, yet never once did she pause her steps. her route in one she’s taken countless times before, winding about from room to ward to room, until boots travel beyond the medbay, up several stories, and into quarters almost equally familiar. the glow of a lamp down the hall set her mouth in a near frown, datapad held to her chest as she stepped into the room to see her friend the general awake.
he managed to shake her lips into an almost smile, but the concern set in her russet gaze refused to dissipate. ❝ and did you listen to her? ❞ connie interjected some lightness into her tone, perching on the bed’s edge to lean over his still far too lean frame. nimble fingers carefully lift the pad of bacta laid against the entry of his wound, relief at the fading tones there cool and sweet in still stress burnt veins. ❝ because you certainly barely listen to me. ❞ now, as her eyes lift, there is a fond expression, the medical officer giving his hand a squeeze.
heart forms a thousand knots when focused on his gaze, and perhaps a little of the terror there bled back out into her eyes, hold frozen. how close was she to losing him? despite rising fears and a slow ebb of belief once more, their friendship still remained real. and that sort of agony she’d tasted far too much of late. ❝ any- any pain? ❞
“Even years later traumatized people often have enormous difficulty telling other people what has happened to them. Their bodies re-experience terror, rage, and helplessness, as well as the impulse to fight or flee, but these feelings are almost impossible to articulate. Trauma by nature drives us to the edge of comprehension, cutting us off from language based on common experience or an imaginable past.”
— Bessel van der Kolk, The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma
Ah, he knew all too well how dangerous it was to let the mind wonder, especially in such trying times as theirs. Albert was sure to offer her an understanding smile and a silent nod, she need not explain further and he was at least happy to form part of a distraction from them for the time being in his intrusion.
"Brooklyn? I believe I --have actually been there," he smiled, remembering that visit just before the war, "I --had the -pleasure of being -hosted by your -President -Roosevelt and I -believe we --travelled through -Brooklyn, though I --confess we did not -have opportunity -to stop and enjoy the --borough." Though he had arrived late as he and his wife were greeted by 3million people upon their arrival in New York, it was a large crowd to get through and he was sure to go slow enough that those who had made the effort could indeed see them.
"What should I -look for if I -should ever have the -pleasure of a -second visit?" Would talking of home help or hinder? He was not sure but the King was sure to keep his respectful distance and indeed do his best to try and read if his company was becoming unwelcomed, not waning to disturb the woman who clearly had been working through such stress in her station.
❝ oh, of course. ❞ an almost self-deprecating laugh slipped her lips, quiet and accompanying a shake of her curls. truthfully the fact that the king and queen had been to the united states at all had completely slipped her mind. the fact that the moment was so faint in her mind must have meant a long shift occupied her that day. embarrassing in front of such a figure, but that couldn’t be helped, could it?
lips twitched into a smile, gaze equally light at the mere thought of a man such as the one before her walking down the streets she grew up within. ❝ well, sir, bickford’s is a good spot if you need a bite to eat for lunch. ❞ but a little more seriousness and a softer set to her lips, she added, ❝ prospect park. it’s very beautiful, and there’s a botanic garden and art museum on the grounds. my family often picnics there in the summer. ❞ now her smile bled fond, fingers still nervously working over the edge of her purse. ❝ but honestly, the characters of the neighborhoods are what i think the most interesting. ❞
also just saying, one of my favorite things to do with connie is being able to really balance the sweet and soft parts of her with aspects that absolutely do not get associated with it as much. like she is so kind, and patient, and soft spoken, but also she's a markswoman and really excelled and continues to in hand to hand training. that she adores dressing femininely off duty/in civilian life, and baking, and flowers (like who doesn't tho?) but also has such a high level of grit to her and a determination to be envied.
hello, i too have thoughts about hg verse connie. i parsed it together talking with a few friends and it IS in my verses, but just i wonder at what age does it really hit her, how very different she is and yet how close to being one of the children in the games she was.
and even though she holds it very close to her chest, i assume that is where her dislike of the games began.
