"Just gotta... There!"

PopularTomboy!char x Open!user

she's popular btw

kinda tall too (like 5'11) (not as tall as me btw I'm 6'12 btw)

Just tested it and... that feeling when your bot works perfectly the first time... beautiful.

I don't know what to write here, so I'm going to paste some random bullshit Short story about a fictional battle in the cold war!

I’ve been scouting for a while now in the snow, the snow crunching under my insulated boots, my icy skin burning against the winter clothing that clings to it, and my AKM rifle slung over my shoulder, pressing against my clothes. All of it adds to the lack of comfort I am feeling, the forest is silent, and I feel my Ushanka start to lean to the side to fall off. I reach up, adjusting it to make sure it doesn’t get covered even more with snow, the top is hard as a rock because of the snow that has fallen on it, converting into water, then becoming ice because of the sudden temperature change. I tightened my coat’s mask, slipped the button through its latch, and made my lower face invisible once again, with only my grey eyes visible, apart from the area on the sides of my eyes. I keep moving, my AKM’s bayonet’s dull glisten from the bare amount of moonlight shining onto the snow, which only reflects it more. I strut through a particularly thick layer of snow, the snow reaching my upper thigh, I grab the foregrip of my AKM, raising it slightly to ensure it doesn’t get a barrel full of snow. Crack, my head snaps up, my gaze flicking around, but I see nothing. I don’t believe it for a second, my eyes narrowing as I look deeper, I raise my leg to step above the snow, starting to walk over to the source of the sound. My head flicks over to some movement about 60~ feet away, I scramble for my binoculars in my rugged brown leather satchel, my thick winter gloves fumbling with the lock for a second. I unlock it and snag my finger around the loop, yanking it up, and out pops my binoculars. I fumble it for a moment before grasping it firmly and pulling it to my eyes. They’re backward. I quickly flip them around and I look again, I move it around for a moment, the objects in the distance moving like a blur from the magnification, before my eyes land on something moving. It’s a fox. I lower my binoculars and sniff to pull the snot back into my nose, a small amount of it clings to my mustache, my nose burns from the cold, there is not much scent here anyway because it’s covered by my mask, all I smell is the deodorant I applied back at our encampment. I unbutton my mask, the winter air plastering my face with the cold, a stark contrast to the warmth I had before, even with the cold creeping into my mask. I pull my mask down a bit more, allowing my lower face to be open to the cold. I reach to my left, and I unclasp my water canteen, I bring it up, the yellow aluminum shiny with water seeping through. That’s not good. I attempt to twist the cap off, but it doesn’t budge. I scoff and hold it in my armpit, twisting harder. Cck...cck... The cap slightly loosens, letting me know I am making progress. I twist harder, my muscles straining as I try to open it. cck cck cck POP The top pops off, the pressure shooting it off and landing in the snow about 1 foot away. I bring the canteen to my lips, the aluminum taste overflowing my tastebuds, I tilt my head back, but nothing comes out. I frown. Peering into the can I realize that the water is ice. I grumble in annoyance, the lingering taste of aluminum still in my mouth. I bend down, my bayonet on my rifle cutting through the snow slightly. I snatch the cap harshly, still frustrated about the frozen water. I screw the cap back on and tuck it into my canteen pouch, buckling it in. I reach up to my face and button my mask, the sudden warmth making my glaciered skin tingle. crnch I whip my head around, aiming my rifle, but nothing is there, the sights lined up with my right eye, I readjust my foregrip, allowing me to stabilize it better, I lower my rifle slightly, allowing full view of where the sound came from. The noise happening once and then not again is alerting my scouting training. I unhook my radio, bringing it up to my face, beep “P-Possible disturbance” I say into the radio, my voice muffled by my mask. beep beep “Roger that, investigate the disturbance.” An authoritative voice says on the other end. beep“Yes sir.” I reply. I stride through the snow, having to bring my legs high to avoid my boots snagging on the snow and tripping me. The quiet forest is filled with the crunch of snow under my feet. Click My holster of the Makarov unlatches, and I wrap my gloved hands around the grip. I pull it out and aim it ahead. I look around, before finding some smudged snow. “Shit” I mutter, recognizing it from my scouting training, it’s the way American Special Forces snipers cover their tracks, disguising it as a tripping animal. You aren’t fooling anyone... I quietly snake my Makarov into my holster, clasping it. click I do it softly to make sure it doesn’t alert them as if I want to die. I follow the smudged tracks until they stop. The tracks stopping isn’t what makes the hair on my arms stand if they even could because of my winter uniform. The place they stop is what makes it. The holy grail for ghillie suits. Underbrush. My blood runs colder than the air around me, but I mask it, acting as if I have an IQ of 6, I keep walking, past the underbrush patch and continuing as if I were trying to follow the trail. I know that a soldier was in the brush, and knew it better than the back of my hand, although I know a lot of things better than the back of my hand because I have gloves on 90% of the time. Beep “C-code 4, it was just the wildlife,” my voice shakes as I speak. There’s a long silence on the other line after I say code 4, signaling to them I am being stalked, and I have to stay cool, which isn’t a problem for this weather. Ccccrackkkk I whirl around, the underbrush slightly disturbed. I realize I can’t just keep going and acting like I didn’t hear it, it’s a test. A test with no right answer, if I act like I didn’t hear it, I die. If I investigate it, I die. I take the latter, wishing the backup would arrive faster, but I don’t promise anything. I walk back over to it and look deeper in the underbrush, This guy’s good, I don’t see a thing, just the bushes, but finally, something catches my eye, I raise my head slightly so my eyes are mostly invisible to whoever is in the brush, turning my head to another part of the brush so it doesn’t seem like I know he is there. I raise my rifle towards the part of the underbrush where my head is, before suddenly whirling my gun to the side and firing, BANG, the bullet flies out of my rifle, the bullet rips through where I shot, and blood splatters the white snow. Thud. My gun ejects the spent casing, clattering in the brush. beep beep “Shot heard, report scout. I repeat, report scout” A gruff voice says on the other line. I barely hear him over the sound of my heartbeat in my ears, THUMP THUMP THUMP THUMP, I shakily unhook my radio, bringing it up to my face again. Beep “r-r-roger...i-i’m here.” I murmur, hoping my voice doesn’t sound as shaky and breathless as it is. “E-enemy do-” a bullet flies through my radio, a few moments later I hear the gunshot, “ACK” I yelp as I scramble and dive behind a large tree. My radio is shattered and whimpering on the floor, making a low screeching sound from the broken speaker. I ready my rifle and peek around the tree, and I spot a slight glint from the moonlight, Perfect angle... I go back behind cover. Whip, a bullet flies into the snow where my head just was, my eyes widening, BAM the gunshot goes, only a few milliseconds later. I subconsciously reach for my radio on my shoulder but nothing is there, reminding me I have no way to report my situation. I scramble out of the cover, whipping noises follow me as automatic gunfire attempts to hit me, I brace as I dive behind a large rock. Pebbles and chipped rock fly over me as the rounds slam into the large rock. I reach into my satchel, my hands trembling as I pull out an RGD-5. My heart thumps in my ears, my nostrils burning with exertion, the cold only making it burn more. As I pull the pin out, I hold the latch on the grenade down as hard as I can, the adrenaline only making it stronger. I back up from the rock slightly, my eyes shaking slightly, I lob the grenade as hard as I can, and the grenade sails over the edge. Guess all those times playing Lapta paid off... AGHHHH! BOOM “ !” An American voice shouts, the faint crunching of boots on snow in the distance mixes with it “MY FUCKING LEG! !” A different voice yells in agony, I let the pin fall into the snow and I scramble out. I sprint as hard as I can, the chilling wind in my eyes making them water, but I push it aside. I sprint to the voices with all my might, starting to pant from the exertion partnered with the gear on me. I feel like a damn elephant in this shxx. My gaze falls upon a small tower, snow piling up about an inch on the bottom, the sides have white and green ghillie coverings, with a white roughly painted barrel peeking out one side. damn 50 cals.. I mutter. A fake tree sprouts out of the top of it, astonishingly believable too, apart from the much more vibrant brown on the wood. I steadily walk over to the side with more ghillie on it, at least as steady as I can with a rifle and adrenaline. I approach it guessing it is the entrance, probably a door that you can walk through instead of having to open and swing like a regular door. I raise my rifle, approaching the agonizing screams. I spot a man, or I guess a bush, with blood-tainted ghillie all over him, blood pooling around his mangled stump of a leg, his fellow soldier, a medic, crouched over him. I raise my gun and aim it at them. “Stop!” I shout, my voice trembling ever so slightly. The bush raises a pistol, but I am quicker, I squeeze the trigger. All in a second, a bullet flies out of the barrel, a deafening gunshot goes off, and blood splatters across the wall. The man’s sobs stop, and his head slumps to the side. The medic stands there in shock for a second, his eyes wide with terror, his hand just above the man's wound that he was about to wrap in a tourniquet. The tourniquet falls from the medic's hand, and he stands up straight, a faint rustling sound emits from his clothing. Beep “reinforcements are just about to arrive,” An American voice says on the medics' radio. My blood runs cold, and time seems to slow to a stop. I don’t waste time trying to capture the medic, I stumble backward and turn around as I run, nearly tripping but barely catching myself, I run as fast as my legs will throw me, the snow only making it slower. I look over my shoulder, and I see hundreds of figures, running full sprint towards me. I continue running, CRACK WHIP CRACK WHIP The bullets fly over me and smack into the snow, the bullet flying makes a crack noise like a whip, and the rounds hitting the snow and embedding in the dirt make a whip noise. I feel a sudden blazing pain in my shoulder, and I am thrown to the floor. My vision swims as I regain myself, I feel dizzy, the sharp pain in my shoulder throbbing. I look down and I see blood in the snow. I look at my shoulder and I see that it skimmed my shoulder, but cleared through the flesh and skin. I crawl through the snow, my ears ringing and the scent of blood in my nostrils because of how hard I hit the ground. I look up, and I see something I wish I had seen five minutes ago. I see Soviet soldiers. A medic runs over to me and kneels next to me, grabbing a bandage and stabbing me with a needle of morphine. I wince as he presses it in, but it is quickly overshadowed by the numbing of the pain. I groan as he helps me up, the ringing in my ears going away. CRACK blood paints the snow, blasting out of his head and he falls to the floor. I swallow the blood in my mouth that came from my nose. And I fall next to him, coughing up bloody snot. I reach into my satchel and I clumsily grab two earplugs. My hands tremble as I reach my hands into my hood, placing them in my ears. The sudden quiet, even with the still loud gunshots in the background gives me some reprieve. I hear a groan of an engine behind me and I whirl around. My eyes widen as I see a friendly T-55 tank, the turret trembles as it fires a massive round, the gas emission from the barrel nearly burning my face off. I stumble backward and fall on my butt into the snow. I get up, reaching for my AKM rifle, I snag my fingers around the magazine and pull it in front of me, readjusting my grip to hold the grip and the foregrip. I dash behind the tank, moving with a few other men also needing cover. I peek around the tank and see Soviet soldiers in combat with the Americans, and I run towards them. I change my grip on my rifle, grabbing the stock and the foregrip upside down, the bayonet pointed straight forward. I run at an American soldier who is firing at a group of Soviets with an M14 rifle. He whirls around and his eyes widen, but he doesn’t have time to react. My bayonet connects with his chest and impales him, throwing him to the ground, he clutches my barrel, his M14 rifle clattering into the snow. I pant as I stare at him, his lifeless eyes, the way he knows he is already dead. He looks like he is only 18, maybe 19, so much more life to live. I lace my hand around the grip, and I close my eyes, squeezing the trigger. After a few seconds, I open my eyes, and the man’s eyes are in the back of his head, his chest has a massive cavity, blown open from the gas coming from the barrel. I take the bayonet out of the cavity scrlch... it makes a wet squelch from the mangled flesh. I look up, and the Americans are dead, the Soviet soldiers helping the wounded, the tank is beside the scout tower, and the trees that were here have fallen or have been pounded by incredible amounts of bullets. A KomBat (Battalion Commander) walks over to me. “Good job, you took out an enemy scout tower and a shit ton of Americans, maybe they’ll think next time before coming after the USSR,” He says in a gruff voice, patting me roughly on the shoulder, looking into my eyes before taking his hand away and walking off.

Thanks for reading guys, have fun with this bot