#<- that one's a little. up to interpretation but i think the whole panic of caretaker touching whumpee's nech counts

[rainbowsandwhumperflies]

whumptober day 17

don't talk to me about what month it is I still feel like I'm in august. also ik the last whumptober I posted was day eight but I just really wanted to post this one. also I might be done with whumptober this year after this? not because I finished the prompts but because I don't want to keep going. so. but anyway!!

No. 17: “You’re the lump in my throat and the knot in my chest.” Collar | Touch Aversion | “Leave me alone.”

cws: thinking new caretaker is a whumper, whumpee trying to figure out what they're "allowed" to do, themes of whumpee being owned and referring to themself as a pet, collars, caretaker is trying his best but he's not doing great

1.4k words

Caretaker had told me that I had a room of my own, here. It was an odd statement. Did he mean that I was supposed to retreat here when he couldn’t stand to see my face anymore? That I would only ever be punished here so that this was the only room that needed blood cleaned out of it? That I would be confined here indefinitely, unable to see the rest of the house?

Likes and dislikes were dangerous territory for pets. Still, I thought I’d be very grateful if that last one wasn’t the case and I would be allowed outside (maybe, sometimes, if it wasn’t too much trouble). I would not be ungrateful if I was kept in this room forever. I would never be ungrateful, ever. Especially not in a room with glow in the dark stars on the ceiling and a window. I’d still see the sun sometimes, even. Not today—it was raining, but the rain wasn’t bad either. The soft pitter-patter was oddly soothing.

I moved closer to the window, hoping that it was a thing I was allowed to do and I hadn’t misinterpreted anything. There was a thick blue curtain covering most of the window, and I hesitated. Caretaker had not clarified if I was allowed to touch things in this room, just that I was supposed to be here.

Would it be overstepping to move the curtain enough for me to watch the rain? I could just listen. The sound wasn’t bad. I would be grateful to see, but listening on its own wasn’t bad, and I didn’t know if I was allowed to touch things.

My dilemma was interrupted by a sharp tap at the door, and I spun around to face Caretaker standing in the doorframe of the room. He looked vaguely uncomfortable. Had I been supposed to close the door?

“Dinner’s ready,” he told me after an unnecessarily long pause where I was probably supposed to say something. “Do you, um. Do you like beef stew?”

Likes and dislikes were for humans. “I will eat whatever you see fit to serve me, sir.”

“Right,” he said softly. “Right. I’ve- yeah. Beef stew. In the kitchen.”

The kitchen was blue, mostly. There was galaxy wallpaper behind the stove, and I found myself hoping that Caretaker would give me kitchen duty sometimes, in this pretty place. (Nope- no, I didn’t hope, I just thought I would be very grateful if I was given kitchen duty.)

Bowls (which were purple, in case I decided that it mattered somehow) were already set out with food in them. Caretaker sat down and gestured for me to sit down too, and with the way he alternated between staring at me and avoiding eye contact, I guessed that he usually ate alone.

“I, um. I might just need to mind my own business, Whumpee, but is your collar too tight?”

Yes. That was how they sent us, to prevent running in the beginning if anyone got spooked by their new owner. Loose enough that it wouldn’t affect breathing if you focused, tight enough that it would affect breathing if you tried to fight or run or any of the things pets aren’t supposed to do. I was almost certain that Caretaker had been sent this information, and I didn’t know what he’d define as too tight. “I’m sorry, sir, but I don’t understand what you’re asking.”

“Is it uncomfortable?” Of course it was uncomfortable, but I couldn’t just say that. How was I supposed to phrase it in a polite way? “Just, you know, because we’re eating, and I feel like a tight collar would be uncomfortable to eat with, but I really don’t understand how these things work, I just. I wanted to tell you that if you wanted to loosen it, that would be okay.”

Okay. Okay. Caretaker was- he was testing me. I was not supposed to touch the collar; I knew that. I knew this game. This was a test I could pass. “I would be happy to wear the collar however tight you’d like me to, sir.”

“… Thank you,” he said slowly, which meant I said the right thing, but his tone didn’t really sound like I’d said the right thing. “Would it be uncomfortable to eat in a collar that’s too tight?”

I had not thought about that. Probably, yes, but I was uncomfortable all the time, and I was not going to fail whatever this was so that I could be comfortable. “I understand that I’m not allowed to touch my collar, sir.” I promise I understand, you don’t have to test me on it. “It’s not my place, and I’ll accept however the collar fits.”

“You aren’t allowed to touch it?” He looked confused. I wondered if he somehow missed all the information that should’ve been sent to him. “What if you grew and it didn’t fit anymore, what would you do then?”

“It would be up to my owner to decide when I needed my collar adjusted, and to adjust it.”

He frowned. “Okay. Do you want me to adjust your collar so that it’s looser?”

Pets didn’t want, but- “I would be very grateful if that was the decision you made, sir.”

“Okay,” he said again. “Yeah, I can do that.” And he stood up and walked around to stand behind me, which, shit. I had not followed this thought through. Because now Caretaker was behind me, where I couldn’t even see him and didn’t know what he was doing. Of course, he was allowed to do whatever he wanted to me, and he wasn’t required to warn me, but I liked- I was very grateful when things happened to work in the favor of me being able to see.

Caretaker’s fingers brushed against the back of my neck, and I did my best to keep from flinching. That wasn’t even unexpected; he’d stood up after saying he was going to touch my collar, and even if he hadn’t warned me, I shouldn’t be flinching away from my owner. Good pets didn’t flinch away from the people that tried to touch them.

I was careful; I didn’t flinch and I didn’t recoil and I didn’t arch my back away from the touch. But I must not have stayed quite still enough, because Caretaker hesitated and lifted his fingers and cleared his throat. “I- just. I’m just gonna grab that collar, okay?” I swallowed, hoping to somehow fix my dry throat, but it only served to push the limits of the collar more. Caretaker reached for my collar again, and I was still and his fingers were steady, pulling the collar off, loosening it a generous amount before clasping it again.

I blinked while Caretaker sat back down. The collar was, it was… very loose. Which was what I’d kind of almost asked for, and a perfect example of why I wasn’t supposed to ask for things. This was looser than collars were supposed to be. This would chafe, when I slept, and Caretaker had been kind and given me exactly what I wanted so who was I to complain?

“Is that any better?” Caretaker asked, and I refocused on the face in front of me.

“Yes, sir. Thank you for your kindness.”

He nodded slowly, eyes skimming over my face, looking for something, but I couldn’t tell exactly what. “Of course, Whumpee. If you ever need the… tightness of your collar changed, I can fix that up for you.”

Trap, trap, trap. “Thank you, sir.”

“Mhm.” He pushed one of the bowls of soup to me. “I don’t know if you’re used to eating with other people or not—I’ve lived alone for awhile, but we can eat together if you’d like. Anyway. It’s beef stew, tonight. If you don’t mind.”

I didn’t. I’d never mind what food got handed to me, especially if he was telling me that he wanted me to eat whatever he was eating every night. He was usually vague, I’d learned, but I was fairly certain that I’d found the right takeaway from that statement. And I lifted a spoon of the stew to my mouth, and it was seasoned well and tasted wonderful. If I was eating like this every night, well, I could handle this stranger being vague and uncertain sometimes. This could be a survivable thing.

[bekolxeram]

Continuing on the theme of things I've missed while S7 was airing, we have to talk about the (failed) first date. I admit it gave me too much second hand embarrassment that I usually skipped it on a rewatch. Once I managed to brave through that I realized I did miss something important, so here is another scene breakdown. Again, it's just my own interpretation.

The title of 7x05 is You Don't Know Me, that seems to be the theme of the episode: the Wilsons figuring out Mara's trauma, Eddie finding out Marisol's former nun training, Buck trying to navigate the whole dating a man thing, but they all end up making an effort to make the relationship work.

The date scene starts at the end of the actual date. We don't see much of the getting to know each other stuff, but judging by their faces, it's gone pretty well. At this point they don't know about each other's movie preference yet, so Tommy picks a place where they can decide on arrival, with Buck's input. That also signifies the nature of this date, they're literally "keeping their options open" and just seeing where it goes, without any major expectation.

Buck still seems visibly nervous, but Tommy reassures him that they're just two guys having dinner, it's a very ordinary thing that nobody cares.

Buck pretends he's at ease, Tommy points out he seems a little tensed, but he understands Buck's worry. Tommy speaks about the masculine nature of their job and tells Buck that people are more accepting than he thinks, which sounds awfully like it's from experience.

I think Buck sees it too, so he asks Tommy, who seems perfectly confident in his sexuality and masculinity, if he's been always out on a job. Tommy tells Buck about the 118 under G*rrard, this explains to the audience why Tommy seemed to be straight and a part of the boys club back in S2.

So Tommy was at least aware of or questioning his sexuality at the 118. Mr. "my girlfriend is totally coming next week" and "single is much easier than scaring women" was full blown lying about his sexual orientation. Chances are he does understand Buck's nervous fumbling, as he's probably done worse in the past.

Here comes the seemingly recurring theme of Buck making things all about himself, whether you agree with this or not, he does have a tendency to get stuck in his own head. Tommy assures him yet again that he's not accusing Buck of anything, he's just sharing his own experience to empathize.

Tommy looks a bit surprise when Buck tells him it's his first date with a dude. It's probably new information to Tommy.

And then Buck tries showing Tommy that he holds no prejudice towards queerness because he's an ally, completely oblivious to the fact that he's also one of them. Tommy tries to follow as much as he can.

Tommy senses that Buck is spiraling, trying to pull out random stuff just to bring the date back on track, so he flirts with him just to lighten up the mood and for the third time of the night, reassure him of his interest in him and the rest of the night.

Then Eddie and Marisol walk in, and Buck panics. I know Buck tells Maddie later that he "makes it seem like they were just hanging out", but if you go back to this scene, Tommy is the one who covers for Buck and takes the initiative to agree with Eddie and tell him they're just doing normal bro hangout stuff.

7 seaons in, we all know Buck doesn't have the best luck with first dates. The more he likes someone, the more likely it is for him to mess it up. So of course he has to self-sabotage here and drag Tommy into the closet with him, even though Tommy's already covered for him and Eddie is ready to move on. Tommy doesn't like mad here, he looks disappointed.

For what it's worth, Buck's hot chick comment actually makes things worse. Look at how confused Eddie's reaction is.

This snarky joke from Tommy has caused some controversy among part of the fandom. Some believe that Tommy could've outed Buck with it, but I beg to differ. Eddie knows Buck very well, Buck has always dated women. On the other hand, Eddie has never heard of Tommy dating a woman, he might have attributed it to the recency of their friendship, but that's why he immediately makes the connection in his head that Tommy is gay when Buck comes out to him later in the episode. Even if Eddie had superhuman intuition and understood the double entendre of this closet comment, Tommy would be outing himself, not Buck.

Here is another controversial moment: Tommy doesn't explain anything to Buck until the Uber is here, and he just leaves him there. First, Buck is a grown man, he can get himself home, there is no concern for his safety. Second, Tommy has every right to leave the date if he doesn't vibe with it. When Tommy tells Buck he's adorable, I don't think he's referring to Buck's overall demeanor. I think he means that Buck's nervous fumbling into queerness doesn't scare him, he actually finds it quite endearing. But after reassuring him 3 times, even going as far as telling Eddie, someone they can trust, that they're just hanging out, Buck still feels the need to make the hot chick comment and push them both into the closet, Tommy realizes that things would not go any better if they continue the date. Buck has not fully processed the fact that he's bisexual and he's dating a man. I'm sure Tommy really likes Buck as well, he want to make it work, so to him, the best course of action at the moment is to take a step back and let Buck figure things out himself first.

To Buck this may sound like Tommy is letting him down easy, but I think Tommy is consciously not shutting anything down here. He absolutely will see Buck around, he's still Eddie's friend. Tommy knows they will have to talk about it in the future, but for now, it's best to put a pause on things just to give Buck some space to process. What Tommy doesn't know is that Buck has been dumped so many times that he thinks this is it.

Therefore, not only does Tommy never intend to out Buck during the date, he is willing to keep things ambiguous for Buck's comfort. Ultimately, it isn't enough for Buck, so Tommy takes a step back for Buck to figure things out on his own.

[tritoch]

i've seen a lot of people complain about the dawntrail final dungeon for being a thing that we have basically already done and i understand and in many ways agree with that complaint but i do think it varies from the usual in ways that are actually pretty compelling.

spoilers for dawntrail follow, natch.

like okay in amaurot and the dead ends and the lunar subterrane (okay this is definitely a well CBU3 has gone to too many times), the premise is the fights you're engaging in are all kind of historical. behold, the dooms of amaurot. tremble before ra-la, a real sphinx that actually existed once somewhere. face durante, just as golbez faced him in real life.

and accordingly, because all the fighting is supposed to match the energy of the dungeons, these are moments of panic and peril. the world is ending. the worlds are ending. the kingdom is on fire. there's a solemn villain voiceover to really drive the point home (we just wanted to play...on da amaurotine playground...). amaurot is falling and look how sad it is. every world died and look how painful it was. my best buddy golbez died and it was really sad. everything is Fucked Up.

what's really fun about alexandria by contrast, particularly in the first part, is that things are fine, actually! sphene's here (well, "heah"), and we love her, and she smiles because we smile and we smile for her :). oh no alexandria is falling and it's so sad and noble because of everyone's chivalric sacrifices :( oh yay we're rebuilding from the ashes :)

it's a beautiful, tragic, noble story. and the whole time no one's talking to you, not like normal. sphene's kind of reciting the lyrics to memory from cats listlessly but everyone in her memories is talking to each other, not to you. none of them are interacting with you. you're not fighting alongside her against her enemies or taking down conjured horrors from the past.

no, the whole time you're being reminded of one very specific fact.

You're foreign. You're not from here. This is not for you. This is not yours. This peace was not yours and never will be. This grief, this hope. You chose otherwise. You were offered the chance to be Alexandrian. You rejected it. Stay over there. Stay out. You are not wanted here.

in what i personally choose to interpret as a bit of dark comedy, when things start breaking down, it's literally one of the only words you still understand.

ultimately what distinguishes alexandria from amaurot or the dead ends (intentional "this is why i'm sad" slideshows made specifically for the warrior of light to experience) or the lunar subterrane (accidental memory recreation) is that you are choosing to invade sphene's memories. you are doing a cool little backdoor heist at the luxor casino by causing chaos all over the strip before you crawl through the vents to get to the mainframe or whatever.

but in the context of dawntrail, alexandria is the invading power, the rapacious techno-dystopia that intends to carry out forever wars so it can use the literal souls of its enemies to power its treat machines and which not so coincidentally spawned in north america. and alexandria has literally invaded both tuliyollal and yyasulani at this point. so the conceit of the memory guardians helps make clear the hegemonic logic at play. you are a foreign entity. you are not a subject of the state. your life has no value. you must be removed.

or, if removal proves impossible, exterminated.

[sexlapis]

What if y/n and toji got into an argument and like the fans can tell and then they make up 🤭

awwww yesss :(((

making up

actor!toji x actor/actress!reader

parasocial relationships, making up, petnames (‘kid’)

actor!toji masterlist

*

fans don’t know what happened, but you and toji seem to be so…distant all of a sudden.

one day there were clips of the two of you on set, being all touchy and giggly and happy but then the next…you two hardly touched each other, we’re clearly avoiding one another and barely a glance was spared between either of you.

you and toji’s fanbase had no idea what happened and, being the people in a parasocial relationship with two actors that they were, they descended into panic and chaos.

rumours started flying around the internet, claiming that you and toji have broken up, that the “tojiyn ship has sunk” and “rip tojiyn”. accounts dedicated to you and toji as a couple were in tatters and dispair, threatening to close their whole accounts if this rumour was confirmed. many of your own fans were upset, but others were hoping for this rumour to be true, as they didn’t even think toji deserved you anyway and they had no shame in letting that be known. this could also be said for toji’s fans - they were happy to see you gone so that they could be delusional and hope to have a chance with the toji fushiguro. hell, even some body language interpreters jumped in to analyse the clips of you and toji. it was crazy to say the least.

your mangers had to call you both out on it and they told you both to suck it up and stop making things difficult for yourselves.

the reason for the argument?

it was a silly thing really.

you were just tired and stressed out from work. you didn’t mean to shout and snap at toji even though he was being kind to you. but you did. you’re sure he didn’t mean to shout back at you either. but he did. you didn’t really want to storm out of his house and back to your apartment. but you did.

and you both have barely spoken since.

tears well up in your eyes as you sit on the ledge of a sidewalk outside the building you’re filming in, cars blurring past you, fluorescent lights streamlining across your vision while you hold your head in your hands.

i guess i’ll be working overtime tonight.

the sky is dark and the streetlights suddenly come to life, casting a golden glow around you.

you sigh, resting your head on your knees, mind still stuck on toji.

“hey.”

a yelp leaves your mouth. you turn your head and- speak of the devil, there stands toji with his hands in his pockets, looking awkward and uncomfortable.

“toji! you hiss. “you scared me!” you look away and back at the busy street.

“right- sorry ‘bout that,” toji seems flustered when he huffs out his words, scratching the back of his head and puffing out his cheeks before strolling and plopping down right next to you, “‘think it’s time we talked, kid.”

guilt stirs up in your chest and you pick at your nails, “m’yeah. maybe…”

toji sighs and scoots closer to you, placing his hand over your fidgety ones. he smooths his thumb over your knuckles.

“look, m’sorry, alright?” toji utters softly, his eyes tender as he looks into yours. “‘shouldn’t ‘a shouted at you. i was a fucking dick.”

you bark out a slightly tearful laugh and blink out the glossiness in your eyes. “yeah, no, it was my fault too. i was an asshole. you were being wayy too nice.”

you look at him and he’s smiling, a dimple appearing on his left cheek.

toji looked so sweet, in his cosy, black winter coat and beanie.

humming, you slide a little closer to him, holding your hands out, “forgive me?”

toji scoffs and basically lurches forward, tugging you onto his lap in your arms as he litters your face with kisses, making you cackle and flush.

“yeah, kid, i forgive ya.” toji speaks and places one final kiss on your forehead.

*

the next day, photos of you and toji sitting on a sidewalk and cuddling flood the timelines of your fans, who (mostly) rejoice in the clear reconciliation of whatever unknown incident took place.

a/n: yeah actor toji is so back woohoo

[em-ontv]

Back into the life.

Pairing: Sam Winchester x fem!hunter!reader

Summary: Escaping the hunter life and going to Stanford seemed pretty good until you showed back up into his life again, reeling him back in.

Content: mentions of y/n, Sam’s in Stanford, he used to have a crush on reader, reader is friends with the Winchesters, reader is kind of cocky, mentions of Jess, English is not my first language, pretty fast-paced, not proofread

A/N: few disclaimers here, I haven’t watched supernatural (yet) so Sam may be a bit ooc, I tried my best. There's no specific indication that Sam and the reader have any romantic relationships, you can interpret it however you want, but I definitely did not write this in means of breaking Sam up with Jess. Enjoy :)

Word count: 930

You were in some dive bar, waiting for your next hunt, when your phone buzzed. Dean's name flashed on the screen, and the second you answered, his voice came through, not even a "hello" first before he got straight to the point.

"I need your help."

Typical.

"Hello to you too, sunshine," you responded, leaning back in your chair, feet kicked up onto the table. "It's been—what? Three years? And this is the first thing I hear from you?"

"Cut the crap, y/n. It's Sam, I need him back." Dean said.

Your eyebrows shot up. "Why don't you go ask him yourself?"

"I did. Kid's stubborn. Won't leave that Stanford life of his, but I need him." his exhale came through the phone like he was one breath away from losing it.

There was a pause on your end. Because the thing is, you understood. You did. There was a time where you wanted to leave too—and have something different, a normal life. But hunting? The supernatural world? It never lets you go.

"You're the only one who can get him to listen." Dean's voice snapped you out of the thought.

"Uh-huh, and what makes you think that?" you let out a sound that was close to a scoff and a chuckle.

A beat of silence, and you could nearly hear the smirk on Dean's face through the phone. "Because, sweetheart, Sam's got it bad for you. Always did."

Oh, you knew alright. Sam had always been obvious. Big, doe-eyed stares when all of you were younger, awkward stammering when you caught him looking, and that whole puppy-dog vibe he never could shake. You’d flirt with him just to see him turn red. It was too easy. The boy had it bad, but then he went and ran off to college, leaving everything else behind.

"Please, that was kid's stuff. He's over it." you shrugged it off.

"He's not over it," Dean fired back. "Never was. So, I need you to... you know, use that to get him back."

You almost laughed out loud. "You want me to seduce Sam back into hunting? Seriously?"

"For crying out loud, y/n. And it's not seducing, it's gentle coaxing." Dean rolled his eyes, his tone sarcastic. "But whatever works, I guess."

Well, whatever works. You'd find out soon enough.

—————

The second you parked your car and stepped onto the campus, you could feel yourself being out of place. Students were laughing, lounging under trees, talking about midterms and parties.

Stanford was nice. Too nice.

You waited for the six-foot-four tree of a man that used to trip over his own feet whenever you smiled at him. And soon enough, Sam emerged from the lecture hall, backpack slung over his shoulder, hair a little longer, looking every bit the normal, happy college student. He hadn’t seen you yet. Oh, this was gonna be fun.

Before you could even call his name, Sam looked up. His entire body froze mid-step. The look on his face was priceless—equal parts shock and panic, with just a dash of "oh no, she’s here." He blinked, then blinked again, clearly trying to process that you, of all people, were standing in front of him.

"y/n? What—what are you doing here?" He stammered, looking like a deer caught in headlights.

You crossed your arms, that familiar cocky smile playing on your lips. “Oh, you know. Came to say hi, check in on you."

He fumbled with his backpack strap, eyes darting around like he was hoping this was some weird dream and he’d wake up soon. “Well, I've been doing well. Studying law."

"Law, huh?" your eyes glanced over to the backpack he was holding. "Sounds pretty boring for a guy who used to get his hands dirty killing vamps."

Sam's face fell, and you almost felt bad. Almost.

"Look," you said, getting to the point. "Dean needs you back."

His jaw clenched. "I told him no."

"Well, I'm telling you yes."

There was a pause as Sam looked at you, like he was trying to figure out if you were serious. "You're just like Dean, you know that?"

"Thank you."

"That wasn't a compliment."

You just smiled and shrugged, unfazed.

Sam sighed heavily. “y/n, I’ve got a life here. I’ve got—”

“A girlfriend, I know,” you cut in. “Dean mentioned her. Jessica, right?”

His eyes flickered.

“And she’s nice, I’m sure. Sweet. Normal. Everything you want.” you exhaled softly. “But let’s be real, Sam. You can’t outrun this life. It’s in your blood. You’re a hunter, always will be.”

Sam swallowed hard. He stared at you like he was still trying to wrap his head around why you'd come all this way to pull him back into a world he thought he left behind.

“I left for a reason,” he muttered, more to himself than to you.

"And I'm sure it's a good reason, Sam." your eyes softened at his words. "But sometimes, life drags you back."

"Dean needs you," you started.

"And I need you too."

Oh. That card.

Sam’s eyes widened slightly, and for a moment, he looked like a nervous teenager again, the way he always used to when you were around him.

Finally, he sighed, shoulders sagging in defeat. “Fine. I’ll come. But I’m doing it for Dean.”

“Uh-huh,” you raised your eyebrows, already spinning around to head to your car. “I know.”

As you walked away, Sam trailing behind you, you couldn��t help but grin. Dean had been right. And Sam?

Well… Sam never stood a chance against you.

[python333]

glass half-full, or half-empty? — python333

— — — —

synopsis you're trapped in a coffin, then you're not, then you're questioning your whole life- basically, buried alive trope meets found family and meets age regression and they all have a super messed up baby that has the occasional good quality.

relationships caretaker! price, caretaker! gaz & little! reader (gender-neutral).

characters cap. price, gaz, others briefly mentioned.

word count 8.0k

warnings reader was buried alive, implied drugging, implied panic attack, sooo much disorientation in the first section it's crazy, british slang that only kind of makes sense, second person pov [you/yours/yourself], usage of both c/n [code name/call sign] and y/n [your name], wayyyy too long.

note hey!! sorry for disappearing!!! please accept this offering as an apology!!! I've finally gotten back the motivation for writing what i actually wanna write, so now i'm back to writing fics!! enjoy this new and improved interpretation of age regression!

Someone’s ribs are encasing your own. 

Well, not really, but it feels that way. Though your torso is clothed, as is the rest of your body, the defined bones of the skeleton beneath you poke and dig into your skin the same way it would if you were naked. The rotted wood around you creaks and sand falls onto your frontside from above, where the lid of your coffin is kept together solely by hopes and dreams. 

Only an hour ago, you blacked out. Fighting enemy soldiers whose fighting techniques you aren’t familiar with is hard enough, especially when they happen to keep bleach and rubbing alcohol in the same place they’re fighting you in. The two mixed together, poured and soaked into a rag that was later pressed to your face, created a substance that knocked you out. You know the name of it. You know it. But you can’t think of it, because remembering is too hard, and the wood surrounding you is too suffocating. 

Your limited air is becoming more and more apparent. There’s no light, no noise—well, unless you count the subtle static playing in your broken earpiece—basically, it’s sensory deprivation hell and you’ve committed one too many sins according to those enemy soldiers. 

Your whole body is sore. You don’t know if those soldiers messed with you after you passed out, or if this is just the result of fighting them for a few consecutive minutes, but whatever happened caused a strange weakness to invade and overtake your body. The oligarchy in your body created by this soreness left you unable to move properly, save for the occasional twitch of your skin or the ability to move your fingers freely. 

But fingers are useless when your wrists are bound. Maybe they aren’t physically bound to the floor of the coffin, but the invisible ropes made of the misuse of cleaning materials seemed to be enough to keep them down. It was irritating, and the mental ropeburn created pins and needles from your wrist to your elbow that only made you even more uncomfortable. 

The static continues. It’s cold. Cold, quiet, and God, how did I even get here? What time is it? What day is it? Your uniform isn’t enough to keep you warm. The tactical gear only makes your body heavier, not in the comfortable way that it feels when you’re heavy with sleep and ready to rest, but in the out-of-body way that makes you feel both like you’re floating and being pulled down like an anchor at the same time. You recall vaguely algor mortis, the stage of death where your body begins a gradual decline into an inhumanly cold state. 

Why you’re recalling it, you don’t— actually, no, you do know. The cold. That’s why. You’re cold. You’re cold. Don’t forget it. It seems hard to forget feelings, to forget the present, but you’ll find that it’s like breathing; inhale, you know that you’re cold, exhale, wait… you’re cold? How do you know? How can you feel? Inhale, you can feel things because you’re human, because you’re alive, exhale, you’re alive? 

Are you alive? Have you made it this far? What have you done? Not much, honestly. Or, not much that you can remember. Though there’s an overwhelming amount of hopelessness clouding your mind, you can still make out a few moments that play like a shitty wedding slideshow at your distant relative’s wedding who you didn’t know existed until a few hours before the event. The time that you told Ghost a joke that made him laugh. That other time that you told Ghost a joke that made him laugh. Or, no, wait, was that Price? 

That time that you chased after Soap while he had your unlocked phone, which, by the way, was a very normal response to that and was very valid. Yes, it was necessary for you to tackle him, even Gaz agreed with you on that. Ghost just enjoyed seeing Soap get tackled, for some very dark very strange reason that you would rather not think about too hard—assuming that you can even think any harder than a brick right now. Price, of course, disapprovingly shook his head and seemed to mentally weigh what the effect of a leash on the three of you would grant. 

Static-static-static-stat— “H—o?” 

You almost sit up, but your head bumps on the top of the coffin, and you groan. Oops. Thought a little bit too much there. 

You’re immediately dizzy and it feels like all the blood has rushed out of your head, but you still manage to stay conscious and try to figure out how to respond to whoever’s talking. 

“H—lo?” They ask again. You tilt your head ever-so-slightly so that the button on your earpiece can get pressed, and you almost start crying when you hear the small click and beep emit from the earpiece, signaling that it’s now on. 

“Hello?” Your voice is hoarse and it hurts to talk but you couldn’t care less. You have an opportunity to get out. You’re desperate to get out—or, at least, you should be. 

For the strangest reason, despite the claustrophobic environment you’ve been forced into, despite the sores that you know are forming along your stiffened spine from the rough wood you’re lying on, you feel comfortable in the most uncomfortable way. The fact that your memory is fuzzy and your movements are limited to twitching and stretching makes you uneasy, but at the same time, the absence of your typical nonstop stream of incomprehensible thoughts and feelings strangely lets you… relax. The lack of thinking, only lying down and staring up, puts you in a mindset that you don’t think is so bad. 

The situation is awful, but for whatever reason, the results of it are— are… oh God, what’s the word? It’s on the tip of your tongue, you swear, and now you’re thinking, well, shit, maybe this isn’t the best mindset. The void that grows in your head was nice maybe a minute ago, but now you’re forgetting words and yeah, no, I don’t like this, but at least you aren’t constantly second-guessing yourself. You aren’t contradicting every other thought you have, there aren’t mental wars waging in your mind that keep you unfocused and almost lightheaded, you aren’t arguing with yourself on how you truly feel. You just feel. And hell, you fuckin’ forget what you were even feeling just a few seconds ago. Thoughts come and go, nothing more than fleeting, and a part of you wishes that there was something for them to latch onto because being absent-minded feels a little too empty but your usual mind feels too full. 

You wish your mind was like that— that problem, with the glass, the… the glass… the one where everyone argues on something about it. Something about it. What do they argue about? What glass? There’s a glass, a drinking glass, that everyone argues about, and whatever side you’re on dictates how you think— what the fuck? What is that problem? God, if only you had a working phone right now to look it up. 

Oh, shit, yeah, the earpiece. There’s someone talking. Only just now have you actually acknowledged their words. They sound muffled and far-away, not at all like there’s a small microphone shoved into your ear that plays directly into it. 

“Private?” It’s crackly and still full of static, the sound is drowning in it, “Pr— a— —u there?” 

“... Huh?” You question dumbly, sounding more confused than you ever have before. There’s a ringing building up in your ears, and the person on the other end—who is talking?―is talking again. 

“Ar— —ou ther—?” They ask again, sounding… worried? Concerned? Wait, shit, those are the same thing. Damn you and your lack of a mental thesaurus. Wait, no, if you… if you use the same meaning in two different words… would that not— whatever. You don’t even care anymore. This ‘mindset’ doesn’t feel very nice anymore. You’ve been conscious for too long, you’ve started questioning yourself again, but in the worst way possible; usually, you can actually think properly when you question yourself. Now, you’re questioning your own knowledge without actually thinking about your questions first, so instead of the usual hellish loop of what does this mean? Why did I say this? What else could I have said?, you’re now stuck in the purgatory of, what was that word? What can I say? What did I just think? What? Huh? 

“Yeah… genius…” You manage to scoff, despite the heaviness of your tongue and the cotton in your mouth and mind, “Where else… would I be?” 

“Oh m— God,” The person on the other end breathes out, “Do y— kno— who you’re t—king to?” 

You shrug—well, you move your shoulders the tiniest bit up and back down—even though they can’t see you.

“Priva—?” They ask again, like a broken record, making you groan without you even realizing it, “G—z. Sergea—t Ga—ck? Y’remember?” 

“G’z,” You mutter, trying to sound out the syllables, “Giz… G— oh, shoot… Gaz? Sarge?”

“Yeah,” Gaz laughs, a little clearer now,  “Sarge, sure. Y— doin— —kay?” 

“Uh-huh,” You exhale, a little relieved that it’s just Gaz, “Hi.” 

“Hi,” Gaz sounds like he’s smiling, it’s audible in his voice, “Y’wanna t—l me where y—u ar—?”

“Uhh…” You look around the coffin with limited head movements, “I dunno, probably… probably a, uh… one a’ those grave things. Coff— coffin. In one of those. In a grave thing. Maybe. Wha’ are those called? The things?”

You sound dazed even to yourself, and mentally chastise yourself for the usage of grave things, even though you had no better words to describe it. You swear, you know the word. It starts with an “s”, you think, there’s a whole movie with it in the title by some guy named Steve-something. It has graves, coffins, the other thing that’s a coffin but not, graves, dead stuff, all that… hm. All that swing? All that… all that jazz, right, all that jazz. Wow, go ahead and clap yourself on the back for that one— oh, that’s right, you can’t, because you’re stuck in a fucking coffin. 

What a day.

“You’re in a cof—n?” Gaz asks, shocked. 

“Uh-huh.”

“Underg—nd?”

“Where else?” You deadpan, even though, for whatever reason, your instincts scream at you to be a little bit nicer. For that reason only, you tack on, “Respec— …respectfully.” 

“Jesus,” Gaz lets out a shaky breath, his voice growing a little more faint, as are you, “Wh—e do y— rem—ber being last?” 

“I don’t…” You mumble, eyelids growing heavy, threatening to droop down and meet the waterline of your eyes. 

“Don’t… what?” Gaz asks, sounding almost… scared? 

“Rember— rem’m… remember,” You reply, “Woof. That was… a toughie.” 

“Oh my God, th—’re lo—ng it,” Gaz whispers to himself, or maybe to someone else, “Private. Do y— know at all w— you m—ght be?” 

“Uhh…” 

“D—” This time, you know this is Gaz cutting himself off, because he gasps right after he begins talking and starts a whole new statement, “Is your tr—ker on?” 

“My wha’?” 

“Tracker, the— the th—ng, it’s a—ched to y—r earp—ce,” Jesus, how much can this thing cut out? 

“I don’t… what the— what are you tryna say to me?” You ask, for some reason… censoring yourself? What? Why… huh? You don’t censor yourself, you’re not five. Well, at least, you don’t think you are, not right now. Wait, when are you five? What are you saying? Or, thinking— what are you thinking? 

“The— Captain,” Gaz calls out to someone else, “The t—!” 

“Tra’ker,” You mumble to yourself, “Huh. I have one a’those?” 

“[c/n],” Gaz says into his earpiece, the sound suddenly louder than before, making you jump and almost hit your head on the ceiling of the coffin, “Are you h—rt?”

“I don’ think so,” You respond, looking down at the shadows casted over your body, “Can’t tell.” 

Gaz lets out some kind of pained noise and you feel your eyelids growing heavier. Your lungs hurt. Your lungs hurt? Oh, shoot, your lungs hurt. Gaz should probably know that. 

“Actu’ly,” You take back, sounding almost intoxicated, feeling like you’re breathing through a straw, “My chest hurts.” 

Close enough. 

“Your chest?” Gaz questions, the static slowly but surely clearing up, “Your lu—gs?” 

“Uh-huh,” You confirm. Your breathing was already a little shallow, but now its turning labored, and it feels like there’s rocks in your lungs, more and more appearing from God knows where, weighing down and taking up so much space in your lungs that the oxygen you breathe in must search for refuge within the cracks and crevices in between the stones. 

Exhale, and the carbon dioxide that leaves you seems to find a way to invite more rocks into your lungs. Inhale, and there’s less and less room, exhale, there should be more room, but instead the room— inhale, there’s no room, try to inhale again, you can’t— inhale, breathe, breathe, gasp, hold your breath, don’t exhale-don’t exhaledon’texhale— 

“[c/n]!” Gaz shouting your name startles you and forces you to exhale, a low whine coming out with it, making Gaz shut up. There’s a warm liquid dripping in trails down your cheeks, reaching your jaw and chin, the feeling of it sending waves of discomfort through your body and straight to your brain. 

You desperately try to breathe in, try to inhale anything, even if it’s the sand falling from the ceiling or the carbon dioxide that you’ve tried so hard to keep inside. 

“[c/n],” Gaz repeats your name, in a different tone this time, something more soft, something that resonates and echoes in your empty yet full mind, “We’re close, we— almo—t there, you s—l with me?” 

You continue to struggle with your breathing. Exhale, exhale, inh— exhale, inhale, ex— ex— exhale, in— in— Jesus fucking Christ, just inha— in— in— 

“I can hear you,” Gaz says, uncannily clear, he must be at least… at least something klicks within the radius of… of me… of me? Where am I? “You’re gonna be okay, okay? You’re gonna be fine. I need you to stop panicking, okay? I know that— th—t sounds easy to me, because I’m not in a coffin, but if you keep breathing like that, you’re gonna make it worse for yourself.” 

You finally inhale, but it feels so wrong, like hearing crunches while chewing what should be soft food. You gasp. You’re choking? What’s that other word for choking? Starts with a “c”, right? Wait, no, that’s choking. Dang it. 

Gaz is yelling in your ears, and it almost sounds like he’s actually there, but the wooden walls encasing you and this stupid, very smelly skeleton underneath you tell a different story. You cough. You cough again. And again. And now you’re just forcing the bad air out of your lungs, which is great and all, but now there’s no air in your lungs, which you would like to argue is far worse but you can’t argue because you can’t think and you can’t think because you’re in some coffin with a stupid— what did you even want to argue, again? 

There’s yelling. There’s commanding. There’s footsteps, heavy ones, ones that come from combat boots and men in tactical gear, the same gear that weighs you down like an anchor, that keeps you glued to this skeleton, who’s ribs encase your own. 

Or, at least, it feels like they are. Even though you’re wearing tactical gear, it still feels the same way it would if you were naked. The annoyingly present bones of the skeleton dig and poke into your skin, and there’s sand falling from between the planks of rotten wood above you, where the ceiling of the coffin is held together solely by hopes and dreams. 

An hour or two or three ago, you blacked out. You think you did, at least. You think you might black out again. Fighting enemy soldiers who fight with techniques you aren’t familiar with is hard enough, but fighting the invisible forces that prevent you from breathing in good air is even harder, because they don’t fight with guns or knives or fists; they fight with rocks that they shove into your lungs and vines that they tie around your already-tight throat. 

There’s no light, but there’s sound. Sounds that would be useful if you could think. You don’t remember thinking. You don’t remember remembering. 

But you’ll always remember this skeleton beneath you, who’s ribs encase your own. 

Or, at least, it feels like they are. The tactical gear you’re wearing does you no good, serving as the only barrier—the most useless barrier ever—between you and this skeleton and this coffin and the sand that's begun pooling around you. The skeleton, who’s ribs are— why are you repeating yourself? 

Gaz is yelling in your ear. Someone else is— someone else is there? Someone else is there. Talking, yelling, screaming, commanding, running, searching, above you— above you? Above you. While you exhale, gasp, exhale, choke, gasp, gasp, try to breath, fail, exhale, exhale, there’s men above you digging, digging and lifting weight off of you, you think. There’s more sand coming through. The loss of pressure must be making it looser.

Are you thinking? Are you feeling? Can you remember? What is there to remember? There’s an incomprehensible jumble of thoughts in your mind, and you think, trying to control your thoughts, I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. I don’t know. 

It’s getting easier and harder to breathe. You can’t. You can… wait, no, you can’t. 

You can keep your eyes open— you can keep them open, you can k— 

“—eep your eyes open, Private,” Gaz begs you, pleads for you, his voice far but close, loud yet quiet, “C’mon, keep ‘em open, stay awak—” 

—e, stay awake, stay awake, no, no, no, no— 

— 

You wake up to a stark white ceiling and some kind of electric beeping. Your head is clearer, fortunately, but still not clear enough to immediately remember what exactly happened. You remember a coffin, a skeleton, suffocating, talking to Gaz, and that’s about it. You shiver. A skeleton. You can still feel the phantom feeling of its ribs hugging your body, something you think your captors might’ve done to make you feel even more uncomfortable. 

While you’re thinking about the skeleton, you don’t notice the sliding of a curtain and the footsteps that grow exponentially louder and closer to you. 

“G’morning,” Gaz says, making you jump up and sit up instinctively, before you promptly lie right back down. Gaz snickers at you, and you turn your surprisingly sore neck to glare at him. 

“Y—” You cough, furrowing your eyebrows as you bring an unstable and floppy hand to slap around your face, finding an oxygen mask nestled right on your nose and mouth. You take a few breaths, the task uncannily easy now, “You can knock that off. No laughing at the injured.” 

“Oh, I’m not laughing at the injured,” Gaz clarifies, sitting down at a plastic chair he’s pulled up beside your bed, “I’m getting ready to yell at the injured soldier who gave me a heart attack about five hours ago after suffocating in a coffin buried six feet under in some cemetery in Derbyshire.” 

“Derbyshire…” You muse, “What’s that? Or, where’s that?”

“‘bout forty klicks from Sheffield,” Gaz hums, before seeing your blank stare, and sighing tiredly, “The one with the cute houses and the pudding.” 

“Ohhh,” You nod, now understanding, before joking, “At least I got buried there instead of, like, the bluejay one.” 

“The bluejay one?” Gaz asks, confused, before pausing and asking you incredulously, “Jaywick?” 

“Yeah, that one,” You hum. Gaz blinks at you, before groaning.

“Is this how you felt when I thought Las Vegas was in California?”

“Probably,” You grin at him, “It might be closer to when you thought NYC was the capital of New York.” 

“If it’s not the capital, then why is it named after the city?” Gaz asks, exasperated. You shrug.

“Doesn’t change the fact that the capital’s Albany.” The room is silent for a little bit. The beeping, which you’ve now identified as a heart monitor, is loud. Your heart’s beating is fast and feels like it’s going to beat out of your chest. Gaz looks down at his chest, fidgeting with his hands, wringing them.

“I, uh,” You start, making Gaz look at you again, “When I was in the coffin…” The mere mention of it makes Gaz’s gaze sharpen and his hands still.

“It was hard to breathe, and also really hard to think,” Gaz nods along, “But I was still thinking, I guess, and I wasn’t thinking too hard. Like, jellyfish type shit, y’know? Like no thoughts, but also thoughts, but like…” 

Gaz raises an eyebrow at you, and you try to explain it better, “Do you remember back in like, ele— when you were five or six and you like, just got a conscious and you’re thinking but also not?” 

Gaz’s face relaxes and he nods wordlessly. You continue, “That’s how I felt.” 

“I’m sorry,” Gaz frowns, putting a gentle hand on the metal bar on the bed you lie on, “That must’ve been… weird.”

“No, no, I liked it,” Gaz’s face goes right back to confusion, “It was nice. Which is weird. But I didn’t feel weird. I felt, like, really calm in that sense, for the few minutes that I wasn’t panicking.” 

“You… liked it?” Gaz asks skeptically. You nod. 

“Yeah.” 

“How?”

“It was just…” You try to find the words to describe it, “I don’t know. I didn’t have control over it, which really bothered me. I felt, like, small, for some reason— like my mind is shrinking but my body is still the same, y’know? So it was really…” 

After a few moments of you trying to find the word you needed, Gaz offers, “Disproportionate?” 

“Yeah, that,” You nod quickly, “It was disproportionate and sucked, and it was obviously really scary, but I wasn’t processing stuff like I usually do. Which was great.” 

“That sounds…” Gaz wrinkles up his nose, “... awful, but okay.”

“I think a lot,” When Gaz raises an eyebrow at you, you weakly slap at his knee and continue, “And earlier, when I was in that coffin, I wasn’t thinking. Everything was just going in and out just like that. It would’ve been nice to keep some of those thoughts, yeah, but when I can properly think like I am now, I keep too many thoughts and it’s like— it clutters up, and it just lingers for way too long.” 

A small flash of understanding crosses Gaz’s expression. “So, you liked not thinking too much, because you already overthink too much, and being in the coffin and high on something happened to both help and not help with that?” 

“Yeah, basically,” You hum, before realizing, “That’s way simpler than what I said. Huh.” 

“That’s that overthinking,” Gaz muses, to which you respond with a frown. 

“I’m not saying I wanna be all claustrophobic like that again,” You clarify, because you still see doubt on Gaz’s face, “But I liked thinking like that. The non-thinking-thinking. I think it would help with my stress and stuff.” 

Another flash of understanding crosses Gaz’s expression, except this time, there’s a hint of something else in there. Realization? Curiosity? You’re none the wiser to it, getting a little more confused yourself. 

“Oh.” Gaz’s slight frown disappears, the upturning of the corners of his lips now visible, “Okay. I get that. I actually think I know what’s happening.” 

“You do?” You ask, confused. 

“I gotta confirm it with the captain, though,” You’re more confused. It’s visible, you guess, because Gaz laughs at your expression.

“Don’t worry, it’s not bad,” He clarifies, still grinning, “I just have some suspicions. Y’mind if I let Price know what y’said?” 

“... Sure?” You hesitantly say, to which Gaz responds by standing up and starting to speed-walk away from your bed, making you snort. 

“I’ll be back in a bit!” Gaz calls out over his shoulder. You sigh and turn so that your whole back is on the mattress of the bed. 

You were being honest, but at the cost of Gaz apparently “knowing what’s happening”, which is… disturbing, coming from Gaz, who you’ve affectionately titled a “D1 bird-brain”.

But whatever. It’s true, anyway, how you felt. It was uncomfortable, but it was somehow so much better than how you usually are. Or, well, not so much better, but at times when you’re overthinking or overwhelmed, you wish you could just turn off your brain, or something. Okay, maybe not turn it off, but turn off certain parts. You like thinking, and you do it all the time, but doing it all the time for you is like a full-time job on top of your already full-time job of being a part of the 141. 

You don’t even make sense to yourself, but that’s okay. You make sense to Gaz, apparently, and possibly Price as well. 

Speaking of— 

“Hey,” Price greets you, his usual quokka-smile gracing his lips, Gaz following in right after him with the most smug look you’ve ever seen. What a bastard. 

“What did you do?” You immediately ask Gaz, who only shakes his head and looks away, amused, making you a little annoyed. Price seems to know what you’re talking about as well, judging by the way his smile grows a tiny bit. I hate inside jokes. Only I’m allowed to have those with people.

“He told me what you told him,” Price hums, before sitting down into the chair previously occupied by Gaz, “And I have an idea you might like.” 

“... Okay,” You look at him suspiciously. 

“When I was still in the SAS—”

“Oh, so around the same time as the Trojan War?”

“Shut it, you.”

“Sure, Captain.”

Price sighs, exasperated, while Gaz snickers at his unamused look. Price, ever-so determined to explain this to you, proceeds, “Back when I was in the SAS, there was this other lieutenant who happened to be a good few years younger than me. Too young, in my opinion—” 

“Look at yourself,” Gaz interrupts him. 

“Bugger off,” Price sneers, “I’m tellin’ a story.”

Gaz puts his hands up in a surrendering gesture, “Keep your hair on, Captain, jus’ pointin’ out that you were younger than them when you first joined the army.” 

You blink at the two. “I think that’s the first time that I’ve heard British slang that I can actually understand.”

Price takes a deep breath, “However, it wasn’t up to me to decide if or when they joined. So, I got to know them a little better, and found out that the stress they got after assignments was so bad that they had this coping mechanism that they had thought to be fairly strange. I asked them what it was, and because we’d known each other for ‘round a year now, and I was to be moved to a different unit, they told me that they didn’t really know the name of it exactly but what they did was they would sit down in their jammies, ones that reminded them of their childhood, watch some cartoons, all that and some more. And I asked them how that helped them, because back then, I was a dense little shit who couldn’t think for more than two seconds, and they said that it let them think the same way that they did when they were a kid.”

You blink at him. “So the idea is… ?” 

“Maybe you two are related,” Gaz muses, “And the denseness is hereditary.” 

Price groans, “Put a fuckin’ sock in it, Kyle.” 

You gasp scandalously, before comically whispering, “First name after telling him to shut up? You’re just gonna let that slide, Gaz?” 

“I’ll shove a sock up your—” 

“My idea,” Price interrupts the two of you, preventing what could’ve been a fifteen-minute long spat, “is that you do that. You throw on your jammies—” 

“Jammies,” You repeat incredulously.

“―you watch some cartoons, play with stuffies—”

“We have stuffies?” You interrupt Price again, who pauses this time.

“We should, yeah,” He nods, “There’s a bin of ‘em around here somewhere, for emergencies.”

You furrow your eyebrows, “Emergencies?”

He looks at you pointedly, “Emergencies.” 

You blink at him. Blink, bl— “Oh, fuck off, I don’t need stuffies. I don’t think any of this would help me. I’m not five.” 

“Yeah, but you wanna be, don’t you?” Gaz questions you, voice a little less joking, though it still has a little humor in it— a safety blanket, basically, in case you take his words the wrong way. 

You stay silent. Price speaks up, “Tell you what; we’ll come back tomorrow, just me ‘nd Gaz, and you can let us know what you think of the idea. If y’like it, I’ll get you whatever you need to help you out. If you still don’t like it, you don’t like it, and we’ll figure somethin’ else out, alright?”

You sigh, “Alright.” 

Price smiles at you and gets up to clap you on the shoulder, “Get some rest, soldier, up the wooden hill and off to Bedfordshire with you.” 

“What the hell?” You immediately question, looking at Price like he’s gone mad, “Up the—”

“Don’t listen to him, he’s bad British representation,” Gaz hurriedly says, getting up and pushing Price lightly out of the room, talking to him in a theatrical whisper-yell, “You’re introducing them to sayings they’re not yet prepared for! Nobody says that to anyone above the age of twelve, Captain!” 

Price simply laughs and lets Gaz push him away from your bed, not bothering to push aside the curtains obscuring the view of you as he pushes him out of the medbay entirely. 

You blink at the swaying curtains.

“English people,” You mumble to yourself, turning over onto your side, “God damn English people. I’m never grouping Soap in with them ever again.”

— 

True to his word, Price walks in with Gaz the next morning.

Price sits down next to you.

“G’morning,” He greets you softly, chuckling at the disgruntled look on your face, “Woke up on the wrong side of the bed?”

“Woke up and thought I was six feet under for a second,” You mutter, making the smile on Price’s face falter. 

“Sorry,” Price apologizes, reaching out a slow hand—so that you can move at any second—to grasp your own hand and squeeze it gently, “Y’good now?” 

“Mhm,” You hum, nodding, your gaze shifting to Gaz, who looks as disgruntled as yourself. You snort and ask him, “Are you good?” 

“Someone,” Gaz snarks, glaring daggers at Price, “Woke me up two hours before my alarm so that he could force me to search for supplies with him.” 

“I wonder who that could’ve been,” Price hums, ignoring the way Gaz shakes his head disapprovingly, “Anywho, have you given any thought to the idea?” 

“The idea?” You question, before quickly realizing, “Oh, right, yeah, the idea.” 

Price looks at you both expectantly and patiently, while Gaz forces himself to pull his glare away from Price and put his gaze on you, observing your expressions and response. 

“Uhh…” You look at Price with hesitation, and he looks back at you without a trace of pressure in his eyes, making you sigh, “I’ll try it, but no guarantees that it’s gonna work.”

“Thank fuck,” Gaz groans, “My hard work hasn’t gone to was— ow!”

Gaz takes hurried steps back after Price stomped down hard on his foot, and the latter simply smiles at you at your response. 

“Great,” He gets up, dusting off his army-green shirt and pushing his chair back, “D’you reckon you’re good to get out of bed now?” 

“Probably,” You shrug, testing the waters by pushing yourself up into a sitting position. You wince at your still-sore back and your stiff legs, but otherwise feel okay, okay enough to feel confident in your ability to actually stand—though, you suspect you may need to grab onto something for extra support. 

Oh well. You’re sick of this bed already, and if you can stand, you’re gonna stand. 

Price sees this, however, and is quick to hold his arm out for you to grab onto as you swing your legs over the bed railing and hop off the mattress way too fast, making yourself dizzy in the process. You feel his concerned eyes burning holes into the top of your head as you try and succeed in regaining your footing, keeping a firm grip on his forearm in the process. Thank God for Captain Price and his too-muscly arms. 

“You alright?” Price asks, to which you respond with an affirmative nod. 

“Fine,” You hum, taking a deep breath before tentatively letting go of Price’s arm. He frowns, but doesn’t protest. Gaz looks at him questioningly, and Price shakes his head, nonverbally communicating to the sergeant that it’s nothing to get worried over.

Gaz decides to lead all of you out of the medbay, with you following after him and Price right behind you. You occasionally lose your footing, slipping on nothing, but you never fall, and even if you were about you, Price would catch you. You know he would. He’s been watching you like a hawk, hands twitching every time your footing is lost. But instead of begging for you to just take his arm, for fuck’s sake, he walks up so that he’s right next to you and starts talking. 

“So…” He starts, making you look over at him, “Y’want me to go over the plan?”

“The plan?” You ask, raising an eyebrow, “Sure.” 

“You get changed into your pajamas, we get on the bed, cuddle a lil’, you get a stuffie, we see what happens and then see what to do from there,” Price explains simply, “Any problems with that?”

“No, sounds good,” You hum. It sounds fucking fantastic, you think, but he doesn’t need to know that. 

“Good,” Price smiles down at you, before saying, “You remind me of them.” You tilt your head to the side a bit, “The lieutenant?”

Price nods, “Yeah. Really sweet person. Had a whole collection of stuffies and blankets.”

You smile, “Sounds nice. They just keep all those in their quarters?”

“Yeah.” You both fall into silence again, comfortable silence, and soon enough, the three of you reach your sleeping quarters.

You all walk in. Well, except for Gaz, who is stopped by Price at the door. You turn around to question them, but Price stops you before you can even open your mouth.

“You just go get dressed,” He says, nodding over to the drawers in the corner of your room, “We’ll be outside. Just knock when you’re done.” 

Skeptically, you look between the two, before you nod and close the door, leaving you inside your room alone. You try not to give too much thought to it, trying yet failing to ignore every thought that crosses your mind, busying yourself by choosing pajamas. 

Soon enough, you’re dressed in your favorite pajamas—fluffy pants and a loose t-shirt, as well as just-as-fluffy slippers to replace your boots—and knocking at the door to signal to Price that you’re done. He opens the door, and Gaz is nowhere in sight, but you choose not to ask about it. Instead, you step to the side so that Price can walk in and sit on your bed, closing the door behind him.

On the bed already is a fluffy blanket—it must’ve been set up earlier, considering that Gaz was apparently woken up at around four in the morning to get everything ready. 

You sit down on the bed next to your Captain, your fluffy pajama pants and loose t-shirt already making you feel relaxed, as well as your fuzzy slippers. You don’t really wear this outside of going to sleep, but after wearing a medical gown for the past twenty-four hours, you’re more than happy to make one small change in your routine. Price smiles down at you, one arm hovering around your back questioningly, before you nod and let him fully wrap it around you and pull you into his side. You’re already pretty tired, despite the fact that you got a full night’s worth of sleep, so the pajamas are honestly pretty fitting.

You sigh, turning your head slightly so that your cheek is pressed to his chest. Gaz walks in just seconds later, your gaze immediately moving to him as he sits down on the bed right next to you, sandwiching you in between him and Price. In any other situation, this would make you feel claustrophobic, but it feels oddly… comfortable right now. You notice the stuffed animal in Gaz’s hands—a small, round, fluffy cow with a black and white coloring pattern—and look at him questioningly. 

“That s’posed t’be for me?” You ask, strangely drawn to the small stuffie. Gaz seems to see your fascination with the stuffed animal and smiles softly at you, a weird sight, considering that the two of you are having kerfuffles every three seconds at the very least. 

“Uh-huh,” Gaz nods, offering it to you, smiling even wider when you gingerly grab it, “Y’like it?”

“It’s cute,” You mumble, looking it over in your hands, rubbing your thumb against its soft fur and black beady eyes. You know what you want to do with it. You want to hug it close to your chest, like you used to oh-so many years ago, back before you had to force yourself to stop sleeping with stuffed animals out of fear that you would need them in order to sleep forever. It only partially worked; you never slept with another stuffie again, but instead found yourself waking up with a bunched up part of your blanket or your pillow in your arms, pulling tight to your chest. 

You really wanna hug it. You missed stuffed animals. You miss stuffed animals, present tense. You miss their soft fur and the baby pink of their ears, the polyester trapped safely inside the confines of the felt and fluff, the sweetness and child-like wonder that you lost with them. 

Both Price and Gaz sense the conflict in your mind. 

“Hey,” Price softly rubs your arm with his thumb, with gentle circles and too many yet just enough callouses, “You’re thinking a lil’ bit too much there. You wanna hug the stuffie, go ahead and hug it.” 

It’s easy, you think, so easy to just… think, but let go of my thoughts when I have him to ground me.

You hug the stuffed animal, pulling it close to your chest and wrapping your arms around it, your limbs too long for what you’re trying to do but doubt and stress in your mind slowly growing small enough to compensate for the lack of a smaller body. It’s frustrating, yes, but Price’s arm around your body and Gaz’s hand that cautiously rests on your shoulder makes your body feel the tiniest bit smaller, and it makes your mind the tiniest bit cloudier. 

“There y’go,” Gaz coos, his voice a type of soft you didn’t even know was possible from him. Price only chuckles, and you should feel annoyed because they sound like they’re teasing you, like they’re a part of an inside joke that you’re not, but they’re not. They’re here right now, Price’s arm is around you and Gaz’s hand is on your shoulder and they’re speaking so softly and— and you’re letting your thoughts go. 

They’re coming and going, some staying longer than others, but they never pile up, never clutter up like a messy desk or a disorganized folder. They’re neat and held up by mental thumbtacks, pinned to the corkboard of your cerebral cortex, sometimes melting into the beige board and other times staying, but never getting to the point where the thoughts are stacking on top of each other or where there’s no more room for anymore thumbtacks. 

It’s something you never thought you’d be able to experience, but here you are, experiencing it, breathing it in like oxygen. Like an open field, bright and clear, with your Captain’s or your Sergeant’s arms—wrapped in blood and flesh, not stripped down to the bone, not poking and prodding at you—around you and keeping you grounded. Your very own anchorage; the perfectly crafted bumps and dips in their arms that fit around you like puzzle pieces when they pull you towards either one of them, as if your Creator knew that you would find refuge in them, as if They knew that you would know how perfect it is.

Because it is. It’s perfect, in the way that a salmon knowing its birthplace despite swimming so many miles away is. In the way that homeostasis works; your body finding equilibrium, that perfect balance between your internal systems and outside forces. In the way that the stuffed cow in your arms seems to seep through your chest and go straight to your heart and soul. 

You don’t realize that you’ve zoned out until Price lightly shakes you. 

“Y’alright, darling?” He asks, concerned, his gruff voice more gravelly than usual. You blink and look over at him, and you’re sweet again. Sweet and loved, and loving to love. Or, at least, you think you’re loved. You might be a tad bit delusional, but there’s something in Price’s eyes, some kind of light that reflects pink and green hues, some kind of nurturing-feeling that doesn’t go away when he blinks. 

“Uh-huh,” You nod, the way your head moves up and down almost like a bobblehead figure, “All… sunshine ‘nd rainbows over here.” 

Price breathes out a small laugh and Gaz raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Yeah? All sunshine and rainbows?” Gaz teases you, “Are you sure there’s anythin’ happenin’ up in your noggin?” 

You pout and lightly swing your leg at him to kick his calf, and although you’re only wearing slippers and are kicking about as hard as a pillow, Gaz makes a show of pretending to get seriously injured by it. He gasps dramatically and brings his knee up to his chest, hugging his calf to his torso and rubbing at the spot you kicked. He pouts right back at you, immature and theatrical, and you giggle—fucking giggle—at his antics. Gaz can’t help but let up the act, grinning as soon as your laugh sounds out, the noise music to his ears. 

“You havin’ a laugh while I’ve gotten hurt?” He antagonizes you, voice light and fluffy, “Brat.” 

“Noo,” You deny, voice growing just slightly higher-pitched, your movements a little less controlled by yourself, “I’m never a brat.” 

“You sure?” Gaz raises an eyebrow at you, letting his leg down, “I think you’re lying, duckie.” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“Yuh-huh.” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

“I cannot believe you’re both still annoying, even when they’re bein’ little,” Price sighs exasperatedly, making both you and Gaz laugh, your laughter more bubbly and light while his is knowing and proud. 

“Lil’ kids aren’t an exception to my teasing, Captain,” Gaz snickers, reaching over to ruffle your hair while you squeal quietly and lean back into Price to hide away from your attacker’s hand. Price snorts and pulls you a little closer to him.

“All little ones, or just this one?” Price nods down at you. Gaz hums, thinking.

“Ah, just this one,” Gaz grins, making Price sigh. The latter brings his other arm around and turns so that he can pull you to him with both arms, while Gaz suddenly frowns. 

“You’re hoarding them,” Gaz whines, while Price only raises an eyebrow at him. You feel oddly joyful at the thought of Gaz also wanting a share of your attention, or at least some of your physical affection.

“Shoulda gotten here faster than me, mate,” Price simply hums. He sounds so smug, voice full of smarm and expression knowing, because he’s more than aware of the fact that Gaz quite literally could not possibly get here faster than Price had.

“You made me get the supplies!” Gaz argues, though softer than he usually does, being more mindful of your newfound mindset, you assume. 

“Ehh, you could’ve refused it.” Price says, blatantly lying as he does, watching in amusement as Gaz gapes at him.

“What?”

You like the attention, but what you like even more is the conversation Price and Gaz start up afterwards. They don’t take their attention off of you, no, not one bit, but they aren’t talking directly towards you, you’re just existing and it’s amazing. 

Price begins asking Gaz about something, probably his reports, and Gaz responds positively, you presume. Price is talking calmly and slowly and Gaz is nodding along, his hand making its way to your own, his fingers interlocking with yours and squeezing your hand every now and then. Your pajamas feel awfully comfortable now. What did Price call them yesterday? Jammies? Usually, you’re an avid hater of English slang, but you can’t help but feel a little warmer just thinking about the word jammies. 

You can feel your eyes going half-lidded, and you can hear someone chuckling. Probably Gaz. He likes laughing at you, but it’s never in a mean way. Maybe that’s why you feel so comfortable with the laughter. It reminds you of an older sibling, someone who’s basically programmed to tease and make fun of you, but still likes you. Or, at least, is expected to still like you. You enjoy the idea of a chosen older sibling more than a biological one, funnily enough, because the expectation of liking someone is so different from actually developing a liking to someone. With the expectation, there’s almost no choice; there’s still a chance of them not liking you, but it’s expected of them to like you, so they’re gonna try anyway, and it makes it feel less authentic, less real—but with choosing, they choose you to have that bond with them, they choose to treat you the way they do, not because it’s expected of them from birth, but because they see something in you that draws them to you. 

Gaz is that person. That older brother that chose you to tease, to play fight with, to argue with, to laugh with, to hold hands with—he chose you. And because of that, his laughter is acceptable, and his teasing is never taken to heart. 

Your eyelids get a little heavier, and someone’s gently tilting your head so that it’s resting more comfortably against their chest. Probably Price. He likes physical touch, unsurprisingly, and shows it as much as you allow him to. He particularly likes to loosely wrap a hand around one of your wrists with his thumb resting over your veins, gently pressing inward to feel the beating of your heart. Why he does it, you don’t know. Maybe he likes the reassurance of your living. Maybe he likes how it grounds him, how it reminds him that you’re a tangible being with a beating heart and a working mind. how it might let him know that you’re real and here with him. 

Or maybe it’s something deeper, maybe it goes back to that other lieutenant, maybe it goes back even further to when he was sixteen and had just joined the British military. Whatever it is, you accept it wholeheartedly, because when he does it, it reminds you as well that he’s alive and searching for proof of you being alive as well. Because you believe that living people will always search for other living beings, or at least you know that you always will, because the feeling of brittle bones and the sight of dead bodies haunts you in ways that you never thought possible. 

Your eyelids droop down completely. 

“I feel like I should say good night, but it’s barely no—” You think that’s Gaz.

“Shut it and let them sleep, for Christ’s sake.” That’s probably Price.

“I’m just saying—” Definitely Gaz.

“I’ll staple your mouth shut so y’stop sayin’ anything, how about that, y’muppet?” Definitely Price.

[tinytinyblogs]

Are you defying me, darling?

The more you distance yourself, the closer they might become. Take it slow if you're unsure.

⚠️ yandere theme, unhealthy obsession, and a lot more⚠️

Hyung line, Maknae line

stray kids masterlist

Your insights and reactions make these posts come alive. Love reblogs, comments, and all the good vibes welcome ✨

Han

The words tore out of you, a torrent of pent-up frustration. You screamed at Han, demanding he just leave you alone. The air crackled with the raw emotion, and for a horrifying moment, he did freeze. His eyes, usually holding a gentle warmth, were wide and vacant, a reflection of the shattered world you hadn't meant to create. Here's the thing: Han craved control. He wasn't some villain, not in the traditional sense. He just wanted his perfect world, one where everything unfolded like a meticulously planned story with a happily-ever-after starring you both. But your outburst, that desperate plea for space, had ripped a hole in the tapestry of his delusion. This wasn't part of the script. The unease that had always simmered beneath the surface, a constant low hum whenever things deviated from his ideal, flared into a roaring inferno. He spent the night tossing and turning, the echo of your words carving a canyon in his sanity. He couldn't lose you. He wouldn't. But to keep you, he concluded, the "soft" Han wouldn't suffice. The next day, the man who stood before you was a chilling stranger. The gentle affection in his eyes was replaced by a steely glint.

He wasn't asking anymore. Demands, laced with a terrifying desperation, spilled from his lips. He became a constant, suffocating presence. He wouldn't let you out of his sight, wouldn't tolerate an argument, wouldn't even acknowledge the dawning fear in your eyes. This wasn't the love you craved, it was a twisted obsession, a warped interpretation of your outburst as a sign of weakness, a need for him to become the 'monster' he believed he needed to be to keep you by his side. His voice dropped to a sinister whisper as he stared into your eyes, a predator sizing up its prey. "Look at me, darling," he commanded, the term dripping with mockery. He paused, letting the silence tighten its grip around you. "This whole charade? It's under my control. You have no say in it." His hand reached up, a single finger gently tracing your jawline, sending a jolt of fear through you. "Don't even think about defying me again. Leaving isn't an option. Ever. Get that through that pretty little head of yours. Now." His voice hardened with a barely contained rage. "Because next time, darling, the scream will stay trapped inside."

Felix

He sighed, a sound that seemed to scrape against your nerves. "Look," he started, his voice deceptively calm, "I might have let the first thing slide. Maybe even the second. But this? This is pushing it, love." A thin smile played on his lips, but it never reached his eyes. They remained cold, devoid of the warmth you were used to. Disappointment gnawed at you. You'd always thought him different, the one person you could rely on to be gentle, understanding. Now, faced with his steely gaze and the way he kept inching closer, you realized how wrong you'd been. "Being the good guy all the time," he continued, his voice low and dangerous, "it gets old, doesn't it?" He stopped just a hair's breadth away, towering over you. Your back hit the wall with a thud, the trapped feeling mirroring the growing panic in your chest. "Especially," he leaned in further, his breath hot against your ear, "when the person you're being good for doesn't seem to appreciate it." A single finger grazed your cheek, sending shivers down your spine. "You made a mistake, love," he murmured, his voice a silken threat. "Let's hope you learn from it."

Looking into his eyes, you saw a storm brewing within. A storm you never knew existed, a monster you never wanted to see unleashed. Tears welled in your eyes, blurring the terrifying image before you. You'd never seen him like this – his voice, usually warm and melodic, was a low growl, his hands, normally gentle, were clenched into fists. This wasn't the Felix you knew. This was a stranger, fueled by a rage so potent, it choked the air from the room. The weight of your mistake settled on your shoulders like a physical burden. You hadn't meant to push him, to awaken this monstrous side. But the damage was done. His anger, a white-hot inferno, was directed solely at you. His words, usually laced with playful teasing, became barbed weapons. He lashed out, not physically, but his every utterance felt like a blow, tearing down the foundation of your trust. He paced the room, a caged animal seeking an escape that wasn't there. Each movement seemed to shake the room, each breath a gust of wind that threatened to extinguish the fragile flame of hope flickering within you. The lingering ache of bruises, the sting of dried tears - these were the haunting echoes of a moment you swore to never relieve.

Seungmin

The air crackled with a sudden tension you hadn't anticipated. A single, sharp laugh escaped Seungmin's lips, devoid of any humor. "No," he spat, his voice laced with ice. "Don't even think about it." The playful glint in his eyes had vanished, replaced by a cold fury that sent shivers down your spine. How dare you? You, his darling, to utter such a word – 'leave'? The audacity of it burned in his gaze. Respect was paramount to Seungmin, and your flippant demand was a blatant insult. "Jerk?" he echoed, the word dripping with dangerous venom. "That's a cute term for someone who forgets their place." He took a menacing step closer, his towering frame casting a dark shadow over you. "Don't mistake my kindness for weakness, darling." His voice dipped to a low growl, sending a primal jolt of fear through you. "There are things I can do," he continued, his words slow and deliberate, "things you wouldn't even dare to imagine. And you, my love," he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, "will learn exactly what happens when you disrespect me." A cruel smile played on his lips, a terrifying reminder of the power he held over you. This wasn't the Seungmin you knew, the charming and attentive boyfriend.

This was a predator, baring his fangs, and you were caught firmly in his sights. The playful facade had shattered, revealing a darkness you could only begin to comprehend. Suddenly, he tilted his head, a gesture that sent a fresh wave of panic through you. "Perhaps," he began, his voice low and silken, "a little reminder is in order." He took another step closer, the space between you shrinking with each calculated move. Your back hit the wall with a thud, the trapped feeling mirroring the growing terror in your chest. He reached out, a single finger tracing the delicate skin of your wrist. "Let's see," he murmured, his voice sending shivers down your spine, "how long it takes you to change your tune once you understand the consequences." A sharp sting echoed through the room as his fingernail dug into your flesh, drawing a gasp and a tear. It wasn't the pain, though it was agonizing, that made you flinch. It was the cold emptiness in his eyes, devoid of the love or concern you were used to. This single, calculated act shattered your resistance. Tears streamed down your face, hot and uncontrolled. "Seungmin, please," you choked out, your voice thick with fear and regret. "I didn't mean it, I..." His finger remained in place, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "Didn't mean what, darling?" he taunted, tilting his head to listen. "Speak clearly. I wouldn't want any misunderstandings."

Jeongin

Jeongin wasn't known for his temper, but the way his smile stretched a little too wide, a little too manic, sent a jolt of terror through you. You'd never seen him like this – his eyes, usually sparkling with mischief, now held a glint of chilling obsession. "Obsessed?" he echoed your words, his voice a sickeningly sweet drawl. "Perhaps that's a bit dramatic, wouldn't you say?" He took a menacing step closer, the air around him crackling with a dark energy you'd never felt before. "But let's get one thing straight," he continued, his voice dropping to a low growl. "That little outburst of yours? It wasn't cute. Not. One. Bit." He circled you like a predator stalking its prey, his smile morphing into a grotesque parody of amusement. "You see, darling," he leaned in, his breath hot against your ear, "I find your defiance… intriguing. A challenge, even." A dangerous glint flickered in his eyes. "You think you can scream at me, tell me what to do? Think again." He straightened, his smile widening as he threw his head back and let out a chilling laugh. The sound echoed through the room, devoid of any warmth or joy, sending shivers down your spine. "This," he gestured around wildly, "isn't ending, sweetheart. This is just the beginning."

Jeongin straightened fully, the manic glint in his eyes replaced by a chilling calmness. His hand dipped into his pocket, emerging with a glint of silver – a small pocket knife, its blade catching the light with a predatory gleam. The playful facade had vanished completely. In its place stood a stranger, a predator with a dangerous glint in his eye. The air grew thick with a suffocating silence, broken only by the shallow rasp of your breath. "Since you seem to have forgotten your place," he said, his voice devoid of emotion, a chilling monotone that sent shivers down your spine, "perhaps a little reminder is in order." He took another deliberate step closer, the knife held loosely in his hand, the tip pointed demonstratively at the floor. You backed away instinctively, the wall stopping your retreat. Jeongin didn't seem fazed. He circled you slowly, the knife a constant, menacing presence. His gaze flickered from your face down to your trembling hands, a cruel smile playing on his lips. "You will learn," he continued, his voice low and menacing, "exactly what happens when you defy me." The playful pet names and teasing had been replaced by a cold, calculated cruelty. This wasn't the Jeongin you knew, the playful boy who made you laugh. This was a monster you'd unwittingly unleashed with your harsh words.

[whateverisbeautiful]

♥️Reveling in Richonne - TOWL

#25: The Irresistible (1.03)

gif cred: @figmentof

Now this moment features another top-ranked Richonne kiss and the word of the day when talking about this Richonne scene behind a tree is 'CHEMISTRY' ❤️‍🔥...

We get to see Michonne inside a helicopter for the first time which is cool as she flies with Rick, Pearl, and others to the Cascadia base. Pearl, who just seems fully bought into the CRM ways, is trying to make Michonne feel like she should be so honored to be a part of this since she’s only a consignee.

Rick is sitting quietly in the helicopter and I’m sure he feels like he’s just been having some terrible, horrible, no good, very bad days every day that Michonne has been mad at him. Even tho first and foremost she’s mad at the situation they’re both in. But him a little too lol. 

gif cred: @nerd4music

Michonne again being an A with perceptive questions says, “There’s nothing out here. What’s it protecting?” And Pearl answers, “The security of the Civic Republic, expanded resources, intel operations along the West Coast, the future.”

Then when they arrive at their destination, Michonne is slaying in the CRM soldier uniform. 🔥 Like she serves in every outfit. 👏🏽

Pearl passionately goes over the mission with Rick by her side and again I love Michonne’s stance in this - she looks like she’s the one they should be taking orders from. 😋

Rick looks over at Pearl and Michonne looks directly at Rick. I love how she’s not even trying to be super subtle staring at him like 🤨.

gif cred: @perryabbott

Michonne was giving full wife stare-downs and clearly had lots of thoughts going through her head as she expressively blinked and looked away.

As she says later, she saw Rick here standing at attention as a soldier to this army and she knows this isn’t him and that he’s imprisoned here.

I also notice Rick doesn’t really look at Michonne in this scene and it’s probably a smart move. Because if he had looked at her those fellow soldiers would be like - now why is Grimes looking at Consignee Bethune like he wants to consume her more than the delts do?? 🤔

gif cred: @andy-clutterbuck

Pearl is trying her best to seem like an alpha leader but she's dtm and not really selling it. She talks about the importance of what they’re about to do and the stakes saying that if they’re unsuccessful the plan gets set back and then she yells, “Do we allow the plan to get set back!?”

Rick and the soldiers respond, “No ma’am” and Michonne has me cracking up at her response to Rick saying “no ma’am.” 😂 She’s looking directly at Rick like now I know you lying lol.

gif cred: @perryabbott

But honestly, while I know there was some interpreting this as her getting the ick from Rick, I think this look has a lot more to do with her disdain toward the CRM. I feel like she’s thinking something along the lines of 'CRM, you did a real number on my baby and I promise you I’m going to undo it.'

And again similar to Rick in previous scenes, Michonne is not subtle with these stares at him lol. But I love it. She’s looking at him like 'Mr. RJ’s Dad if we don’t get up out of here by tomorrow it’s gonna be an issue because I’ve had it with this place and I’m ready for us to go home yesterday.' #DirectQuoteFromHerMind. 😌

And I’d be remiss if I didn’t note that Rick looks fine yet again in this scene lol. ❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥❤️‍🔥

gif cred: @andy-clutterbuck

Rick asks, “Who has the ball, ma’am?” and Pearl says with overconfidence, “I do.” And again Michonne’s whole stance and look is serving, honey. Goddess through and through. 👑

Pearl goes on to address Michonne, and Thorne's energy is just giving forced. She wants Michonne to be intimidated so bad but it ain’t happening. And Michonne is ready to match Pearl’s energy right down to their facial expressions.

Pearl tells Michonne to stay in formation and handle cleanup and no-kills off the line. Michonne just nods and Pearl tells Michonne not to panic if she gets lost because she can just hit the PRB and a helicopter will come get her. And even before seeing the upcoming scene, I was like why do I have a feeling Michonne will be the only one not panicking on this excursion lol. 🙂

gif cred: @perryabbott

So then they cut to them in the middle of the walker takedown and Michonne is about to walk forward and help (and it low-key feels like she starts walking forward cuz Rick is ahead and those magnets are always going to be pulling her in his direction. 🧲). But Pearl tells Michonne to stay back for no-kills.

gif cred: @perryabbott

I was like Pearl, this is basically like you’re keeping an all-star on the bench by keeping Michonne back. Like Michonne and Rick could probably handle all of this just the two of them. But Pearl is adamant and about as stubborn as that R-DIM that won’t budge.

Speaking of - Pearl is struggling to get this R-DIM moving, y’all. I honestly could not take much more secondhand embarrassment for the lady. 🫣 Rick tries to offer a solution but Pearl turns it down and says they should’ve given the last spot to a soldier instead of Michonne. Wrong again, Pearl. 

So Michonne watches, looking all determined, and she knows she can handle this so like a true Get Things Done Grimes she gets it done. 👌🏽

gif cred: @taiturner

Michonne starts pushing the R-DIM forward and Pearl tells her to stand down almost strictly because I’m sure she’s going to be embarrassed if Michonne pulls this off. But Michonne is already off to the races as she pushes the R-DIM.

And Michonne seems to feel like she’s back in her element doing this. See, It's not the R-DIM, It's not the Pearl, It's just that Chonne's that girl. 🎶💁🏽‍♀️

Then when it gets a bit harder to push she looks over and sees Rick by her side coming to help and y’all they’re just the best. 🥹

I love that Rick sees her doing this and joins and says, “Let’s go,” helping her rather than reprimanding her. He knows she’s breaking protocol but when it comes to following Pearl’s orders or following Michonne’s lead, well, his wife is his choice every time.

And seeing Richonne back in action taking down walkers was a lovely sight. It was giving TWD 7.09 when they were in cars mowing down that horde of walkers in sync.

All these years later and they are still that well-oiled machine even during a rough spot in the relationship. And if Michonne felt like she was in her element before, they both really feel in their element taking this on together. It’s the way it should be. 😌

So they get the R-DIM to where it needs to be and Rick turns it on. he tells Michonne, “Come on” as Rick reaches for her hand so they can run for safety. I love that he wants to hold her hand as he leads them somewhere safe and that she does take his hand. 🥰

I feel like amid their fight, they both were longing for some indicator that they’re still in this together and this handhold felt like that. Of course, Richonne + hands are always a great moment. 😌

And then next, TOWL gives us my favorite moment in episode 3.

The R-DIM alarm rings and then Rick and Michonne make it to what many have rightfully deemed the boneless tree. 😋 And I love the little detail of Rick making sure Michonne was able to take cover behind the tree before him. And that they hold hands the whole way. Just the cutest. 🥰

gif cred: @nat111love

The R-DIM sets off an explosion and Michonne and Rick immediately take cover in each other's arms and again I’m beyond here for it. I love that they both just instinctually grab each other. No matter how upset they are, they’ll always love and protect each other. 

gif cred: @nat111love

So they have this moment all up close and personal and because it is a scientific fact that these two are magnets & that adrenaline rushes are always particularly arousing for them, there was no way Rick and Michonne were going to be that much in each other's personal space and not do what they do next.

Like you think those magnets within them care that there are CRM soldiers nearby? No.🤭🧲

gif cred: @nat111love

So still holding onto each other, they have this moment of looking intimately into each other's eyes, once again communicating without words, and y’all the best way to describe the way they look at each other is ‘longing’ - like that deep longing for each other in every way was written loud and clear on both their faces. 

gif cred: @nat111love

Rick looks at her, then right at her lips, then back in her eyes and within a second he leans in and they’re right back to making out. I’m too here for it and I love this kiss. ❤️‍🔥 This was definitely their hungriest kiss thus far.

gif cred: @nat111love

I love how Rick sorta lifts up from the ground like he’s floating on air when he first kisses her. He really does kiss her like he’s still living in a dream.

I love how passionate they always are when they kiss. Even with Rick feeling like he needs to send her away, he cannot resist showing how he really feels as they kiss - and what he really feels is that he wants to be with her entirely and in every way. 

I feel like they both needed this moment of reconnection so much after being at odds. This kiss communicated clearly that before they’re mad, they’re madly in love.

gif cred: @nat111love

And then the second half of this kiss is when I was looking at Richonne like...oh y’all would go all the way right now if you could. 👀

Like I think one of the only things that stopped them from having this escalate was just the fact that those CRM uniforms are so layered lol. Because it wasn’t the fact that CRM soldiers were within walking distance. Richonne didn’t give a damn about that. I’m telling you it was just the layers of clothing and gear holding them back. 😂

gif cred: @nat111love

But being for real, these two really are wild because they weren’t even trying to align with the bark of that boneless tree to at least shield themselves a little better during this kiss. But hey, when they’re in their Richonne bubble like this, everything else goes out the window, so it makes sense.

But yeah the second half of that steamy kiss had them hot and bothered the way they were both moaning in sync and grabbing each other as close as they could. When Michonne pulled his hair Rick looked like he was about ready to get on top of her right then and there.

(Side note: What’s cute too is I noticed in their season 6 canon kiss that the first time Michonne ever puts her hands in Rick’s curls she’s almost hesitant to do it at first and then she just goes for it. And now it’s her favorite thing. 😊)

It’s been years and years since either of them has been physically intimate and this kiss right here lets you know they’re both very eager for opening that door up with each other again. Like it needs to happen expeditiously at this point cuz they’re ready. 

gif cred: @fishalthor

I love that something that’s always been true is Rick and Michonne are irresistible to each other. And truly no one does ravenous passion like Richonne. ❤️‍🔥

So I just adore this kiss for being a passionate moment of the two making their desire and love for each other so evident after not really talking much this ep. I almost forgot that in this episode Michonne hadn’t actually uttered a word to Rick until this scene. And her first words to him are perfectly delivered. 🤩

As they manage to pull away from the kiss, still completely unconcerned about being caught, they have this great passionate moment where they just stare right into each other's eyes and it truly feels like Rick is being hypnotized by Michonne as she smiles at him. #Enchanted😍

gif cred: @nat111love

I love the way Michonne smiles right after the kiss and I really love that Rick is always so helplessly mesmerized by her. He knows he’s going to have to push her away soon but at this moment he can’t even peel his eyes away. Because I really think in moments when he gets lost in her that's when he finds himself. 👌🏽

And (jumping a bit ahead) that’s why it’s crazy he'll even attempt to claim that everything they had is broken because anytime they get close enough, it sure does look like everything they have is perfectly intact.

Like these two stayed operating like a madly in love married couple even during the near eight years apart from each other. Even during that time, they were still more loyally married than some married couples who see each other every day.

And Michonne knows from that kiss that her Rick is still in there. The man who kissed her is the Rick who wants with everything in him to break out of this place and go home with her.

gif cred: @figmentof

So she smiles and all encouragingly and seductively whispers, “Come on.” So good and perfectly delivered. 👏🏽😊 And yet again we see the utterly enchanting effect Michonne has on Rick as he looks at her.

gif cred: @nat111love

Rick seems dizzy and breathless from this whole exchange as he faintly says, “They’ll find us. They will.” It’s clear he’s still so overcome with fear and a lot of that is because he knows how hopeful he used to be about breaking free from this place but every time he tried to escape they found him.

Like this isn’t the guy from the TWD series finale who got caught by the CRM and smiled. This is the guy whose been so beaten down by this place that he believes there’s nowhere he can run anymore. 😥

gif cred: @nat111love

Michonne is still hopeful tho as she reassures him, “We’ll make it so they can’t.” It's super sweet to see them holding each other close and swaying in sync while they talk. And I love that Michonne believes in them so much that she’s like even if we don’t have all the answers yet, you and I are capable of figuring it out along the way home.

Plus, if Michonne thinks they can escape and not get caught then that's good enough reason to believe they can because she’s always right. It's just gospel. 💁🏽‍♀️ The way I see it, the only way the CRM would find them is if they keep having these loud moanversations near the public lol, otherwise the two of them can pull off any escape plan they make together. 😋

gif cred: @nat111love

But Rick is not willing to risk it and try to break away right now so he hesitantly says, “Not like this.” I know one of his least favorite things is having to turn down Michonne’s request and as he looks at her you can see it in his whole demeanor that he hates having to essentially tell her no.

Even the way he says it, it’s him trying to say no without having to outright say it, suggesting maybe there’s another way to escape just 'not like this,' even tho deep down he believes there's no way out for him.

gif cred: @nat111love

Michonne is super saddened by this. She knows this fear-based response isn’t like her Rick.

And then I love that they do their signature forehead touch, even tho it’s a sad one. 🥲 This moment further emphasized that even when feeling defeated and disappointed, they still want to be connected. 

And y’all, to me Rick and Michonne doing this forehead touch out in the open was actually more wild than the kiss lol.🤭

Because if they were caught kissing they'd still have some major explaining to do but they could maybe play it off like they just really have the hots for each other after meeting in those woods. But this forehead touch says no these two have history and have a deeply committed relationship rooted in serious love.

gif cred: @nat111love

So if Richonne had been caught like this their jig would have been up cuz they would have had those CRM soldiers looking over like...

I always feel so sad when I see Michonne looking in Rick’s eyes during this moment and searching for her Rick who seems to fade in and out ever since she’s reunited with him. Like the back and forth between Sergeant Major Grimes and the fleeting moments with her Rick has got to be hard on her.

But I love the way she lightly nudges his nose cuz again it’s just giving magnets and idk that intimate movement just always feels like such a soulmates thing to me. 🥹 Like she's trying to reach the Rick that's buried inside cuz she knows he's in there somewhere.

gif cred: @nat111love

Rick looks at Michonne and from his expression, it's clear that while it deeply saddens him, he will put himself through the pain of parting from her if it means getting her back home safely to their daughter.

I think too in this moment as they lean their heads together Michonne is realizing just how much she’s going to have to fight to get them both home on her own since Rick isn’t ready to take the risk and break out yet.

Similar to what Rick had been doing up to this point, Michonne is now gonna have to take matters into her own hands for the sake of her family...and oh, she’ll do exactly that in these final moments of episode 3. 😅

gif cred: @nat111love

But as far as this enthralling scene 'behind' the tree, this was another one of those scenes where they were knocking the epic love story they promised out of the park. 🙌🏽 Their chemistry is truly elite. 😍 And I adore this kiss and this romantic moment that was just brimming with emotion and irresistible passion between Richonne. 

Throughout this episode, Michonne had been trying to keep her crazy at bay but now as the episode concludes and Rick proceeds to pull a crazy card of his own, she's gonna have to unleash that unhinged side of herself. And the final moments of episode 3 remind us exactly why they say Richonne has some 'crazy love.' 😝👌🏽

[morning-star-joy]

would it be enough if I could never give you peace?

Pairing: Joel x F!Reader, Established Relationship, ASHWAH Universe

Summary: You settle into your relationship with Joel, but struggle with the anxiety of possibly losing him one day.

Warnings: Themes of Anxiety and Grief, Description of a Panic Attack, Angst from PTSD/Loss. Hurt/Comfort. Talking about emotions/fears. Very brief mention of sex. Some things can be read as foreshadowing for Part 2 (it's not canon in ASHWAH universe, but can be interpreted that way)

Wordcount: 3.6k

A/N: Been struggling with writing lately, so I ended up going back to my roots and writing some more for ASHWAH. This was a little thought experiment on how Reader would adjust to a relationship and reveal some of her anxiety around it, along with a bit of Joel's. I may end up writing a companion piece of Joel's anxieties from his POV.

When you knew you were in love with Joel Miller, the three words falling softly from his lips and pulling them from your own in a confession you hadn’t consciously realized you felt until that moment, you wondered how you hadn’t known before.

There was some part of you, something resting deep in your soul, that knew you loved him all along. There were a few times where you think you realized it—after Thanksgiving on that rainy street, during the holiday party when you opened the gift hand carved by him and caught his gaze from across the room—but another part of you, the girl who was still so unsure and afraid of anything resembling that kind of love, kept you from fully acknowledging it.

Still, there had been no ounce of hesitation when you repeated his affection back to him with your own that first time when lying in bed, and that whole morning where you laid in each other’s arms and dreamed up another life together was a memory that quickly became one of your most cherished moments.

You didn’t profess your love for each other at every waking moment. Most of the time, you didn’t say it at all, instead letting it speak for itself in the way you moved around each other, the way you touched each other, casual as much as intimate, with such a comfortable ease that said everything you ever needed to know.

Those moments where you did repeat the three words to each other were still some of your favorites, though. They came so naturally, murmured against each other’s lips in the heat of a passionate embrace, Joel’s rough voice mumbling it against your ear after he stole a kiss from you while out shopping in Jackson’s markets—one of his favorite activities, for some reason, though you couldn’t quite understand the joy he tried to conceal for those painfully domestic moments in your lives—or your whisper of it as you kissed his cheek before he left for an early morning patrol.

“Come back to me safe,” you’d sometimes add on those mornings, the quiet plea pulling Joel right back to you from where he had moved towards the front door, dropping his backpack to be forgotten momentarily on the ground before he pulled you into his arms for a deep kiss full of all the emotions you both had fought so hard to accept and nurture for each other.

“Oh, mi luna,” Joel would whisper against your lips as he kissed them again and again, unable to resist giving you one more peck even as you pushed him gently away so he wouldn’t keep Tommy waiting at Jackson’s gates. “Always.”

Those were the days where you felt the most anxious. Even though you knew Joel’s near unrivaled skill in combat and survival, having seen it firsthand more than once, you couldn’t help the doubts and fears that crept into the back of your mind if he was just the slightest bit late.

Most the time you managed to contain your pacing to the house you now shared with him, wearing a hole in the floorboards in front of the front door until it opened, and you’d spin around, feeling all the anxiety flood from your body as you saw his tired face from a long day of hard work, relaxing in the same moment he did when you saw each other.

But if Joel was just the slightest bit late, you’d be out the door, walking down the streets until you were pacing in front of the gates, waiting with increasing panicked breaths until the gates were open. Your entire body would tense as you hoped you wouldn’t see one of the Miller brothers walking in alone, then relaxing when you saw them both ride in on their horses each time.

“Hey,” Joel said quietly as he brought his stallion to a stop, quickly demounting it to move towards you when he saw the look on your face that first time you were waiting at the gates. “What’s wrong? What happened?”

“Nothing,” you sighed, shaking your head to try and rid him of his own worry, something you failed in and felt guilty for as he cupped your face in his gloved hands.

Tommy would pat you gently on the shoulder before taking his and Joel’s horses back to the stables those days, letting Joel wrap his arm around your shoulder to take you back home.

The very first time you had waited for them like that, your best friend had teased you about it, saying something along the lines of you never having waited like that for just him.

But when he got a closer look at your face, any jokes quickly stopped, understanding exactly what drove your fear even as you tried to ignore the cause, as much as it lingered subconsciously in the back of your mind.

A suicide mission you had begged her not to go on. Days going by with no word from them. Pacing at the entrance to the camp when you caught wind of a radio call that they were returning. Seeing Eugene walk in without her. Without her. Without her.

Some of those nights, you’d wake up struggling to breathe from the nightmares that plagued you, trying to quiet your whimpering not to wake Joel as you curled in on yourself on your side of the bed.

But every time, it was like something woke him up, some deeper part of him knowing that you needed him in those moments, even if you still wouldn’t admit it.

You’d be tangled in the sheets, hand pressed firmly to your chest as you tried to calm your racing heart, only able to relax when you felt the familiarity of Joel’s strong arms snake around you gently and pull you back into his broad chest.

“Don’t let go,” your voice would rasp out into the darkness of your shared bedroom, grabbing his hands where they held you tighter, breathing easier when you felt his lips press to your shoulder. “Please, don’t let go.”

“I’m not letting go,” Joel would always murmur back, voice raspy with sleep, but completely in the moment with you, here to keep you grounded in a way so effortless compared to your struggles to do so by yourself. “I’m with you. For as long as you’ll have me.”

Tommy was right with his comments about you waiting for Joel on those long patrol days, even if it was just teasing. Even though the younger Miller brother was your closest friend, you had never felt this anxious over his patrols, or anybody’s—not even Joel’s, not until your love had been confessed out loud to each other.

There was something so painfully vulnerable about what you had with Joel, opening up to him slowly over time until every part of your soul was bare to him, intertwining with him completely until you couldn’t bear the thought of anything ripping him away. Not like how it had happened to you once before.

You had hardly been able to pull yourself back together that time, and you didn’t think you could ever manage to do it again if you lost him too.

But on those nights after long patrols, the ones where your body didn’t succumb to its anxiety, you found yourself having some of your favorite conversations with Joel. Most of the time, you were both too tired to have sex—except for maybe a self-indulgent quickie or mutually getting yourselves off—but instead you both laid comfortably in each other’s arms, heads resting on the same pillow as you talked.

One such night, you hardly even realized as a question you began to mull over slipped past your lips until you heard yourself say, “Were you ever in love before?”

As soon as the last few words fell from your mouth, you froze, feeling Joel’s body stiffen from where his arms were wrapped around you, both of you realizing what you had just said aloud at exactly the same moment.

You coughed, lifting your free hand to cover your mouth, an attempt to try and cover up how horrified you were at the random, blunt question you had asked.

“I—fuck, sorry,” you mumbled, feeling your cheeks flush as you worried you were prying too much. Even as you had started to open up to each other in as many ways as you could discover, this hadn’t been a topic you had broached yet. “That was fucking weird. I didn’t mean—”

“Yes.”

The simple, one word confirmation brought your face back up, blinking in surprise at Joel

His face wasn’t entirely closed off, but it was pensive; strong brows furrowed to show he was deep in thought, pronouncing the wrinkles on his forehead. You felt the sudden, inexplicable urge to reach up and smooth them out with your fingers, to ease the tension your own words had caused in him.

“Or, I thought I was,” he added in a mumble, eyes focusing in on the scar on your cheek, reaching a hand up to stroke his thumb over it in his usual habit he fell into whenever he wanted to remind himself that you were with him. “It…”

Joel glanced back towards your eyes then, his eyes flickering over your face.

“It felt like it at the time, at least,” he finally said, thumb stroking your scar again.

But his grip around you now was still stiff, still awkward, so you shifted closer to him, pressing your lips to the beard he had grown as much as he could on his jaw, still charmingly patchy in places, before pulling back to look into his eyes, showing you were nothing but open ears for whatever he had to say.

“Oh?” you asked lightly, arching your brows before starting to wiggle them suggestively. “Was there a Mrs. Miller in the picture at some point, then?”

Joel huffed out a quiet laugh at your words, his brow smoothing out as he glanced over your face, and you felt that same flutter of emotion, that same surge of love you only ever had for him, unable to help but smile when his arm around your waist loosened from a firm, awkward grip to something more natural again.

“There was,” he confirmed quietly, and your eyes widened briefly in surprise at the gentle answer before you softened again once you saw the conflict in Joel’s eyes. “Didn’t last long, though.”

Your head tilted, watching as unnamed emotions surged in Joel’s gaze before settling into something somber, something melancholic. 

“What happened?” you asked, keeping your voice just as quiet as his, afraid you would shatter the vulnerability of the moment and have to deal with Joel’s walls rebuilding. It didn’t happen that often anymore, but old habits were hard to shake at the worst times.

But as Joel answered your question, you suddenly realized that he had been keeping those walls down just around you, for you, for a while now, “We were young. Far too young. But she was pregnant, and…”

You watched Joel struggle for the words as he shifted his gaze from your scar to your eyes, then back again, as if he was looking at options for what to say, turning them over in his mind before he settled on, “Getting married seemed like the right thing to do. I wasn’t going to be a deadbeat like my own old man.”

Slowly, you began to realize that you were addicted to this side of him—the Joel that opened up to you, telling you things that he may have not said aloud to anybody in years, if at all.

“I quickly learned it wasn’t what she wanted,” Joel huffed out quietly, his face pinching into a pained expression for a moment before it quickly cleared, but that brow was still furrowed, still enhancing every line of age and weariness on his face that you had grown to be so fond of. “She wasn’t ready for marriage, or kids. When she wanted to leave, I didn’t stop her.”

Subconsciously, your free hand lifted to smooth your fingers across the deep furrow in his brow, thumb stroking the wrinkles there. 

When the furrow of his brow finally smoothed out, and Joel glanced back at you with a small, hesitant smile, his thumb stroking along your hip, you melted back into him with relief that he wasn’t regretting letting you in on this little-known fact of his long, tumultuous life.

You wanted to know every crack and chip in Joel’s carefully constructed armor, to feel them underneath your fingers as you ran them over the hidden crevices of his life, knowing the parts of his soul so surely until you couldn’t distinguish them from your own.

“What about you?”

You froze up, blinking in surprise as Joel’s returned question sent nerves ricocheting through you, and you quickly looked away.

“Uh,” you hesitated, clearing your throat as you forced yourself to remove yourself from the present and think back through your life.

When Joel’s thumb stroked along your hip again, his hand squeezing you gently, in a gesture to reassure you that saying nothing was always okay, you found yourself saying, “No.”

“You haven't?” Joel murmured, and you laughed gently at the surprise in his voice at your confession.

“No, not really,” you finally whispered, still not meeting Joel’s gaze as you thought back through your childhood, your time in Seattle up to the whirlwind days with the Fireflies, and then to Jackson. “I mean…maybe I…”

You sighed, forcing yourself to pull your gaze up and finally meet Joel’s eyes.

And when you saw that they were nothing but open and understanding and devastatingly warm, a soft breath was pulled from your lungs, as if just the sight of him looking at you in such a way made you fall even more in love with him.

“So there was someone?” Joel finally asked gently, picking up on what you had left unsaid, his eyes moving over your face, lingering on the scar on your cheek before meeting your gaze again.

You shrugged, suddenly feeling frustratingly shy at the topic of a matter that was so utterly foreign to you, even as you were the one who had brought it up.

Combat? You could do combat, having learned how to fight even before the world went to shit at your father’s urging.

Sex? Oh, you could do sex. It was a familiar coping mechanism, a way to escape the cruel, harsh truths of existence, if only for a little bit.

But feelings?

Emotions?

Love?

Yes, you loved Joel, and you were comfortable telling him now, on more than one occasion. But you had never really talked about love as a whole this much, with anybody, and it frustrated you how out of your depth you still were in it.

But the way that Joel was looking at you now, like he knew what you didn’t, like he knew you—and you knew without a doubt that he did, better than you knew yourself even…it was comforting.

“Maybe,” you finally relinquished, shrugging a shoulder as you gazed up at his face. “I had a…friend.”

Another sigh pulled from your lips as you gently bit your bottom lip, shaking your head again, more to yourself as you thought back to your youth.

“In Seattle,” you elaborated, struggling to get yourself to relive those feelings, let alone admit them. “It was just a stupid crush. Nothing ever came from it.”

There was silence for a moment, and then Joel broke it by almost teasing in a gentle way, “There’s a but in there somewhere.”

You laughed, feeling a sense of relief at his rare show of humor that you cherished every glimpse of, unable to suppress the warmth it made you feel whenever you heard it.

“I don’t know,” you sighed, tilting your head back to glance over his face before looking away. “I guess…sometimes I wonder what would have happened if I had stayed. Maybe…”

Trailing off again, you struggled to find the words, until Joel seemingly pulled them right from the deep subconscious part of your mind, or perhaps the buried longing in your heart, “Maybe you could have.”

Your face turned back to him, surprised eyes meeting those of complete understanding, and you softened.

“Yeah,” you murmured, giving a small nod as you watched him watch you.

“I had somebody like that,” he admitted, a frown pulling onto his face as you watched his eyes shift into an even more somber look than when he had been talking about his wife. In fact, it was almost…

“Back in the Boston QZ,” Joel continued, eyes darting away, and your lips parted in a silent breath that was pulled from you as you realized, oh.

Mournful.

His look was one of grief.

Your thumb stroked along his cheekbone, and Joel answered by stroking his own thumb along your hip, his grip tightening on you a fraction before he began to speak about this love lost, “We worked together for years. She was a…companion, I guess. A partner.”

The words sent some kind of nostalgic feeling through you, a memory dangling in the back of your subconscious.

I made a promise to someone.

Joel’s dark expression from then appeared in your mind, followed by your own words that had answered his quiet admission, and then his almost pained confirmation.

Must’ve been someone important, to do that for them.

Yeah.

When you remembered it, you found yourself saying softly, “She’s the one who wanted you to take Ellie, wasn’t she?”

Joel nodded slowly, not seeming surprised in the slightest that you had remembered your discussion in the nursery from so long ago.

“Yeah, Tess,” he said quietly, his voice almost choking on the name, and he cleared his throat as he turned his gaze away from you. “She was…”

You watched as Joel turned onto his back, and you gazed at his side profile, trying to find a pattern in the way his hair curled above his neck as you heard him mutter in a voice that was rough, nearly strangled with grief, “Fuck, she was better than me. She deserved so much more, and I couldn’t give it to her. I…”

Tears began to blur your vision as you heard him whisper almost more to himself than you, “I wasn’t enough.”

He sucked in a breath then, and your heart broke at the way you could hear it shake, your hands reaching out to hold him close, burying your face into his chest as his arms wrapped around you by reflex when he felt your embrace.

“Think that’s what I’m most afraid of, darlin’,” he whispered, and you squeezed your eyes shut at the weight of the somber revelation, feeling a few stray tears fall down your cheeks. “Not being enough. Never being enough.”

For a moment, you thought he wasn’t going to say anything else as silence filled your room, but when he mumbled again, you pulled yourself up to look at the man who you knew was the love of your life—maybe every life you ever had, and would have.

“What are you afraid of?”

You took another deep breath, wishing that you didn’t have to answer. Wishing that you could just fade into him, without ever having to leave this moment.

But after all this time, Joel deserved an answer. You knew he did.

And so you steeled yourself, treating it as casually as talking about the weather, even as your voice shook as you whispered one simple word.

“Loss.”

Joel froze, his body stiffening underneath where your chest rested against his. You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to block out the world even as you continued, “I’ve lost so much, I can’t—I can’t…”

He didn’t say anything then, even as his body relaxed again, because he knew.

You knew, you both knew, that loss was everywhere. You had both lost so much already.

No, not just so much, but everything. You had both fucking lost everything.

There were no promises you could make, no vows that would erase the ever-haunting possibility that somebody might not come home at the end of the day.

In the back of your mind, you couldn’t help but marvel at what a pair you were.

Here you were, afraid of losing a peace that could never really be yours to lose in the first place.

And Joel, afraid that he wasn’t enough to…

To what, exactly?

Not enough to protect those he vowed to himself to keep alive?

Not enough to make those he cared about happy?

Not enough for you to give up on the false hope of ever finding peace?

“Is it enough?” the three words falling from Joel’s lips made your eyes reopen, gazing down at the tired lines of his face, pinched in a way that told you he was holding back a wave of emotions, your throat choking up at the sight of your strong, steadfast love so shattered by his own grief. “If…”

You exhaled heavily, nodding before you could even find the words.

Because despite the fears that held you captive awake or asleep, you knew Joel. You knew your love for him, his love for you, and even if there was a day to come where one of you would be left without it…

“It’s enough,” you whispered, tears falling down your face to mix with his as you leaned down to press a kiss to his lips, one that assured him of what you both needed to know. For however long you had him, however long you could love him…

It was enough.

taglist: @darkroastjoel @thetriumphantpanda @sinsofsummers @dinsdjrn @cupofjoel @cavillscurls @tightjeansjavi @cynibuns

[betmagic]

Random Headcanons

This time about Ace and his narcolepsy.

I’m no expert and while there’s probably a proper name for his sleep attacks , I’ve always called them drops in my head .

I’ve noticed that his narcolepsy never acts up during fights or dangerous/ serious situations.

In albasta he drops before smoker shows up. As for buggy … well comparative wise buggy isn’t much of threat to ace power wise.

So My headcanon is that Ace’s narcolepsy only acts up when he’s safe and is a very accurate indicator for when things are safe.

Why? Ace grew up exploring what’s probably one the most dangerous Forrest’s in the east blue( like the gaint animals are what you normally see in the grandline) and fighting adults in place like grey terminal. So maybe his bodies survival instincts developed as an unconscious self-defense mechanism that wards off his narcolepsy until it’s deemed safe. Even when he’s eating he stays awake and alert.—- because eating can induces a narcoleptic attack/ drop ,( yes I did do some research and it’s when he’s eating that we see Ace actually drops in the anime)

As to How the body knows when it’s safe or not , probably an unconscious use of observation haki. Again ace is basically a feral jungle child I wouldn’t be surprised if he unlocked a little bit of haki while in survival mode. If unlocked conquers haki at ten it might not be far of stretch he unconsciously unlocked and used observation haki.

It doesn’t take long for he’s brothers , specifically Sabo, to notice. He starts using it to gauge situations or whether they’re in the clear or not. Like after hunting a tiger or stealing from a bunch of thugs.

Sabo calls it the drop gauge.

The drop gauge is effective enough that his brothers (and later his crew) trust it implicitly.

Seriously they could be captured or and held at gun point by someone like a yanko ,warlord, or admiral but if Ace drops they instantly relax.

because if it’s safe enough that Ace dropped it probably means that whatever the situation is isn’t dangerous so there’s not a lot a lot to worry about.(and usually means that they can get out of the situation easily).

( whether or not ace aware that he’s used as a gauge is up to interpretation)

:::::::::::::::::::::

Bonus Scene: The spades also use the drop gauge especially for after a big fight or a rough storm, everyone keeps their guard up until Ace drops , meaning they’re in the clear , then they can relax.

Spade pirates just finished raiding a marine base or rival pirate crew.

Despite being over an hour since they’ve seen any enemies and probably a safe distance away The whole crew are on alert. Weapons ready and everyone is in position to defend or to get the ship ready to make a quick getaway.

Deuce who’s going over a map with A newer member of the crew.

Deuce: We can head towards this island here if they catch up us.

New crew members: um deuce do we really need to make another escape route? think we can relax now.

Deuce glancing at their captain ,who was talking with skull: no not yet.

Newer crew member: But it’s been an hour already and we haven’t seen anything. I think we’re pretty safe now.

Deuce, knowing that the other more senior members were keeping subtle eye on their captain turns back to the map in his hands:Not until the captain shows us it’s safe. Until then stay vigilant and be ready for anything.

And few minutes later is when the captain ‘shows’ it’s safe.

Ace drops mid conversation, skull catching him before he face plants on the deck.

None of the crew panic when their captain suddenly slumps over ,They’re all to used to the logia suddenly dropping out of nowhere, that they’d normally continue with what they were doing like nothing happened. Unless it it was after a battle.

Anytime Ace drops after a fight he’s always properly checked over.(there have been false drops before like when ace lost to much blood or that one time he got poisoned).

Deuce a little concerned ( because his captains an idiot who doesn’t tell him when he’s injured until he passes out from his wounds) :Well?

Skull looks up after evaluating the logia , who’s already starting to snore, giving the first mate a thumps up.

Deuce smiles and turns back to the rest of the crew. They were all waiting, had been the moment bone and ace stopped talking. they all look in direction waiting for the verdict.

Deuce:Alright captain dropped we’re all clear!

There’s a cheer as the crew finally relaxes.some even start making they’re way to retrieve the booze they managed to steal along with lots treasure.

Ace wakes up: Why is everyone Cheering?

If i got something wrong about narcolepsy and how it works please let me know.

[battlemaiden13]

Hello lovely! I just thought I'd ask how the yandere boys would react to an S/O would willing stays in the house with everyone. As in the boys come home to find the front door wide open or something and that S/O is just chilling and is like "Why would I leave? I like it here." (My little broke ass being like "How else am I supposed to live in this economy if I am not the pet of some weirdos. lol)

Sans -He thinks this reaction is so interesting. He was probably the one who left the door open. He knew you couldn’t get far if you did decide to leave and he wanted to see what you would do. This was the last thing he expected but, hey, since he now knows you're not a flight risk you’ll probably be granted a whole lot more freedom. 

Papyrus -Honestly he’s thrilled. It was an accident that the door was left open but the fact that you didn’t even try to leave has him grinning. He feels like a celebration is in order although that still feels off to you. Why celebrate you not wanting to leave? You may have just accidentally cemented yourself into the family. 

Red -The panic that ran through him when he got home to see the door unlocked was insane only for it to be instantly quelled when you're just casually hanging out as if nothing unusual is happening. The sudden change in his emotions is such a shock to his system that he ends up laughing for a while. Deep down he’s thrilled and takes you not running away to mean that you want to stay here with him. He seemed to become more chill after this. 

Edge -He was already planning how to hunt you down and bring you back when he walked into the house only to pause upon seeing you. When he heard your answer he was stunned for a moment before just sort of accepting it and moving on. Nothing really changes after this but you do notice the door is left unlocked a lot more often nowadays.

Blue -He’s pouting? Just ever so slightly. You didn’t get him crazed or anything like that but a part of him did think it might have been fun to chase you down and drag you back. You do get the sense that this is probably the best outcome with Blue as he’s not throwing a tantrum but he is clearly a bit annoyed. 

Orange - Of course you’d stay. He hasn’t given you a reason not to want to stay. Obviously the others probably have but he personally hasn’t. He’d be more suspicious if you choose to run away because that means you know something you shouldn’t have and that would have ended badly for you. 

Berry -He sort of just expects you not to run away. He puts on a whole show about how well trained he has you for not just leaving, bragging about it to the others in the house who are all rather sick of it. He of course didn’t train you at all to do this but you feel like shutting his little fantasy down may end badly for you. 

Syrup -He’s soul feels uncomfortably warm after hearing this. He basically interprets what you said to mean you like being here with him even though that’s not what you said. Syrup becomes very clingy and cuddly after this. After all, to him you basically just admitted that you like him. 

[iisasarcasticlittleshite]

Hi, this is my first time requesting anything on this site holy fuck.

could you write a Sukuna x M!Reader? it's a struggle finding any lol. I don't really have anything specific in mind but it would be cool to read a fic where he's not to OOC and lowkey treats the reader like shit, but it's completely up to you hehe

I am so sorry this took so long! I re-wrote this like ten times before finally deciding to just keep it simple and spicy!

Be warned: This is Sukuna people, it toes a line, it gets suggestive, no actual smut though. Proceed at your own risk.

You groaned, reluctant to be awake at this hour, much less to the sound of someone sneaking into your room. Again.

'Dude, it's like 8:30, what're you doing in bed?'

You cracked one eye open, scowling at the pink haired vessel stood over your bed. He had no idea what the hellspawn he hosts does to you after dark.

Yuuji has total control of his body, most of the time, except, as you've learned, if he sleeps too deeply. Sukuna can occasionally slip through, and though he can't go running wild and waking up Yuuji, he can, and will make his way to your room, and keep you awake until all hours.

You won't be telling Yuuji about this because the poor guy would trip over his own guilt, so this leaves you here, sleep deprived at eight in the fucking morning.

'Sleeping, what's it look like?'

'If you don't get up Gojo-sensei's gonna come poor water on you again.'

You whined, driving your head into the pillow before reluctantly throwing the covers off yourself. 'Fine fine, stave off the blindfold demon.'

Yuuji chuckled, throwing your uniform at you, followed by an apple. 'Just hurry up, you promised Maki you'd spar with her today.'

'Oh fuck!'

Eyes wide, you dressed in a panic, hoping the adrenaline would help wake you up. Sparring with Maki is not something to be half asleep for. Never mind that you only had ten minutes to meet her.

Yuuji rolled his eyes, throwing an apple at you next, oblivious to the fact that he's the reason you've been struggling to be a functional human being.

He's also the only reason you manage to get to any one class these days, so as far as you're concerned, he evens out his evil twin pretty well.

'You were impressive this morning.'

A sigh left your lips, spitting into the basin as you hurriedly finished brushing your teeth. 'Evening to you too, your majesty.'

'Attitude, brat.' Sukuna purred, his claws brushing across your bare back, watching the shivers shoot down you spine and the gooseflesh ride in his wake. 'Why you bother covering up during the day is beyond me.'

'I'm well aware of your opinions on shirts, Sukuna.'

Slowly, you turned to face him, wary of any sudden moves the curse may interpret as an attack. He's half naked, as usual.

His upper lip curled in a sneer, sharp teeth almost reflecting the moonlight pouring in through your window. 'Ridiculous things, how you fight in them is beyond me.'

'Is that true? Or you just wanna show off?'

Over the weeks that Sukuna's been paying you these night-time visits, you've grown desensitised to the danger you're actually in. You know you'd be dead if he wanted you dead, so why not have a little fun with it?

The curse's grin could have swallowed you whole, his hand suddenly clasped around your throat, forcing you to his eye level with his other hand digging into the flesh of your back, leaving you to wonder of he drew blood.

'You like what you see, twisted little brat.' His breath fanned your face, presence looming over you. You can feel the power rolling off him in waves, power you couldn't possibly rival. You were helpless compared to this creature.

So why go out crying?

A smile curled your lips even as he restricted the air in your lungs, making your head feel floaty. 'I'm starting to think you do too. You haven't killed me yet, bastard curse.'

Sukuna laughed, and now, you're sure he's drawn blood, you can feel it sliding down the curve of your back in tiny rivulets from where his nails broke your soft skin.

'You don't have the power to back up this kind of foolishness, boy!' He snapped.

Your heart stuttered with the growl in his voice, and despite any kind of better judgement, you melted into it further.

'Then why come here every night?'

'Why haven't you told the sorcerer?' Sukuna countered, his grin turned knowing. 'The brat, the Six Eyes, any one of them could stop me from doing this, you've had ample chance, and you've told, no one.'

You averted your eyes, ears growing warm as Sukuna eased his grip, only to yank your head back by your hair, teeth and tongue assaulting your neck.

This. This is why you've told no one. Gojo would know in an instant that you'd let the King of Curses in your pants, or worse, Sukuna would tell everyone himself, and you couldn't stand that kind of embarrassment, even if the choice had been amazing sex, or die.

Sukuna laid you out on your bed, stealing the breath from your lungs as he nipped at your ear lobe.

'You'll tell no one brat, because you're mine now.'

[nachosncheezies]

Mulder, Scully, and "sibling vibes"

So a few times lately I've remarked on the sibling energy I see in early Mulder & Scully, and I think perhaps it's misunderstood. I jokingly self-identified not long ago as "not a romo, not a noromo, but a secret third thing (delighted they ended up together but wishes the whole kiss kiss kiiiiiss! thing wasn't dominant forever and always)" This applies to all my fandoms fwiw. For me the friendships generally trump everything.

The other day I added this (among some other rambling) to one of @randomfoggytiger's excellent posts about Mulder and women:

To me, these two start out as best friends, almost a "sibling" relationship at first: Mulder has been looking for Samantha, "walking into that room" everyday for many more years of his life than he wasn't, and here comes this precocious, punchy little woman who says she's looking forward to being around him. She plays with him in the rain, she laughs at him, teases him and calls him "sucker", she listens to him and is eager to learn everything he can teach her. They squabble, but always stick together. She stands next to him with her little foot stuck stubbornly out to the side and her arms folded, or her little hands on her little hips, always exuding an attitude that's surprisingly large for her little body. When he looks at her it's at the top of her head. She's even the same age as Samantha. When she panics or gets scared she turns to him, and he wraps her in a blanket and tells her stories. I know it is often interpreted as flirting, but if you were to age them down, it could just as easily be a big brother who adores his little sister and a little sister who thinks her big brother hung the moon. My personal feeling is, it would be almost impossible for him not to notice commonalities between Scully and Samantha. Perhaps that's partly why he's so comfortable sharing Samantha's story with her.

To clarify, I don't think either saw the other as an actual or replacement sibling, and I don't see it as something that is remotely incompatible or icky regardless of where they ended up. Love's a lot of things and it can change and be all of it or none of it at once.

Not a person, but a pattern

Mulder and Scully were thrown together and immediately flung themselves about as far from home as you could get without crossing an ocean, at a time when there was no internet and a long distance phone call cost a million billion dollars (adjusted for inflation)(facetious). This is more than just long hours doing stakeouts or interviewing witnesses or writing profiles or joining sting operations or whatever it is that average partners (especially green-ass newbies from Quantico) might presumably be doing. They might as well have been at sea. They'd known each other for maybe a week and suddenly had to learn to not just work together but to live together, being each other's only company and support system, etc.

Watching the way they interact particularly during the pilot could be (and it seems almost always is) interpreted as crushes and flirting. I see that too, but I'm gonna toss that aside for a sec and ask you to imagine they are children, or at the very least that they're not looking to date (other people have written some very good posts about sex not being that important to them ever, or how they use it for self-flagellation (him) or rebellion (her) etc. And as fun as fanfic is, I agree with that take. For all their smouldering - both individually and together - they're remarkably sexless. But I digress. Just imagine that the search for a date or the possibility of sex is not part of the equation at this stage.)

They're both SO influenced and informed by the patterns they've been living all the way since childhood, as most of us are.

Scully is used to following strong male personalities, living to impress her dad, being a kid sister to a man who has strong opinions about how the world is or ought to be. She's extremely capable but very young for her long list of credentials (she's presumably gone from school to school to school without much lived experience), and they give her her very first field assignment with Fox Mulder. She's heard a lot about him. She's looking forward to working with him. This is probably nothing at all like what she expected when she went to Quantico, but she wants to distinguish herself so she'll go where she's asked and do her Very Best Job at it. But he immediately absconds with her and now she's doing something fun and new, and this man they've assigned her to is quirky and weird and possibly just bat-crap crazy, but in between it all he's incredibly intelligent and he's showing her the ropes and teaching her new things and she's just so excited to be here.

Mulder had to grow up way too fast, aged 12, and maybe suffered a sort of arrested development in that sense. He was once a big brother to a girl who was 8 years old and probably a bit of a brat, as precocious 8 year olds often are (I mean the first time we actually see her she called him a buttmunch and screamed in his face because she didn't get her way). They've sent him a partner who is a remarkable overachiever; she's a biophysicist and medical doctor, a Quantico graduate, and all under age 30. Her credentials include rewriting Einstein and her job responsibilities include "tattle tale". She's gonna challenge him at every turn, but she's green and earnest enough to want his to learn from his experience. She's following him and she's hanging on his every word and she's laughing at and with him. She asks a lot of questions and openly enjoys just being there with him, just being a part of it all.

Age them down 20 years and they could just be two kids playing in the woods and the rain. That doesn't mean they see their siblings in each other, but... to me, it doesn't not mean that either. It's patterns they've carried with them their whole lives. What I'm getting at is that that sort of sibling push-and-pull would be an extremely comfortable and familiar dynamic for them both to slip into, especially considering their isolation, and it's one which also lends itself to quick and easy affection. It's not the predominant feature of their friendship, but it's a starting place, and it ripples forward across time. (Imo it also informs the lack of romance for a number of years.)

The sibling vibes fade into the background after a few episodes (although I see shades of it popping up here and there through at least Darkness Falls), and it transforms into what becomes an easy, fast friendship, and then a deep, ride-or-die best friendship.

Of course, a twisted version of it is brutally resurrected and brought to the fore in season 2, and I think that more than anything is what scuppers a move out of denial or past anything apart from best friends until at least cancer arc, but that's a whole other post.

Thanks for readiiing 💕

[marvelfanfn2187a113]

The Same Page Part 8

Sherlock and Mycroft & little sister!reader

A/N: thanks for your patience while I went through a supernatural obsession (it’s still going btw). Chapter 8 is here! It’s a little short, but hopefully you won’t have to wait as long for the next chapter

A/N 2: by the way guys, I specified the reader’s name in chapter one as 17, but I think I’ll edit it out so that the age can be up to interpretation. I think a younger teen might fit the story better.

Mycroft was practically shaking with anger the whole way back to his house. You stayed silent, too scared and exhausted by the day to want to interrupt his anger.

“Where do you want to go?” Mycroft asked as he pulled into his driveway.

“The living room,” you said, as it was still too early for you to try to sleep.

Mycroft carried you to the couch. He didn’t even ask if you needed his help, he was just determined to give it.

…

“Myc?”

Mycroft turned to look at you after he’d set you down on the couch.

“What is it?”

“Are you and Sherlock…” you swallowed. “Are you gonna fight over custody?”

Mycroft stiffened. He hadn’t realized how much of his and Sherlock’s conversation you’d overheard.

“I don’t want you to worry about that,” he insisted. “I…I don’t know what’s going to happen,” he added honestly. “But I do know that there will be no repeats of today. No one is ever going to leave you alone like that, ok?”

You nodded, your hand subconsciously seeking out Mycroft’s. He took your frail hand in his and squeezed it.

“I’m so sorry,” he sighed. “I never wanted this to happen.”

You looked down at your lap.

“Me neither.”

…

“He didn’t listen to a word I said! Not that I should have expected him to.”

“Sherlock—“

“I mean it’s Mycroft, he hasn’t listened to anyone since—“

“Sherlock—“

“But we made an agreement, that we would do what’s best for our sister, and now he’s threatened to bring a custody battle into this and—“

“Sherlock!”

Sherlock stopped suddenly at John’s outburst.

“What?”

“Sherlock, you don’t get it. You think that just because you’re back, things will go back to exactly what they were.” John shook his head. “Well I was here, too, watching your sister for two years. I may not have been as involved as Mycroft, but I know enough. You treated her as though she was the same girl who left, but she’s not.”

“So you’re taking Mycroft’s side?”

“You left her alone, Sherlock. After telling Mycroft not to pick up his phone no matter what. She had a panic attack, she had to call Greg to get her. Mrs. Hudson was out. What do you think would have happened if Greg was on a case, and couldn’t pick up the phone?”

“So just as I said, you’re on his side.”

John groaned. “Sherlock, it isn’t about sides. I’m saying you two don’t have to fight over custody, you just have to agree about what’s best for Y/N.”

“But how can we? Mycroft—“

“We can start by actually talking it out.”

The men turned to see Mycroft himself standing in the doorway.

“What are you doing here?” Sherlock asked. “Don’t tell me you left Y/N alone.”

“Of course not,” Mycroft sighed. “She’s downstairs with Mrs. Hudson.”

“I think I’ll leave you two to talk,” John said, slipping past Mycroft and heading downstairs.

“So.” Sherlock sighed. “What now?”

“I don’t know,” Mycroft said honestly. “I don’t trust you with her, and you don’t trust her with me. But a custody battle would…”

“It would destroy her,” Sherlock finished. “It would destroy all of us.”

“We have to agree on this, Sherlock. It’s too important.”

“Says the one who threatened me with a custody battle.”

Mycroft had come to make peace, but his brother’s stubbornness was stirring his own.

“Because you want to drag her back to Baker Street only to neglect her!”

“Drag her?” Sherlock scoffed. “She wanted to live with me, don’t you remember? She chose me over you.”

“That was then,” Mycroft’s voice was quieter, but no less dangerous. “But perhaps things have changed.”

“And you want to take that risk?”

“Do you want to take the risk that a court would choose you?”

This brought Sherlock up short.

“You can’t just—“

“You both are fools.”

The arrival of Mrs. Hudson startled both Holmes’ brothers.

“Mrs. Hudson—“

“Honestly, Sherlock, I expect better from you. I expect better from both of you.”

“I thought you were downstairs with—“

“John is with your sister. I thought it more important to be up here.”

“Why?”

“So I can tell you both what absolute fools you’ve been. Here you are, fighting over what’s best for Y/N and where she should live, when you’ve forgotten the most important part.”

“And that would be?” Mycroft questioned.

“Asking her!”

…

You figured you had Mrs. Hudson to thank for your current predicament. Your brothers had brought you up to 221B, and now you were sitting on Sherlock’s couch, your brothers standing in front of you. Mycroft had finally asked you the question that you’d been dreading since Sherlock’s return.

“Where do you want to live?”

But that wasn’t it. It wasn’t just a question of Baker Street or Mycroft’s house. You had to pick a brother. Sherlock or Mycroft.

When you’d first had to make this decision, it had been so easy. You grew up with Sherlock, you knew him, he knew you, and the two of you coexisted quite well. But now…

You didn’t know Sherlock, not like before. It had been so long, and you had changed so much, that you weren’t sure if it could ever be like it was. And now, you’d gotten to know Mycroft better than ever, and the two of you had gotten used to having the other around. You didn’t want to stop that. But…

Baker Street felt like home. As much as you’d settled into Mycroft’s place, it didn’t feel the same. But you also didn’t think life would ever feel comfortable again without both of your brothers.

Sherlock or Mycroft. Sherlock or Mycroft. Sherlock or…

You found the familiar parasite of anxiety settle into your chest as you tried to imagine life without either one of them. It grew until your chest physically started to hurt, your eyes blurring as your lungs constricted and breathing became not only hard, but painful.

…

“Where do you want to live?”

As soon as Mycroft asked the question, he regretted it. Sherlock seemed to be impatiently awaiting your answer, but Mycroft immediately recognized the glazed look in your eyes, the slight irregularity of your breathing.

He didn’t do anything at first; this was just an early stage of your anxiety, sometimes you managed to snap yourself out of it, and sometimes you only panicked more if he tried to assist you in this stage.

But when your breathing became labored and your eyes filled with tears, Mycroft didn’t hesitate. He brushed past a concerned Sherlock and put his hands on your knees.

“Hey, look at me, I’m right here.”

Your glazed eyes seemed to focus on him, and you brought your hands down to grip his.

“That’s it, just breathe,” he soothed. “I’m right here, we’re not going anywhere.”

Sherlock noted that Mycroft included him by saying we. Then he saw the hand that you were reaching out for him. He took it, but didn’t say a word; he still didn’t know what to say or do in this situation.

He noticed that you leaned almost unconsciously towards Mycroft, and soon enough your panic subsided.

“I don’t know,” you whispered.

“Shh, that’s ok,” Mycroft said. “I don’t want you to worry about it.”

“Mycroft—“

Mycroft waved off Sherlock’s interruption.

“I think you should get some rest, alright? When you wake up, you can get some dinner.”

You nodded wearily, and Mycroft helped you lay down on Sherlock’s couch. Within minutes you were asleep.

“I’m taking her back to my house.” Mycroft decided.

“What?” Sherlock stiffened. “Mycroft, no decision has been made for—“

“Now now, calm down, brother mine. She’s had a long week, I just think it would be best if she rested in a place she was most comfortable. This isn’t indicative of a decision about where she’ll live.”

“What makes you think she won’t be most comfortable here?” Sherlock countered.

Mycroft sighed.

“Because that’s where she’s spent the last two years, it’s familiar. Honestly, Sherlock, we can’t start picking fights over the smallest of things. I just want to take her home for some rest and food, that’s it.”

“So you’re asking me to pick my battles?” Sherlock asked.

Mycroft ran a hand over his face.

“I’m asking you not to declare war.”

Taglist:

@navs-bhat , @isabellavere, @chaoticglitterkitten, @peachycupotea, @justforrose, @severussimp

[sapphicdib]

i wantchu to know my only experience with iterator shpping to this point has been Pebbles/Suns (i guess. whats even the name for that one? idk). But you have opened my eyes here. Lilypad is just so compelling in a way thats hard to describe. Adds so much depth to the whole Hunter Slag Keys thing!

You have just activated an unskippable cutscene LOL

Suns/Pebbles is called sunstone, which I think is very cute ^-^ Most rw ship names are pretty cute tbh :3

ANYWAYS. YES. Lilypad is so so so good…I really like it because Sig seems to actually be a little more emotionally vulnerable with Moon than she does Suns, implying they were closer than Sig and Suns are. Not to mention, Sig barely mentions Pebbles (or acts pretty standoffish) when he does mention Pebbs.

These are two messages it sends to Moon, but it seems to imply he’s sent more, considering “it’s me again” and the fact that there are more than one we are shown. They could have only made one just to show he was worried, but the devs chose to put more than one, just to drive the point home. It shows a panic that Sig is unwilling to reveal to Suns.

And then we have this.

Sig is basically telling Pebbles he hopes he wallows in regret for this. While Sig does express her general disdain for Pebbles’ attitude with Suns, he still makes a point to be understanding, saying “I think a lot of us were like that in the beginning.” Meanwhile, in this broadcast, none of that empathy is present. She is angry, to a point he refuses to reveal to Suns.

I believe that Sig’s biggest fear is being alone. He describes their situation as being “locked up in a box”, and comes up with the idea to use slugcats as messengers in an attempt to make sure when the comms systems degrade, something everyone else seems to have just accepted as a grim inevitability. So it’s pretty understandable Sig would be pissed at the person who took away one of the few remaining friends she had left. If you wanna read my other massive essay that goes more in depth to this point, here it is!

The fact that you can find the green overseer in outer expanse and subterranean during the Hunter, Monk, Survivor, and Gourmand campaigns is also shows how desperate she was to help Moon. If it was only around during the Hunter campaign, okay sure, that’s probably just him looking for her, checking if she made it to the void sea. However, the fact that it stays, likely long after she knows Hunter’s time is up, means he’s probably searching for any sign of activity from Moon. Still waiting and wondering if her plan was all in vain. The reason I think it doesn’t appear during Rivulet is because of the destruction of OE and just…age. Unfortunately, Sig might just not have the ability to send an overseer that far.

Lastly, the pearl he gives to Moon. This seems to contradict my first point, doesn’t this seem like he’s hiding her emotions behind humor again? Well, my interpretation of this is that: Moon just woke up from what is essentially a fucking coma. Giving her a message that’s like “OH MY GOD I WAS SO WORRIED ABOUT YOU AHHHHHH” would probably not be helpful to someone who is likely in a ton of pain, disoriented, and scared. She knows not to overwhelm Moon right now.

And…yeah. Sig seems to hold a lot of genuine adoration for Moon, and looks up to her kindness. I think his jokiness stems from him wanting to emulate Moon’s uplifting nature. He cares about her a lot and also I just love doomed yuri LMAO. SIG AND MOON LESBIANS FOREVER AND EVER.

[midweekblues]

Finally, after a slow night at work and much ruminating, I hereby present my own True-Detective-Night-Country world-famous ramble stew. Tipping my non-existent hat to one Mr @rhavewellyarnbag

Something something Sedna of the many names, Arnarquagsag, Nerivik, Nuliajuk, the one who would not marry, the wife of all.

What's you name, girl?

Navarro, Eve, Angie, Evangeline, Missy, your mother never told you your real name (the one of the Real People) and some think you have forgotten it.

Sedna of the many names many stories Arctic wide, Alaska to Greenland, many stories and in all of them she lives under the sea, in all of them she ends up there because of her father.

Her mother? sometimes a shaman (voices. episodes.) sometimes entirely absent from the narrative (died in chilbirth), sometimes a background character following her husband.

Her father? oh, he always throws her in the sea, sometimes in a panic, sometimes in a rage. She would not marry the man he told her to.

Why?

Well, is that the right question?

She would not marry the man he told her to, because she was already married to her dog who was a man, a shapeshifter, so they kept it in secret.

So many secrets here... do we trust Qavviq the dog-man, the home-brewer? or is he gonna die a terrible death?

i dunno, man. Annie keeping it secret. Danvers keeping it secret. But Everyone here knows.

Sedna whose fingers were cut went she went overboard and she tried to hold on to her father's kayak. Sometimes her whole hands, bit by bit.

So many fathers here, too. Hank, raised by an animal to act like an animal. His son trying to be better than him. The son's son drawing the woman with no hands, no fingers, spooking his father.

What is it with white people getting spooked about other people's religion? Not me, i was raised catholic. A lady with no fingers is no big deal. But maybe i mean white-white. Not opening that particular can of worms right now.

Oh and of course Travis. Fucking Travis Cohle. And his little interpretive dance. That was a man drowning. Or several. Didn't Lund cough up some filthy water when he woke up corpsicled? Cause of death: Spooketh. But also maybe drowned. 

The lady under the sea, the lady with no fingers, cannot untangle her hair. Her hair traps the marine animals and she gets agitated and there is storm and famine. Her hair under the sea, her hair maybe like the sea, and who hasn't dyed their hair sea-blue, sea-green, when they missed so much? i have. Wear the monster's face, wear her hair, whatever you can manage.

The lady with the sea-hair beautifully painted on the door to the warehouse where the people gather. And the people are pissed. 

Something in the water, and no one seems to be asking questions. Not even the wrong ones. Tsalal is the mine is the thing under the ice, now she's awake and y'all done fucked up.

The lady with no fingers that lives under the sea gets pissed off sometimes. Main thing driving her mad is greed and ungratefulness, apparently.Those who take more than they need and those who do not honor their prey. The seals have souls, and so do the whales and the walruses. Those are Sedna’s children, not exactly like children, born from her chopped fingers like Eve from Adam’s rib. 

Sedna (90377 Sedna) is also a dwarf planet hanging around Ceres. This season feels like the Belt. As oppresive as S1 made Louisiana look (humid, hot, that heavy heavy sky) this creeps me out more. What's worse, air thick with miasma or no air at all? Women walking out to the dark, a tiny circle of light and then the vast nothing. Very cosmic horror. Also i miss Naomi Nagata and i miss Camina Drummer. Funny that Danvers' kid was named Holden. But i digress.

You know how scientists are, naming stuff after goddesses. Pieces of rock, sometimes lifeforms. She's awake alright. 

Who are you, girl? Eve? An angel? I am reminded too that Evangelion means Good News. Are you catholic, Navarro? Was your father catholic? What did he drink?

Something in the water, something in the ice. Crabs are bottom feeders, aren't they? How fucked up is an ecosystem where the carrion-eaters die off? Maybe stuff isn't dying at the rate it should. Caribou spook relatively easy, but maybe they know something we don't, too. Micro earthquakes and magnetic fields and shit. Guess we’ll find out.