#How to combat decision fatigue

[lifestyle-hub]

9 Ways to Combat Decision Fatigue in a World of Endless Choices

Image credit: Cottonbro||

It’s the end of the day, and you’re staring blankly at your phone, unable to decide whether to order pizza, noodles, or maybe just cook dinner.

It’s not laziness, it’s decision fatigue. We live in an era where choices are everywhere, from what to wear in the morning to which Netflix show to binge at night. While more options may seem like a good thing, they can lead to mental exhaustion, leaving us drained and overwhelmed.

So how do you take back control and reduce this daily stress? Let’s dive into 9 simple, actionable ways to combat decision fatigue.

1. Simplify Your Routine

Ever heard how some of the most successful people like Steve Jobs or Mark Zuckerberg stick to the same wardrobe every day? They do this for a reason, by reducing minor decisions, they save their brainpower for more important choices. You don’t have to go full uniform mode, but simplifying daily routines can go a long way in cutting down decision fatigue. Whether it's meal prepping your week’s lunches, choosing a go-to work outfit, or setting up an automatic morning routine, having fewer decisions to make will lighten the mental load.

2. Limit Your Options

The more choices we have, the harder it becomes to decide. This is the classic paradox of too much choice. To avoid this, set boundaries for yourself. For instance, limit your entertainment options to just three choices: one movie, one show, and one documentary. The same applies to your daily tasks. Prioritize the top three things you need to accomplish, and ignore the rest until they’re done. Less is more!

3. Batch Your Decisions

Imagine having to make a hundred small decisions throughout the day, it’s exhausting, right? Batching similar tasks together is a powerful way to minimize the number of decisions you make. Instead of figuring out what to eat for dinner every night, plan your meals for the week on Sunday. Instead of checking emails all day, dedicate two specific times to respond. By batching decisions into a single timeframe, you free up mental space and reduce the constant barrage of choices.

4. Create Decision-Making Habits

Habits can be your best friend when it comes to fighting decision fatigue. The more decisions you can turn into habits, the fewer choices you have to actively make. For example, if you always work out at the same time every day, it becomes second nature, eliminating the need to constantly debate with yourself about when or whether to exercise. The beauty of habits is that they automate your decisions, leaving your mind free for other things.

5. Know Your Decision-Making Peak

Your brain doesn’t operate at the same level all day. For most people, cognitive function is at its peak in the morning. This means your ability to make sound decisions is stronger earlier in the day. Schedule your most important decisions whether they’re about work, finances, or personal life for when you’re most alert. Save the less critical decisions (like what to watch on TV) for later when your mental energy is lower. By aligning your decision-making with your mental stamina, you’ll make better, more thoughtful choices.

6. Embrace “Good Enough”

I wouldn't say the term “perfect” is not possible or bad, but perfectionism is the enemy of decision-making. We often get stuck in analysis paralysis, trying to find the perfect solution when “good enough” would suffice. The truth is, in most situations, there is no perfect answer. Accepting “good enough” speeds up decision-making and reduces the stress that comes with overthinking. Whether it’s choosing a restaurant or making a work decision, ask yourself, “Is this good enough for now?” More often than not, it will be.

7. Make Use of Tools

We live in a time where technology can help ease decision fatigue. Apps like Todoist, Trello, or even simple to-do lists can help organize your tasks and priorities. Decision-making templates can help narrow down your options. For example, if you struggle with choosing a new book to read, create a shortlist based on recommendations, then use a decision matrix to weigh your options based on criteria like length, genre, and reviews. These tools act as shortcuts for your brain, giving you a framework to make faster decisions.

8. Delegate When Possible

You don’t have to make every decision yourself. Whether it's work-related or personal, delegation is a powerful tool to reduce decision fatigue. Trusting others with some choices allows you to focus on the ones that matter most to you. At work, this could mean passing tasks down to a coworker or team member. At home, it might involve letting your partner or kids make dinner choices or weekend plans. Don’t be afraid to ask for help it’s a sign of strength, not weakness.

9. Take Regular Breaks

Our brains are like muscles, they get tired from overuse. Taking regular breaks throughout the day can help reset your mental energy, allowing you to make better decisions. Whether it's stepping outside for a quick walk, doing some stretches, or practicing mindfulness for a few minutes, these small breaks can prevent decision burnout. When you feel overwhelmed, don’t push through, pause, reset, and come back refreshed.

Fewer Decisions, More Clarity

In a world filled with endless choices, the secret to clarity is cutting through the noise. It’s about making fewer decisions so you can focus on the ones that count.

So, take a deep breath, start with one small change, and watch as your decision-making power grows stronger.

Kad

References

Baumeister, R. F., & Tierney, J. (2011). Willpower: Rediscovering the Greatest Human Strength.

Schwartz, B. (2004). The Paradox of Choice: Why More is Less.

Iyengar, S. S. (2010). The Art of Choosing.

[0kurakura0]

Case Files Pt.1 (intro)

Simon Riley "Ghost" x UN lawyer Reader

TF 141 receives a visit from a UN prosecutor working at the ICC. This overworked prosecutor is trying to build a case against war criminals and must team up with them to catch these criminals. Along the way, they may even catch feelings for a brooding soldier. slow-burn, M/F, mention of law terms, Human rights violation (genocide), cursing

>> Part 2

The dim, sterile lights of the briefing room flickered overhead as the members of Task Force 141 gathered around the table along with Core, a fellow private military group that was hired along with 141 for a mission. Soap MacTavish leaned forward, eyes locked on the Price as he gave the mission report, his fingers drumming quietly on the polished surface. Price, ever the sentinel, stood at the center of the room along with Leopold; the captain of Core a fellow private military company. Ghost remained an imposing figure at the far end of the room leaning against the side wall. Gaz who was sitting in the seat next to Price listened in on the report on their course of action as well as all information gathered on their target. 

"Intel checks out," Soap muttered, his accent thick with the fatigue of too many nights spent in hostile territory. "I think we’ve got it locked down."

Price didn't respond immediately, waiting for the Core captain to add any information on their part. "Just keep sharp. We're not totally out of the blue just yet," Price said.

“Not much to worry about, luckily, but who knows, maybe if we find these bastards as fast as we can, we can have some fun with them,” Leopold snickers in a sadistic tone. 141 just staring at him with disdain in their eyes. Even though they are fellow operatives in this mission, 141 and Core did not see eye to eye on matters surrounding how they handled the enemy combatants. While 141 would be over and done with it. Core, they came to find out they were ruthless and would like to “play” with the enemy, much to the discomfort of others. 

“Prick,” Ghost rumbles under his breath, low enough that it couldn't be heard. 

Before anyone could reply, the door swung open, and all operatives in the room shot from their seats at the sudden interruption. Two armed guards came in and following after them a woman wearing a suit that screamed of legal authority rather than combat experience walked in. The woman’s eyes flicked across the room, taking in each of them, her gaze cold and unwavering.

"Hello Gentleman, I do hope I'm not interrupting at a bad time but I have a pressing issue at the moment" the lawyer’s voice cut through the tension like a blade. Not waiting for an invitation, stepping fully into the room, and looking directly at Price and Leopold.

"Excuse me?" Leapold barked, his brows furrowing as he straightened, clearly not amused. "And who exactly are you? And what the fuck are you doing here?”

The lawyer didn’t flinch at the sudden hostility. "I’m ___, a lawyer assigned by the United Nations to prosecute violations of international law," she said, her voice laced with authority. "I’m here on a matter of grave importance. It seems there have been violations in more ways than one."

Price exchanged glances with Ghost, each sensing the impending storm. "What’s this about?" Price asked, his tone sharp but controlled.

___ walking further into the long table in the middle and held up a folder, its contents heavy with the weight of documents, before dropping it onto the center table "Leopold O'Reilly you are being detained on violations of International Humanitarian laws along with all other soldiers under the command of the Private Military Company “Core”," she said, letting the words sink in. "Violated the Geneva Conventions, among other things. you’ll either face prosecution or give up your position and pay a hefty fine. The decision is yours, but I’m here to make sure that happens and you're brought in." She says as the 2 armed guards come around cuffing Leopold, 

“What the fuck do you mean violation I haven't done shit, and Im a private actor, not a state, so the Geneva Conventions don't apply to me,” Leopold screams at the lady as he struggles against the 2 guards. 

“Under certain circumstances, yes, but 3 years ago, you were hired by a state official in Nigeria to clear out a village to make way for oil drilling in the area where you were not, and while there, it was reported that your team violated multiple human rights law including the violation of the 1948 genocide convention, and since you where hired by a state official you are considered a state actor under contract,” ___ states with a cold glare towards Leopold. As she motions her head to the 2 guards to escort him out.

"You can't Fucking do this to me- fuck stop let me go!" Leopold yells as he's dragged out of the room by the guards.

“Hold, you can't just come barging in here like this,” Soap says as he stands up, half yelling at the lawyer.

___ not flinching turns to him saying. "This is a matter of international law, and as of now out of yalls hands. So unless you want to see the rest of your operation crumble under legal scrutiny, I suggest you start taking this seriously and just let me do my job,"

The room seemed to freeze, the air thick with the weight of her words. Ghost’s gloved hands tightened into fists, his gaze never leaving ___. The lawyer wasn’t backing down. She had a mission, and She would not be swayed.

Price stepped forward, his voice low but filled with command. "We have a mission that we are carrying out. We can't just up and stop this. You think you can just waltz in here and disrupt everything we’ve worked on?"

___ met his gaze head-on. "I don’t care about your mission. What I care about is justice. And that’s what you’re going to face, whether you like it or not," she says, ending the conversation as she turns around leaving the room. 

Price’s phone rings soon after. “Laswell, what the bloody hell is going on right now?” He half yells through the phone. 

“Sorry, John, I guess you just met the reason for my call,” Laswell says from the other side of the phone, sighing. “That was __ a UN litigator. It seems like they are starting to push harder to crack down on violations by sending out their dogs to bring them in. And Leopold was apparently on the top of their list. I tried to call you about the situation as soon as I caught word, but seems I was just a tad bit late,” 

Price grumbles “So what do we do now?”

“Nothing, the mission is being called off, think of it as an early break let off to go home,” Laswell says in a monotone voice before ending the call.

Soap leans over looking over to Ghost with one of his trademark grins. “Well that was something,” he says with a chuckle. “But I will have to say seeing a lassie like that being so commanding is kinda hot, ain't it LT,” he says.

Ghost looks at him with annoyance through his mask, saying, “Can it, Johnny” as he pushes off the wall, leaving the room annoyed with the whole situation. Thinking back to the lawyer. Hoping for his annoyance that he doesn't have to deal with that shit again.

Okay hey, y'all this is my first fic ever so not the best but will edit and add more here and there as I figure out what I'm meant to do and how this app works lol.

I'm always open to little imagine ideas or other stuff. but this fic will take some time also will make a masterlist for it as soon as I figure it all out.

but yeah hope you like this kinda a law nerd but to make it interesting it's not 100% accurate but if I can help it I will be in some.

[anim-ttrpgs]

Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, and Themes of Disability, Mental Illness, and Criminality.

Back Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy on kickstarter before May 10th if you want to help a disabled person with limited ability to work pay his bills.

Verisimilitude, What Would a Person Do?

To understand Eureka’s themes regarding disability, mental illness, and criminality, you first have to understand its verisimilitude.

“Verisimilitude” is defined as “the appearance of being true or real,” and it is a big part of the core design ethos behind Eureka. It is a very realistic game.

We aren’t necessarily of the opinion that “realism” is a better design choice than stylization overall for RPGs, but it is a better design choice for Eureka, because we want the PCs to be very normal, believable people who make believable, organic decisions in extraordinary situations. No matter what anyone says, the mechanics of a TTRPG strongly influence what kind of stories are told with it, and what characters do in those stories. So if we want characters to make realistic decisions, the world they inhabit and interact with must be constructed of realistic rules.

Even though there is a small chance that they may be a supernatural creature, PCs in Eureka are still not fearless action heroes, chosen ones, or anything of the sort. They’re normal people with jobs, friends, and families who get mixed up in mysterious and/or dangerous situations, often against their will. They are fragile, vulnerable, imperfect, and they, largely, know it.

“Composure” is a mechanic that helps you know it too. I’ve given a deeper explanation of the Composure mechanic in the post linked here, but I’ll give a very very very condensed version in this post. Composure can sort of be thought of as “emotional/fatigue HP,” (and no, it is NOT “sanity”) it acts as a guideline for how well your character is handling the situation, and when it gets low enough, it starts to have serious mechanical effects as well, because a character’s stat modifier can never be higher than their current Composure level. Fear, hunger, and fatigue all lower Composure, and eating, sleeping, and bonding with one’s fellow investigators can all restore it, at least for normal people. More on that further down. All you really need to know for now is that when Composure gets below zero it starts eating into HP, so characters can even pass out or die from loss of Composure, and also one single bullet is enough to permanently cripple a character, and the rate of Composure loss during combat reflects how serious that is for the characters.

Grievous Wounds

It isn’t too uncommon for RPGs to have some sort of “flaw” system, whereby in character creation you can give your PC “flaws” or some kind of penalty, and usually get that balanced out by being able to add extra bonuses elsewhere, and these “flaws” may take the form of disabilities.

Critical Role’s Candela Obscura, the whole document of which is one of the most egregious examples of liberalism and toxic positivity I’ve ever seen in the TTRPG space, takes this beyond just character creation, and makes it so that if a PC receives a “scar” in combat that reduces their physical stats, their mental stats automatically go up by an equivalent amount, and proudly asserts that to make any mechanic which functions otherwise is ableist. I think you can probably tell what I think of that from this sentence alone and I don’t need to elaborate. Getting bogged down in all the failures, mechanical and moral, of Candela Obscura would make this post three times as long.

I actually do think that as long as you aren’t moralizing and patting yourself on the back this hard about it, “flaw” systems in character creation are a pretty good idea in most cases, it allows for more varied options during character creation, while preserving game balance between the PCs.

But in real life, people aren’t balanced. The events that left me injured and disabled didn’t make me smarter or better at anything—if anything, they probably made me stupider, considering the severity of the concussion! Some things happened to me, and now I’m worse. There’s no upside, I just have to keep going by trying harder with a less efficient body, and rely more on others in situations where I am no longer capable of perfect self-sufficiency.

Denying that a disabled person is, by definition, less capable of doing important tasks than the average person is to deny that they need help, and to deny that they need help is to enable a refusal to help.

This is the perspective from which Eureka’s Grievous Wounds mechanic was written.

When a character is reduced to 1 HP, which by design can result from a single hit from most weapons, they may become incapacitated, or they may take a Grievous Wound, which is a permanent injury with no stat benefits. Think twice before getting into a shootout.

Grievous Wounds don’t have to result from combat, they can also be given to a character during character creation, but not as a trade-off for an extra bonus.

“But then doesn’t my character just have worse stats than the rest of the party?” Yes, didn’t you read the above section? There is no benefit, except for the opportunity to play a disabled character in an TTRPG, and this character will probably have to be more reliant on the rest of the party to get by in various situations. Is that a bad thing?

Monsters

Just like mundane people in Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy, monsters are playable, because they are regular people. I’ve gone over this in other posts and also you can just read about it in Chapter 8 of the Eureka rulebook, but the setting of Eureka doesn’t have a conspiracy or “masquerade” hiding or separating supernatural people from normal society. They exist within normal society, and a lot of them eat people.

Most RPGs consider monsters to just be evil, they do evil for evil’s sake. RPGs that seek to subvert this expectation often instead make monsters misunderstood and wrongfully persecuted, but harmless. Eureka takes a wholly different approach.

There are five playable types of monsters in the rulebook right now, and it’ll be seven if we hit all the stretch goals, but for simplicity’s sake this post will just focus on the vampire. Despite them applying in different ways, the same overall themes apply to nearly every monster, so if you get the themes for the vampire, you’ll get the gist of what Eureka is doing with monsters in general.

I mentioned Composure above, and how it can normally be restored by eating food and sleeping. Well, vampires can not restore their Composure this way. They don’t sleep, and normal people food might be tasty as long as it isn’t too heavily seasoned for them, but it doesn’t do anything for them nutritionally. Their main way to restore Composure is fresh living human blood, straight from the source. To do what mundane PCs do normally by just eating and sleeping, vampires have to take from another, whether they’re happy with this arrangement or not. They do not, of course, literally have to, and a player is not forced to make their vampire PC drink blood, just like you don’t literally have to eat food, but they do and you do if you want to live in any degree of comfort or happiness, or else they’d eventually just sit at 0 Composure and not be able to effectively do anything.

There’s a reason that this is a numerical mechanic and not simply a rule that says something like “this character is a vampire and therefore they must drink blood once every session,” and that is to emphasize and demonstrate that the circumstances a person faces drive their behavior. In America, there is a tendency to think of criminality and harmfulness as resulting from something of an intrinsic evil, but in my experience and observation, people do not just wake up at like age 16 and decide “I think I’ll go down the criminal life path.” Through their life circumstances they have been barred from the opportunities that would have given them other options. People need food, food costs money, money requires work, work requires getting hired, but getting hired requires a nearby job opening, an education, an impressive resume, nice clean clothes, a charismatic attitude, consistent transportation, and so on. For people without, criminality is something they are funneled into, which becomes harder to avoid the longer they go without consistent access to their basic needs. The choice will be between taking money from others by force or trickery, or running completely out of money.

As the Composure counter ticks down, a vampire, or other playable monster, is going to encounter much the same dilemma. There is little to no “legal” or “harmless” way for them to get their needs met, even if they do have some money. Society just isn’t set up for that. And no your kink is not the solution to this, trying to suggest every vampire get into sex work is like one step removed from telling every girl she should just get an OnlyFans the minute she turns 18, or that women should just marry a man and be a housewife that gets taken care of if they want their needs met.

Playable monsters in Eureka are dangerous, harmful people. They were set up to be.

“Oh well then the vampire should just eat bad people!” You mean those same bad people i just described above? See this post for answers to all the other arguments people are going to make to try and absolve vampires of causing harm.

Society not being set up for that brings me to next reading/theme: Monstrousness as disability, and monsters as takers.

Mundane human characters restore 2 points of Composure per day just by eating food and sleeping, but vampires do not, they can’t. To restore their Composure they have to take from others a valuable resource that everyone needs to live and the extraction of which is excruciatingly painful and debilitating (blood). No one knows what happens to blood after a vampire drinks it, it’s just gone. Vampires are open wounds through which blood pours out of the universe.

This is a special need, something they have to take but cannot give back. Their special needs make them literally a drain on society and the world.

Even in so-called “progressive” spaces, there is a tendency to consider takers, people who take much more than they give back, such as disabled people, as something that needs to be pruned, with the mask over this being the aforementioned total denial of the fact that disabled people take more than they can give.

In this way, vampires and other playable monsters are, inarguably, “takers,” but in positioning them as protagonists right beside mundane protagonists, Eureka puts you in their shoes, and forces you to at least reckon with the circumstances that make them this way, as well as acknowledge their inner lives. You have to acknowledge two things: That they are dangerous, harmful people who take more than they can give, and that they are people. Because they are people, Eureka asserts that they have inherent value, a right to exist, and a right to do what they need to do to exist.

One final point is that of monstrousness as mental illness. Mental illness is a disability, one pretty comparable to physical disability in a lot of ways, so all of the above about disability can apply to this metaphor as well, but there are a few unique comparisons to make here.

It’s not the most efficient, but there are a couple of loopholes deliberately left in the rules that allow vampires to restore Composure without drinking blood. Eureka! moments can restore Composure, and Comfort checks from fellow investigators can restore Composure.

When I was writing the rules for how monsters regain Composure in accordance to these themes, I came to a dilemma where I wasn’t sure if it was thematically appropriate for them to be able to regain Composure in these ways, but ultimately I decided that yes, they can. It works with themes of mental illness, which is mental disability.

People with mental illnesses may have the potential to be harmful and dangerous, but study after study, including my own observation, has shown that mentally ill people with robust support structures and agency allowed to them to handle tasks are much less likely to enact harm, be that physical violence, relational violence, or violence against the self. So that’s why I kept that rule in for playable monsters. Being able to accomplish goals, and having friends who are there for them, makes the harmful person less likely to cause unnecessary harm.

I couldn’t really figure out where to fit this paragraph in so I’m sticking it here right before the conclusion: Vampires are especially great for this because they’re immortal, and because they always come back when “killed.” They can’t be exterminated, they aren’t going away, there will always be problem people in society, no matter how utopian or “progressive.” They’re a never-ending curse, who will always be a problem. The question is how you will handle them, not how you will get rid of them.

In conclusion,

Eureka is as much a study of the characters themselves as it is the mystery being solved by the characters. It is a harsh, but compassionate game, that argues through its own gameplay that yes, people do have needs which drive their behavior, many people do have special needs that are beyond their ability to reciprocate, and failure to meet the needs of even a small number of people in a society has high potential to harm the entire society, not just those individuals whose needs are unmet.

And Candela Obscura sucks.

Back Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy on kickstarter before May 10th if you want to help a disabled person with limited ability to work pay his bills.

If you want to try before you buy, you can download a free demo of the prerelease version from our website or our itch.io page!

If you’re interested in a more updated and improved version of Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy than the free demo you got from our website, subscribe to our Patreon where we frequently roll our new updates for the prerelease version!

You can also support us on Ko-fi, or by checking out our merchandise!

Join our TTRPG Book Club At the time of writng this, Eureka: Investigative Urban Fantasy is the current game being played in the book club, and anyone who wants to participate in discussion, but can’t afford to make a contribution, will be given the most updated prerelease version for free! Plus it’s just a great place to discuss and play new TTRPGs you might not be able to otherwise!

We hope to see you there, and that you will help our dreams come true and launch our careers as indie TTRPG developers with a bang by getting us to our base goal and blowing those stretch goals out of the water, and fight back against WotC's monopoly on the entire hobby. Wish us luck.

[nenelonomh]

weekend reset

what to do on the weekend to ensure a productive week

i'm sure by now that you've definitely seen videos of girls and their aesthetic 'sunday resets'. they encapsulate self-care, productivity, and well-being and do so in such a stylish way.

a weekend reset is a to-do list that follows you every weekend to set yourself up for a good week. it's holistic, covering various aspects of your life.

some benefits of a weekend reset include adding structure to the weekend, decreasing procrastination, helping you start the week feeling accomplished, and supporting overall wellbeing.

'sunday night stress' refers to feelings of intense anxiety and dread that routinely occur every sunday. they often start in the late afternoon and continue into the evening. these emotions can snowball into physical manifestations such as a racing heartbeat, and trouble sleeping. the trigger? anticipating the return to school/work or upcoming responsibilities for the week ahead.

to combat this, consider changing your mindset and creating a weekend reset routine.

even if you don't struggle with sunday night stress, creating a weekend routine can help you (in the simplest form) make the most of your time while balancing relaxation and productivity.

but how do you create a weekend routine?

during the week, write down tasks that need attention over the weekend. include household chores, grocery shopping, and anything to prepare for the upcoming week.

note any plans, events, or commitments for the weekend. this helps you plan around them effectively.

add activities you'd enjoy alongside necessary tasks - like family movie nights, exercise classes, or nature walks. prioritize self-care and relaxation.

make sure to avoid over-scheduling, by balancing activities and rest. overloading your weekend can lead to burnout. aim for a mix of productivity and leisure.

set a regular wake-up time. consistency helps regulate your body clock. wake up at the same time daily for better sleep and energy.

implement screen-free time. dedicate moments without screens - read a book, take a walk, or engage in other offline hobbies. make sure to get outdoors over the weekend. breathe fresh air and recharge. nature has a calming effect.

consider meal-prepping for the week ahead. personally, i find meal prepping very helpful since it helps eliminate decision fatigue during the week. additionally, it can save time on busy weekdays. some popular methods of meal-prepping include make-ahead meals, batch cooking, individually portioned meals, and ready-to-cook ingredients. the easiest way to employ meal-prepping is to build a combination of easy, healthy pre-made meals and prepped ingredients.

remember - your weekend routine should be a blend of productivity and relaxation, tailored to your needs and preferences.

for further reading, check out these links: Sunday Scaries: Who Gets Them and How To Deal - Supportiv How (and Why) To Create a Weekend Routine - Almost The Weekend How to Create a Weekend Routine (and Why You Need One) (merakilane.com) How To Build The Best Sunday Reset Routine | Notes by Thalia How to Meal Prep — A Beginner's Guide (healthline.com) 10 Productive things to do on weekend - For Busy Bee's (forbusybees.com) Have Better and More Productive Weekends | The Muse

hope this was helpful! ❤️ nene

image source: pinterest

[finalgirlsamwinchester]

nothing makes my hackles rise more than seeing people ascribe to fanon labelling sam's empathy and compassionate nature as something purely cognitive, cold, and calculating. because for some reason, people are quicker to jump to the conclusion that deep down he's uncaring - that his compassion is purely scripted, that he's going through the motions. which is patently false! if you would spend more than two seconds paying attention to his character and his stated AND unstated motivations and core beliefs.

also. would you say the same thing to an EMT running through a script while dealing with a patient during an emergency. hunting mirrors a lot of emergency service work that puts workers in high stress, life-or-death situations, day in, day out! compassion fatigue is real, and anyone on the job will tell you that no one is surviving the work week running on pure compassion alone.

like emergency services workers in the real world, both brothers rely on scripts. dean often defaults to lines that let him take charge of a situation, especially useful for when decisive action needs to take place. sam on the other hand, usually defaults to supportive lines and does far better at defusing tense situations. they're also capable of swapping roles, and will readily do so when required. it's all part of why they're an effective hunting unit when working together, operating at their best.

because we repeatedly see in the show that tactical combat is only one facet of hunting. there's the research and detective work, but more importantly, there's the people work that comes with it. they're constantly having to work with people, often victims/survivors experiencing great distress.

like yeah they have their own host of issues when it comes to communicating with each other and managing close interpersonal conflicts. but i'd argue they're an effective unit out in the field. and i'm really not judging how they talk to people on their random case-of-the-week by the same standards i use to judge their familial dysfunction. lol.

[usafphantom2]

How An A-10 Pilot Guided His Wingman to Safety in a Hypoxia Crisis

Lt. Col. Mitchell recalls a life-or-death moment in the sky, helping his wingman fight hypoxia during a mission aboard the A-10 Warthog.

David Cenciotti

A-10 Hypoxia

U.S. Air Force Reserve Citizen Airman Lt. Col. Timothy “Scream” Mitchell, an A-10 instructor pilot and flight commander with the 47th Fighter Squadron, places his hand on the iconic nose of an A-10C Thunderbolt II at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Ariz., Aug. 22, 2024. (U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Tyler J. Bolken)

With the plan to fully retire the type by 2029, the U.S. Air Force will decommission 42 A-10C Thunderbolt II aircraft this year, with the remaining 260 expected to be phased out in the next 5 years.

As the legendary “Warthog” approaches the twilight of its storied service, one figure stands out as a living embodiment of the grit, tenacity, and unwavering dedication that define the aircraft’s tight-knit community. That figure is U.S. Air Force Reserve Citizen Airman Lt. Col. Timothy “Scream” Mitchell.

With nearly two decades of flying the A-10, Mitchell was recently recognized with a prestigious safety award, not only for his actions during a perilous night flight but for a career that epitomizes the spirit of the A-10 and the individuals who support and operate this combat-proven aircraft.

In March this year, Mitchell found himself in a situation that tested the full breadth of his experience. Alongside Capt. Dylan “Mac” Vail, an active-duty pilot from the 357th Fighter Squadron who was being trained to become an IP (instructor pilot), Mitchell embarked on what was intended to be a routine 2-ship training flight.

U.S. Air Force Reserve Citizen Airman Lt. Col. Timothy “Scream” Mitchell, an A-10 instructor pilot and flight commander with the 47th Fighter Squadron, stands in front of the first A-10C Thunderbolt II he flew, tail number 9154, on the flight line at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Ariz., Aug. 22, 2024. Mitchell has flown the A-10, often referred to as the Warthog, for nearly two decades, exemplifying the dedication and expertise that define the A-10 community. (U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Tyler J. Bolken)

As an instructor pilot and flight commander for the 47th Fighter Squadron, Mitchell is no stranger to demanding situations. However, on this night, what began as a standard night sortie, would quickly transform rom routine to critical. In fact, Vail began showing the early signs of hypoxia, a dangerous condition caused by a lack of oxygen that can impair cognitive functions and motor skills.

A subtle threat

Hypoxia can be difficult to identify, especially for pilots, because its onset is often gradual and its symptoms can be subtle or easily mistaken for fatigue or stress. Symptoms like dizziness, confusion, lightheadedness, euphoria, and impaired judgment often develop slowly, which can make it challenging for pilots to recognize what is happening before it becomes severe, and increasingly difficult for a pilot to maintain control of their aircraft.

In the cockpit, Vail was struggling. His brain, starved of oxygen, couldn’t process the situation clearly. As the effects of hypoxia worsened, the situation became dire. But Mitchell’s calm and decisive leadership shone through. Years of experience kicked in, allowing him to quickly assess the situation and provide clear, concise instructions over the radio to guide Vail back to safety.

It was a night that could have ended tragically had it not been for Mitchell’s steady hand.

“I could barely think straight,” Vail recalls, his voice heavy with the memory of that critical night. A Houston native and a graduate of the Air Force Academy, Vail was in a dangerous spiral, both mentally and physically. “Mitchell was there every step of the way, simplifying everything, telling me exactly what I needed to do. It was his voice and experience that got me back on the ground safely.”

For Vail, Mitchell’s actions went beyond the role of an experienced pilot, they embodied a deeper philosophy, one ingrained in the A-10 community itself. This is a community where the mission is paramount, but equally important is the unwavering commitment to the safety and well-being of those involved.

“People always get lost and enamored about the aircraft,” Mitchell explained. A native of Lockney, Texas, and a graduate of Texas A&M, Mitchell is quick to shift the spotlight away from himself and the aircraft, instead highlighting the broader community that supports the A-10. “But the number one thing is the community that is dedicated to it.”

For Mitchell, the A-10 is not just a machine. It’s a symbol of camaraderie, a tool to defend and protect, and a centerpiece of a community bound by shared purpose and dedication. Standing next to the very first A-10 he flew, tail number 9154, Mitchell reflected on his long journey with the aircraft. His humor remained intact despite the passage of time and the wear of years spent in service.

“I’m old,” he said with a chuckle, recalling his search for some of the A-10s he had flown over the years. “I was trying to look for a couple of tails that I had my name on in the past, and I think they’re gone either to Moody AFB or the Boneyard, so here’s what it is.”

Mitchell’s reflections extend beyond the aircraft’s flight numbers and history. He shared a little-known piece of A-10 heritage, the unique artwork that adorns each of the 47th Pursuit Squadron’s aircraft. Dating back to World War II, these aircraft are emblazoned with characters from the “Dogpatch” cartoon series by Andy Capp, a tradition that the squadron continues to honor.

“The 47th Pursuit Squadron paid Andy Capp $1 for the copyright usage of his characters to put on all the airframes,” Mitchell shared, highlighting the deep historical roots that tie the squadron to the past. “Each airplane has its own character from the original Little Abner cartoons.”

U.S. Air Force Reserve Citizen Airman Lt. Col. Timothy “Scream” Mitchell, an A-10 instructor pilot and flight commander with the 47th Fighter Squadron, looks on as he stands next to an A-10C Thunderbolt II at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Ariz., Aug. 22, 2024. (U.S. Air Force photo by Tech. Sgt. Tyler J. Bolken)

This rich tradition, combined with a sense of pride and duty, has been a cornerstone of Mitchell’s career since he first began flying the A-10 in January 2005. From those early days as a young lieutenant in the 47th Fighter Squadron to his current role as a seasoned commander and mentor, Mitchell’s journey has been defined by his commitment to not only the aircraft but also the people who operate and maintain it.

“Creating new fighter pilots and passing on the lessons learned—that’s our job,” Mitchell said, emphasizing the importance of mentorship within the A-10 community. “We are providers of fixing problems for people in a dynamic situation, and we’re very good at it.”

Col. Aaron “Nacho” Weedman, commander of the 924th Fighter Group, also expressed pride in Mitchell’s efforts. He highlighted the significance of Mitchell’s actions during that night flight and the profound impact of his leadership on the A-10 community.

“His actions while instructing a student during a sortie in which the student experienced a serious physiological incident saved the life of another pilot,” Weedman said. For Weedman, Mitchell’s recent safety award is not just a personal achievement but a reflection of the ethos that has guided the A-10 community for decades.

The citation for the award specifically notes Mitchell’s quick thinking during the March 2024 incident, as well as his broader contributions to the safety and training of A-10 pilots. But as Weedman pointed out, the recognition also speaks to the experience and maturity that AFRC Instructor pilot cadre like Mitchell bring to the mission of the A-10 Formal Training Unit.

“His actions that evening highlight the importance of experience and maturity that AFRC Instructor pilot cadre add to the mission of the A-10 FTU,” Weedman emphasized. “This experience is leveraged to strengthen the total force, producing combat-ready wingmen for the A-10 community.”

More than just an aircraft

For pilots like Mitchell and Vail, the A-10 is far more than just an aircraft. It symbolizes something much greater, a legacy of camaraderie, dedication to mission, and the enduring reputation of those who have flown it and those who have been saved by it.

Vail, now a certified instructor pilot himself, is keenly aware of the legacy he is inheriting. It is a legacy shaped by the seasoned pilots who came before him—pilots like Mitchell, who ensured the lessons of the past continue to guide the future.

“I love the A-10. I love the mission,” Vail shared. “But what makes it special is the people, the community of pilots who have dedicated themselves to this aircraft and what it stands for.”

As the A-10 gradually phases out of U.S. military service (with a potential future in a foreign air arm), its heritage will not fade away with its airframes. Instead, it will live on in the stories and experiences of those who flew it, those who maintained it, and those whose lives were saved by it. And in the center of that story will always be the men and women like Lt. Col. Timothy “Scream” Mitchell, whose actions ensured that every pilot returned home safely.

A U.S. Air Force A-10C Thunderbolt II assigned to the 47th Fighter Squadron, Davis-Monthan Air Force Base, Arizona, flies over Range 2 during Haboob Havoc 2024, April 24, 2024, at Barry M. Goldwater Range, Arizona. (U.S. Air Force photo by Staff Sgt. Noah D. Coger)

About David Cenciotti

David Cenciotti is a journalist based in Rome, Italy. He is the Founder and Editor of “The Aviationist”, one of the world’s most famous and read military aviation blogs. Since 1996, he has written for major worldwide magazines, including Air Forces Monthly, Combat Aircraft, and many others, covering aviation, defense, war, industry, intelligence, crime and cyberwar. He has reported from the U.S., Europe, Australia and Syria, and flown several combat planes with different air forces. He is a former 2nd Lt. of the Italian Air Force, a private pilot and a graduate in Computer Engineering. He has written five books and contributed to many more ones.

@TheAviationist.com

[jintaka-hane]

Weaknesses Pt. 1 (Mishanks)

Masterlist

Image source

Pairing: Shanks x Mihawk Summary: After a fight, there appears to be something amiss with Mihawk, as he moves peculiarly, his neck slightly askew. Shanks, concerned for his adversary, will try to help him, though the task may be as difficult as trying to pet a wild cat. Word Count: 872 Notes: Part 1 of 2.

As their captain sparred once again with his most frequent adversary, the crew of the Red Force discreetly withdrew to another nearby shore, affording them space to showcase their combat prowess while shielding themselves from being caught in the crossfire.

The skill level of both combatants was evenly matched, leading to hours of relentless combat. Shanks wasn't physically tired, and if he had lasted so many hours, it was to relish the opportunity to observe his opponent in action – his graceful movements, the effortless evasion of blows, and the unleashing of shockwaves with his huge blade, which seemed an extension of his body.

It was a sight that held Shanks spellbound, occasionally lost in admiration for the finely honed arms, the figure framed by a meticulously embroidered coat in hues of purple and black that suited him so well. As their clashes brought them within mere inches of each other, Shanks found his breath catching at the proximity of that finely groomed beard and the delicate skin of his opponent's face. A smile would sometimes tug at Shanks' lips, amused by the effect his opponent had on him.

The same, however, could not be said for his rival, who approached each bout with a stoic and serious demeanor, as though his future hung in the balance with every strike.

No, Mihawk did not fight like Shanks. Though their skill levels may have been comparable, whereas Shanks fought with carefree abandon, Mihawk approached each battle as if his life depended on it.

In this fight, Shanks was beginning to feel tired, not physically, but mentally. Each battle was a demonstration of powers between the two, and his mind made him work hard to find a balance between winning but not killing. Humiliation was also not part of the silent agreement between them.

On this occasion, succumbing to mental fatigue, he decided to let himself be defeated. It was very difficult for him to do so without the swordsman realizing that he was doing it on purpose. If he did realize that, Shanks would lose his respect forever, so he had to do it carefully.

Mihawk, panting and sweating from the effort of wielding his sword for hours, mustered one final, decisive assault. With a firm grip on Yoru's hilt, he hurled his attack toward Shanks, who stood ready to parry. The shockwave caused by Yoru seemed to catch Shanks off guard, who, taking advantage of this last attack as an excuse, made one of his feet wobble and fall to the ground. Putting his hands on the sand to get up, he hadn't yet raised his head when he felt the edge of the sharpest steel in the seas graze his throat.

"Okay, Hawks, enough."

The pressure of the sword against his neck eased, allowing Shanks to rise and meet his opponent's gaze. Mihawk wore a satisfied smirk, though his breaths came in heavy gasps, evidence of the effort.

It worked, Shanks thought, relieved that Mihawk seemed oblivious to his strategy.

"You've been careless, that's unlike you."

"It’s possible… Hey, wanna take a break? How about grabbing a drink before you head out?’

“No... thank you.”

There always lingered a sense of hollow emptiness within Shanks whenever Mihawk vanished after their bouts. It had become routine, disappearing without a trace until who knew when.

His adversary...

Sometimes Shanks wasn't entirely sure what label to affix to the man with whom he engaged in frequent combat, yet never to the point of inflicting mortal wounds. Perhaps the deepest wounds inflicted by Mihawk were upon Shanks' heart.

It was something he tried not to dwell on too much, for he was a man of happiness and carefree spirit, but often the presence of the swordsman made his chest constrict and his mind cloud with thoughts of what might happen if, for a moment, Mihawk allowed him to draw closer.

But Shanks knew Mihawk to be a reserved, serious man, likely harboring no sentiment towards him, or perhaps towards anyone else for that matter. He was like a wild cat you couldn't tame, and perhaps it was precisely that untouchable quality that drew Shanks to him. The thought that he would never be his.

Just as after every fight, Mihawk simply turned on his heel and prepared to depart. But this time, something seemed different, something appeared amiss in the slender figure of the swordsman, slightly hunched forward. After a couple of steps, he halted, emitting a faint growl. He brought a hand to his right shoulder, massaging it lightly. Taking another step, he paused once more, under the attentive and worried gaze of Shanks.

“Hawks, what's wrong? Can't you walk? Did I mess you up?”

“It seems like I've done it to myself," he replied grumpily.

Avoiding eye contact, he attempted to sheathe Yoru, but upon making a slight movement with his arm to lift the sword, he winced in pain and once again let his shoulder rest, surrendering. He tried to continue his way, dragging Yoru, but it was evident that it caused him a great deal of pain, his face contorted in a grimace.

Shanks, witnessing the deplorable state of his adversary, approached him with concern.

"What's wrong? Please, let me see…”

[marointhemoon]

Vigil

Joss Hayes can't move. A stun grenade will do that to you. And now he's at the mercy of a man who thinks he's trying to steal his job. Wonderful. 

Written for AI-Less Whumptober 2024, day 20 (Enemy/stranger to caretaker)

Characters: Malcolm Reed, J. Hayes

Length: 600 words

Joss can't move. A stun grenade will do that to you. And now he's at the mercy of a man who thinks he's trying to steal his job.

Wonderful.

Looking at Reed, he can't fathom why that even is. The man's not stupid. Doesn't he realize he has enough on his plate with the MACOs?

Then again, the thought of a United Earth Military captain with three separate command positions has made Joss snort more than once. To be sure, he can imagine having that responsibility—if he was a fucking colonel. But a UEM soldier below that rank having that much responsibility? Unheard of. And yet here Reed is, shouldering it and acting like it's normal. Even as a major, Joss will go back to being an EMT before he accepts that amount of pressure. 

If only Reed could figure that out.

As it is, Joss stares at him as he keeps his vigil. This is one of the few times he's ever gotten to really look at him. Tense, lean muscle wires over Reed's small frame, frown lines set deep into his face. The man's no older than him—not even 40, for Christ's sake—but he carries himself with the fatigue of someone well into his fifties. Moreover, he seems... worn out. Worn thin. The dark circles attest to that, though Joss isn't dense enough to wonder why.

From where he lays, Reed looks thinner than usual, too. Something uncomfortable settles in Joss' gut. Has he been eating?

Knowing him, probably not well. Joss isn't stupid, either—he knows perfectly well that Reed is saddled with the almost single-handed responsibility of keeping some 110 people alive. Apart from his second- and third-in-command, he’s the ship's line of defense. Webster and Darnell are good kids: level-headed and generally competent, and fucking masterful at their respective specialties. But despite being junior-grade lieutenants, they are kids: Webster's barely older than Ensign Mayweather, and Darnell's maybe Ensign Sato's age. Reed works them hard, just as he does everyone else under him, but the three have come to be thick as thieves. He fights like hell for them; while they try to pay it back, it's clear enough who does most of the protecting.

Joss also knows perfectly well just how similar he and Reed are. They're both independent, hyper-competent, anal-retentive, and sitting near the top of their respective food chains. Everything else aside, it's no real wonder they've clashed so much.

There's also a certain insecurity to Reed, though. It was obvious from the first accusation of trying to take his position, and it's only become clearer since then. Archer's decisions have started to get less ethical and more risky, Reed keeps trying to isolate himself, and—not for fucking nothing—the detachment hasn't exactly been warm and fuzzy towards him or the Fleeters. True, they've all responded in kind, but that's hardly the point. It's not just in the field that Reed expects an enemy combatant around every corner. It's on Enterprise, too.

Yet, that insecure son of a bitch is watching over him as though he's anyone else on Enterprise. With the same stern determination he's probably carried the whole time, Reed has resolved to protect them all—MACO or Starfleet—with his life. Even if he misses out on a few meals or a few nights' sleep because of it.

When I can move again, Joss thinks, I'm going to return the favor. He has no intention of coddling Reed; he doubts he'd appreciate anything that smacks of it. But it's about time he had someone beside him.

For the full list of prompts, go here!

[ghoulelegy]

A Ghoul's Sick Day

Summary :You wake up one morning feeling rather ill.

Pairing: Copia x Sick Reader

Words: 2222

Contains:

Comfort Gender-Neutral Reader Fluff Cuddling

Read A Ghoul's Sick Day on AO3 - If you prefer that.

Edit: so I am dumb and I couldn't figure out for the life of me how Tumblr works but credit goes out to @ghostussy for a major source of inspiration when it came to writing this fic. Please show them your love too <3

Meant to publish this earlier because I wrote this a while ago but editing my work took a whileeeeee - thank you for your patience <3

The blaring alarm pierced the sanctuary of sleep, yanking you from dreams that seemed to slip away like smoke. Clutching your head, you squinted at the digital numbers on your phone, plugged in to the outlet next to your bed, which is laying on your bedside table, struggling to make sense of their meaning through the haze of fatigue. Your bedroom remained dimly lit, the remnants of night clinging to the edges of the curtains. You'd called it an early night, seeking refuge in your dorm after an exhausting day of work.

Yet, as you pushed yourself to sit up, a realization dawned like a cold shower. A wave of nausea and fatigue had descended upon you the previous evening, rendering the simplest tasks a struggle. Your bones ached as though they'd been beaten, and your head throbbed with each heartbeat.

Fumbling for your glasses on the nightstand, you slid them onto your face, expecting the world to come into focus. Instead, you were met with a blur, the edges of your vision smudged and unfocused. Even the soft light filtering through the curtains felt like a searing stab, forcing you to squint and shield your eyes.

You sighed, propping yourself against the pillows, your thoughts tangled in a web of concerns. The day ahead promised a demanding schedule—classes, music practice, dinner duty, and library work. Your mind raced, thoughts colliding like stormy waves in the vast sea of responsibilities. A pang of dread nestled itself in your chest, coiling like a serpent. The urge to retreat back under the covers was strong, but the echoes of expectations and commitments held you captive.

As you stood, the room swayed slightly, the ground beneath your feet feeling more like a ship's deck in a storm. Each step required a conscious effort, as if gravity itself had conspired against you. With painstaking determination, you moved towards the bathroom mirror. A face stared back at you, the reflection drawn and weary. Dark circles marred the skin beneath your eyes, despite the early bedtime you put yourself through the day before.

A mental checklist formed, a reminder of all the tasks that lay ahead. But first, you needed to combat this relentless headache. You reached for the painkillers, hoping they'd provide a brief respite from the throbbing torment. The duo of pills slipped down your throat, followed by a quick gulp of water from your bottle - a bitter reminder of your body's protest against its own demands.

In your university attire - an oversized hoodie, worn black jeans, sneakers—you slung your backpack over your shoulder. The weight felt heavier today, each strap a reminder of the commitments you had to fulfill. You pushed open the door of your dorm, stepping into the common area of the ghouls, your fellow dorm mates. Laughter echoed, a stark contrast to the turmoil within you.

The hallway beckoned, a corridor of decisions and responsibilities. Yet, fate had its own plans, for as you turned the corner, you collided with none other than Copia, the enigmatic lead singer of the Ghost Project – and its frontman.

"Morning, Papa, I'm off for the day," you greeted him, though the words wavered slightly.

His dark eyes, framed by his unique presence, scanned you with concern. "Mio Dolce," he responded, his voice holding a touch of warmth and inquiry. "Sathanas, you don't look too good."

You smiled, the expression an attempt to reassure both him and you "I'm fine, papa," you claimed, though even behind the glasses, he could likely sense the discomfort that painted your features.

His eyebrow arched, skepticism lacing his gaze. "You sure about that?"

"Of course," you replied, your conviction wavering as his gaze held steady.

In the midst of your exchange, a notification chimed on your phone. The class you dreaded facing had been cancelled, granting you a temporary reprieve. Copia's lips curved into a faint smile. "Good. You can go rest. You seem like you need it."

You hesitated, your fingers toying with the strap of your backpack. Guilt whispered in your ear, reminding you of all that remained to be done. Yet, Copia's concern was genuine, his insight piercing through the facade you'd built.

“No, no, it’s okay, I’ll get some work done since I’m up I suppose”

His voice held a note of finality. "Try again. You don't look good."

This time, you nodded, surrendering to the truth you'd been reluctant to admit even to yourself. The unspoken weight of expectations, both your own and those of others, settled heavily on your shoulders.

"Fine" you replied.

"Good. Feel better soon, mio dolce"

"Thanks, Papa"

You head back to your room, and collapse on your bed. You haven’t bothered making it this morning. A wave of nausea enthralls your entire body once again, forcing you to bury your head into your soft pillow in an attempt to quench the sickness.

Your thoughts whirl, you feel guilty for resting. You just can't get your head to shut up. You were still rather new to the ministry, and rather terrified of disappointing any of the staff members, especially since they took you in. You see them as family.

"Ah fuck this shit. I'm fine" you talk to yourself, a habit you’ve picked up as a child and carried into your older years. You forcibly prop yourself up again and head off to the library to get some work done, and to return a book you had borrowed the week before – a book on mushroom spotting and fungi. Your head still throbs, but the painkillers eased the pain slightly.

As you approach the library, you’re struck with the sudden remembrance of a commitment - you need to do some sorting and book counting, an assignment given to you by the head librarian the day before. As a university student, you often found yourself curled up in the library researching on whatever topic intrigues you, or strange information that is needed for your coursework. The library at the ministry was quite smaller than the one on the University Campus, but it had some works that were a rarity, it was also much quieter, allowing you to focus more. The head librarian was none other than Sister Claire – one of the older Siblings. She’d allowed you to sometimes work as an assistant librarian when you weren’t too busy. It was nice work, flexible and allowed you to get some extra pocket money. She assigned you to finish stacking some books while she wasn’t there, she was gone for a couple of days. Trip or something.

A couple of hours of you stacking and organising books goes by. You notice more nausea every time you get up from a kneeling position and vice versa. You don't care.

As the early afternoon sun filtered through the windows, your fingers finally set the last book in place on the shelf. Despite the sense of accomplishment, weariness weighed heavily on your bones. Your head throbbed in an unrelenting rhythm, each pulse a reminder of your body's protests. The lyrics of 'Square Hammer' seemed to echo in your mind, a fitting soundtrack to your pounding headache. With a resigned sigh, you recognized that the painkillers had lost their battle against the relentless ache. You pressed a hand to your temple, a feeble attempt to quell the growing nausea that threatened to engulf you."

You open the door out of the library when you come face to face with Copia once more.

"What are you doing here, Mio Caro? Weren't you supposed to be resting?"

"Oh..uh I had to return a book" *it was technically the truth*

"Were you working here all morning?"

"No"

"I came in the ghouls' common room to check in on you just now. You weren't in your room. Swiss told me you were out for most of the morning" he sighs, as he places his thumb and index finger on his forehead.

"Please...rest" Copia continues "you look like you're going to collapse."

"What--no I'm not. You don't need to worry" *a wave of dizziness and nausea hit you right as you say that*

"You're taking the rest of the day off. That is an order" Copia says, a hint of sternness in his voice.

"...fine.."

"I'll call Sister to tell her that you're unwell, and you can spend the rest of the day with me. Resting.

"Y-you don't have to do that" you shuffle out those words, feeling guilty for taking up space.

"Nonsense, Tesoro."

He took you to your room, waiting for you outside your bathroom while you change into your fluffy pyjamas. You walk outside into your dorm, surprised to see him holding a one-metre-long stuffed shark in his arms.

"This is your favourite plushie right?" He asks, his eyes gently gliding over yours.

"Yeah. How did you know?" You let out a chuckle, before losing focus due to yet another wave of vertigo hitting you.

"You told me, Caro."

"Did I?" You choke out, surprised he remembers these little details about you.

"You remembered"

"Of course, I did, Caro. I care about you, you're one of our ghouls."

He leads you to his chambers, holding your arm in case you collapse, while you're holding your Blåhaj in your other arm.

"You don't think I'm weird or childish?" You ask.

"Nonsense. If it brings you comfort and you're not hurting anyone or yourself, why should I think you're weird?" he chuckles as he leads you in his chambers.

Immediately you were struck by the cocooning feeling of comfort, a gentle light dancing from the window onto the bed. There was a television facing the bed, next to the door you had just entered from. You notice yourself holding in a bit of a giggle as you notice Copia’s beloved tricycle.

"Bed or couch? What do you prefer?" He inquired.

"Umm.."

"Bed it is, it's more comfortable. Trust me on this, Caro"

He gently leads you on the king-sized bed, propping your head up with soft pillows and ploughing a blanket on top of you. You snuggle into a fetal position, holding your stuffed shark. He brings you a glass of water and some more painkillers.

Upon you taking the water and medicine you drop your Blåhaj.

"Nooo! Sharky!" you whine, grabby hands towards the shark.

"You named it Sharky? That's cute" he speaks, as he picks up the shark and gives it back to you.

"Do you want to watch a movie? Maybe something that brings you comfort?"

"Sure?"

He lets you pick a DVD of your choosing, before propping it into the DVD player. You pick your childhood favourite.

"Our technology is a bit ancient here" he chuckles "sorry about that”.

"It's fine, papa" you smile. In all honesty it brings you comfort and nostalgia for your childhood days, when your mother used to leave you at your grandparents when you were ill.

Papa takes a seat next to you, laptop on him, typing next to you, while you watch the movie. Every once in a while he'd ask if you're feeling okay still.

Halfway through the movie you feel your eyelids getting heavy. Copia takes away his laptop and removes your glasses.

"Shhh it's okay, rest."

"Mmmm" you find yourself snuggling into Copia for warmth, before waking up. "Oh shit sorry Papa" you say, a wave of embarrassment further reddening your already flushed face.

"It's alright, Caro, you can snuggle with me all you want" he says as you rest your head on his shoulder “bring it in”.

Copia's touch was a symphony of reassurance, his fingers gliding with feather-light grace over your skin. As his arm curved around your shoulders, his palm settled gently against your upper arm, creating a cocoon of security. You could feel the warmth of his touch seeping into your bones, a soothing balm that eased the ache that had settled there.

His thumb brushed against the fabric of your pyjamas, a delicate, almost absentminded gesture that sent ripples of comfort through your senses. With a tender grace, his fingers traced gentle patterns, a silent lullaby against the canvas of your arm. The pad of his thumb brushed over your skin in languid strokes, creating a hypnotic rhythm that synced with the steady beat of your heart.

As the Blåhaj plushie nestled between you, Copia's touch remained a constant, grounding force. His fingertips brushed against the curve of your shoulder, a gesture that held both tenderness and protection. It was a touch that defied words, offering solace and support in its simplicity.

With every inhalation, his chest rose and fell against your head, the sensation a soothing cadence that lulled you into a sense of calm. His arm around you created a haven—a space where vulnerability was not met with judgment.

"You'll feel better in no time" Copia whispered to you gently, his tone taking an almost fatherly whisper.

As the room bathed in the soft glow of lamplight, the tactile connection between you and Copia transcended the physical. It was an exchange of comfort, of trust, of emotions that words could scarcely capture. And within the cradle of his embrace, you found a haven of acceptance, where the language of touch spoke louder than any explanation ever could. You found yourself drifting into sleep once more.

“Good night, ti amo.”

~ Fin ~

[socially-awkward-skeleton]

All Along the Watchtower (Chapter 2)

Pairing: Captain John Price x Fem!OC (3rd person POV)

Word count: 4.7K

Warnings: brief mentions of past sexual activity, brief mentions of past violence, smoking, British slang, *English Premier League discussion as banter/flirting

Minors DNI

Summary: Rory and Price set off on their mission, meeting with Nikolai to get them into Russia. Once at the safe house, the air is cleared...

A/N: Rory Sinclair is a dual citizen (both Canada and the UK) who's been living in the UK since she was 14. She is 28 at the time of this fic, Price is 32. This series is set in 2017 before the events of the first MW game. Rory's thoughts are bold and italicized, other italics are used for emphasis.

also available to read on AO3 (edit: link should work now)

October 14, 2017 08:00 - Verdansk, Kastovia

The helicopter made it’s descent into an empty lot, beating back dirt and fallen leaves as the blades began to slow. Surrounded by worn apartments built during the time of the communist bloc, it was a sprawling landscape of bleak grey on grey. Parked not too far away was another helicopter, smaller than the one they’d arrived in, and marked with Russian identification. Waiting beside it was a man with dark hair and dark clothes, sticking out amongst all that was drab and dreary like a bruise – Rory assumed that had to be Nikolai.  

The door heaved open, and Price hopped out, ducking as he ran under the blades. This was their stop; their ride would be headed back stateside as Laswell remained sitting. Exiting the helicopter, Rory was hit by the bitterly cold wind, the temperature having dropped several degrees from the maritime temperatures she was used to back home. Her cheeks started to burn, a shiver shaking through her as the material of her fatigues did little to combat the chill in the air, wrapping her arms around herself, trying to keep her core warm, her teeth began to chatter. She followed closely behind the captain, keeping her pace measured, noticing his stride – it was strong, resolute – the man had places to go, and she was along for the ride, but whatever the next steps in the plan were, she hoped it included a coat. 

Nikolai crossed his arms over his chest, giving the nearing guests a nod of his head. “Good to see you again,” he called out in a thick Russian accent. 

“Always a pleasure, Nik,” Price said, returning the greeting. 

The Russian reached into the open door of the helicopter and retrieved two large black duffel bags. “Everything you asked for, Captain. Should be place to change inside.” He tipped his head towards one of the buildings while passing the bags to the two soldiers. As Rory took the bag from his hands, Nikolai looked at her appraisingly, “She’s new.”

“She’s on loan.” 

She couldn’t help but give Price a sideways glance, wondering if he was second guessing Laswell’s decision to have her join the mission. It wasn't uncommon for people to assume at first glance she wasn’t made of the right stuff to be a soldier. That was exactly how she got her call name in Iraq.   

“Not SAS?” Nikolai asked.

“No,” Rory answered before the Captain could, shifting the heavy bag on her shoulder, the strap digging in. “SRR. Sgt. Rory Sinclair. It’s a pleasure,” she said with a nod.

Nikolai’s brow rose, a half grin spreading across his face. “So polite too, nice change of pace.” He looked over at Price with a sideways glance. “Good to meet you, Sergeant.” 

Price patted Nik on the shoulder and started to make his way towards the buildings in the distance and as Rory’s boots thumped against the pavement behind him, he looked over his shoulder at her, his hat tipped forward covering his face in shade. “You speak Russian, Sinclair?”

She’d learned several languages since joining the army, Russian hadn’t been one of them. “No, sir, but I’m a quick study.” 

“Good.” He walked a little further before speaking again. “Sergeant?”

His pace slowed, allowing her to move up to walk by his side and she could feel his eyes on her. Perhaps something had finally clicked for him as well. Fixing the strap on her shoulder, Rory held the bag a little tighter to her to stave off the cold before tucking her loose hair behind her ear and looking up at him. “Yes, sir?”

The huff of air that escaped his nostrils streamed out into the early morning air in a fog. A smirk crinkling the lines around his eyes. “You can drop the sir when you’re with me, just Price will do.”

She nodded, clearing her throat of the cold. “Sure.” She bit the tip of her tongue, trying hard not to let the ‘sir’ stumble out. It had been trained into her; most officers expected that sort of respect. It was refreshing to have him be the opposite. 

The building they entered was abandoned, practically derelict. Concrete walls crumbled around them to show exposed rebar, the stairs had nearly collapsed. It was a death trap waiting to happen. Her eyes roamed around the entrance, that little voice in her head telling her to check her corners despite not being in a combat situation. 

“We’ll get changed here.” His voice cut through her thoughts, and she watched him bend down and open the duffle, pulling out civilian clothes appropriate for the especially cold weather including a toque and coat. Following suit, she opened the bag she was carrying to find her own set of clothing and supplies. Blue eyes met her, gleaming in the dull morning light as he grinned, his moustache curling at the corners of his lips “Hope it all fits. Didn’t have the time to get your measurements before we set off.” 

“I’m sure it will be just fine, Captain.”

Rory was no stranger to sharing facilities with the opposite sex, but she’d be remiss to not appreciate the fact that in a situation like this she was glad to have taken part in the SAS interrogation training protocols. Having to show no fear in the face of different stages of undress amongst strangers or otherwise helped her remain calm while unbuttoning her jacket, even as her fingers locked up with the cold. Stripping the jacket off her arms, her eyes dragged sideways at the tear of velcro that filled the room, and she watched Price toss aside his tactical vest and pull off his top, his skin beneath marked with scars and the trail of hair that led down to his...Not right now, Rory. Her eyes fell and she steered her focus back to her own clothing. Pulling her pants down her thighs, untying her boots and kicking them off to remove her lower layer. She grabbed the pair of jeans from the bag and pulled them on, a bit snug in the hips, but she’d make do.  A chunky knit sweater was the next thing she slipped on, and immediately she could no longer feel the bite of the cold gnawing at her. The coat was the cherry on top. Slipping her feet back into her boots, she looked over at Price as he adjusted the beanie on his head.  

“How do I look?”

“Certainly not like a soldier.”

“That’s what I like to hear.” Tossing his gear into the duffel, he threw it over his shoulder before turning back towards the door. “Come on.” 

Holding the door open for her, Rory tossed her fatigues into her bag and carried it with her, following him out the door. Even without the stuffy uniforms and gear it was still clear they were two people on a mission, crossing the lot towards Nikolai’s helicopter in a near sprint. 

Price’s words were clipped as he spoke to her, giving orders, “We’re about to fly over into Russia. Nik’ll drop us off at his airbase and then we’ll make our way into Moscow. We’re going to be sticking to civvies as much as possible, Laswell doesn’t want us starting a world war over this.”

“Understood.”

“Good girl.” 

Her brain short-circuited for a split-second hearing that phrase be used by him and his hoarse rumble of a voice, but she bit her tongue and carried through. It shouldn’t have had the effect on her it did. If it was anyone else, they’d have already received a bollocking for it, but in this case, she let it slide. 

October 14, 2017 09:30 - Russian airspace

“About to set down, Captain,” Nikolai called out over his headset as they neared the airbase. 

Rory had gone several hours without a cigarette by this point, only surviving by breathing in the secondhand smoke that Price filled the air with from his cigars. Starting out a mission irritable was hardly the preferred method of doing things, but she had few options until they were firmly on the ground and she could grab the pack in the pocket of her fatigues. Instead, she sat with her legs out the door, her feet floating over nothing but air, the land several thousand feet below as she took in the sights.

“How we doing back there, Sinclair?” Price asked, looking back at her as she held onto the slip of thick material provided as a handhold.

Watching as they lowered, her hair whipped around her face with the upstream winds that blew at her, turning her nose red. “In dire need of a fag,” she said with a soft chuckle looking back at the Captain, “but otherwise looking forward to my first visit to Russia.”

“Hopefully not your last,” Nikolai said. 

She smiled, there was something rather charming about the Russian, it wasn’t surprising to her that he and Price would be friends. 

The descent was quick as Nik sent the helo into a nosedive, and Rory held on for dear life, her heart racing in her chest. She hadn’t felt adrenaline coursing through her like that in some time. The safety of a desk had become far too comfortable but being out in the field felt like coming home. 

Upon landing, it was clear that the airbase they’d landed at was relatively remote, with whole hangars left empty. There wasn’t the same sort of military presence here as she had come to expect during her military career, an RAF base was usually teeming with personnel. It was quiet here, vehicles able to come and go as they pleased, a suitable operation for those who apparently weren’t so closely tied to the Kremlin and the powers that be. 

Reaching into her duffel, Rory dug through the pockets of her fatigues until she found her cigarette pack and lighter and rested against the outside of the hangar. Placing one of the cigarettes to her lips, she lit it and breathed the warming smoke down into her lungs. Fucking euphoric . Her eyes fluttered shut as the neurons in her brain were given their shot of nicotine, exhaling streams of smoke through her nostrils to burn away the cold that stung at it. 

“Careful, Sergeant, those things’ll kill you.”

She opened her eyes to find Price standing beside her, lighting up his own cigar. “I’m not too worried about that, I’m quite sure the job will get me first,” Rory said with a quiet snort. 

“You’ve lasted this long.” His black peacoat flapped in the breeze and he tucked the collar up around his neck to guard him from the cold. “Nik’s getting us a vehicle prepped, and then you and I are headed to Moscow. There’s a safehouse waiting for us there.” He took a drag from his cigar, and then blew out the smoke, continuing, “It’s going to be a long drive.”

Looking out at the distance, it was hard to believe she was quite so far from England, and especially to end up somewhere so completely vast in comparison. “Almost makes me homesick, a quick train ride and I can be back in London in a few hours from Stirling Lines.”

“You still call London home?” He asked, shifting his weight, stuffing his free hand into the warm, woolen pocket of his coat. 

Her brow furrowed slightly at his choice of word. Still , it was small, barely noticeable, but an odd choice to slip in. He had to remember her, he just wasn’t letting it on, or at least he wasn’t being obvious about it. “It’s where my father lives, right near Craven Cottage.”

The cigar glowed bright as he took another drag from it. “Fulham supporter?”

“Too right.”

“Well, I suppose I should just be glad he’s not with Everton,” he muttered, giving her a smirk.

Rory laughed, the countless hours she’d spent with her father watching football and listening to her fellow unit members keeping up with their teams despite being hundreds of miles away in a desert wasn’t lost on her. “Liverpool?” she asked, returning his smirk.

“The only reds worth a damn.”

“So, I shouldn’t tell you I’m a United supporter then?” Her grin grew wider as she brought the cigarette to her lips again.

“Are you taking the piss, Sergeant?”

She blew out the smoke with a stutter as she coughed out a laugh. “My father would disown me if I supported anyone but Fulham.”

“Well at least I won’t have to be worried about your black and whites ever taking the Premiership.”

She crossed her arms over her chest, giving him a mock scowl. “Low blow, Price.”

“I’m sure you’ll get over it, Sinclair.” Tipping his head in her direction, he looked up at her through his brow, his forehead creasing as he teased her. “We’ve got an entire mission to complete together after all, can’t let a little old-fashioned rivalry get in the way.” 

She flicked the ashes off of the end of her cigarette and brought it back to her lips. “Good competition’s never held me back, sir.” Rory looked at him with her large hazel eyes, a smokescreen billowing between them barely hiding the promise in her expression and her words. 

“I’m glad to hear it.”

Their eyes met and her heart thundered in her chest, her ears burning but not necessarily from the cold. She was supposed to be professional; it wasn’t like her to flirt with a superior officer, let alone the commanding one, and yet here she was. The mission seemed to already be anything but protocol, and the guilt that should have been there was absent, especially as it was blatantly obvious the Captain didn’t seem to have a problem with it either, joining her in the behavior. 

She cleared her throat and straightened up against the wall, dropping the butt of her cigarette onto the tarmac, stomping it out with her boot as Nikolai rounded the corner of the hangar, a pair of car keys in his hand. Now was neither the time nor the place for stoking a flame that had flickered a long time ago. Mind on the mission. Her mind always had to be on the mission. 

October 14, 2017 22:30 - Moscow, Russia

He hadn’t lied about it being a long ride, thirteen hours later, spent with their legs squished up in their seats, she was thankful for being able to stretch them and work out the charlie horse that was desperate to settle into her hamstring. A quiet ride with the Captain at the wheel, she spent much of her time looking out the window, watching as the wide-open vistas shrank into yet more grey of the concrete filled cities. Once they reached Moscow things were different, there were lights and sounds that reminded her more of being in the middle of London. The heartbeat of the city beating into her. 

Price had the address and the keys to a safe house but parked several blocks away from it. They couldn’t simply park out front without burning themselves and anyone else that might have been using the place. Out in the night they blended with the masses that flocked to the city center that Saturday. Eyes barely landed on them, and the ones that did were put into question. The eyes of the Kremlin weren’t so far away, and working in intelligence Rory knew that no matter how off the books an assignment was, there was always someone with their ear to the ground. They might have let them slip past for the time being, but the moment they became a threat the noose would come falling down. They walked through the streets, heads kept down to pass by sight unseen, their hands in their pockets as the blustering wind bit at any exposed flesh. Price trudged forward remaining quiet, always focused on scoping out any possible threats, he didn’t bother to make small talk, and she certainly wasn’t going to sidetrack him. 

Several blocks later, they stopped outside a building that was once a hotel, its facade run down, the bricks greying and chipped with age. Price and Rory stood holding their bags, looking up at it. She was used to safe houses being less than desirable places to stay, it seemed to be a constant no matter where a person was situated. As if for a place to be deemed forgettable and well-hidden it needed to be on the verge of crumbling if a strong wind blew past. She could only hope it was slightly more inviting inside, but she sincerely doubted that. 

Climbing the steps up to their assigned suite as noted on the address, Rory was quick to get a beat on her surroundings, scanning for points of entry and available exits. It may have been a safe house, but it was better to be safe than sorry. Ingrained in her to check her corners, to be wary of anything hidden in the shadows, to keep her head on a swivel, Rory’s hand landed on the grip of the handgun tucked into the back of her jeans. Ready for anything. 

Price reached the door and swung it open, revealing the room inside to contain only two beds and a bathroom. It was small, the carpets old and worn, and there was one small window with an old radiator below it. They’d be sharing the space for the length of their stay. He peered in, his jaw tightening. “I suppose Nik assumed –”

Rory drew closer to the door, letting her coat fall back over her weapon as she pulled her hand away and stood beside the Captain. She wasn’t surprised this was the situation they’d find themselves in, from a safety standpoint it made more sense for them to share a room, rather than be separated. “It’s fine. I’m not bothered. Hell, I shared a single tent with several people in the middle of the desert. This is nothing. At least this time there’s running water.”

“Right.” 

Entering the room, she took off her coat and tossed it onto the bed closest to the window along with her bag, and that same thick lump she had at twenty-three climbed right back up her throat as she turned her head over shoulder and noticed Price’s gaze roaming over her. Rory made a quick exit, moving to the bathroom and turning on the light. The fluorescents above the sink flickered as they slowly filled the room with cool white light. She stood at the sink and turned on the faucet, letting the water run before splashing her face and refreshing herself after being cramped inside a car. Taking a deep breath as the drops ran down her skin and plinked against the basin, the urge for a cigarette came over her once more and she rubbed at her brow, looking up into the mirror – it was time for the pep talk, the conversation she had to hold with herself to get a grip. She could handle this, she’d been in this situation before, minus the fact that there was a history there that neither of them was willing to mention. 

As she came back into the room, he had already lit a cigar and had it chomped between his lips, the embers at it’s tip burning bright orange and reflecting in his eyes. Taking a drag of his cigar, he blew out a stream of smoke with a clenched jaw. Chewing on his lip, the wrinkles around his eyes grew deeper. "Shall we deal with the elephant in the room?"

Her mind raced and a wave of tension hit her, flooding every nerve in her body with the need to run. Leaning her shoulder against the door frame she tried to appear casual, bringing a towel to her face to wipe off the water that fell from her chin. “What do you mean?”

He shifted his jaw back and forth and cocked his brow. "Rory Sinclair, you thought I wouldn't remember that name? It's not exactly common.”

The rumble of his voice made her legs shake, purring out her name like no one else could. She huffed out a sigh, a nervous smile pulling at her wind bitten lips. “Well, you certainly didn’t act like you did. Figured my point had been proven about you having a port in every storm back then.”

He took a deep breath, shaking his head as he grimaced, “I assure you, fucking in a bathroom stall was not my go to move.”

“Sure. I’m not going to hold it against you,” she said with a shrug. “We were in our twenties. Even if it was –”

“It wasn’t.” His eyes became steely as he looked at her, inhaling the smoke from his cigar. 

Her brows rose and a small grin threatened to break through as she bit down on her lower lip. “The Captain doth protest a little too much, I think.” Moving from the bathroom entrance, she sat down on the edge of her bed and ran her hands through the roots of her hair, pushing the hair to part in the opposite direction. She stared up at him, a sense of relief hitting knowing this was just as awkward for him as it was for her. “Is this going to be a problem? Because if you don’t want me here just send me back to the midlands, I’m sure you can find yourself another soldier.”

His brow furrowed and he pulled the cigar from his mouth, crossing his arms over his chest. “You’re just gonna give up that easy?” Looking down at her through his brow with a mischievous twinkle in his eye.

She scoffed, her hands falling to either side of her on the mattress as she leaned back. “I don’t give up on anything, but I refuse to be a distraction.”

“You won’t be.” He puffed out his chest as he stretched out his back. “I’m a professional, been at this a while.” His eyes narrowed at her as the smirk pulled at his lips. “I think I can handle having you around, Rory.” 

“We’re on a first name basis are we now, John ?”

He rolled his eyes and scratched at his beard. “These are extenuating circumstances,” Price clarified.

Huffing out a laugh as the awkward tension finally broke, she rubbed at the bridge of her nose. “Indeed they are.” 

He sat down on the side of his bed, sitting across from her as he took another deep inhale from his cigar and pulled off his beanie, placing it on the bed beside him. “ Fucking hell ,” he muttered while rubbing his hand through his hair, brushing out the hat head. Price’s eyes rose to meet hers once more, surrounded by deeper lines and tired bags than had been there before, but she could swear she still saw some of that same desire she witnessed back then. 

She shifted in her seat and straightened out her back, holding her head up high, putting on the posture of a soldier standing at attention. “I have no problem with having you as my commanding officer. I’ll still have your six, I can follow orders, you’ll have no reason to complain. This doesn’t have to be weird unless we make it that way.” That’s it Rory, confidence is key. This is nothing. “It’s been five years; we’ve moved on with our lives. Besides, it was one night. Surely, we’ve both had other partners since then, it can’t have been that memorable,” she lied to herself as much as she was lying to him. Rory’s career had been so much of her focus for so long that settling down, finding a partner, it had all taken a backseat. There were still times on a lonely night when she’d think back to the way he looked at her, the way he touched her, his voice in her ear, but she couldn’t let that get in her way. This was a chance to prove herself, to prove that she didn’t have to resign herself to a desk job already, that she could keep up with an SAS officer in the field. 

“Well,” he exhaled slowly. Deeply. As if a weight had been lifted. “With that out of the way, perhaps we should get back to work?”

“Absolutely.” She nodded, her face returning to its usual stoicism. 

“Good.” John slipped the cigar back between his lips and stood up, pulling a tablet from his bag. “Nik got us some intel on our friend, Igor. Apparently, he has a penthouse suite not too far from here. He’s also been spotted visiting several known businesses in the area with ties to organized crime,” he mumbled around the Villa Clara.

“Checking on his investments, I assume.” Rory asked with a lift of her brow, “Do we know the window of opportunity we have here? Does he have a schedule when it comes to these rounds? Or does he like to keep it random so that he can’t be tracked?”

“Mr. Zorokov has a set of brass bollocks, I doubt he’s too worried about being tracked.”

Rory dragged her palms up the thighs of her jeans, bringing her hands to her hips as her shoulders started to slump. “That makes our job a little simpler. Something can be said for men with egos that big, makes them fall that much harder.” The corners of her lips curled into a smirk. “At least that’s always been my experience.” She reached into her coat pocket and pulled out her pack of cigarettes and the lighter. Slipping one from the pack, she brought it to her lips, cupping her hands around the lighter as the flame flickered and sparked smoke into life.

Price continued the briefing, “We’ve already hacked into his security systems at his penthouse, that way we can track when he comes and goes. And Laswell’s working on putting a trace on his phone. I want to stay a step ahead of him whenever and wherever possible.” 

Passing her the tablet, Rory scanned through the list of Zorokov’s businesses in the area. Her eyes narrowed as she held the cigarette to her lips and inhaled deeply. “ Jesus .” Blowing smoke through her nostrils, the cigarette hung from her lip, bobbing up and down as she spoke, “This bastard’s into human trafficking, allegedly , right? One of these is a gentlemen's club.” Her gaze flicked up to look at Price as she pulled the burning cigarette from between her lips. “How much do you want to bet that’s not staffed entirely above board? Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen that sort of thing.” 

His face became stern, “You’ve seen that sort of thing before, what the hell kind of missions were you on?”

“Ones that involve people up at the top of the food chain aren’t usually very pretty, especially when you’re working off the books and with the CIA. There’s a reason why they’ve been deigned deserving of a sniper round in the first place and it’s not always because they’re a loose end or your usual sort of threat.” Her hazel eyes turned dark, hinting at the ghosts in her past, ones stricken from her file or so far out of reach they’d never see the light of day. Things she’d seen and done that would leave a mark, things that made her realize what she was really fighting for and just how far she’d be willing to go to make the world a safer place. “Permission to speak freely, Price?”

“Go on, Sergeant.”

“That’s the one we go to first to find our way to cut off Zorokov’s funds.”

“Is that experience talking, or something else?” John leaned forward, his shoulders hunched, and his forearms pressed to his thighs. He stared into her eyes, trying to get a read on her. 

Hazel eyes fell to the ashes of his cigar that dropped to the floor at his feet. Biting at the inside of her cheek, clenching her jaw, she knew why he asked the question, as her commanding officer it was his duty to make sure she wasn’t some sort of loose cannon who’d go off the rails or turn vigilante, he needed someone who’d follow his commands. She could do that, she knew she could, but she couldn’t deny that there were personal motivations there as well. “Bit of both, if I’m being honest.”

[gallifreyinstituteforlearning]

that info on how adhd can show up in gallifreyans was really interesting! on a slightly related note, is it possible for a time lord to have bipolar disorder? and if so, how does/would it be different compared to a human?

Can Time Lords have bipolar disorder?

Yep. A lot of human mental health conditions, including bipolar disorder, can manifest in Gallifreyans. However, there are some key differences in how bipolar disorder might show itself.

⚡Manic Phases in Time Lords

1. 🧠 Enhanced Cognitive Abilities:

Heightened Creativity and Energy: During manic phases, a Time Lord's cognitive functions might become extremely heightened, allowing them to solve complex problems, invent new technologies, or devise intricate plans at a superhuman pace.

Risk-Taking Behaviours: Time Lords might exhibit extreme risk-taking behaviours during manic episodes, like engaging in dangerous time travel experiments or meddling in significant historical events without considering cause and effect.

Telepathic Sensitivity: During manic phases, their telepathic connections might become more intense and overwhelming.

2. 💪 Physical Resilience:

Reduced Need for Rest: The manic phase could significantly reduce a Time Lord's need for rest, allowing them to function at high activity levels for extended periods. This is due to their advanced physiology and the ability to temporarily bypass certain biological needs.

Physical Agility: Their increased energy levels might enhance their physical agility, making them more adept at combat, evasion, or other physically demanding tasks, y'know, like running. It might even speed up healing, too.

🌧️ Depressive Phases in Time Lords

1. 😟 Deep Emotional Lows:

Profound Sadness: Depressive episodes might be deeply intense, causing the Time Lord to experience profound sadness, guilt, or hopelessness. This could be exacerbated by their long lifespans and the weight of all those screwy memories.

Isolation: Time Lords might isolate themselves during depressive phases, retreating to remote corners of the universe or their TARDIS to avoid interaction with others.

2. 💥 Cognitive and Physical Impact:

Slowed Thought Processes: Depressive episodes might slow their usually rapid thought processes, making it difficult to concentrate, make decisions, or maintain their typically high level of cognitive function.

Physical Fatigue: Despite their advanced physiology, Time Lords might still experience physical fatigue during depressive phases, leading to a reduction in their usual activity levels and overall effectiveness.

Telepathic Sensitivity: They might withdraw from telepathic communication altogether, essentially numbing their more social sense.

🌀 Impact of Regeneration

1. 🧠 Resetting Mental State:

Temporary Relief: Regeneration might provide temporary relief from the symptoms of bipolar disorder by resetting the Time Lord's mental state. However, the core aspects of the disorder could persist across regenerations.

Variation in Symptoms: Each regeneration might bring about different manifestations of bipolar disorder, with some incarnations experiencing more pronounced manic phases while others might suffer more from depressive episodes.

2. 🧬 Genetic and Psychological Factors:

Inherited Traits: Bipolar disorder might be influenced by both genetic and psychological factors inherent to the Time Lord. The disorder could be a part of their core personality, affecting them in every incarnation.

Psychological Trauma: Past traumas and experiences, particularly those involving significant losses or moral dilemmas, might exacerbate bipolar symptoms, making it a recurring issue across regenerations.

🧩 Coping Mechanisms and Treatments

1. 👨‍⚕️ Advanced Medical Interventions:

Tailored Treatments: Time Lords have access to advanced medical technologies and treatments that could help manage the symptoms of bipolar disorder. These treatments might include neural stabilisers, mood regulators, or even targeted genetic therapies.

Psychological Support: Access to advanced psychological resources could provide Time Lords with the support needed to understand and manage their condition.

2. 📔 Personal Strategies:

Mindfulness and Meditation: Time Lords might use advanced forms of mindfulness and meditation to manage their mood swings, helping them maintain a balance between manic and depressive phases.

Social Support: Building strong relationships with companions and other Time Lords could provide crucial emotional support during both manic and depressive episodes, cos sometimes you just need a hand to hold.

🏫 So ...

Bipolar disorder in Time Lords is indeed possible and has unique challenges and variations compared to humans. Their advanced physiology, regenerative abilities, and access to sophisticated medical and psychological resources offer them unique ways to manage the condition.

Related:

Do Gallifreyans get ADHD?: Describing the symptoms of ADHD in Gallifreyans.

Factoid: What’s the ‘Dark Design’ in Time Lords?

Regenerative Dissonance vs Disassociative Identity Disorder - what's the difference?: How RD and DID compare.

Hope that helped! 😃

More content ... →📫Got a question? | 📚Complete list of Q+A and factoids →😆Jokes |🩻Biology |🗨️Language |🕰️Throwbacks |🤓Facts →🫀Gallifreyan Anatomy and Physiology Guide (pending) →⚕️Gallifreyan Emergency Medicine Guides →📝Source list (WIP) →📜Masterpost If you're finding your happy place in this part of the internet, feel free to buy a coffee to help keep our exhausted human conscious. She works full-time in medicine and is so very tired 😴

[thecreaturecodex]

Priscilla

Image © @iguanodont​

[A present for my girlfriend, @abominationimperatrix​. As you may be able to tell from the art, this OC started life as a Houndoom in a Pokemon setting. So we talked about how to fit her into Pathfinder, particularly my take on Pathfinder, and settled on the gerulfus. There’s definitely a tradition, possibly more in line with fakelore than folklore but still, of relatively benevolent dog-headed humanoids, like the wulver or dwayyo. Plus, I’m still awfully proud of digging up “gerulfus” as a generic name for dog-headed humanoids.]

Priscilla CR 19 N Outsider (native) This humanoid appears to be an anthropomorphic hellhound, with curving horns and a spade on the end of her tail. Her fur is a dark magenta hue, and growths like an external spinal column and ribs stretch along her back and sides. She wears mismatched leather armor and a spiked collar.

Before there was Priscilla, there was a gerulfus in the Sanos Forest. Created by the fears and anxieties of the people of Sandpoint, Wartle, and other nearby communities about everything from goblins to ghouls to the Sandpoint Devil, this gerulfus was determined to make the Sanos Forest its territory. Unfortunately, there was already a powerful monster occupying the forest—a phouka witch named Gigi, who considered herself the “Scary Fairy Godmother” of Varisia. Time and again, the gerulfus threw itself at Gigi, and time and again, Gigi repelled her with tricks and spells. Eventually a combination of fatigue and curiosity got the gerulfus to ask, “Why haven’t you just killed me?”

Gigi explained that she was impressed by the gerulfus’ tenacity and zeal, and thought that those qualities could be turned to more productive use. That was enough to start a friendship, which eventually blossomed into a romance. They talked of Gigi’s patron, Mormo the Goddess of Predators, and about how Golarion in general and the Inner Sea region specifically was plagued by demons and on the verge of ecological collapse. They also talked of identity and presentation, and Gigi helped Priscilla to decide on her new appearance, gender and name. Now reborn as her better self, Priscilla is Gigi’s right hand monster, and one of Mormo’s most powerful servitors in Avistan.

Priscilla is the bogey’s bogey. She hunts monsters that cause undue suffering and ecological catastrophe. Priscilla’s favorite prey are demons, as they are tactically challenging, worthy opponents, but she has fought an entire codex of creatures and lived to tell the tale. Prisciilla might be the foremost authority on monster biology, behavior and abilities in all of Avistan: certainly in Varisia. She has sworn her service to Mormo, and combines divine spells with her natural cunning in combat to eradicate Lamashtu cults and powerful monsters. Varisia is her most frequent hunting ground, but she can and does use her gerulfus magic to open portals to travel across the globe and into the First World.

Priscilla is a tenacious combatant. She may stalk prey for hours, even days, in order to observe their strengths and weaknesses. Her spells are primarily used to enhance her tracking abilities and to bolster the strength of her and her allies. Priscilla often fights alone, but may also lead commando raids of other Mormo worshipers, or work with local monsters and people who want to fight back against greater threats. Although she carries a bow and arrow for flying enemies, Priscilla eschews the use of melee weapons—she still likes to get her teeth and claws dirty. Against weaker foes, Priscilla uses stealth to take them out with a single decisive strike, but she does enjoy a good old fashioned, knockdown brawl now and again.

Priscilla           CR 19 XP 204,800 Variant gerulfus inquisitor (sanctified slayer) 8 N Large outsider (native) Init +13; Senses darkvision 60 ft., Perception +23, scent, see in darkness Aura frightful presence (30 ft., Will DC 23) Defense AC 39, touch 23, flat-footed 33 (-1 size, +6 Dex, +9 natural, +7 deflection, +7 armor, +1 insight) hp 303 (12d10+8d8+198) Fort +20, Ref +16, Will +21; +4 vs. negative and positive energy effects Immune fear; SR 21 Defensive Abilities fortification (50%), terror shield Offense Speed 40 ft., 60 ft. gallop Melee +5 bite +34 (2d6+17), 2 +5 claws +33 (1d6+17) Ranged +1 adaptive longbow +24/+19/+14 (2d6+12/x3) Space 10 ft.; Reach 10 ft. Psychic Magic CL 12th, concentration +19 (+23 casting defensively) 20 PE—crushing despair (DC 21, 3 PE), dancing lights (0 PE), dimension door (4 PE), dream scan (DC 22, 5 PE), ego whip II (DC 21, 4 PE), synaptic scramble (DC 21, 4 PE) Special Attacks bane (17 rounds/day), breath weapon (60 foot line, 6d10 fire, Ref DC 26 half, 1d4 rounds), fear feeder, fey portal, scourge of the enemy (+2, Lamashtu), sneak attack +4d6, solo tactics, studied target (2 targets, +2, swift or move action) Spells CL 8th, concentration +15 (+19 casting defensively) 3rd (4/day)—cure serious wounds (DC 20), dimensional anchor, heroism 2nd (6/day)—acute senses, follow aura, see invisibility, shield other 1st (6/day)—bane (DC 18), cure light wounds (DC 18), divine favor, shield of faith, tireless pursuit 0th—brand (DC 17), detect magic, detect poison, light, read magic, stabilize Statistics Str 32, Dex 22, Con 30, Int 19, Wis 24, Cha 24 Base Atk +18; CMB +30; CMD 55 Feats Combat Casting, Combat Reflexes, Dazzling Display, Exploit Lore, Extended Bane, Improved Monster Lore, Improved Natural Weapon (bite), Power Attack, Precise Strike (B), Shatter Defenses, Shielded Caster (B), Weapon Focus (bite) Skills Acrobatics +22 (+26 when jumping, +34 jumping while galloping), Diplomacy +30, Fly +26, Intimidate +27, Knowledge (arcana, dungeoneering, nature, planes, religion) +22 (+33 identifying monsters), Knowledge (local) +19 (+30 identifying monsters), Perception +23, Sense Motive +27, Spellcraft +20, Stealth +23, Survival +23 (+27 when tracking) Languages Abyssal, Aklo, Common, Sylvan, Undercommon, Varisian Gear manual of gainful exercise +4 (expended), manual of bodily health +1 (expended), belt of physical might +6 (Str, Con), headband of mental superiority +4 (Diplomacy, Fly), amulet of mighty fists +5 and natural armor +2, +5 defiant (evil outsider) moderate fortification leather armor, +1 adaptive composite longbow, bane baldric, ring of tactical precision, spiritualist rings, longarm bracers, rod of negation, dusty rose prism ioun stone, pearl of power (3rd level), flying ointment (x2), wand of divine power (25 charges), wand of lesser restoration (40 charges), scroll of true seeing (x2), scroll of arcane sight, potion of haste (x2), 60 arrows, steel holy symbol of Mormo, hunting horn, 5 platinum rings for shield other, 340 gp SQ cunning initiative, detect alignment (at will), discern lies (8 rounds/day), legendary, slayer talent (fast stealth), stern gaze, track, Zeal inquisition, zealous surge (15 hp) Special Abilities Fear Feeder (Su) A gerulfus gains one PE for every creature suffering from a fear effect within 30 feet of its space at the start of each of its turns. Fey Portal (Sp) This ability functions as the planar travel function of the gate spell, except that it can only allow travel between the Material Plane and the First World. This functions as a 7th level spell cast at CL 12th. Gallop (Ex) A gerulfus can switch between a two legged and four legged gait with ease. On all fours, its move speed is 60 feet, but it cannot make claw attacks any round in which is uses its gallop ability. Legendary Priscilla’s statistics are built with 25 point buy, and she has the gear of a 19th level player character. This raises her CR by +1 Scourge of the Enemy (Ex) Priscilla treats worshipers of Lamashtu as if they were her favored enemy (as the ranger class ability), gaining a +2 bonus on the appropriate rolls. Terror Shield (Su) A gerulfus gains a deflection bonus to AC equal to its Charisma bonus. Creatures immune to fear effects ignore this bonus, and a creature that casts remove fear on a gerulfus can make a DC 23 caster level check to suppress this ability for the duration of the spell. Variant Gerulfus Priscilla loses the spell-like abilities of a typical gerulfus, and gains a breath weapon instead. Zealous Surge (Sp) Once per day, when Priscilla is reduced to 0 or fewer hit points, she heals a number of hit points equal to her inquisitor level + her Wisdom modifier.

[godtiertalk]

Can you describe a Witch of Doom?

In terms of raw combat power, probably one of the most destructive classes you could name, with none of the side casualties you might expect from a heavy hitter on that scale. The weapon/magic/etc used would likely vary by the person, but whatever it is, it hits hard. We're talking OHKO shit with no friendly fire.

The flip side being that total control over when and how something ends/the literal or metaphysical boundary lines, means you can likely expect this person to be their own worst enemy. They devise the very constraints that bound them. Getting caught up in their own concerns, overloaded by too much data, decision fatigued or anxiety paralyzed, etc.

Let's imagine three players facing an unbreakable wall. A Hope player, a Void player, and the Witch of Doom.

The hope player's certainty in themself, their team, their weapon, etc allows them to achieve the impossible and break the wall.

The void player inverts the nature of reality around them in such a way as to render the wall breakable.

The Witch of Doom rewrites reality such that the wall was always breakable, and moreso, was destined to be broken by them.

[ofliarsandlovers]

(Davika Hoorne, 36, cis-female, she/her) - Look who it is! If you take a look at our database, you’ll find that MINKE SAELI is a SECURITY ESCORT that works in SECTOR 1. According to the file, they’re a mutant with the power of ENHANCED BODY and WEAPONS MASTERY. That must be why they’re CALCULATED and COLD. If you ask me, they remind me of a mothers lullaby heard softly across the hall, the grazes that decorate bloodied knuckles and the fear you feel staring into the unknown. They are affiliated with RUST & RUIN.

basic information:

character name: Minke Saeli nickname (s): Min face claim: Davika Hoorne mutation status: Gen II birthday: September 8th sexuality: Pansexual moral alignment: True Neutral occupation: Security Excort work sector: 1 affiliation: Rust & Ruin 3 positive traits: Calculated, Fair, Decisive 3 negative traits: Cold, Distant, Overcritical biography (optional): tbc

questionnaire:

how do they feel about living in sol city? have they always lived there or did they travel from another settlement? "Sol City is as fine a place as any to live and raise a family. I respect the job distribution system and ensuring everyong has their place, however it can feel rather like checking people into boxes which can easily become a seed for discontent." do they trust the council’s leadership? why or why not? “I trust no-one's judgement except for my own. Nothing personal." if they chose their sector and profession, why did they make that choice? if they didn’t, why not? were they happy with their assignment or not? "It seemed only natural to get into my line of work. It's what I'm good at." what’s one object that they always keep on their person? Her wedding ring and a necklace her children got her for last Mothers Day.

(mutant only section)

what is your character’s ability (or abilities)? Enhanced Body & Weapons Mastery. are they gen i or gen ii? Gen II what can your character do? what are their strengths? Enhanced Body: The user's physical abilities, capabilities, and attributes are above those of ordinary members of their species, beyond what can be emulated through natural training, and with little to no maintenance. This means that the user's strength, speed, endurance, agility, durability, stamina, and reflexes are many times greater than all other members of their species, such as humans, without being supernatural. Weapons Mastery: Users have ascended to the pinnacle of armed combat expertise, possessing unparalleled, ultimate, perfect, and complete mastery over all weapons and forms of weaponry. Their expertise spans every known and unknown weapon, including those deemed nearly impossible to master or forbidden, granting them comprehensive knowledge and proficiency with any wielded armament. Moreover, they possess the rare ability to innovate and craft their own forms of armed combat, confounding adversaries with their ingenuity.

Their skill in armed combat operates at an extraordinary level of mastery. Users wield weapons with precision and dexterity, employing tactics, maneuvers, and techniques that transcend the capabilities of even the most skilled combatants. Their absolute proficiency enables them to execute strategies and techniques that seem unfathomable to adversaries attempting to comprehend the user's unparalleled skill set.

what can’t they do? what are their weaknesses? She is not invulnerable and can be injured with excessive force, she can and will fatigue eventually. She is very protective over her family and friends and if one of them is threatened she can become irrational in her fear of them getting hurt or killed. is there anything else you’d like to specify about them? Min has 2 children, a 9 year old daughter called Beta with her childhood friend Hanjae and a 4 year old son called Nemo with her current husband. She was also voted the leader of Rust & Ruin despite her wishing for Dario to be elected, but takes her role very seriously.

[solesoldier]

this is a breakdown and reference sheet of shepard's scars throughout the timeline of the series including where the scars were acquired and any additional physical or relevant psychological details. tw for medical trauma and mentions of sterilization** ahead. major plot spoilers also ahead. full view on images recommended.

MASS EFFECT 1

the use of shields and medi-gel can heal most moderate injuries when used in a timely manner. Scarification is still mostly permanent but proper treatment can speed up the healing process.

¹ˑ   eyebrow scar, acquired from a husk on eden prime. ²ˑ lip scar, a minor injury during basic training after enlisting. ³ˑ   scar tissue from the remains of a severe injury caused by thresher maw acid on akuze. the coloration has mostly faded to her skin tone but the texture is still rough. shepard is very rarely seen wearing tank tops to keep the injury concealed considering how quick people are to want to talk about akuze, which she is not interested in doing.

MASS EFFECT 2 / 3

after undergoing reconstruction through the lazarus project, shepard is missing her previously notable scars. her official cause of death was asphyxiation as she ran out of oxygen while breaking atmosphere; the velocity of falling from orbit burned her body beyond recognition and the force of impact when she finally landed crushed the majority of her bones. her skull was heavily fractured but her helmet miraculously prevented her brain from being severely damaged.

¹ˑ   reconstruction scars, a series of strange scars from newly placed skin grafts which did not have time to properly heal. they give an oddly manufactured appearance to her as they follow natural forms and planes of the body (much like seams on a production mold would). in anything other than bright light, they give off a faint orange glow due to the cybernetics underneath. shepard is highly self conscious about these scars; mental stress seems to make them more prominent. ²ˑ enhanced optics, the first of several implanted cybernetics, these ocular implants allow for quicker visual recognition and scanning and are able to enhance mental processing to a faster rate. these implants allow her to make quick tactical decisions and auto focus on targets for her (adrenaline rush ability). ³ˑ  titanium reinforced skeleton, only around 10% of shepard's skeleton is made of her original bones. titanium was used as a reinforcement material due to the heavy impact of front line combat shepard regularly faces. after full augmentation and skeletal restructuring, shepard weighs significantly more than a regular human of her height and build. ⁴ˑ   heavy muscle weave, (NOT upgraded) her muscles have been perforated with micro-fibers which greatly increase her natural strength and reduce exhaustion and muscle fatigue. these enhancements can be physically upgraded, along with bone and skin weaves, but shepard decisively chooses not to augment herself any further. ⁵ˑ **most organ systems were returned to functionality, with the exception of the epidermis and skeletal system needing to be fully replaced, however her reproductive system is no longer functional. shepard no longer experiences a menstrual cycle and will never be able to conceive children.

POST MASS EFFECT 3

the consequences of choosing to destroy the reapers are both physically present in the galaxy, but also marked upon shepard herself. her body was found among the citadel wreckage, severely injured and barely alive after massive trauma to the body and brain as well as the catalyst disabling her more intricate cybernetics. shepard's 'recovery' is limited by the available resources in the wake of the aftermath; she is in critical care for minimum three months, repairing her cybernetic-reliant organ systems. intensive physical therapy is needed for several months following to adapt to her new prosthetics and regain her strength. recovery is ongoing.

¹ˑ  heavy scar tissue from multiple sources, some injury from the impact of the beam which transported her to the citadel, the majority being from the explosion within the catalyst. ²ˑ reconstruction scars still present but faded, continuing to fade with time. ³ˑ   cybernetic implants now mostly defunct. through gene therapy, transplants, and extensive hospitalization, her body has learned to cope without the more intricate implants. some of the less advanced ones were able to be technologically repaired. ⁴ˑ   amputated arm, replaced with mechanical prosthetic. her right arm was crushed under a bulkhead on impact from explosion; it was amputated on the scene of recovering her body from the wreckage. ⁵ˑ severed leg from initial explosion, replaced with mechanical prosthetic. the wound was mostly cauterized from the heat of the blast, preventing her from dying of blood loss in the wreckage.

[godstrain]

Chris sighs. His thumb brushes almost lovingly along the old, weathered badges in his palm, following the metal grooves that made up an old faded design. S.T.A.R.S. . . . Lifting his head, hazel flicker across the scientists face, darkened brows knitting together in torn contemplation, a tense silence that lingers before eventually he caves, cursing under his breath in a not so graceful manner before he steps in closer to his former captain.

Maybe this was a mistake, confronting him on such a date — the anniversary of the mansion incident — but for all the progress they’ve made to become somewhat civil in one another’s company again . . . Some things still needed to be addressed before Chris could start to truly ease his grip of the long-held grudge he’d clung to for so many years.

None of this is easy.His fingers tremble when they smooth over old metal edges a fourth time, gaze averting again as he releases another strangled sigh, all before he holds over the small stack of long dead S.T.A.R.S. Team badges, knife sharp gaze thinning to something daring in challenge, demanding in a silent way for an answer or explanation of any kind. He takes another step in close, pushing the pile against his chest, finally mustering the courage to speak, even if it is in a softly whispered tone.

“. . . Why? I never understood why they had to . . .” He’s barely said much of anything & an already his voice is threatening to fail him. It’s a touchy subject, a raw wound that hadn’t healed properly in well over a decade. With a sigh, he continues, shoulders sagging in fatigue as he soothes the brief flare of anger that peeks. “Just tell me why.”

he knows what day it is- he remembers it vividly. a rather muggy and unpleasant july evening that was only going to get worse, because everything he had worked for had gone up in flames, quite literally! it was at the arklay manor that he'd lost everything, and he'd come to the realization that everything that he'd had since paled in comparison to that brief period in his life where he felt he belonged. he remembered the days leading up to it, hell, he remembered the entire month before. when he made his plans- when he thought that everything would work out. he hadn't noticed it in himself, william never said a word about his behavior. enrico and barry called him oddly optimistic.

hypomania was a strange state to exist in. he had enough insight to know that he'd need a plan to get in and out of the mansion with his team, but not enough to realize how unrealistic the entire plan was. he didn't consider the fact that they were all horrifically unprepared- wesker had grown quite fond of his team, and enrico was a respectable captain of his own. time and time again alpha and bravo team had worked well together, handing off assignments smoothly- at the time, he couldn't imagine anything being different.

❝ arklay used to be my home, chris. before the outbreak, it was home to many researchers. ❞ he wasn't sure what to feel about the memories of his days in arklay before the outbreak anymore. there was a mix of things; he'd always been close with william, and he'd found some of the others to be tolerable company- the ones he held in highest regard had ended up transferred to other locations before spencer's orders were carried out. ❝ i knew that place inside and out. i used to sneak out of the labs to explore the forests and to feel some fresh air- ❞

he knew now that the incident had been caused by his mentor, james marcus- or the queen leech that had taken over the deceased doctor's body. it was an act of revenge. the queen wanted to kill him, to kill william, and everyone else had paid the price. for a time, he found it easy to blame spencer, that hate had fueled his desire to break away from umbrella even more- and his final decision had come when he was given orders to sacrifice S.T.A.R.S. for mere combat data. he had been so confident in the members of S.T.A.R.S. to know how to survive. bravo team had a prodigy medic with them, a safety net- and he would lead alpha team in.

❝ i received orders from umbrella to use the members of S.T.A.R.S. for combat data against the remaining BOWs in the mansion- but i had grown fond- even if i had seen the members of S.T.A.R.S. as my little guinea-pigs, i wasn't so keen on abandoning what had been the most successful experiment i'd ever taken part in- ❞ it had started with the absolute shock of the order. S.T.A.R.S. technically operated under the orders of umbrella due to the checks that brian irons was receiving- wesker could've done without that pathetic excuse for a man, but he'd thought that so long as umbrella had irons, he would be free to do whatever he wanted with S.T.A.R.S.- he wondered that day if someone had figured it out- his past, his connections- if umbrella was asking this to silence them.

maybe it was because spencer wanted wesker dead.

❝ i had been- and i still am proud of S.T.A.R.S., the finest operatives that i have ever worked with. time and time again, you surpassed my expectations- and if i recall, i made it quite clear how high those expectations were. ❞ albert wesker had always been a perfectionist- he expected nothing but the best, and he had been given just that. so he'd thought that the mission would be rather easy to exploit for his own benefit- so he tried.

he tried and failed.

❝ miss chambers had proven herself more than capable of coming up with little things to tide bravo team over for long enough until we could get to them- my mentor, james marcus, led research on the t-virus, and when he was killed, william and i took over. ❞ it would've been easy for him to synthesize some sort of stabilizing agent at the very least- it would've kept his team alive, or so he'd thought. as the years had passed, wesker had realized that he was wrong about many things related to that mission. with how upset he was at the orders in the first place and his fraying mental state, it wasn't really a surprise that the plan had fallen apart.

❝ they weren't supposed to die, chris. we were supposed to meet bravo team for a proper debrief before we went in- ❞ instead, they'd lost contact with bravo team; he'd grown desperate and he'd lied to barry, he'd shot enrico- of the twelve members of S.T.A.R.S. who went to investigate, only six survived- back then, as far as they knew, it was only five. after all, chris had watched him die. it wasn't supposed to be like that. looking at the worn badges, that heavy feeling settles in his chest again. guilt- a weakness that he wasn't supposed to have- ❝ for many years, i wondered how everything could've fallen apart like that- how did i claw my way out from that hell empty handed- ❞ he's bad at this, he knows it- he doesn't know how to handle guilt and longing and nostalgia- he doesn't want to talk about it anymore, but chris deserves some closure- ❝ i planned for many things to happen, but not that. ❞ it's the closest he'll get to an apology, because an apology won't change anything. it's the closest he can bring himself to saying i miss them too.