#but I'm not ready to feel this weak and unable to do the things that used to bring me joy

[loumauve]

-

[changetyre]

Broken ⒾⓈⓌ

SUMMARY: You and Max are having trouble trying to grow your family and your daughters are affected by it. Part of the Verstappen Family Verse

WARNINGS: Angst, miscommunication, pregnancy issues, a smidge of smut at the end.

A/N: This was requested over on Wattpad. Despite the angst, this is one of my favorite parts of this series.

Max stretched out, his back feeling painful after carrying all the presents he'd bought up from the parking lot before stashing them in a high cupboard in the house where he was sure nobody would look. It was late and he'd spent most of the day out looking for gifts, although truly it was also an excuse to get some space since the environment at home wasn't the best right now. 

The house was quiet when he arrived, a good indicator the girls were already asleep in their room and you as well probably. Although only a few months ago there wouldn't be a day you wouldn't wait for Max before going to bed, physically unable to go to sleep without hearing his voice but lately things had changed and you and Max often went to bed without exchanging any words at all. 

Once he finally made his way to your bedroom he wasn't surprised to find you were in fact asleep, clothes scattered around the room which you also hadn't bothered to clean up. Max sighed, he was tired having not really had a day of relaxation since the season ended despite imagining he'd spend his winter holidays differently, that things would somehow get better. 

He proceeded to pick up the room a little bit making it a little more presentable before taking a quick shower and joining you in bed. While his skin screamed to feel yours Max didn't feel comfortable enough to do so anymore, not knowing how you'd react to him placing an arm around you like he had done every night since you'd gotten together..until a few months ago. 

The next morning Max woke up to find you'd woken up but stayed laying there simply staring up at the ceiling, he knew your mind was spiraling but truly didn't want to ask anymore knowing you'd shut him out.  

"Hey," Max asked. His voice almost felt too loud for the silence. 

"Hi." Your voice was barely above a whisper, the sound almost strange to him not used to hearing it often anymore. 

"How d'you sleep?" Max asked. 

"I'm gonna go make breakfast for the girls." you ignored his question avoiding eye contact as you left the room leaving no more space for conversation. 

Once Max got himself ready for the day he went out to join you for breakfast finding you'd already eaten and were in the process of washing the dishes. He'd be lying if he said this didn't hurt him but held back from saying anything not wanting to start an argument. 

The rest of the day was mostly spent in silence apart from the laughter and ruckus from your children there were no words exchanged between you and Max. At some point, Max left the house once more wanting space. 

"Mama," Ivy called you as you played with both your daughters in the balcony. 

"Yeah, baby." Your daughters naturally made you smile, probably the only time you showed any sort of emotion lately. 

"Do you and Papa not love each other anymore?" She asked. 

Your heart skipped a beat, the immediate urge to cry reaching your throat and you only hoped your eyes gave no indication to the sudden burst of emotion. You noticed the way Lea's smile also dropped at the question, her attention ready to hear your answer. 

"Uhm, of course we do baby why would you think that?" You asked hoping your shaky voice didn't worry your daughters. 

"Papa doesn't blink at you anymore...like dis mama." Ivy showed you by blinking her eyes hard three times just like her father used to do to you almost daily before. 

The reminder of this almost broke you, you began picking up the girl's toys making sure they weren't able to see your face properly as you began crying. "You don't have to worry girls, everythings okay with Papa and me." You lied to your daughters, and it was evident by the weakness of your voice but you weren't sure what else to say. 

"Mama, are you okay?" Lea asked this time, her voice filled with concern, she was growing up, she of course noticed things, possibly understood things a little more than her sister and you knew you were hurting her, hurting them both and thought of this killed you inside. 

"I'm fine Lea, why don't you take your sister to your room and watch a movie, I'm gonna shower." You tried your best to force a smile wiping your eyes with the back of your hand before facing your older daughter. 

Lea simply nodded not wanting to cause you more distress before taking Ivy's hand and guiding her away. Once they were gone you let yourself cry it out. 

Trying and failing to conceive another child had been more emotionally draining than you had ever imagined it would be. You and Max had tried, tried, and tired to the point making love to him wasn't exciting anymore, it was frustrating, full of desperation, and so eventually, you stopped. You stopped trying, stopped connecting, stopped loving.  

Silence seemed like the easiest solution, not willing to face the reality of it all. Drowning in your own thoughts was exhausting but it seemed like the better option since potentially hearing the way you let down your partner, your family was worse. 

But it was obvious now, it was obvious how much this was already hurting your family so you had to toughen up now, muster enough strength to talk to Max, talk to your husband, and face whatever was next for you, whether good or bad it had to better than letting your daughters see the way things were falling apart between you. 

___________

Max once again came home to silence, he could hear the TV on in the girl's room and he didn't want to go to his room so instead decided to try to wrap up the presents in secret while he had the time. 

Max was semi-successful, his daughters had walked out of their room and been insistent on wanting to know what Max was doing despite him telling them several times to go back to their rooms and his patience was wearing thin. 

He was only able to get them to stay in their rooms after promising them a play date with their uncle Lando on the weekend if they behaved. Finally knowing they would stay in their rooms Max took the time to try to hide the gifts again so he could put them under the tree by the end of the month. 

He'd headed to the bathroom and when he came back anger and frustration flooded him at seeing Lea helping Ivy up to the counter to try to open the cupboard where he'd stashed the gifts. 

"LEA!" Max yelled letting his emotions control him for the first time with his daughters. 

Lea and Ivy both gasped and Max ran to catch Ivy who almost slipped off the counter trying to get down quickly. 

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU THINK YOU WERE DOING! WERE YOU EVEN THINKING!? YOUR SISTER COULD'VE GOTTEN HURT!" Max yelled at his older daughter. 

You heard the commotion from the room running out to check on the situation. "I WANT YOU BOTH IN YOUR ROOMS, NO TV, NO GAMES, GO STRAIGHT TO BED!" Max continued yelling. 

Both Ivy and Lea were in tears at seeing their dad so angry for the first time in their lives, running straight to their rooms. 

"Max calm down." Your heart broke, you knew Max was never like this with your daughters and it scared you to see this side of him come out, feeling partly guilty for it. 

"Oh wow...so now you decide to talk to me." Max scoffed pushing past you and into your room. 

Your heart broke at the action, but he was right. You knew he needed time to cool off so you headed to your daughter's room to check on them. 

Opening the door you had to try to hold back your own tears at the sight. Lea held Ivy in her arms as they both sobbed. You couldn't say anything to afraid to burst into tears so instead sat by your daughter's bed and hugged them both. 

"I-I-I'm so-so-sorry-ma-ma." Lea hiccuped not being able to catch her own breath at how much she cried. 

This time you felt a few tears run down your cheeks. "Hey baby it's okay." You took her face in your hands trying to soothe her. "Lea honey it's okay." You blew gently on your daughter's face trying to calm her down. 

"Pa-pa's- ang-angr-angry." she continued hiccuping. 

"I know darling he shouldn't have yelled like that baby. He loves you so much, we both do." You reminded her kissing her forehead. 

Eventually, Ivy had fallen asleep crying on her sister's lap so you picked her up and moved her to her bed tucking her in. You then went back to your older daughter who was having a little bit of a harder time settling down. 

"Lea listen sometimes people get angry at other things and they feel so angry for a long time that when something else happens they just blow up and scream." You tried your best to explain to your daughter. 

"Like papa?" She asked. 

"Yeah like Papa Baby, Papa's feeling a lot of things because of something else and unfortunately he just took it out on you." You revealed. 

Little did you know Max was listening from outside, after cooling off a little he felt bad and meant to go apologize to his daughters but stopped once he heard you inside with them. 

"But why?" Lea asked. "Why is papa angry mama?" Lea was almost 6, you knew she was starting to get a better grasp of things and you also knew being honest with her would be the best thing for her right now so after thinking about it for a few seconds you decided to just be honest with her. 

"Do you remember on Ivy's 2nd birthday when she wished for a brother?" You asked your daughter. 

"Yeah," Lea replied moving her head to look up at you. 

"Well your Papa and I after that, after talking a lot tried to make another baby..."Your voice broke. 

Max's heart broke at hearing you struggle to speak. 

"Well, we tried for a long time and Mama just couldn't get another baby in her tummy which made both Mama and Papa really really sad." You revealed. 

"Why won't the baby go in your tummy mama?" Lea asked innocently, reaching for her little hand to wipe some tears off your cheek. 

"I don't know baby, maybe mommy's broken." You were full-on crying but you could see your daughter's understanding eyes at the situation. 

"Is that why Papa doesn't say I love you with his eyes anymore?" Lea asked again, oblivious to the impact her question had on her parents. Max fell to his knees outside the room distraught at the guilt he could hear in your voice, and about the fact that his daughters and possibly you thought he didn't love you anymore. 

"I don't know honey...maybe. It's not easy when you want something really really bad and you just can't get it so it can make you feel a lot of things, mommy feels like it's her fault that the baby doesn't want to go in her tummy." You tried to finish explaining. 

"I'm sorry Mama." Lea apologized once more. "But even if you are broken mama I'll still love you the same, I'll even say it with my eyes if you want." Lea smiled imitating her dad by blinking her eyes I love you just like her dad used to do. 

This time your tears were of gratitude at feeling the love your daughter had for you, the simplicity with which her mind understood the situation and tried to make you feel better. "Thank you, baby." You hugged your daughter placing kisses on her cheek. 

Lea settled enough, feeling a little better at understanding why things had been a little weird at home lately. You watched her fall asleep. You took a deep breath ready to have a difficult conversation with your husband praying it might go a little similar to the conversation you had with your daughter. 

You walked out of their room and were surprised to find Max sitting outside, his back to the wall with his face in his hands. You could tell he'd been crying from the wet spots on his shirt and trousers. 

"Maxy." You fell to your knees beside him. 

Max pulled his hands away as you both wrapped your arms around each other at the same time. You both started crying in each other's arms, Max holding you tightly against him. 

"You're not broken, I never thought so either I just wanted you to talk to me." He whispered. "I love you so much and I'm sorry I ever let you doubt it, and I'm sorry for screaming at Ivy and Lea, I'm just- I'm so sorry for everything" Max cried tucking his face in the crook of your neck.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry I felt so useless and frustrated I couldn't get pregnant. I know how long you've been trying to hold it together for us, for all of us and I shouldn't have ever let you carry all of it on your own. I'm sorry too for everything."  You also apologized. "I love you, Max, I don't think I'll ever be able to stop loving you I just wanted to give us another baby." 

"I know." Max sighed pulling back and wiping tears from under your eyes with his thumbs. "Look I would love to have another baby with you, I'd have a 100 if it was with you but I'm so enamored by the family you've given me already, our girls...they're the best thing that have ever happened to me and if trying to have another baby is gonna cost us...us...than I don't want it." Max was honest. 

You nodded agreeing with his words. 

"It doesn't mean we stop trying, we can if that's what you want but I just want you back first, I need us to be okay before trying again okay?" He asked you. 

"Yeah." You agreed once more. 

Max rested his forehead against yours. You heard him take a deep breath. "God I missed you." he sighed before leaning down to place his lips against yours. 

You kissed him back harshly almost desperate to taste him again mentally questioning yourself how you were able to survive without this for as long as you did. "I love you," you whispered as you momentarily pulled away to catch your breath. 

But Max kept kissing you not wanting for this to stop, as if his body was trying to catch up on all the time he spent without your touch. "I love you." He whispered back scooping you into his lap, your legs wrapping around him as he stood up with you in his arms before taking you to your bedroom. 

Laying you down on your shared bed it once again felt right, being shared with him. Max was quick to get you naked, teasing you as he prepared you for him.

"I adore you." He whispered as he slipped into you. You'd be okay.

[jaskierx]

anyway posting some thoughts from the discord about how many 'irl relationship' things they're dealing with in ep7 and how much i am eating my mattress about it

they rushed into sex and ed regrets it and that doesn't stop it from having been consensual and fun but the fact that it was consensual and fun doesn't mean that it was a good idea

ed feeling like he can't watch stede make the same mistakes he did but also feeling like he can't ask stede to leave piracy for him when stede is just getting started. and ultimately he's too scared to ask stede to leave piracy for him because what if stede says no? what if stede looks him in the eyes and confirms yes, you are unloveable, yes i'm choosing piracy over you, no i don't love you enough, why would you ever think i could love you enough to do this for you?

just the overall turmoil of being at a different life stage to your partner - like the difficulty of when you're at the beginning of your career and they're established in theirs, or when you've had lots of relationships and they've only had you, or when you're ready to settle down and have kids but they're not, and nobody is in the wrong, it's just difficult

making a breakup about a completely unrelated issue bc you can't voice the actual problem. twisting it into 'we're fundamentally incompatible' (fishermen and pirates are completely different) so you can convince yourself it's not because you're not good enough. if you hit self destruct and leave without explaining things maybe it'll be less painful than opening up about what's actually wrong only to have them throw it back at you and leave you anyway. maybe if i pretend it was never going to work out i don't need to think about why it stopped working in the first place

stede still feeling like he's not good enough for ed and trying to change himself to make himself feel more worthy. unable to comprehend that anyone could possibly love someone so soft and inadequate. feeling like he doesn't even want ed to like him for who he is, feeling insecure that ed only likes him bc he's weak, feeling like he needs to toughen up to earn ed's love. the eternal worry of 'my partner is the best person in the world and i am just a worm so why are they here, why are they staying with me, what's their motive, what can i do to change myself so they actually want to stay for me and not for whatever reason they've got going on'

basically these 18th century gay pirates are experiencing every problem you've ever had with a partner and they're gonna be fine and so are you i love you

[shaevilux]

People knock on Rhoam for being a bad dad cuz he's distant and stern to little Zelda and say how Rauru is the goat (heh) for taking her in like his own daughter. Like Zelda had her real parental connection with Sonia and Rauru. But frankly that's a little reductive.

Rauru literally descended from the heavens, married a priest, started a kingdom. Man didn't really know much strife yet. There's no looming threat of calamity or prophecy yet. Things are peaceful. Things are fine. Things are great. Zelda dropped in during this time, talking about a doom that's going to happen tens of thousands of years in the future.

This sad, lost princess.

Of course any reasonable person would take her in and calm her and tell her she is fine and listen and support her.

Rhoam not being able to be this kind of figure for Zelda is tragic. Just read this poor man's journal entries:

"It has been a year and three months since her mother passed. Perhaps she is held back by heartache too deep to heal. If the Ganon prophecy wasn't looming over our heads, I would tell her to take her time... To wait until she is ready. But our situation is dire and leaves no room for weakness—even on behalf of my beloved daughter. My heart breaks for Zelda, but I must act as a king, not a father. I must order her to train relentlessly at the fountain." Pg 4.

"In truth, I understand Zelda's feelings. Painfully so. She lost her mother, her teacher, before she could learn from her. Ten pointless years of self-training, without so much as a book or note to help her find her way... Those in the castle talk behind her back. And I, her only family, scold her for her shortcomings. No wonder she wishes to hide away in her beloved relic research. I'd love nothing more than to console her... But I must stay strong. She MUST fulfill her duty, just as we all must. Even if she comes to despise me." Pg 6.

"I have been told my Zelda went to the Spring of Wisdom... This will likely be her last chance. If she is unable to awaken her power at Lanayru, all hope is truly lost. If she comes back without success, then I shall speak kindly with her. Scolding is pointless now. I forced 10 years of training on her... and after all that, it seems her power will stubbornly awaken some other way. Perhaps I should encourage her to keep researching her beloved relics. They may just lead her to answers I can't provide. For now, I sit anxiously, more a father than a king in this moment. I sit and await my daughter's return." Pg 7. (He fucking dies and never gives Zelda this bit of closure uuuugggghhhhhhh Zelda I'm so sorry Rhoam I'm so sorry)

It sucks because most people remember the cutscenes (duh it's more immersive and important) and in the cutscenes of the first game Rhoam was mostly shown as being stern and mean to babygirl Zelda, who is closed fists explaining herself to him at the verge of tears. And in contrast everyone in the first royal family of hyrule in the second game treated her with such kindness and we can see how happy she was being there with them.

Rhoam was shackled by duty. By prophecy. By the looming calamity. And from the day he named his daughter 'Zelda' he shackled her as well.

And what does Zelda do with these shackles? She accepts them. She tolerates them. Because she loves her father and her kingdom and knows there's a power dormant in her that can stop the calamity that she must do her best to unlock. She does this dutifully. She does all the training, she does everything that is required.

But it still doesn't unlock. So she tries other ways. She isn't just going after the 'relics' because she's scholarly and nerdy and wants to learn about them. She does it because she's pragmatic. She knows her sacred sealing power isn't present in her. She knows she might not be able to control it or even unlock it in time.

So she tries this alternative approach. The Divine Beasts, the guardians. Ancient tech that was used to prevent the calamity of their time. And she awakened the tech. And her father chose the champions for each divine beast. And they were all prepared. And it's all thanks to Zelda.

And then... Fucking tragedy again. Ganon probably learned his lesson from the last time he was thwarted and immediately went for the tech, corrupting it and turning it against the new users. Against Zelda.

It's never really stated how fast it all turned to shit when the tech betrayed them (or maybe I don't remember) but every account points to it being almost overnight. The champions died. Rhoam died. And suddenly, suddenly Zelda unlocks her sealing magic.

I always always hate the literary trope of using tragedy to unlock a great power that could've actually stopped the tragedy from happening in the first place.

And it's no different in BOTW. I hate that Zelda had to go through all this to unlock her powers.

And then what happens next?

She's stuck in limbo (in an almost mocking parallel to Rauru in the next game with his imprisoning arm) holding Ganon back. For a hundred years.

This young woman had gone through so much only to be trapped with a calamity seeking to destroy Hyrule for a century.

Does she know her father died in the war? Does she know the champions died in battle? Would she know Link would survive in the Shrine of Resurrection? Would she know how long it would all take? The century she would have to wait?

I think she didn't. I think it all happened too fast. I think ultimately, she decided a stalemate with ganon was an agreeable outcome. I think in her mind she probably thought she failed Hyrule. When the divine beasts turned she must have been distraught. Distraught might not even cover it tbh. But at least... At least when the kingdom was brought to it's knees by the corrupted tech and was waiting for the final blow, she had the ability to ensure the final blow never came.

And oh boy I have a looot more to talk about regarding Tears of the Kingdom. But I do want to have a couple of more playthroughs of it to really formulate what I want to say.

[mimicmimikyuwrites]

Angel Wings - Lute (Hazbin Hotel) x Angel!Reader

Summary: Angels have always wrapped their wings around the ones they love in a display of the highest form of admiration and affection. Lute's yet to do it to you, until the most recent extermination, that is.

An angel wrapping their wings around another had always been seen as an intimate thing in Heaven and elsewhere, a sign of love and affection that was reserved only for those cherished the most. It was almost as serious as a sincere, straight-from-the-heart, confession of love.

You had always wanted another angel to wrap their wings around you, that other angel in question being Lute, your sweet (to you), yet violent girlfriend. However, she had always been far from affectionate, a result of her upbringing and training as a soldier, as well as her lack of experience in romantic relationships.

You had wrapped your wings around her plenty of times, the feeling of holding her close in such a warm, loving way made you feel like you had ascended beyond Heaven and into something even better. Yet, she never returned the gesture. Did she not see your relationship as seriously as you saw it? You thought that you'd never get to experience her showing you her love in the way only an angel could.

Until the most recent extermination.

She had come home in a horrible shape, one of her eyes swollen and black, bright gold, angelic blood dripping from her nose, and the cuts on her forehead and cheek. The same golden blood covered parts of her uniform, and in utter disbelief, you tried to convince yourself it wasn't hers until you saw the missing arm which you could only pray would heal back.

You opened your mouth, ready to say her name in shock, unable to say much else; until she sprung forward, wrapping you tightly in her remaining arm, followed by her wings closing around you, and she buried her face into your shoulder.

"Lute—" You began, cutting yourself off when heard the soft sound of her crying, something you had never heard or seen from her before.

"I'm sorry." She sniffled, hugging you even tighter. "I know crying is weak a-and—"

"Don't apologize. Never apologize for that." You reassured her, finally overcoming your shock and hugging her back.

"Adam's dead, and so are so many others," She explained, moving to face you. Her eyes held fear and desperation you never expected to see from her, and it looked as if tears threatened to spill from those same eyes even harder as she struggled to hold them back. "When I was in the middle of that battle I couldn't help but think, 'What if I die? What if I never see you again?' I know I've been blessed to have you show me so much love, and I haven't returned even a fraction of it."

Now, it was your turn to begin crying. "Oh, Lute," You murmured, softly cradling her face in your hands. As you wiped her tears away, the feeling of warmth around you dawned on you. You had been too caught up in the moment to notice the way she had wrapped her wings around you; the ultimate sign of an angel's love, and it felt like it, too. It felt like you were falling in love with her all over again, and it was divine.

You kissed her passionately, making sure to put every single ounce of wonderful emotion she was making you feel into the way your lips moved against hers. She kissed back with the same intensity, wings pulling you in ever closer. The kiss felt like it could last forever, but unfortunately, all good things must come to an end eventually.

When it ended you looked at each other, a mutual sharing of adoration for the other between you two. She glanced down, taking notice of how tightly she was holding you, a light blush covering her face at the realization. She let you go, giving you a sheepish smile and a 'sorry' for holding you so tightly.

"Don't apologize. It felt nice." You replied, smiling back at her warmly. Your attention then turned to her wounds. "Let's get you patched up, okay? That looks like it hurts."

She nodded, watching as you began to head further into your house in search of a first-aid kit. She called out your name, stopping you.

"I love you, I really do. Thank you."

You smiled at her. "I know. Just take your time. I know these things don't come easy to you."

[sleepymarimo]

𝕕𝕠 𝕚 𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕟𝕒 𝕜𝕟𝕠𝕨?

summary: you're constantly on his mind, but he isn't quite sure if you feel the same. he really can't get you out of his head! pairing: luffy x gn!reader cw: takes place during sabaody, return to sabaody, etc. so potential spoiler warning? an: luffy is such a sweetheart wc: 800 ⤷ based on this song! ⤷ part of this arctic monkeys mini event!

when it came to the pirate empress and her overly affectionate gestures, luffy didn't really feel... well, anything. he didn't pay her any mind. why would he? she wasn't the one running through his mind at light speed. her smile wasn't the one that made the harsh winds and blistering heat of ruskaina easier to bear.

there was one thing that rubbed him the wrong way, though. when the shichibukai would clap her hands together, caress her reddening cheeks and speak in that sultry tone of hers. "i'd make a wonderful wife for you, don't you think?"

an image of you pops into his head, his brows furrowing at boa's proposal.

"i'm not gonna marry you!!" because i already belong to someone else!

two whole years without you? each day felt like a lifetime, that was for sure. it makes him feel even worse when he remembers that fateful day. he swears he can see you. with eyes full of fear and your hand reaching out, you pleaded for him to help.

then? you were just gone.

because he was too weak.

he clenches his fists at the thought.

the events of impel down and marineford served well enough to keep his mind preoccupied. in the times that he came close to death, he'd just picture your smile. now that he was on ruskaina, he had all the time in the world to think about you, to remember every second that you graced him with your presence.

now, he lays on the cold ground after another day of training. of survival.

he wonders if you're out there on the sea, on some island, staring up at the same moon he is. are you smiling? he hopes so, because that would mean you're thinking of him, right?

it feels like ages since he'd last seen you. well, not counting the dreams he had of you nearly every night.

when the thousand sunny comes into view, when you come into view, his heart feels about ready to burst. every molecule in his rubber body seems to vibrate with utter excitement. thanks to his newfound and sharp observation haki, he swears he can feel so much more of you. it's a magical thing, to see and feel your aura swirling around him.

"luffy!" you call, already taking some steps toward him. "look at you, you're so much stronger!"

he snickers and adjusts his hat, his cheeks taking on a rosy color. "of course i am! now i can protect you!" before he can take a step towards you and engulf you in an embrace, the sound of cannon fire rings in the air.

some marine ships put a damper on the reunion, but his smile remains engraved onto his face. because he has you now, duh!

his lips do pucker into a disgruntled pout when he hears that familiar voice, soft and sultry, calling for him. of course the empress had to see him off. how could she not?

"luffy, the kuja will handle these marines!" she coos, unable to quite look him in the eyes. "a wife can't let her husband be hampered down by such weak foes."

the captain sees how your brows furrow, in confusion or exasperation he can't quite tell. he does know that he sure as hell did not want to be called someone's husband, especially in front of you.

"stop saying that!" he'd snap, cheeks puffed and waving a fist in the air. "i already said i'm not gonna marry you!"

his gaze snaps to you, hoping that you'd see his display. he wants you to see that not even the most beautiful woman in the world could sway him. he wants to show you that he wasn't falling for anyone, because he's been yours for as long as he can remember.

when the ship of the kuja pirates is finally out of sight, the thousand sunny plunging into the deep sea, luffy finally allows himself to properly bask in your presence. his grin is all teeth as he approaches you, his chest white hot with a swell of emotions he can't properly label. he doesn't bother to identify them though, for he simply just feels.

he looks for any hint of reciprocation. warmth in your cheeks or a glint in your eyes. however, he's too captivated by your smile to notice any signs that you might feel the same.

rubber arms wrap around you, holding you close and making you feel safer than anyone else on the planet. two years was enough. he wasn't letting you go again, not when he had no idea what was going on in that pretty head of yours. one day, he'd find out.

instead, he presses you into his chest. maybe he hopes you'll phase right through and into his heart.

"did ya miss me?"

taglist: @dimplewonie, @kingofthe-egirls (i hope you enjoy!! and thank you for the req 🫶)

[sincerelybubbles]

i just think that james would make the best boyfriend. and i know it's not a new thought or even an uncommon one, everyone knows james loves fast and he loves deep, but i cannot help but imagine how healthy your relationship would be with him.

like, yes, when he picks you he's fiercely protective and obsessed with you beyond belief. he's always touching you, skin to skin, pouting when you're holding his hand because you're wearing gloves and he wants to feel you ("I'll put your hand in my pocket," he whines when you explain that your hand is just cold. you give him a fake glare but three minutes later, tops, you're holding his hand, no gloves, in his hoodie pocket and he's walking around with the biggest grin on his face, all white teeth on display). he compliments you every time you turn a corner for everything you do, he drops anything and everything for you the second you even breathe like you might need something. his professions of love are as breathtaking as they are frequent ("i just love the way you exist," he whispers in the morning, smoothing your hair out of your face, "i mean, it's 7 in the morning and usually i'm struggling to open my eyes but your hair is frizzy and i know where all of your freckles are and i can't wait to count them, you know?").

but i think beyond that, there's a sort of solidness that comes from healing together. from finding the flaws in your relationships, testing them until the cracks widen enough for you two to patch together, and relishing in the firmness of what used to be weak. james overwork himself. he used to spend restless hours finishing work at home, dejectedly pushing you off in fear of letting down his coworkers. working at the gym until his muscles screamed, unable to even lift his fork for dinner without his pecs screaming at him. planning dates and activities on your days off together to the point where you felt like you couldn't breathe. everything done with the lacing of care, tinged with the effort he put into every moment of life. it felt wrong for you to comment on at first. he tries so hard all of the time to do everything for everyone -- be everything for everyone, even himself. good things, at their core, that you didn't want to rub the shine out of by getting your fingerprints on. but you watched him fracture and put him back together when the effort became too much and crumpled his facade. you taught him self-restraint, reminded him to allow you to take some of the burden, showed him the simple pleasure of taking up space together without thinking of how every moment could be maximized. in turn, he helped you with sleep. self-confidence. how to talk through hurt feelings instead of lashing out.

james wouldn't let comments turn into fights. ("what do you mean when you say that?" he asks instead, sitting beside you and ducking his head to meet your eye, be at your level. his fingertips rest on your forearm, skin-to-skin like always. eyes open, alert, lips pressed together to tell you he's confused, doesn't agree, but posture telling you he's willing to listen more than he's willing to escalate). and when fights happen, of course they happen, you've taught him it's okay to walk away. it's not defeat. neither of you leave the flat, only to separate rooms, but it usually only takes 20 minutes before you're reaching out again, missing his warm fingers settling on the soft place behind your ear as he messes with your hair while you talk, and you're whispering your way through the problem. untangling to the root like it's a tangled group of threads, working through it together,

so, yeah, i can't stop thinking about how james would be such a good boyfriend. for the obvious reasons, always, but for the ones deeper from the surface. for the reasons that would cause issues first and how ready he would be to dive in and make the faults strengths of their own as well.

not edited, not proof read, i'm so sorry it's 1am and i can't stop thinking about him

[mrs-saturday]

🏹 The Archer (LS2)

♥ my masterlist!

♥ pairing: Logan Sargeant x Reader

♥ synopsis: The aftermath.

♥ a/n: Im so upset. Im broken. This is my grieving process

Combat, I'm ready for combat,

The pre-race ritual has always been the same for Logan and you. In front of the mirror, your hands slipping around his toned midriff, nails tracing the evidence of gym sessions beneath his race suit, his helmet on its stand, air at a standstill, as his head falls back onto your shoulder with a shaky exhale.

He knew it, and you knew it.

Zandvoort was the last one, and even though no one knew that for certain, and Vowles hadn't called the meeting, hadn’t thrown down the gavel on the blonde’s dream, you both knew it and it sat in your stomachs like a weight.

He picks his head back up, and turns to face you, planting a small kiss on your nose, and you do the same.

His nose is awfully cold, but you watch him slip the helmet on, and pray that it warms him through.

I say I don't want that, but what if I do?

Watching him spin out was like the nail in the coffin.

Watching orange tongues lap at the rear of his car was enough to drive you to a Hamlet-like state; to jump in his grave, pull the casket lid wide, and scream to the onlookers your love. 

When he’s back from medical, he looks at you, a silent acceptance of the end of his career quite literally going up in flames. He runs over, head buried in your chest as silent sobs wrack through his trembling frame. “Logan…” you mutter into his hair, about to ask what he thought would happen to his seat.

“I don’t even want it anymore…” he cries

“But, what if you do?”

'Cause cruelty wins in the movies,

He was told he was out 2 days before they announced it. The young Argentinian with his head hung low in the meeting room, unable to look at Logan. The cold fist of Vowles telling him what he’d been expecting, but the thought of him ruining this young boy’s career filled him with rage. 

How dare he do this again. How dare he do this to another bright star, to ignite his explosion all too short of a supernova. 

I've got a hundred thrown-out speeches I almost said to you

You try to get him to stop for a moment, but he’s sat furiously typing. He has to get it all out, he says. Too many thoughts, he says. He types and types as you hold him. Every frustration, every late upgrade, every lost nugget of feedback, every false promise, the results of which spilled into the American’s notes app like he was a teenage girl, feeling her heartbreak through lines of shower thoughts and ill-placed rhymes.

When he finished, he exhaled, and looked at you, with a weak smile, and hit delete on the note. 

Easy they come, easy they go

You two don’t stay in the UK long. The boxes are full the day it’s announced and the flights to Florida only a few days after. 

“Home” he had begged on that night, “If the track can’t be, I want to make home with you”

And you agreed, you packed up your life in England alongside him, the helmets and trophies of past delegated to a manila coloured box labelled “FRAGILE: HANDLE WITH CARE”

They would stay there.

For a while, at least.

I jump from the train, I ride off alone

The last thing he does is visit Oscar. Or at least, he tries to. His rosy knuckles tap on the Australian’s door one last time before he realises Oscar is not answering, despite the party going on inside the house. He is far too busy living their dream to remember to answer to the door to a boy delegated to a photograph on his mother’s refrigerator. 

I never grew up, it's getting so old, Help me hold onto you

It’s like he’s 11 again, in his parent’s living room, watching ‘Top Gun’, and eating popcorn. No one has bought it up. Not you, not his parents, not Dalton, it hangs in the air like the wheel had clung to his car by a wire’s length. Instead, you all ignore it for the simple pleasure of family. You laugh as he throws popcorn at his brother like they’re children. And you smile to yourself.

He never got to be a kid, really so why not hold onto that freedom now?

I've been the archer

He’d been the winner

I've been the prey

He was the prey

Who could ever leave me, darling?

You could never leave him, darling.

But who could stay?

Home always stayed.

[python333]

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

— — — —

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

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

characters cap. price, gaz, others briefly mentioned.

word count 8.0k

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

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

Someone’s ribs are encasing your own. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Static-static-static-stat— “H—o?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What a day.

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

“Uh-huh.”

“Underg—nd?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Uhh…” 

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

“My wha’?” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Close enough. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

— 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah.” 

“How?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“You do?” You ask, confused. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Speaking of— 

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

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

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

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

“When I was still in the SAS—”

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

“Shut it, you.”

“Sure, Captain.”

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

“Look at yourself,” Gaz interrupts him. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’ll shove a sock up your—” 

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

“Jammies,” You repeat incredulously.

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

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

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

You furrow your eyebrows, “Emergencies?”

He looks at you pointedly, “Emergencies.” 

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

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

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

You sigh, “Alright.” 

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

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

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

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

You blink at the swaying curtains.

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

— 

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

Price sits down next to you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Both Price and Gaz sense the conflict in your mind. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Nuh-uh.” 

“Yuh-huh.” 

“Nuh-uh.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your eyelids droop down completely. 

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

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

“I’m just saying—” Definitely Gaz.

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

[death---dealer]

Between the dirty smut I do like the softer prompts don't look @ me

Caesar's eyes fluttering against the tiny bundle you had strapped against your chest. He can sense the minor breathing of the baby who had their face rightfully flushed against your sternum, so warm and cozy and the way you cradled their head against you was an assurance that his child...

Your child, Caesar huffs and looks into your stare with a softening of his brow, was toasty against the chill of the ocean air that drifted in during the colder months. Lightly, he places his larger hand against yours, letting his thumb case the top of his baby's head and draws you in to kiss foreheads to let you know how grateful and complete he felt having his entire family unit. Himself, Blue Eyes and the newest addition against your body.

Noa is watching you from outside of the nest but his strong knees are ricocheting against the thatches of thin branches that are drawn into a circle, your fingers pressing against the small face that was bunched near your bare chest.

He is absolutely fascinated in how you're breast feeding; in how soft your voice is as you're encouraging the baby that is half his, half yours. Noa never imagined this happening, finally falling onto the nest and crawling himself upwards and sitting beside you. The Chimps shoulder brushes against your own and in the dim light of the fire, he glances down at the baby who is peering right back up at him, eating their nightly meal. "They are... very hungry." He teases softly and is unable to tear himself away from either of you as you shift gently and lean your head against his strong bicep.

Blue Eyes is cradling his first born in his large hands, you waking up late one morning to find a completely empty nest. Panic sets in first as you're still half-aware of what is happening to you before your hearing focuses in and you look downwards to see your Mate, out of the nest but not too far from you physically, holding your baby against his chest.

Their small fingers tuck into his coat, flushing into the fur there. Rapidly, your heart is beating in your ribcage as Blue Eyes looks at your frantic stare. 'Wanted you... to sleep more. We... woke up a few minutes ago.' Swallowing softly, you looked at him as he drew himself into the nest once more, small baby against his chest and secure in one hand as Blue Eyes signed for you, 'Go back to sleep. Mother of my Child... Needs her rest.'

Koba snarls at you. "What... are you doing to them, human?" "They're half of you, Koba." You muttered under your breath, sensing Koba rounding near you knowing that he was attempting to make some sort of Fatherly contact with the baby that you had gifted him and that his phrasing 'human' was now a strange form of endearment, "I'm getting them ready for bed. Need to make sure they're warm." He scoffs at you, "Stupid... Human thing. Ape... would just sleep against," Koba looks down at your sternum and feels his jaw fix into a lock position, "Mother's chest." "They're not fully Ape. They get cold." "Weak. Human." "Half of you." You snap back with a slightly smug smile as you lay the baby down onto the nest, nuzzled into the slotted spot between yourself and Koba. Shared. A family of sorts, even if Koba was unwilling to admit to that.

[angelpuns]

50Au Part 21

“ And he still hasn't moved?” 

“ Not yet. I…I didn't want to go in and have him run again,” Donnie murmured, tapping idly on the desk, “ I don't want to turn the camera off for the same reason, but this…it can't be good for him. I'm not sure if he's actually…there…or…” 

He let out a frustrated sound and rubbed his forehead, a headache growing behind his eyes. 

Leo had been sitting and staring at the camera for at least 6 hours now. Donnie didn't know what to do. If they went in and tried to bring him out of it, he might run. Not that he would get very far, but Donnie didn't want him to rip his stitches and panic further. 

Not to mention he seemed to react better to the  whole ‘strangers claiming they're your family’ thing when he didn't wake up in a panic. 

He texted Raph and Mikey as soon as he realized what was happening, Raph joining him in his lab minutes later. He guessed Raph was about in the same state as himself, probably unable to sleep. 

“...could you turn the TV on from in here? Maybe get his attention with the montage?” Raph suggested, pointing at it on the screen, “ he musta woke up ‘nd turned it off or something’” 

Donnie blinked. Right. That would have been the easiest solution. He suddenly felt so stupid, quickly wrenching open his desk drawer and rifling through it. 

“ Raphala, I officially name you as Family Co-Genius!” He pulled the remote out from the messy drawer and held it up, “ behold! The Plot Device!” ( aka a remote Donnie modded to turn off/on all the tvs in the lair for his own amusement ) 

He clicked the power button, the TV in Leo's room flicking on and bathing him in blue light. 

Leo jumped, pressing himself impossibly close to the wall as the TV flickered with static. The video started a moment later, Donnie watching tensely to see Leo’s reaction.

Leo brought his hand to his face and chewed at his nails, watching the TV with a faint frown. Ah, so he was doing that when they couldn't see. Donnie was going to make sure Mikey got onto him about it later. 

Much later, when all this curse business was over and it didn't feel like Leo would try and run at the first sign of aggression. 

“ I can't tell if its working…” Raph murmured, leaning closer to the screen, “ d'ya think it's makin’ it worse or..?” 

Donnie shut the camera off with a sigh.

“ I don't know, but we better get down there in case he tries to make a run for it,” Donnie murmured, “ I've got the tranq gun ready, but hopefully we won't have to use it,” 

He led the way down to the lobby, hands fiddling with his sleeves. He ran through the list. 

The lab was locked down, Leo's swords were hidden away proper, and he has the tranq gun. 

And unfortunately, Leo couldn't fight them in his current condition anyhow. 

Mikey stepped out of his room as Donnie stepped off of the last stair, yawning and heading to the kitchen. 

“ Morning! Did Leo-” 

Donnie shushed him and quickly covered his mouth, glancing towards Leo's room. 

It was quiet, only the soft mumble of his own voice on the TV coming out. 

Donnie slowly let go of Mikey, readying the gun. 

From inside Leo's room there was a bit of shuffling, and then the door slid open. 

Leo peeked out and gave them a shy wave. 

“ Um..hi?” His voice was rasping and weak, but he didn't sound like he was going to bolt at any second, “ any chance a guy can get some breakfast and a couple Tylenol ‘round here?”

Donnie hid the gun back in his hoodie pocket. Hopefully they wouldn't need it today. 

~~~

“ So you're going to have to go into my head?” Leo muttered around a spoonful of cereal, “ brothers or not, I don't think you all wanna see what's going on up there,” 

They had filled Leo in on the last couple of days. He seemed to believe them for the most part, not too surprised to hear about how he'd been injured. 

Donnie was a little shocked at how calm he was, really. Considering he'd spent half the night in and out of a panic and probably delirious with the pain. 

He did make a point to tell Leo about the camera, but promised that he would remove the red indicator light. There was no need it for anyway, since Donnie could track whether it was working from his lab. He even showed Leo the live feed from his bedroom, to which Leo had laughed and told him he was ‘ a huge fucking creep doe that’. 

Which. Fair. In Leo's eyes it was probably creepy as hell, but it was a necessity given the circumstances. 

“ Trust me, I'd rather not go into any of our heads ever again, especially due to the amount of trauma we've all gone through, “ Donnie huffed, finishing off his plan bagel with a final bite, “ but apparently it's necessary to make sure we ‘wash the correct memories’ - which is completely unscientific and sounds like a whole lot of magical bullshit if you ask me,” 

“ I told Barry what you told us, though, and he said it makes sense. Sometimes a curse needs to be broken and sometimes it just needs to be washed off,” Mikey offered, “ like a bad stain or something”

“As opposed to a good stain…?” Leo muttered, giving Mikey a skeptical look. 

Donnie sighed, “ the point is, we'll have to go into your memories once we get all the ingredients for the- the potion or whatever it is. As much as it pains me to say it, there is no medical or scientific way to fix this, because that would be far too easy,” 

He slid his tablet across the table to Leo, showing off the plan they'd been working on. It was more or less a ‘Leo Protocol’ until they could get the rest of the ingredients. 

He didn't include anything about the tracker or any codes they had put in place, just in case this was Leo acting again. If was getting harder to tell if he was just playing along or if he genuinely believed in them. 

“ We just need to make sure to that we keep you safe and not panicking until we can wash away the curse,” Donnie supplied, “not that telling you this is going to help for the coming days, but I figure being forthright with you will help today, at least” 

Leo shrugged, “I mean its not like I can get very far anyway. That Tiger guy totally fucked up my leg!” 

That was another thing. Donnie was still gathering data, and it appeared that Leo had memories of the previous days, but just…different. 

Like someone had gone in and erased everyone else out and left him alone. It sounded…incredibly sad, actually. 

But Donnie still wrote it down in the notes he'd been keeping. It was important to remember what Leo could and could not remember. That their memories, while still more correct than Leo's, weren't that far off from his. 

“ yes, well, I'd have liked you to sleep in the med bay and be on bed rest for at least w week, but as it stands that would probably freak you out,” Donnie shrugged, “ and the montage idea seems to be working out,” 

“ Oh yeah that was great. I really felt like Drew Barrymore in the waters of Alaska,” Leo grinned, “ Except way less cold. And probably less seasick.”

He finished his cereal with a sigh and pushed the bowl away, “ so, what's the plan for today Family? I’d love to go back to with town and give that Tiger a piece of my mind-”

“ yeah, no. You're not going anywhere. You've got a fucked up leg, a concussion that I still have yet to fully check on, literally less than 50% of your actual memories, and I'm fairly sure less than 5 hours of sleep,” Donnie listed, “ so you're going to stay here with Raph. Who also probably didn't get much sleep,” 

Raph scoffed at that, but didn't argue. So yes, he most definitely hadn't slept. 

“ and me and Mikey are going to get the rest of the ingredients with Barry. So you two play nice and Leo, don't even think about running away,” He said pointedly, standing and heading for the door. He and Mikey had to get an early start after all. 

----

Hopefully my Lil brother doesn't take me to court again for this ( long story ) but I don't really like this part. I just didn't really know where I was going with it at any point, but that's kind of the idea of this whole au, so I'm not too upset by it.

Also Raph and Leo bonding time! Yay! These guys need a nap.

Also Leo not talking about the whole ' 5 hour staring at a red dot' thing is 100% on purpose, he definitely said ' listen I'm already kind of freaking out so pls don't make me talk about it ' . he'll discuss it later tho :)

Part 1 | Part 20 | Part 22

[acourtofthought]

TLDR; Because people have gone so far left, they've gone right. Their "wokeness" has led them to completely disregard someone's trauma in the bigger picture. They seem to think Elriels are using Gwyn's SA as a reason Gwynriel can't happen, when Elriels are just trying to be respectful and patient with Gwyn's own trauma to allow her to show some interest in someone before we ship her with anyone.

Longer Answer:

To clarify, there is nothing wrong with a survivor of SA wanting to have sex and get into a relationship. How they deal with their trauma is up to them. I've seen some survivors of SA go on a "sleeping with everyone they meet" bender and some people who can't even be around men for a long period of time. Both are heartbreaking but that is how someone deals with their trauma, and it's nobody else's business.

SA is the product of cruel entitlement. It is a real issue, one that's rampant on college campuses, remote villages, even in the highest of corporate offices. That's the harsh reality. It might be presented as a fictional concept in this book, a reason for background trauma - but it is very much real.

To say a survivor of SA cannot go on to have sex or relationships with others is wrong. That implies they are damaged goods or they are weak and broken. That's wrong.

How someone reacts and processes SA trauma is up to them. It's nobody else's business. Their trauma does not define them. But after a traumatic event like that - they have to be the one to make the call of when and if they want to pursue other relationships. On their own timeline.

When it comes to Gwyn, her stans get defensive when they see people say "Gwyn is still healing from SA trauma, I don't think she's ready for a relationship" because they think we're using it as a reason she can't be with Azriel. They think we're saying "Gwyn is damaged and weak, so she can't be with Azriel". They think we regard ALL SA survivors as being unable to carry out a relationship, healthy sex life, real love because their abuse ... and so they get all up in arms -> and honestly I'm with them on that, because THAT is a disgusting take.

But thankfully, no Elriel is saying such a heinous thing.

We are saying Gwyn specifically has not shown signs of healing from that trauma yet. She still can't leave the library at the end of ACOSF, and has once again - just been through another round of trauma in the BR getting almost attacked by a group of bloodthirsty, disgusting males. She hasn't shown any sign of blushing at Azriel or wanting to touch him or sighing after him like the other priestesses - so what is giving people the indication that she has healed from this trauma and is ready for a relationship?

Like, let me put it this way. If I open the next ACOTAR book and it's somehow about Gwyn & Azriel, I still think Gwyn wouldn't be ready to be in a relationship, even if Azriel is her mate. I still think it would take time for her to feel comfortable around men. Even if he were to be her mate ... somehow - I don't think she is going to suddenly flip a switch and have fantasies of him and have them sneak around having sex between the shelves in the library.

I do not think she is there yet. The most "interest" she has shown during sex is when she:

1. Teased Nesta about Cassian (again not talking about her OWN interest)

2. Talked about how her virginity, her ability to participate in the great Rite had been taking away from her by Hybern's men when they SA-ed her. ... (do I even need to explain how this isn't her being ready to have sex ... it's literally her being upset they took yet another thing from her....?)

And then she gets traumatized again from the BR. And then goes back into the library.

Does that sound like someone is well and healed and ready to pursue a relationship?

No. At least not in my opinion. And listen, I could be wrong - I could open the next ACOTAR Book (when I'm 50 at this rate) and it starts of with a graphic sex scene with Gwyn. I'll eat my words then, idc. But I'm saying right now - it doesn't seem to me like Gwyn is ready for ANYONE.

Azriel has nothing to even do with this. There are plenty of reasons Elriels do not believe Gwynriel is a viable pairing - and it has nothing to do with whether Gwyn is ready to be in a relationship or not.

Gwyn's SA trauma is not something I've seen any Elriel bring up as a reason as to why Azriel & Gwyn can't be together. The main reason we don't ship them together is because

1. We didn't see anything romantic between them in the first place

2. We don't believe that they're mates just because of the word "spark"

3. Elain exists, and she is the current object of all of Azriel's affections

Gwyn's trauma does not make the list. I don't even know where this argument came from but I suspect it was somewhere along the lines of "Gwyn & Azriel don't make any sense, I don't think she's even ready for a relationship yet after ACOSF" and the GAs purposefully twisted our words to say "YOU GUYS ARE SAYING SA VICTIMS CANT HAVE RELATIONSHIPS AND THats why you hate Gwynriel!"

Like no, babes. I'll believe Gwyn is ready to pursue a relationship or sex with someone else when she initiates it. It's literally as simple as that 🤷🏻‍♀️

And that goes for all characters, not just victims of SA or other abuse. You can ship whoever you want of course, even if they don't show romantic interest.

But to claim that ship is canon, that ship is going to be endgame - you need to show me in the text where either character shows some romantic attraction to the other.

It's actually a little sad how you come into my anons thinking you're doing me a favor "clearing something up" for me when the reality is that everything you said is completely false while you try so hard to convince yourself it's canon.

Elain is NOT the current object of Az's attention. Was she for the months between the two Solstices? Sure. But Mor was also the object of his attention at the same time. His longing stares at Mor were fewer and farther between however that does not equal zero which means there were still looks being sent her way. He was pissy towards Helion over Mor for heavens sake. However beyond the three days after Solstice there is absolutely no evidence of Elain being the object of Az's interest just as there is absolutely no evidence of Az being the object of Elain's interest. One would say Elain has revoked any consent she offered Az with the return of his gift yet somehow you think it's ok to ship them in a sexual relationship? Or are you of the thought that girls can't retract consent once it's given?

You're splitting hairs. You say it's not right for the fandom to ship a Gwynriel endgame which would include a sexual relationship because Gwyn hasn't specifically stated "I want to hook up with him" or come on to Az yet it's ok for you to push a sexual relationship on Elain that she no longer seems to want. A sexual relationship on Az that he no longer seems to want. The end of SF took place 4 /5 months after Solstice. The events of HOFAS about 7 and there is absolutely no canon evidence that he even thinks of Elain in that way anymore. If you're so sure he's over Mor after longing for her for 500 years then surely it's believable that he's move past a crush he had for a year tops?

Also, if you're fine with fanart / fanfiction of Elain and Az engaging in kinky sex than you're a hypocrite.

Elain was willing to kiss Az but where is the text that proves she was ready to do more than that after she was violated by being put into the Cauldron. You don't even know whether she would have enjoyed the kiss. Had they followed through SHE could have pulled back and said it was a mistake. She could have walked away feeling nothing. Trust me it happens. I spent over a year lusting after a guy but the timing was never right for us. When we finally had our chance it was extremely awkward. For whatever reason the pining for him created more tension and chemistry than the chemistry we actually had together.

Also, you thinking Gwyn isn't ready for a relationship doesn't really matter does it? You can dislike what Sarah writes, you can wish she'd gone in a different direction but your personal feelings play no part in what will actually happen. And when you look at Sarah's writing she clearly has no issues allowing characters to move forward from SA in a shortened timeline (i.e., Rhys with Feyre). It's already been 2 years and 7 months for Gwyn, Rhys ended up mated to Feyre 5 months after his SA. Gwyn doesn't have to show an insatiable desire for sex in Nesta's book when she can simply reveal that in her own. Nobody is acting like it's wrong to ship Emerie and Mor when Emerie wasn't saying things like "damn, I need to get laid."

Gwyn has ABSOLUTELY shown signs of beginning to heal from trauma. She spent two years afraid to be around anyone but those in the library and within a few months of training she was already fine being alone with Az on the rooftop of Solstice evening. How is that not growth? Alone with a man and smiling at him? Sassing him after Solstice rather than pulling even further into herself?

You can sit on your high horse and proclaim you need the text to support Gwyn's feelings on the situation before you're "ok" with it and that's fine, you do you. But let's not pretend you actually give a shit about an imaginary character who has no actual feelings when real life survivors will tell you they're inspired by the thought of a Gwynriel endgame yet you care little about what they have to say.

Especially when you're the same people who ship Vassa and Lucien despite us having no idea whether Vassa prefers men or women. Despite Lucien having also been SA yet you've got no problem convincing yourselves he desires Vassa, will end up with Vassa, despite him only showing longing for Elain (his mate). So no, it does not appear you actually need confirmation of romantic interest before proclaiming them canon or endgame.

Also, it's ok that you don't see the potential romantic setup for Gwynriel right now despite so many that do. Surprises are part of the fun of reading, right?

But as things currently stand Az and Gwyn's "non interest" in one another seems to hold a lot more potential than "he hadn't gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the fantasies he pleasured himself to".

[metalmonki]

A Well Kept Secret Part 2

Spencer Reid x fem!reader

1.8k word count

Summary You and Spencer have been in a secret relationship for a year. When you unexpectedly become pregnant it becomes harder to keep that secret.

fluff

Warnings mention of cheating while drunk.

Part 1

Six and a half months had crawled by since the life-altering night. Exhaustion clung to you like a second skin, your belly a growing testament to the little miracle nestled within. Today was the day you were finally going on leave, a bittersweet escape from the whirlwind of the BAU. No one knew the true story of the baby's father, a secret that gnawed at your conscience with every passing day.

Spencer had been a constant source of support, his gentle nature a balm to the storm brewing inside you. You'd even discussed godparents, a picture-perfect tableau of the BAU family surrounding your child.

"So how are you feeling?" Hotch asked as you lumbered into the office, the weight of the baby making every step a conscious effort.

"Fat and tired, but okay," You replied, managing a weak smile.

"How much longer will you be with us?" he inquired.

"Just here to pick up some things, then I'm heading home," You explained.

"Did you drive yourself?" he asked, a furrow appearing in his brow.

"No, Spencer dropped me off," You replied, your stomach clenching at the thought of the conversation that loomed.

"Well, get him to drive your home, then tell him he can have the day off too," Hotch said with a rare smile.

"Thanks, Hotch. See you when I get back, I guess," You shrugged.

Gathering your belongings felt like an eternity, each familiar object a reminder of the life you were leaving behind, at least temporarily. Stepping back out into the crisp morning air, you found Spencer waiting by the car.

"Ready to go home?" You asked, the words heavy on your tongue.

"Let's get you settled in, then I'll get back to work," he replied, his voice neutral.

The ride home was a tense symphony of silence. Every stolen glance at Spencer revealed a growing distance, a hurt you understood all too well. You kept your eyes glued to the ever-expanding landscape, the weight of your secret threatening to crush you.

Reaching the house, you managed to drag a box inside before collapsing onto the couch, the familiar ache in your back a dull throb. Spencer entered a few moments later, placing a bowl of popcorn and two drinks on the coffee table before settling the DVD player.

"What are you doing?" You finally managed, surprised by the sudden break in the tension.

"Well, if we both have the day off, why not spend it together before the baby comes?" he offered, a ghost of a smile playing on his lips.

Relief flooded you, warm and welcome. "Good idea," You whispered, scooting across the couch to lean against him.

"There's something I've been wanting to talk about," You began, your voice barely above a whisper.

"What is it?" he asked, his gaze holding yours.

"It's about the baby's father," You confessed, bracing yourself for the storm that might follow.

"I thought I was the father," he said, his voice betraying a flicker of uncertainty.

"You were," you stammered, "but there's something you need to know..."

The words caught in your throat, the memory a bitter pill to swallow. Taking a deep breath, you blurted out, "There was someone else."

"I don't know," you choked out, tears welling in your eyes. "The night we were together, I...I had a little too much to drink, and then the next morning..." Your voice trailed off, unable to finish the sentence, the memory a blur of self-loathing.

Spencer stood abruptly, his entire body radiating anger and hurt. The air crackled with unspoken accusations. "So, you're saying the baby could be Morgan's?"

"I don't know," you repeated, tears spilling down your cheeks now. "The timing just…lines up with that night. But you're the one I wanted, Spencer. You're the one I..." Your voice broke, unable to express the depth of your feelings or the regret that gnawed at you.

He ran a hand through his hair, his frustration evident. You both knew the implications. The life you'd envisioned, the little family you were building – it all hung precariously in the balance.

He stood abruptly, his entire body radiating anger and hurt. "We need to get this figured out."

Relief warred with fear in your chest. At least he wasn't walking out. "I thought maybe a paternity test…"

"Yeah," he snapped, his voice tight. "Let's do it."

The drive to the clinic was a blur. Neither of you spoke, the unspoken questions hanging heavy in the air. The sterile atmosphere of the clinic did little to ease your anxiety. Spencer held your hand silently as the nurse drew blood, his grip tight enough to leave white marks on your skin.

"How long will it take to get the results?" Spencer finally asked, breaking the tense silence.

The nurse glanced at a chart on the wall. "Typically, paternity tests take about a week to come back," she explained. "We'll call you as soon as we have them."

A week. Seven days stretched before you, an agonizing limbo. The weight of the unknown settled in your chest, a leaden companion. Looking at Spencer, you saw a similar worry etched on his face.

"What are we going to do until then?" you asked, the question barely a whisper.

He squeezed your hand, a silent reassurance. "We wait," he said, his voice gruff but determined. "And we try to focus on the good news, no matter what the results are."

"The good news?" you echoed, a flicker of hope igniting in your chest.

He offered a strained smile. "That you're finally on maternity leave, and we have a little miracle on the way, one way or another."

The forced cheer in his voice couldn't quite mask the underlying tension. You both knew the good news could turn sour depending on the test results. But for now, you clung to that fragile hope, a lifeline in the storm of uncertainty.

The following days were a blur. The house felt suffocating, the silence punctuated only by the tick of the clock. Every ring of the phone sent your heart racing, only to plummet when it wasn't the clinic. Spencer tried to maintain a semblance of normalcy, even taking a rare day off work to keep you company.

One afternoon, while flipping through baby magazines, you stumbled upon a section on twins. Double the bottles, double the diapers, double the trouble. A nervous laugh escaped your lips. The possibility of twins, once a distant thought, now loomed large, a complication layered on top of the paternity question.

Looking up, you saw Spencer watching you, a flicker of amusement in his eyes. "Thinking about double trouble?" he asked.

You managed a weak smile. "The doctor mentioned it as a possibility, didn't she?"

He nodded, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. "Maybe that explains why you've been so exhausted lately."

His words brought a faint blush to your cheeks. The exhaustion was real, but so was the constant worry gnawing at you. You both knew the weight of the wait, the unspoken fear that hung heavy in the air. But for now, in the face of uncertainty, you clung to the possibility of a future, a future with a baby, or maybe even two, on the way.

You'd watch movies, fold tiny baby clothes, and talk about nursery paint colours, all the while a dark cloud of uncertainty hung over you.

One afternoon, while attempting to assemble a ridiculously complicated crib (courtesy of Rossi's overenthusiastic gift-giving), the phone rang. Spencer, closer to the receiver, snatched it up with a speed that belied his usual composure.

"Hello?" he answered, his voice tight. A beat of silence followed, then a small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Yes, this is SSA Spencer Reid. Yes, I've been expecting your call."

Your breath hitched in your throat. The crib parts clattered to the floor as you scrambled to his side, your gaze locked on his face. He listened intently, nodding occasionally, before finally murmuring, "Thank you. We'll be there shortly."

He hung up the phone, his eyes meeting yours. For a moment, they were a stormy gray, reflecting the turmoil within him. Then, a slow smile spread across his face, a smile that reached his eyes and banished the shadows.

"We need to get going," he said, his voice surprisingly calm.

"The results?" you stammered, your voice thick with anticipation.

He took your hand, his grip firm but gentle. "The good news, the bad news, or both? We'll find out at the clinic."

The car ride was a tense dance of silence and stolen glances. Your mind raced with possibilities; each one tinged with a sliver of fear. Would the results confirm your worst nightmare, shattering the fragile hope you'd built? Or would they clear the air, allowing you to move forward with a future you could finally embrace?

Pulling into the familiar parking lot of the clinic, you felt a wave of nausea wash over you. Spencer squeezed your hand reassuringly, his silent support the only anchor in the storm of emotions threatening to engulf you.

You walked into the clinic hand-in-hand, a united front despite the uncertainty gnawing at you. The receptionist, recognizing you, offered a sympathetic smile. "Dr. Lee will see you now," she said, her voice gentle.

Following the nurse down a sterile hallway, you entered the doctor's office. Dr. Lee, a woman with kind eyes and a calming demeanour, greeted you warmly. "Please, have a seat," she said, gesturing towards two chairs in front of her desk.

You sat, the silence deafening. Dr. Lee placed a file on the desk and took a deep breath. "I'm happy to report that we have the results of your paternity test, Mr. Reid. Okay, so do you want the good news or the bad news first?" the doctor asked, a small smile playing on her lips.

"The good news," you squeaked out, your voice barely audible.

"Spencer's the father," the doctor announced with a warm smile.

A wave of relief washed over you, so intense it almost knocked you off your feet. Spencer, however, remained silent, his expression unreadable.

"And the bad news?" he finally inquired; his voice low.

"It's twins," the doctor replied, a mischievous glint in her eyes.

Your jaw dropped. Twins? That would explain the constant exhaustion and the way your clothes seemed to be shrinking daily. Looking at Spencer, you saw a mixture of shock and a hint of amusement flicker across his face.

"Well, that explains a lot," you finally managed, a shaky laugh escaping your lips.

"Double trouble," the doctor chuckled, her eyes twinkling.

Spencer chuckled too; the sound rough around the edges. Then, in a gesture that surprised you, he reached out and took your hand in his. "You got that right," he said, a newfound determination in his voice. "We can do this, together."

Leaving the clinic, hand in hand, the weight of the secret lifted. You were the happy (albeit slightly terrified) parents of twins, a future both daunting and exhilarating. There was still a lot to work through, the memory of Morgan a lingering shadow. But for now, the knowledge that Spencer was by your side, ready to face whatever came, was all the comfort you needed.

[ariiadnes]

╭ ㅤ⿻ ･ HOLY IS THE LOVE THAT SAVED ME ( part v. )

HOW DELICATE LOVE IS , THIS EBB & FLOW OF SERENITY.

ଓ.° ・ alhaitham ･ kaveh ･ dehya. genshin impact. title cr : juniper vale. repost. ・ ・ ・ part i. part ii. part iii. part iv.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ alhaitham

& LOVE IS A DISASTER, EXISTING IN BOTH MIRACLE AND CURSE INTERTWINED. how she embeds herself in the depths of the heart, spreads with each beat as reminder that you are alive and you are in love. in the days that pass, the blood in your veins burns with the fervor of longing ; the confessions remain stagnant, words of affection lodged in your throat yet dancing on the tip of your tongue. they taste bittersweet, taste like dreams of peace and quiet serenity, taste like something that leaves you desiring more yet can never be satiated.

yes, love is a disaster : inescapable, undeniable, and it is what brings you to this moment, your weight on alhaitham's desk, his hands planted firmly by your sides as he maintains a nearly nonexistent distance between your bodies.

it almost feels like you are suffocating, this feeling here and now, and you wonder if love is supposed to feel this way. you hold your breath, feel the way your lungs burn in protest. something in you wishes to break free, release from this hold, but you resist, succumb to your fear of what could be.

"stop looking at me like that."

his lips twitch-- a subtle smirk you don't quite catch, followed by something all too knowing in his sharp gaze.

"like what? i'm only making an observation."

"it's past your work hours and you don't like making small talk. what do you want?"

"your honesty, firstly."

with your normal banter, he expects you to call him infuriating, irritating-- something along those lines. but there is a reluctance that paints a vulnerability on your countenance, a quelled fear, and so he shifts slightly, rests his hand on yours in a rare act of encouragement and patience. it is a strange weakness that binds you together in this time -- the still air, the understanding in each others eyes-- and your body moves on instinct in the way it draws closer to him-- closer, closer, and closer until your lips press against his in desire. you do not know how long this time lasts, overwhelmed with the knowing of his touch and the feeling of his hand against the small of your back as he holds you tighter.

yes, love is a disaster : inescapable, undeniable, and it is what brings you to this moment, confessions told and yet unspoken, and when you are both ready to confess the words of love, you will.

but for now, alhaitham thinks, chuckling at the way he feels you smile against his lips, this is sufficient enough.

❀ ﾟ. ༄ kaveh

& BEAUTY IS IN THE EYE OF THE BEHOLDER, BUT LOVE IS IN THE HEART OF THE DIVINE, and so there is a worshipping in the way another's existence is a blessing. you know this love to be true in the way it flows through your veins, becomes one with the blood that keeps you alive.

the hand that rests in yours is calloused, worn with craft and devotion to the creation of art. you hum a gentle lullaby, absentminded, a blithe smile on your lips as you watch kaveh blink slowly, unable to fight the heaviness that falls upon his eyes. how exhausted he has been, surviving on so little sleep in the past few weeks.

deadline upon deadline, the pushing of one's strength and stamina during the late hours, and the shedding of tears in frustration in self-doubt and seldom potential in oneself. there is not much you can do for your lover in those times ; try as you may, your wisdom is unmatched to his when it comes to his profession. the only thing you can do is hold him in the nights he manages to find his way to your bedroom, and even then, you do not feel that it is enough. it never is, you think, but he is quick to tell you otherwise, even if his smile is worn the next morning you rise together.

no, there is not much you can do during those times, but it is after that you show him what he is worth, show him what he reflects in the divinity he places in his art.

your fingers trace the lines of his palm, delicate, slow. you note the few scars that adorn his skin, intrigue piqued in the nature of their origins. you do not ask, though, the silence between two lovers too heavy, deafening yet so heard and understood.

when you gaze upon kaveh, the sight that greets you is truly nothing uncommon, yet you find adoration in it nonetheless : the lack of words, the red hues in his cheeks nearly akin to the color of his brilliant eyes. you pull his hand, gently coax him towards you as your arms wrap around his neck. you press a kiss against his nose, rest your forehead against his, and he surely hopes you cannot hear the beating of his heart. it races so, pounds so violently with a love that cannot be contained.

"you worked so hard." you whisper, and it is then that his tears fall, wiped away by your touch. "i'm proud of you, kaveh."

❀ ﾟ. ༄ dehya

& THE WALLS HAVE COME CRASHING DOWN, FALSE PRETENSES OF LOYALTIES RENDERED ASUNDER. a mercenary professes patronage to those who pay high coin, knows the allure of the risks worth taking. she does not follow as blindly as she makes it out to be, the purifying flame, and in the ashes left from the fire, there is only benevolence.

the wounds are nothing new, but she is not numb to the pain. they decorate her body, scattered haphazardly. your blood runs cold at the thought of loss, at the thought of all she has endured, but she has always broken you from such heaviness, rescued you before you fell down the rabbit hole.

you wrap the bandages around her arms, movements slow when you notice her wince from the painful sensations that hit harder than they should. she should be used to this by now, really. a mere hit should not be enough to hurt her this much, but when she looks into your eyes, she does not know if it is truly the physical pain of the steel that has found home in her flesh or if it is the pain you fail to keep at bay.

time after time, home away from home, you sometimes feel that you can never win. what a selfish thought it is ; you have given yourself grief over it so many times before, but you are only human, and what is humanity if not for the longing of it all?

there is a heartache when she comes back to you and a heartache when she is away from you. it is not a suffering, no -- you will not deem it as such, but you wish you could go with her, experience high tales of adventures yourself. but you cannot, so you wait, hope that your lover will return to your arms in the safest way possible.

because you are her sanctuary and she is yours, and you both know this so very much.

"always patching me up." dehya murmurs halfheartedly, and when you catch sight of that wistful gaze, her visage twists into something else, almost unreadable for a moment before she smiles at you. "not a pleasant welcome home gift, is it?"

"i don't mind it."

"liar." she pinches your cheek, laughs at your words of protest. "i know how sad it makes you, seeing me hurt like this." her tone turns somber, the smile dejected, and she places her hands over yours. "i'm sorry."

"don't apologize. you can't help it." there is a lump in your throat and the words threaten to choke you, but you speak nonetheless. you grab her hand, press a kiss against it before you rest it on your cheek. "as long as you come home to me, that's all i need."

[realcube]

ENTRY #171 pt2

synopsis ✎ iida x reader. tenya visits you in the infirmary.

tws/tags ✎ hospital, illness and pininggg

a/n ✎ part one. for @ladycoleigh & @mirophobic

ENTRY #171

note #2 → after the fight with todoroki, (l/n) fainted. they are now awake but still suffering from dizziness, dehydration and fatigue from what i can tell. it's unclear if these symptoms are to due physcial over-exertion, quirk overuse, todoroki's powers or something else.

pausing for a moment, midoriya looks up at you, laying in the bed with tenya standing by your side, who is telling you about all the news anchors that were waiting to speak to you.

midoriya interupts by asking, "(l/n), have you ever experienced these symptoms after using your quirk before?"

by the eloquent phrasing and the fact izuku had a tight grip on his pencil, ready to start writing at any second, iida could tell that his question was an untimely attempt at information gathering. with a sharp huff of his nostrils, iida rebuked him by saying, "now is not an appropriate time for that. our dear classmate could be seriously injured and you're worried about the intricacies of their quirk? so inconsiderate."

"i'm not seriously injured. i'm fine." you correct politely, placing a hand on iida's arm, causing him to stiffen at your touch.

"oh, i'm sorry if you're not feeling well enough to answer my questions, (l/n). i'll stop bothering you." midoriya respectfully bows his head to you, then turns to tenya, "but i don't think i'm being inconsiderate. especially since i was the one that brought them flowers."

he motions to the bouquet, that had been placed into a vase on your bedside table. iida looked at it with scorn, 'why didn't i think to bring flowers?' he mentally reprimanded himself, then faced midoriya again. just as he was about to open his mouth to reply, you all here a quiet knock at the door.

"come in!" you call. the door creaks open and todoroki steps into the room, gently closing it behind him.

"it's good to see you awake, (l/n). how are you?" he asks in his usual monotone voice.

you offer a weak smile and respond, "thank you, todoroki. i'm feeling much better."

"good." todoroki nods once, then creeps closer towards your bed, "would it be okay if i asked you a question?"

"of course."

"are we long lost half-siblings?"

you choked on your own spit as soon as he uttered that. even tenya's jaw dropped and midoriya started to frantically scribble stuff down in his notebook. once the inital shock and amusement wore off, you were about to reply until iida started hasilty chopping the air, "right! that's enough questions. if the two of you can't behave normally, please leave!"

todoroki and midoriya exchanged a glance, before exiting the room, but not without flash you a sympathetic smile first. however, they didn't go because they had nothing else to say to you, but rather due to the fact that they could tell iida wanted to be alone with you.

once they had left, iida lets out a hefty sigh of relief. you giggle at this, poking his leg with your finger, "you're so strict with them."

iida's cheeks dusted pink — if you listened closely, you could even hear his engines splutter —and he choked, "i just think they should wait until you are out of the infirmary before they start bombarding you with their inquiries. it's the polite thing to do."

you smiled up at him, but he didn't notice as he stared at the bouquet, unable to meet your sweet gaze. "yeah. but i understand their curiousity. i did hide my quirk for a while." you giggled.

"i can see why you did that." he muses, idly cupping the petals of one of the flowers in his hand. "although, your quirk the potential to be very powerful. i hope you realise that."

now it was your turn to experience butterflies. "thank you, iida."

he must find it easier to talk to you with his gaze averted, because when he looked to meet your eyes, he almost had the wind knocked out of him from how angelic you were. it astounded him how even in your most dishevelled and weak state, you were still so stunning. filled with an authentic brightness and lustre he couldn't quite comprehend.

though he wanted to tell you how gorgeous you were — it felt like the right time — he couldn't muster the courage to do so. instead, he opted for, "you're an excellent classmate, (l/n). i'm honoured to have met you."

[everlastingdream]

Part 1 - Part 8 - Part 9

Everything after that was a blur. Alex and Winn was talking to Kara and then to J'onn and then even to Lena, who stood there shocked, face wet and finally hopeful.

Kara wasn't thinking, she wanted to bring Lena to the DEO as soon as possible, while there was still life beating underneath pale skin. But Alex managed to made her come to her senses, before she could fly close to the speed of the sound and make more damage than good.

"It's strange to see myself like that", Lena remarked, while they were flying back. She tried to poke her arm, only for her hand to go through.

"I'll take any strangies if it means you're alive", Kara smiled despite her heart trying to beat out of her chest.

"Well, I guess I am alive, but I'm a ghost still, so it's another thing to consider".

"Don't. We'll find the way", Kara retorted sternly, regreting her tone a bit. But she couldn't help it. So many things happened at once. So many emotions was rattling inside her without a way to escape.

"We will", Lena nodded and then spent the rest of the flight contemplating about something.

/ / / / / / / / / /

Medical team was ready as soon as they arrived at the DEO. They took Lena inside for the examination to determine how bad her condition was. It goes without saying that Kara wanted to be there for all of the discussions but she gave up after Alex promised to tell her everything and J'onn was adamant about her not disturbing the doctors.

So Kara passed in front of their screen relaying her report. Every couple of sentences she would freeze to tune to the weak sound of heart on the floor below.

"She is stable but the situation is dire", Alex arrived in the room, looking somber. She raised her hand as soon as Kara opened her mouth. "They had her on medication all this time, but she wasn't properly treated after the car accident. And it seems they gave up a few days ago so Lena is heavily malnourished. They likely just gave her water and some liquid supplements".

Room fell silent. Ghost Lena was standing in the corner with her jaw set stubbornly, clearly not ready to give up yet. But there was still bitterness in that determination.

"So what are we going to do?" Kara went to stand beside her, offering some comfort. She wanted to rub her on the back and even in her disappointment of being unable to do so there sparkled bright hope.

"We will treat her injuries and devise a plan to get her all the missing nutrients back. She should be able to wake up soon if all is well".

"Thank Rao", Kara sighed and exchanged glances with Lena.

Alex smiled at them before going back.

/ / / / / / / / / /

"How are you feeling?" Kara whispered several hours later, sitting beside Lena's bed.

"It's still strange", Lena chuckled quietly from other side of the bed. "But I felt your touch at the base a little, so I think it's a good sign, even if I have no idea why I'm still outside of my body".

"You felt it?"

"I did. Just a faint sensation, but still".

Kara slowly took the hand laying on the bed and brought it to her lips, still looking right into Lena's eyes.

"That is really not fair", Lena groaned, turning away to try and hide her flaming face. "It's not like I can do anything in return".

"It's okay. I'll wait as long as needed. You promised to take me out for dinner".

Lena glared at Kara's smug smile.

"I'll reconsider the offer", she haughtily lifted her chin up, but still smiled tenderly at the end.

They laughed softly, searching each other faces. It was a beautiful moment free of any worry of the past few days. A time of respite, existing only for the purpose of reaffirming that delicate bond between them and finally letting it to take shape.

"Say, Lena. Will you remember me when you wake up?"

"Will I remember you?" Lena's smile was enigmatic and promising. "I won't forget you even if you asked".

/ / / / / / / / / /

The moment Lena's heart missed a beat Kara woke up, violently torn from sleep by the sound she dreaded the most.

By the moment she somehow cleared the fog from the sleep, there was already a nurse in the room with her. Kara caught only "critical" and "emergency" in her talk over the phone.

"No, no no no", she muttered two steps away from the team, who checked up the vitals and did something Kara wasn't able to understand from the sheer terror of what was happening right in front of her eyes.

"What's going on?" Alex was a welcome sight. Her sister was the only person Kara trusted right now. She would know what to do. She would save Lena.

"Agent Danvers, we need the resuscitation kit. The situation is dire".

After that Kara's world went silent. It was something that no headphones on this planet was able to do. But there was only Lena lying on the medical bed, staff frantically moving around and her sister giving out the commands. And all of that deadly quiet.

"I don't want to lose you", she whispered. Her eyes completely dry, as if even her body denied the possibility.

"It's okay", Ghost Lena was suddenly standing in front of her, blocking the view of yet another tradegy Kara witnessed. "It's okay, you saved me. As you promised. So it's okay".

And seeing her so accepting was even more heartbreaking.

"What am I going to say to Sam? Or to Winn? He wanted to meet you so badly", Kara muttered, lost. "What am I- what am I going to do..?"

"You'll live, you'll save people with your words and you powers and you will remember that there was a Lena Luthor who was not a monster".

Lena was standing there, strong and beatiful. And Kara wanted to scream. To ask why won't she just say that everything is going to be alright. Why was she saying the stuff like if it's her last words. Why was she smiling so sadly. Why she was leaving Kara behind.

Beep

Beep

Be-e-e-ep

Steady sound of the heart monitor suddenly stopped. And Lena closed her eyes, swallowing the tears, so that she can seem strong a little longer. But despite medical team running around and doing everything they can, Lena started to fade. So Kara did the only thing she could think about in these last few moments they had.

She surged forward to kiss Lena.

Even if it was futile, even if she was going to fall right through her.

This was for them. The last act of defiance against fate.

/ / / / / / / / / /

"You don't need to do that, Kara", Clark said to her on the way.

"I need to", Kara frowned, even if it was hard to go there.

"I don't want to see you hurt".

"I'm not going to be hurt, I've come to terms with it".

They stopped at the secretary desk.

Almost half a year has passed since Kara last saw Lena. And it still hurt so much that even seeing the logo of Luthor Corp was enough for her mind to wander for the next two days.

And with their recent investigation her resolve was tested more than once.

"You may go inside".

Inside was the same as when they went there the first time. And Lena was still beautiful, sitting in her chair, reading Clark's article.

After waking up and reclaming the company, she looked like a true bussinesswoman. Sharp and strong. Less soft, more predatory.

"Thank you, mister Kent. This is exactly the kind of press my company needs after yesterday's attack".

Lena and Clark exchanged some pleasantaries, more sincere than the first time they met. And something inside Kara preened at her only blood relative's approval.

"What about you, Miss Danvers?" Lena's smile made everything inside Kara flip upside down. "I didn't see your name on the byline".

The way she almost breathed out these words left Kara scrumbling for reply.

"Uh... Well, as I said, I'm not a reporter".

"You could've fooled me".

Perhaps there was a hope yet. Kara couldn't wipe dreamy smile off her face. Seeing Lena alive was a miracle, even if they were suddenly back to being strangers. But seeing Lena so... flirtatious was a ray of hope Kara tried to crush all this time.

"I hope this isn't the last time we talk?"

"I hope not either. I'll wait as long as needed, so please call me when your schedule has an opening".

She and Clark turned to leave. And now there was a possibility. In Lena's smile, in her now racing heartbeat. It didn't matter if she didn't remember. They'll make new memories together.

"Miss Danvers?" Lena called after her. Kara nodded to Clark to go ahead and turned around.

"Yes?"

There was tears streaming down Lena's cheeks, and before Kara could panic and rush to her, she spoke with a tender smile.

"I believe I promised you dinner".