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so-long-soldier-writes · 6 months

Text

Study Buddies

isaac lahey x reader

summary: isaac asks you for help in chemistry. you agree on one condition.

tags: high school, studying / tutoring, mutual crushes, awkward flirting, caught in a lie, shyness, embarrassment, play fighting / tickling, bad puns, confessions, first kiss, teasing, fluff, pre-wolf isaac; his dad still sucks; autistic-coded reader

word count: 4.5k

a/n: this is my first time writing for teen wolf. I feel like I'm encroaching on claimed territory. 😅 also i've had this tab up for almost a week but have been afraid to post it, so here goes

Mr. Harris slides your progress report down onto your desk before you have a chance to react, and it catches wind and falls to the ground a moment later. You sigh and roll your eyes, but he’s already halfway across the room, impatiently handing out the rest of his stack. Your own little slip of paper is nowhere by your feet, and you resist the urge to make a remark about it.

“Hey.” A voice interrupts your intruding thoughts at the same time a tap lands on your shoulder. Gentle, as if the tapper hates to disturb you, yet needs your attention.

You turn, and temporarily forget about your lost report as your eyes meet Isaac’s, the boy who sits behind you, and has the cutest smile imaginable. You drop your gaze instantly, only for it to fall on his dimpled smile, and then, finally, on the paper held between two fingers.

“I think this is yours,” he says, holding it out to you.

Your name is clearly printed on the front, followed by your most recent grades in the class. You blush, immediately remembering it had dropped in the first place.

“Oh. Thank you.”

“No problem. He seems like he’s in a mood today.”

You nod, then take your paper from his hand. By this time, Harris has made his way back to the front, and is clearing his throat in a demand for the class’ silence. Quiet mutterings amongst friends cease at once, and you turn back to face the ill-tempered chemistry teacher.

“Take a good look at your progress reports. The midterm is coming up, and some of you have more studying to do than others. Today, we will be learning new material, but next class period, we will have a review day. If you have any questions, do not hesitate to ask. You can ask at the appropriate time in class, or come see me after school, or shoot me an email. Regardless of your grade, everyone should be studying, however, some of you have to move up a whole letter or two. That is on you to be aware of, and for you to put in the effort to do. Now, pull out your notes so that we can cover this section. It isn’t the hardest thing we’ll cover, but I expect it will be a struggle for some.”

And after that condescending introduction, he begins to teach.

When the bell finally rings, your head is swarming with so much chemistry, your eyes are beginning to glaze over and put you to sleep. You’re relatively good at the subject, but that topic was more challenging than he warned it would be, making even you confused at times. You shake your head when you reach your lockers, trying to relieve yourself of the numbers swirling about in your mind. It takes a moment. A very stressful moment.

A tap on your shoulder, more urgent than the last, pulls you out of your mental headspace. The chemistry bounces out of your mind entirely, bringing you back to reality, but making you jump in place at the sudden contact.

“Sorry,” a familiar voice apologies, “didn’t mean to scare you.”

Turning, you come face-to-face with Isaac again. His normally bright blue eyes are slightly cloudy, which worries you more than you’d like to admit. “No worries. Everything okay?”

“Yeah. I have a question, actually, to ask you.”

“What’s that?”

“Okay, I wasn’t looking at your report, I didn’t mean to see your grades. I accidentally saw them when I picked up your paper, but I promise I wasn’t looking on purpose.” He stalls, continuously apologizing for something not at any fault of his own.

“It’s okay,” you interrupt as politely as you can.

He pauses, “um. I was wondering if you could help me? Like, in chemistry. Help me study, kinda like a tutor, I guess?”

You pale immediately. Just because you’re doing okay in the class doesn’t mean you have a clue how to help him understand. “Um-”

“Just… I just need a little help, if you can. I understand if you don’t want to, or can’t, or… I don’t know… are busy.” He runs his tongue along his lips nervously. You snap your eyes to the floor, avoiding eye contact.

“I don’t know… I’m not a good teacher.”

“But you’re really good in the class. Probably a better teacher than Harris has been lately.”

You chuckle, but you’re still not sure. Being that close to the boy you’ve liked for ages? On top of not being able to teach well? He’ll reduce you to a stupid, stuttering mess, just look at yourself now, unable to look him in the eye. No, don’t look at him, that was rhetorical.

“I just,” he continues, “when he was talking about people who needed to go up a whole letter, he was talking about me. I know you’re good, you sit in front of me. If you can even just explain it to me as you study, it would help a lot.”

Half of your mind races to find an excuse, looking for an out, while the other begs you to agree. Isaac shoves a hand in his pocket and waits for a response. You debate with yourself for a moment, but then the urging part of your mind wins the argument with a question of its own.

“What about this,” you start, “I’ll help you in chemistry, if you help me in French?”

“What?” He asks, taken off guard. “I’m not good at French.”

“You’re better than me. You have the answers to most of Ms. Morrell’s questions, and I can hear you when she asks us to recite words out loud.” His eyes narrow at that, to which you reply, “you sit behind me in French, too.”

“Right.” He smiles, but doesn’t meet your gaze. Instead, he rests his head against the locker beside yours.

“So?”

“How do you know I’m not just guessing?”

“What’s your grade?”

“A,” he sheepishly answers.

“See? You can tutor me.”

“What’s your grade?”

You purse your lips and avoid his eyes again. “Too embarrassed to say.”

“Really?”

“Languages aren’t my strong suit. We all have our strengths.”

“Alright, deal. Help me in chem, and I’ll help you with French.”

“Sounds good. Library, or at one of our houses?”

“I can probably go to the library sometimes. Maybe during lunch or free period. But after school, I have lacrosse, and you probably don’t want to wait around school for that to be over.”

“Okay, so then your house or mine?”

“Where do you live?”

“Like ten minutes from here. You?”

“A bit closer than that. Parents?”

“Don’t really care what I do.”

“My dad is a little controlling,” he admits.

“Would he care if I were to come over?”

“Not if you’re helping me study.”

“Okay. You want to meet a couple times a week at your house, and sometimes during lunch?”

“Sure. Practice ends around five. Is seven too late?”

“Not for me.”

“Cool. So, um, I’ll text you, and we can plan dates.” He shakes his head. “I mean, like, what days work best.”

You blush at his embarrassment. “Have to give you my number first, doofus.”

“Oh.”

You scribble it onto a sticky note and hand it to him. “Let me know.”

“I will. And thank you.”

“Thank you, too.” You hurry your way to your next class, leaving him red in the face and hands at having a girl’s number. Granted, it’s just for studying, but it’s the fact he was able to talk to you at all that has him shaken. Isaac forces himself to breathe, before entering it in his phone and tucking the sticky safely in his backpack. As the bell rings, he hurries to his next class.

~~~~

The next evening is the first time you meet up to study. You drive to the address he’s given and knock on the door as gently as possible. Isaac had mentioned his dad is controlling, so the first thing you want to do is to avoid pissing him off in any way you could. Controlling could mean a lot of things, and the boy wasn’t specific at all. For both of your sakes, you tread lightly.

Isaac opens the door a moment later, dressed in a simple t-shirt and sweats. You try really hard not to blush as he invites you inside, but then his dad’s strict voice snaps you back into reality. You can see Isaac take a visible deep breath before rounding the corner in the kitchen, you in tow. You put on your best look of professionalism while trying to anticipate how the next couple of minutes might go.

“And? Who was it?”

“Y/N, the girl I told you I was studying with… with whom I am going to study,” he corrects at the last minute.

His father’s posture tenses a bit less when his son corrects his own grammar without prompt, but it doesn’t stop his cold eyes from floating over to you. “And you’re studying what?”

“Chemistry, sir. I’m helping Isaac, and he’s helping me with French.”

“And you know French well enough to help her?”

“I believe I do,” he says, trying to sound confident.

“I think he does, too. In class, he always has the answers, and Mrs. Morrell’s often impressed, and she’s hard to impress more than once.”

“Hm.” His dad takes a sip from a glass, then carefully sets it down on the table. His eyes are locked on Isaac the whole time. The boy stares at the ground, any confidence shaken by the interaction. You study the scene, confused. “Well… Go study. Bring up those grades.”

“Yes, sir,” you reply at the same time.

Isaac nods for you to follow him to his room, which you oblige. His dad remains seated as you make your way up the stairs. You bite back a comment about the man, even in the safety of Isaac’s bedroom, and he doesn’t say anything, either. The same remark is in both your heads, yet while you want to ask it in a question, he wants to use it as a reassurance. Yes, he’s a bit more controlling than Isaac originally said. No, he won’t do anything stupid while you're there. He tries to convey this in an expression, which you half-understand, but eventually drop it. If anything happens, you’ll leave. Simple as that.

As it turns out, the first night of you studying together ends up nothing like the initial interaction you had in his house. Isaac is gentle, patient, and willing to learn and teach the best that he can. He’s admittedly worse in chemistry than you are in French, but you’re able to convince him that you only need to work on a few things; an hour of time doesn’t have to be devoted to your studies, maybe only twenty minutes. On the contrary, the other sixty are put towards chemistry. And, of course, the first five are for settling in, and the last five are for uncontrollable laughter at a mispronunciation.

Thirty minutes to nine, you realize how late it’s gotten and start to pack your things. Isaac looks exhausted, and frankly, as much as you’re enjoying his company, you’re getting tired from talking.

“Voulez-vous qu’on se rencontre vendredi?” He asks, rather quickly.

You stare for a moment, then, “what?”

“Vendredi.”

“Thursday?”

“Non.”

“Friday?”

“Oui, rencontrer?”

“Meet then?”

“Yeah, would you like to?”

“Sure.” You nod. “Say it again?”

“Voulez-vous qu’on se rencontre vendredi?” He says it slower this time. It has the same effect on you, but you can comprehend each word better.

“Cool,” you say, not at all thinking about his accent that paints the words so beautifully. “I’ll bring my H2O, since I forgot it this time.”

The boy snorts with more laughter. “Bad joke.”

“Absolutely horrible,” you agree. “See you in school tomorrow.”

“Drive safe.”

“Be safe,” you reply before you can stop yourself, referring to his dad downstairs.

Isaac only nods. He walks you to his front door, then hurries back up to his room.

~~~~

Each day you study together follows a similar routine to the first: five minutes to settle in, sixty of chemistry, twenty of French, then five of joking around with each other. Sometimes Isaac pushes for thirty of French instead, worried that you’re sacrificing your own studies for his, and never understands when you push back that you’re good with only twenty.

His chemistry improves immensely with your help. In three weeks, he manages to pull it up to a ‘C’. Not only is his father a bit more lenient to him after the next progress report, but he’s also more pleasant to you the next time you come around to study. He even cracks a smile.

Today, you go over just the same as you have been. Seven on the dot, you’re greeted by his dimpled smile and half-friendly father. The man has now graduated to welcoming you, and has once clapped you on the shoulder as you’ve passed. You’re polite to him, though you can tell Isaac’s uncomfortable with his unusual behavior, so you always try to retreat upstairs as soon as possible. This time, he’s busy with something in the kitchen and doesn’t talk for long. He makes one comment about grades; you promise him you’re both doing well, then he lets you go.

Finally away, it doesn’t take long for you to settle down anymore. You make yourself comfortable on Isaac’s bed, pulling out your notes and pens, and smiling when he joins you. You’ve come to be good friends in the last couple weeks, and although there’s something definitely in the air, too, you’re good with being friends if that’s all you can convince yourselves you are.

You start, per usual, with chemistry, reading over notes and figuring out problems. He moves closer and closer to you each day you teach, simultaneously making you nervous and excited. Either way, your water bottle remains beside you to calm your ever-growing heart rate. When it comes time to switch subjects, you excuse yourself a minute to recover and prepare for the next half hour. In the beginning, it was easier to hide your blush, promising you’re still getting the hang of the co-teaching thing. Now, your excuse dwindles. The shy smile you wear as he recites words of the love language has never faded. You have to compose yourself entirely, elsewhere, to be able to control your reaction and face him.

“Can I use your bathroom real quick?”

“Yeah, just over there.”

“Thanks.”

As soon as the door shuts, Isaac jumps off the bed to check his hair in the mirror. In the process, your French binder falls to the ground and loses its page. The boy sighs, mutters an ‘oh shit,’ then pulls it back up to find the page again. He opens the flap and immediately finds a stash of old progress reports. You seem to keep all of your old ones in the front flap of your binder; he’s noticed you have all your chemistry reports, too. Curious, Isaac steals a peek. Despite confessing about his ‘D’ in chemistry, you’ve always cheekily refused to share your French grade. He doubts it’s that bad, but he’s never gotten you to admit it.

He glances at the bathroom door, then checks the date on the report before scanning the grades. Guilt eats at him the longer he looks, but nosiness, then confusion keeps his eyes glued. Is he really reading that right? There’s no way you have a-

“Sorry about that,” you say, closing the door.

Startled, he drops your binder and looks up at you. “It’s no worry.”

“What’s wrong?” You notice his change in behavior, like a young boy being caught doing something he shouldn’t be doing.

“Nothing. Your binder fell off the bed, I was picking it up.”

“Oh. Thanks.” He smiles when you join him back on the bed. You’re not sure if you still have a right to be suspicious, or if he’s just embarrassed because he’s so shy. “So, um-”

Isaac, on the other hand, is brimming with questions. As anxious as he is that you caught him peeking, he can’t help but wonder about what he saw. You start to speak, maybe to change the subject, but he cuts you off, guilt and curiosity both winning. “You have an ‘A’ in French?”

“What?”

“You’ve had an ‘A’ since the start of the year. Why do you need me to tutor you if you already know it?”

You shut your open mouth immediately, face paling at the realization you’ve been caught. “I-... I don’t know. Your grades are better than mine.”

“By one point.”

“Two points. You have a 94. I have a 92.”

“Doesn’t explain the need for a tutor,” he argues.

You study him, choosing to base your reaction off his own. He’s smiling; seemingly happy, curious, and not at all upset. His tone implies no accusation, just confusion, and his body posture is straight, shoulders relaxed. A twinkle shines in his baby blue eyes; his level of eye contact is neither constant nor avoidant. He’s safe.

“I, um,” you decide to tell him the truth. Or, rather, stutter out the truth. “I don’t need a French tutor.”

“So I’ve gathered.” Decisive tone, yet still friendly. Still safe.

“I figured, since I would help you with chemistry, even though I’m not that good of a teacher, if you had to teach me something too, it would put less pressure on me to be a good teacher.”

His eyes narrow. “Okay… but why French?” He’s still a little confused on that reasoning, but doesn’t question it. He knows you’re shy. If that’s what you had to do to make it work that you could help him, he doesn’t mind.

“I, er, well, the French provided a win-win scenario.”

“Which is?”

You shrug, body warming quickly as you near your deeply guarded secret. “I- I don’t know how to explain it.”

“Mhm, really?”

“You’re best in French,” you offer instead, on a whim.

“True,” he agrees, “though I feel that’s not the real reason, judging by your lack of eye contact.”

“I’m always bad at eye contact.”

“You’ve been getting better with me these last few weeks.”

“Yes, but…”

“I’m not going to judge, Y/N. Whatever you say, it’s safe with me. You trust me, right?”

“Of course.”

“Then how is me teaching you French a, as you call it, win-win scenario?”

Finally, you fess, “because I get to hear you speak it every time you teach me.”

Isaac’s quiet for a moment. Then, you realize it seems to have gone over his head as he says, “you hear me speak all the time in class.”

“Yeah, but… with twenty other voices mixed in, too. I like hearing just your voice. The way you know just how to sound it out perfectly, and the way your accent flourishes each sentence. Most people in class sound like they’re gurgling saltwater, but you make it sound hot, like the way French is supposed to sound.” Your mouth utters words before your brain can catch up and prevent you from embarrassment. As soon as you realize what you’ve said, a dizziness swarms your head and it feels like the temperature’s gone up ten degrees.

Isaac is speechless in front of you. He’s first stuck on the fact that you like his voice, then on his pronunciation being described as perfect, but then he short-circuits as the word ‘hot’ falls from your lips. He doesn’t even realize when you plant your face into your binder, shocked by your own confession.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize. It’s muffled, but he hears it enough to pull him from his trance.

“You like my voice?” He asks, cursing himself for the stupidity of the question. It’s all he can think of to say, though, still trying to cool his own rising body temperature.

“I shouldn’t have said all that, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable. I wasn’t thinking.”

“I’m not uncomfortable,” he blurts out quickly. “I’m actually quite charmed by that.”

You resist the urge to look up at him, desperate to see if he’s smiling or not. Isaac seems to have a similar thought, and tries to hook a finger under your chin to lift your head. He succeeds, but then you instantly embarrass again, and dive for the pillows, burying your face amongst them.

“Oh no, get back here,” he jokes. You feel him before you look out to see him. His hands shake your shoulder, but when you don’t respond, he playfully starts to tickle your neck. You scrunch and try to scramble away, but he only continues. “C’mon.”

“I can’t!” The words have finally sunken into his head; the weight of them falls on your chest.

“Oh, yes you can!” He teases more, moving pillows away from you, just for you to grab another and bury back under it. When Isaac realizes there’s no use in trying to win the pillow war, he swings a leg over yours and begins to tickle your stomach. Your shirt has begun to ride up from your movement, and temporarily, he forgets you’re classmates, not longtime best friends. “C’mon, give it up!”

“I-I can’t!” You’re running out of breath, and pillows. He pulls another away from you, then puts his hands back on your sides. Your eyes are squeezed shut, but only do you open them because of the unfamiliar feeling of him touching you. A beat skips in your heart at the sudden, unexpected realization that he’s not only touching your skin, but he’s also straddling your waist. You swallow hard. He pinches your side lightly, shocking you back into reality, and making you grab another pillow to hide your face again. Before you can grasp it, Isaac grabs your hands and pins them above your head. You pant, heart racing a mile a minute. His too, as you can hear in the moment you both grow quiet.

“You think it’s hot when I speak French?”

“No, I think you’re hot when you speak French. There’s a difference.”

“Is there now?”

“The temperature of the room doesn’t get hot, it’s you that gets hot.”

“Oh, I see.”

“Not that you’re not always hot… I mean, sometimes, you’re more like a cute little puppy than a hot, French-speaking…” your words fade as your brain catches up, faster this time, yet still not fast enough.

“Am I now?”

What’s done is done, you figure. Can’t take it back now, can only admit it. “Yeah.”

“Huh. So all this time, you’ve been teaching me chemistry, and I’ve been talking pointlessly while you listen and learn nothing?”

“When you word it like that, it sounds bad.” A pout graces your lips as guilt floods you. “But I have learned some things. I was struggling with direct objects, and now I’m not.”

“Ah. So I’m not totally useless?”

“Never. You wouldn’t be useless even if I knew perfect French.” Before he can reply, you continue. “I’m sorry I wasted your time. I shouldn’t have. Can you forgive me?”

“Forgive you for what? You haven’t done anything wrong.”

“I wasted your time when we could’ve been doing more chemistry.”

“Darling, too much chemistry and my brain woulda exploded. The French lessons are a nice intermission. Besides, I wouldn’t consider any time with you as time wasted.”

“Really?”

He drops your hands and they fall back down to your waist. He seems, then, to realize he’s still on top of you, and begins to climb off. “Sorry, I-”

“Don’t.”

“What?”

“Can I confess something else?”

He pauses. “Sure, anything.”

“I would’ve been okay with just tutoring you chemistry, but I was afraid I wouldn’t be able to look you in the eye long enough to do it well.”

“You’ve been doing great with the eye contact thing. I know it’s not your strong suit, but you’ve made a lot of progress these last couple weeks.”

“Thank you,” you smile. “It’s not only that.” A heartbeat passes. “I like you.”

“You like me?” His eyes narrow before he assumes only, “you like my voice.”

“No, I like you. I mean, yes, I like your voice, but I like it because I like you.”

“Like me, as in…”

“Like I have a crush on you.”

He tilts his head like a confused dog. “On me?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Why do you seem so surprised?”

“I’ve never had anyone have a crush on me before,” he admits.

Now you’re confused. “What?! How?!”

“I don’t know!”

“That’s stupid. Never had anyone admit it, maybe.”

“I’d never know.”

“Well I’ve had a crush on you since the seventh grade.”

“You moved to Beacon Hills in the seventh grade.”

“Exactly.”

“And you’ve had a crush on me this whole time?”

“Very secretly.”

“Huh. Well I’ve liked you since the first day of school,” he confesses.

“I’ve liked you since orientation, so I win.”

He smiles, then shakes his head playfully. “So I sit behind you in classes for years and only finally get the courage to talk to you when I’m borderline failing chemistry, and you only get the courage to talk to me for more than one minute if you can convince me to talk half of the time that we’d be studying together.”

“Sounds about right.”

“And my portion of the talking is in French, because you think my accent is hot?”

“Your accent is always hot; your French is hot on its own.”

“Ah, I’m following now.” He chuckles, letting his fingertips grace your hips.

“So,” you ask, “as two people with several year long mutual crushes on each other, what do we do next?”

“Well you’re the one that’s been tutoring me chemistry, love, I’m hoping you have the answer.”

You laugh, rolling your eyes playfully. “Wrong kind of chemistry, dork.” You reach your hands up to the sides of his face anyway, and pull him down for a kiss. Isaac complies immediately, setting one hand down beside you, while the other caresses your chin. Your legs hook around his waist, keeping him close until he starts to pull away, needing air. You let go, then hide your face as his own turns a rosy pink.

“That was worth the wait,” he says, smiling, and touching a finger to his recently-kissed lips. “Êtes-vous d'accord?”

“Shut up,” you tease, pushing him slightly. “Chemistry time.”

“We just had chemistry time. It’s French time now.”

“No, we can skip a round,” you insist, unsure you can hear anymore French fall from his lips without folding and kissing them again.

“On the contrary, I think you need to sharpen your vocabulary.”

“I think I’ll need a water break first.”

“That we can do,” he agrees. “I’ll make sure to get yours with extra ice.”

“Shush!”

#i feel like i'm cheating on kai #but i promise kai isn't going anywhere!!#nor are the mikaelsons - those for which i'm trying to write more #i have simply ✨ added ✨ another man to my collection #y'all i spelt his name wrong so many times writing this #have i ever mentioned i had a crush on a boy named isaac in my junior year of hs?#he was a twin #anyway #isaac lahey x reader #isaac lahey x y/n #teen wolf fanfiction

272 notes · View notes

incorrectbatfam · 2 years

Note

The batfam as teacher comment section in report card.

Dick: Mr. Grayson brings a contagious energy to the class and his enthusiasm is well-appreciated. However, he tends to channel that energy very physically and while that may benefit his learning, it's a disruption to other students. This is a frequently recurring issue that I would like to discuss with a parent or guardian.

Translation – Is this kid ADHD because he won't sit the FUCK down

Jason: Mr. Todd has displayed remarkable attention to detail and a love of literature that I can only attribute to positive reinforcement at home, and he's always a pleasure to have in class. As much as I appreciate seeing him apply his lessons outside of school hours, I believe there are more productive avenues of discussing Shakespearean playwriting with his peers than what he has been reportedly doing.

Translation – Stop biting your thumb at people

Tim: Mr. Drake continues to exceed expectations in his schoolwork, but his attendance and participation may become a detriment to his overall grades if unaddressed. I have caught him sleeping in class on multiple occasions but he has yet to provide me a reason why he is so tired. Additionally, last month one of our monitors caught him loitering in the bathroom with a note that I did not recall writing.

Translation – Get some sleep and also you can't make your own hall passes

Damian: I have had the privilege of teaching the Wayne family through my decades at this institution and I believe that Damian takes after his father the most in more ways than expected. His grades are stellar and he is well-organized, but I'm noticing familiar and concerning traits in his attitude and social interactions. I am requesting a meeting with his parent to understand the full context so I can devise a plan for out how to best support him.

Translation – Forget falling, the apple is still on the damn tree

Duke: Mr. Thomas has been a pleasure to have in my chemistry lab and is always willing to help classmates who are struggling. However, after last week's minor combustion reaction mishap, I think it would be worthwhile to review the lab safety packet that all students received at the beginning of the year.

Translation – How did you set water on fire

Cullen: Mr. Row displays a passion for transformative literature and demonstrates a clear understanding of modern media culture that has helped him synthesize a lot of our complex readings. However, I'm concerned about his laptop being a distraction, especially with numerous incidences of him looking at non-academic material.

Translation – Quit reading fanfics in class

Stephanie: You should be pleased to know that Miss Brown consistently keeps the well-being of her peers in mind. This semester, she launched a meal initiative for students whose needs could not be met by the school cafeteria. While we value her good intentions, she has been causing hallway obstructions and there are some regulatory concerns that we need to discuss.

Translation – She sold pancakes in the halls without a permit

Cassandra: Although Miss Cain is relatively quiet in class, she continues to blow me away with her breadth of knowledge not just on class materials, but also interpersonal details. While this is a good skill to cultivate, we ask that she dial it back especially with our faculty. Additionally, please remember that the teacher's lounge is a staff-only space and students should remain in the common areas.

Translation – She knows too much

Barbara: Miss Gordon is easily one of the best AP Computer Science students I've seen in my twenty years of teaching. She even went above and beyond the scope of our class to apply what we've learned to a greater school context. While that is deserving of credit, I'd also like to remind her that, in the future, certain ideas should be subjected to careful consideration before actions are taken.

Translation – She hacked the lunch menu to make every day French Fry Friday

Harper: Miss Row has a remarkable aptitude for the engineering process that exceeds beyond what students her age can typically grasp, and she is very inventive in her own right. That being said, I would appreciate it if she followed our lesson plans more closely and reviewed our guidelines for woodshop safety so everyone can continue to have a positive experience.

Translation – She made a working crossbow out of popsicle sticks

Carrie: Miss Kelley is a bright student who brings positive energy that is very much needed, especially in morning classes. However, she's been falling behind with several missing assignments at this point, and her explanations for why she cannot finish her work don't seem to be sufficient.

Translation – "Killer Croc ate my homework" Yeah and I'm Batman

Kate: Miss Kane seems to be very eager to move forward to the next stage of her life, as evidenced by her Career Day presentation. While I believe young people should be free to explore their passions, I also think that Kate would benefit from some workshops outlining more feasible options.

Translation – "Get bitches" isn't a career goal

Alfred: Mr. Pennyworth is easily one of the best students this institution has seen, both in his academic record and extracurricular activities. He recently expressed interest in the sharpshooting team, which I will not discourage him from, seeing how highly accurate he is. As of this year, I will be retiring as the coach for the team, but I wish him all the best.

Translation – I'm not about to get on his bad side

Selina: Miss Kyle's resourcefulness continues to astound me. Earlier in the semester, she forgot her locker combination and quickly improvised a mechanism to safely unlock it using only the materials around her. The speed and accuracy with which she did that will surely benefit her in the future.

Translation – Did... did she just pick a lock with another lock?

Bruce: No further comments.

Translation – whatthefuckwhatthefuckwhatthefuck—

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evilminji · 2 months

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Not my usual Fandom BUT...

You know what would be and always is fascinating/interesting/hilarious? For want of a nail type, "tiny change or little action spiral into great and sweeping change" type fics! ESPECIALLY when combined with my dearly beloved Self Insert troupe!

Because? I DO so love the Self Insert! Not so much for the "I can fix it" or power fantasy, as the ability to wander... a stranger in a strange land. Both familiar yet removed. Known to us yet... not. The major actors, major events, certainly. But the lives of the average person?

The noodle shop owner? The ship salesman? A janitor?

We know nothing about this strange new world from their point of view. What secrets can be found in this or that little shop, well off the common path. And it is FASCINATING! Especially if the Insert wasn't particularly FAMILIAR with the source material. Knew enough to get by, perhaps, too know they are in danger... but not enough to twist events to their favor. Assuming they even had the type of personality to TRY such things.

No, no...

What I? Want to see?

What I think would be FASCINATING?

Is a TRUE carry over. Adult mind to adult mind. Someone settled in their ways. Not bold and terribly adventurous, not willing to recklessly seek out danger and pain. No. They know they are going to die. They know they HAVE died. They are now a Jedi. And can feel the Force... and?

It just... helps.

They let go. Yes, perhaps some plans to protect the younglings. If they can. But their ultimately IS no death, only the Force. It is scary, they acknowledge, frightening even. But they... find calm. Acceptance.

They meditate. Open themselves up to the Force and give up their worry and fears, their regrets. All the terrible burdens they brought with them from their past life. It's honestly a bittersweet sort of relief. Ironic, that such a troubled age should be their most peaceful.

Of course... opening yourself up like that? Reaching out so deeply and with such conviction? It's like painting a "hey! I'm right here! I'm definitely going to listen if you say something to me!" Sign on your forehead, where the Force can see it.

So? It DOES.

But unlike Anikin? The Insert isn't a Fighter. So the Force doesn't tell them to fight. After all, every part has its place in the grand machine of Life. Every actor their place on the stage. Sometimes? To change the galaxy? All you need is someone to be on the right planet, at the right time, ready to hold a door open for the right person.

And that's it.

Not everything needs be grand sweeping actions. It can, instead, be the quiet drip drip drip of medicine applied behind a Sith Lord's back. To undo the damage he has wrought. So when comes the time for his plans to unfold? He does NOT find the support he was counting on to succeed. Instead he finds resistance.

But HOW? How would such a thing be DONE? By a YOUNGLING no less?

A youth with no power? Be it social, political, or physical? AND beneath the Sith Lord's very nose? Without being STOPPED? With said youngling being KILLED? Quite simply! Easily, in fact! By embracing the purest of the Light!

Fun.

Who among us, does NOT know of the parasocial relationship? The feeling of knowing someone, considering them "good" and "something like a friend" dispite never once having spoken to them? Being FOND of them? Wouldn't YOU not defend them? If someone sought to HURT them? KILL them? You KNOW them so very WELL don't you? This person speaks LIES about them!

And what of the Adorable Youngling? Small and Cute? Look at their little cheeks and tiny hands! How precious! Why, we have watched them GROW! They are practically family!

But where does the FUN I speak of come into this? Simple. The Holonet. Crechemaster's trying to corral an adult in the body of a child. The Insert is BORED. At peace, yes. But you can really only meditate so many hours of the day. Lessons only take up so much and class work the same. They aren't at an age where the SERIOUS lessons begin yet.

So they have too much free time.

..........have you heard about "Video Game #55? It's apparently got more Video AND Game then ever!" Intriguing~ But, oh. Playing it ALONE it BORING. And playing with... well, INFANTS, is... an exercise in patience. Plus it's probably not appropriate for them. Hmmmmm..... you KNOW.... Insert really DOES miss? Watching Let's Plays over breakfast/lunch...

They've never MADE one... but they know they general script and idea? And for Some Reason? It feels like a GREAT way to pass the time! Yeah! Let's do THAT! And so the Force nudges. Tiny. Seemingly inconsequential. The Master's try to shut it down, Insert is stubborn and refuses, they talk it out. Because they are Jedi and authoritarian force is not their way. Is it frustrating? Perhaps. But the only cure for ignorance is knowledge.

They ultimately compromise. Insert get to keep their little game thing, THEY make sure Insert is compromising Temple security, putting themselves in danger, talking to dubious strangers, or other such perils. It is? A FASCINATING view into the secretive world of the Mysterious Jedi for most of the galaxy. All lead by an adorable Youngling playing games.

Of course, such a silly, ridiculous thing is BENEATH Palpatine's concern. Fun and games? Not even formal or official ones? The child doesn't even represent the jedi. They represent no one. Clearly not a threat, right?

WRONG.

Because one game? Leads to another. Leads to being recommended another. Leads to "hey check out this music". Leads to "how was your day?" Leads to chatting about Jedi philosophy... as simplified for small children. Easy to understand and then complained over like it's maths homework. And... huh.

You guys really liked when I talked about X? Well, I don't know much about it... buuut? I could probably FIND someone or go to the archives? Make a video? I'll make a poll. Vote down below?

Untouchable and distant? Nah. Jedi play "Crafting Game 73" and whine about their Crechemates being JERKS for eating the last dessert. Jedi, in their head's, are small adorable younglings and the amused adults meditating the back ground who watch over them. EVERYONE knows the Jedi. The Jedi are on our datapads. Are our friends. We've totally met them.

Parasocial relationships.

Or maybe that's just me? I just... God I REALLY want to see how they'd react to a initiate who just? Won't stop fuckin making Let's Plays of all things. Just? WHY. HOW? WHY AND HOW?! No, NO don't you shrug at me and run of, youngling! Get back here! What "skill issue"? Which skill? Initiate!!!

@hdgnj @hypewinter @babbling-babull @the-witchhunter @mutable-manifestation @lolottes @leftnotright @legitimatesatanspawn @nerdpoe @spidori

#writing #star wars #star wars promt #sw promt #minji's writing

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mediacircuspod · 1 year

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Okay so I know that we’re all upset at Aziraphale for this because of very obvious reasons. But can we take a minute to really look at where exactly he’s coming from? Because we only have Crowley’s perspective on the fall because we’ve only ever seen Crowley talk about it before. At least in his vague but colorful ways. Ex; Sauntering vaguely downwards, boiling pool of sulfur, etc.

But this season we get a little bit more on what Aziraphale thinks about Crowley becoming a demon.

And well. Aziraphale thinks that it was a mistake. More below the cut…

Full stop. Aziraphale thinks heaven was wrong about Crowley. He thinks God was wrong about Crowley. We see this in a few key scenes in both Seasons.

Let’s go Chronologically.

Job. Because I’ll never stop talking about the Job minisode. When Aziraphale’s caution is ignored in heaven, he goes to convince Crowley to stop and ignore the will of Heaven and Hell. (He doesn’t take into account that if Crowley doesn’t do the killing, another entity undoubtedly will.)

It’s the “I know you” and “I know [who] you were.” It’s the “I don’t think you want to do this.”

He had faith, even then, that Crowley would do what was right.

It’s the absolute and joyful giddiness of finding out that he’s right. That Crowley saved the goats, and probably the other creatures. That Crowley is going in that very beautiful house in order to save the children.

It’s the tragedy of Jemimah asking if Crowley is a demon and Aziraphale answering “Technically”. Crowley answers too, and he knows that there’s nothing technical about his state of being.

It’s the “you’re a little bit on our side”. And for all that Crowley denies, denies, and denies—Aziraphale doesn’t actually hear him. He hears “Yes. But I’m not an angel though, am I?” Aziraphale interprets, “I’m on my side” as “I’m not permitted to be on heaven’s side”.

In Rome, he extends Crowley an invitation to eat with him. He forgets himself. Tempting is Crowley’s job. He has to remind himself that Crowley is a demon, even if he’s a good person.

When they meet to watch one of Shakespeare’s gloomy ones, he looks to Crowley to do him a favor, and Crowley does. Without fuss. Just to see Aziraphale happy. Aziraphale smiles at this with familiar excitement. And a knowing look. (I want to shake him and screech, “Being good is not the same as being Good”)

Scotland. Crowley does a very good thing in this minisode, and he faces a very serious punishment for doing that good thing. Aziraphale can do nothing because Crowley is a demon who is good. And that is not a virtue in Hell, and the angel is confronted with the fact that Hell is not safe for Crowley. That hell will never be safe for Crowley, and we begin to see Aziraphale seriously worry about the arrangement and what it could mean for Crowley from this moment on.

And then we see a lot of Crowley saving Aziraphale from various scrapes and bad situations. We see Aziraphale refusing to give Crowley access to dangerous materials and then giving in so he doesn’t fall into more danger.

Aziraphale not only wants Crowley safe, he wants Crowley saved.

And at the end of season 1 and the majority of Season 2, Aziraphale embraces who he and Crowley are together. And he’s genuinely joyful about it, even with an undercurrent of sorrow he feels from being disconnected from heaven. We get hints of this throughout the second season… “You need to tell someone about something clever you did before you pop” “I can’t report to heaven anymore” “I’m afraid I’m out of miracles right now”.

This is the whole point; he never stops wanting to be good. And he never stops believing in Crowley’s goodness, either. Maybe even more than his own. (Aziraphale has to convince himself of his own righteousness almost as much as he has had to convince himself of Crowley’s evilness.)

And this brings us back to THE SCENE. Because right before Aziraphale makes his offer to Crowley. The Metatron has to make the offer to Aziraphale. And The Metatron plays Aziraphale like a fiddle.

The Metatron plays his cards exactly as he should right from the beginning, with ordering Aziraphale a coffee and making him drink it. It’s a subtextual threat, and Aziraphale probably doesn’t realize it, but Nina’s coffee shop is called “Give me coffee or give me death”. The coffee doubles as a gift from the Metatron to endear himself to Aziraphale and also as a signal to the audience that this guy is a very big deal, as well as a very big threat.

And then the Metatron separates our two entities from one another. Crowley has always given Aziraphale more courage when it comes to defiance, so Metatron invites Aziraphale away from the safety of his home(both the bookshop AND Crowley).

And then. And this is the Kicker.

The Metatron apologizes.

Not in the usual way humans do, but in the way that Crowley and Aziraphale do. By saying, I was wrong. You were right.

The Metatron praises Aziraphale. We were wrong about you.

The Metatron says that the only candidate for Supreme Archangel is him. You are heavenly.

The Metatron offers Aziraphale a way to bring Crowley with him. To bring Crowley back. We were wrong about Crowley.

Aziraphale looks at the Metatron in the face as the voice of God says Crowley’s fall was a mistake, and you can make it right. (The Metatron doesn’t actually say that in those words, but they ARE the words Aziraphale hears.)

So of course he’s excited to tell Crowley. Surely Crowley knows that his fall was a mistake too. Surely this is excellent news. The best news they’ve been given in a while. They were right after all. They can fix it. Together.

But then Crowley says no. And just as much as we think Aziraphale rejected Crowley—which of course, yes, he did—Crowley rejected Aziraphale too. And Aziraphale doesn’t understand why.

(And Holy Crap Aziraphale IS WRONG. Okay he’s wrong and it’s crazy, but I can follow the line right from before the beginning. Neil Gaiman and company, you are absolutely fantastic writers, I love how wrong they both are, and I love how wonderful they’re both trying to be, this was an incredible season.)

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens spoilers #gomens #go2 spoilers #good omens 2 spoilers #Aziraphale #crowley #crowley and aziraphale #ineffable husbands #ineffable divorce #aziracrow

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jaylleoo14 · 11 months

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"Can I kiss you?"

Octavinelle x gn!reader

A/N: Simple. The sea trio has corrupted my mind and so here I am writing this at 1:03 AM and finishing this up two days later LOL. I actually took forever because I kept squealing and getting off track during the writing process. "I NEED TO DRAW THIS" I would say to myself haha. I wrote them without much consideration on how long each might be so one of them may be shorter compare to the others or it may be longer, but please do enjoy^^ (May or may not do the other dorms, unless...)

[Disclaimer] TOO MUCH FLUFF

[characters] Floyd, Azul, Jade

Azul

3:24 PM - The Mostro Lounge sits under blue and silver burnished lighting as the sound of music fills the air. Accompanied by voices and the clinks of dishes, there you sat in the more private area of what adds to Octavinelle - Azuls office.

Something you both have learned to get accustomed to was to just do work alongside each other without the need of having to talk. It was just work. Nothing more. Of course some small talk here and there, asking opinions or maybe asking for help- though it was usually you who asked for it and less of Azul- but regardless it was back off to work. It's quite simple really, Azul is a busy and hard working person so he'd naturally have a lot to manage with. You had to keep up with your studies and try to manage how to handle your money and savings accordingly, along with planning events into your calendar for upcoming school occasions.

You and Azul have been dating for about half a year now, and although not all the time, most of the time you spend your free time here doing your work accompanying Azul as he does his. You both simply enjoy each other's presence, the silence between you two which is filled with the scritches and scratches of his fish-bone felt tip pen and your pencil against the many pages of papers were not at all awkward. It showed a sense of comfortability and familiarity, a tranquil silence in the room. Though of course, like almost any couple you begin to crave some attention from your dearly beloved.

3:27 PM - Placing your pencil down, it now rolling off to the side a little due to the momentum, you lean back onto the back cushions of Azuls couch placed in the middle of his office. Working for about 15 minutes now you decided you needed a break, stretching your arms back as you release your breath through your nostrils.

"Going to take a break Angelfish?" Without even having to look up, the sound of you leaning into his leather cushion and your stretched out groan already tells him enough information that you're ready to just try and relax and rejuvenate yourself.

"Mmmh yea, I think 15 minutes of work is good enough for now. I'll go back to it once I rest up," is all you say in response as you lean your body over to lay on the couch. He only lets out a hum to let you acknowledge that he was listening. Now that you weren't focused on your own work, you can hear him writing with a rich shink-like noise and papers constantly flipped and turned every 30 seconds.

I wonder what he's working on, you think to yourself as you stare up at the dark blue arched ceiling. You prop yourself up with your elbows, pushing yourself up as you move your legs off the couch. Springing off, you head on over to where Azul was working around behind the desk and peered over towards him. "Whatcha working on?" Voice soft and curious, an undertone of boredom.

"Just some useful material intended to aid students," he says in a gentle manner, his eyes still glued onto the papers. "Oh yea? How much longer till you finish up with those study guides?" You lean over a bit closer as you stand next to him, his handwriting as intricate and beautifully cursive as ever; yet still eligible for those who have a harder time understanding.

He lets out a little inquisitive hum as if trying to accurately calculate when he'd be finished by. "About in an hour or so," he says finally after seconds worth of time. "I'd say make that an hour-thirty to two from now" you say with a little soft laugh escaping your lips.

3:30 - Standing next to Azul as he preps material, you slowly come to look at Azul himself instead of what Azul was working on. Being able to see the sight of his silver crowned locks of hair that curls into beautiful waves. Only after making your comment does he stop his hand and turn to look up at you from where he sat.

After finally not being able to properly see Azul's face the entire time you were working, seeing his face was a sort of refreshment to your heart and the soft smile on your face shows that. "And what prompts you to assume such a thing my dear?" He can only be met with a giggly response, his serious and quizzical face only prompting you to let out more chains of giggles.

"Tell me what you are suddenly finding so funny? I certainly am positive that I haven't done anything humorous." You tilt your head a little to the side, your grin getting slowly bigger as you clasped your hands behind your back. Azul can already pick up that you're trying to whip something up.

"You know Azul, when was the last time you kissed me?"

And there he goes, short circuiting as the sudden change of mood drifts him like the ocean currents. "I-Is this what you're on about?" He certainly has picked up by what you meant with your earlier comment now that you've voiced your question. "Oh dear, do you perhaps feel neglected since i've been working so much Angelfish?"

"Don't try to act smug. Answer my question, when was the last time you kissed me?" You immediately shoot down his question as you direct it back to yours and it sends his cheeks a pigmented red while he tries to keep his cool. He understands that you wont stop asking him this question and so he answers away.

"I recall it to be a few weeks back."

"And where did you kiss me?"

"I-I don't see how that- hah, on the cheek. Seriously (y/n) what is the relevancy in asking such- "

"Ah! Hold it! So you're telling me you've been giving me kisses and I've been giving you kisses but we've never actually kissed at the same time?"

3:33 - Here you are facing Azul as you look at his tinted red face, picking up where your suggestion leads. What awaits is permission to boldly take your relationship to the next level.

"Can I kiss you Azul? And not on the hands or on the cheek like we usually do." You give him a soft pleading look, your cheeks also decorated in a lovely shade of red as you wait for his response patiently. Clearing his throat and having the need to suddenly fix his not crooked glasses, he gives you a very shy yet still doing his best to be serious look. Before answering, he quickly resolves himself and a more confident smirk is plastered on his face. As he pushes himself up from his chair he closes in the distance and comes in close towards you, wrapping an arm around your back.

"Ask and you shall receive, a small kiss is worth the price of my time for you my Angelfish," he says it ever so calmly and confidently. Though the redness of his cheeks give away that he was otherwise and it makes your heart squeeze and beat crazy because of how cute he was being right now.

"You're being so cute right now you know that? You don't have to force yourself, you know." Your voice is gentle and smooth as if it were raw honey. Bringing a hand to tuck the longer piece of hair that made up his hairstyle, you give him the most adored stricken smile ever and he can only feel his heart beating out of his chest.

"No no, it's about time we started to get more intimate considering how long we've been together now. Thank you for going at my preferred pace, I'd like to give you an honorarium payment." You let out an amused chuckle and let him prepare himself, closing your eyes as you wait for him to go in at his own pace. Though you least expect it when he suddenly goes in very quickly. His lips are stiffly pressed against yours for a couple of seconds and it has you opening your eyes in surprise. You're met with a red faced Azul -which can be compared to a steamed and cooked octopus- looking flustered and a little awkward as he seemed to have a little dissatisfactory expression on his face. "That... Did not go as well as I had hoped it to be."

A jovial and convivial laughter fills up the room in your sound and it only makes Azul shrivel in embarrassment. You can practically see the steam coming from his head as well. "Well that was a little anticlimactic don't you think?" Wrapping your arms around his neck he can only let out an embarrassed groan at your little comment. "What do you expect from someone who's inexperienced with committing such an act? I'm positive however that with enough practice I can redeem myself and satisfy you." He tries to sound all the more reasoning, which only prompts you to laugh even more.

"You want to kiss more?" Saying through slips of giggles. You feel his hold on your back tighten a bit more, still applying gentle and reaffirming pressure as he presses you both together. "How else do you suggest I be better then?" You turn and motion your body over to the desk, leaning your lower back against it as Azul follows along. "Hmm, I'm absolutely positive that it'll take you two hours to finish those study guides now." You pull a little amused laugh out of him as he slowly goes in once again, tilting his head to the side and his eyes looking to align with yours. "Mmm perhaps. I guess we'll have to see just how long it'll take for me to get better then." And in he goes, the kiss feeling much more natural and a mark of showing a deeper significance in your ongoing relationship.

Jade

The nights on campus here were unusually less disturbed and a lot colder now, which makes sense considering that it is now winter break. The students here at Night Raven College had all gone home to reunite with their families after departing to pursue and complete their highschool education. However a certain group of individuals tend to stay during this time period, and that being the dorm leader of Octavinelle, the vice dorm leader, and the vice dorm leader's twin brother.

Like a lot of teenagers, its normal to come across at least 10 students at night since many are nocturnal people and they share the hobby of walking around. Especially when the sky is dark. You are one of those people. Someone who indulges themselves into the canvas of black paint littered with shining splatter of stars. Regardless of what the weather is like, you willingly go out of your way to enjoy the peacefulness of the night, watching it as it goes through the different seasons. Walking around in the winter's night air you can see your breath whenever you huff out, a shiver going through your shoulders. A little reminder that its the cold season now.

The chilly weather seems to be getting to you so you turn back from where you presently are and walk back to your good ol' home, Ramshackle dorm. As you make your way back from the main road you can make out a tall dark figure up ahead, prompting you to slow down and start to get wary. Upon getting closer and squinting your eyes a little, you can see teal hair shining a bit under the orange light which was radiating off a nearby light pole. Oh, it's Jade! You remember Jade mentioning that he liked to also go out late at night, though this is your first time ever encountering him on your usual walks. Perhaps he too is taking advantage of the quieter nights.

You and Jade have been a little on and off. You cant quite describe it, its complicated really. Sometimes you feel like you cant understand Jade because he's always making things open-ended, leaving them up to your interpretations. You like him, that much is obvious. But there are plenty of times where he's shown interest in you, and other times where it may not feel as so and it throws you off. Its frustrating not knowing how he feels about you, as if its some sort of game you two play. Regardless of his little plays though, you continue to enjoy yourself in the game.

A slight breeze hits your figure and it causes you to shiver, rubbing your arms to enforce friction in hopes of warming you up. You figured it may be best to leave Jade alone so he can enjoy himself in peace doing whatever he was doing. And off you go, turning on your heel and continuing your venture.

The sky is so pretty, you think to yourself. It has you arching your neck up and leaning your head back as you stare at the night sky, continuing your walk. You cant help but look at how pretty the stars are knitted together in a beautiful cluster, zoning out a bit as you continue forward.

Suddenly a hand is placed on your shoulder and it causes you to jolt up like a scared cat, making you break out of your trance. A yell is ushered out of you as you quickly turn around to see who this person could be, and you're only met facing Jade.

"Oh dear, I do apologize for my sudden notice. But your voice sounds lovely even when out of fear fufu"

Your heart is still pounding and your eyes are opened widely, staring at him with disbelief and shock. "J-Jade! What are you doing?! God you freaking scared me oh my gosh." Your little scared moment certainly has him entertained as he lets out another chuckle.

"You seem to be so infatuated with the sky that you failed to notice your surroundings. I was only doing my part in trying to help you realize that."

"What do you me-?" As you turn around your quickly met with a lamp pole right in front of your face and it causes you to flinch back a bit. "Oh." Turning around to face him again you feel yourself feeling a bit embarrassed that he caught you about to do something embarrassing. "Thanks Jade... What are you doing out so late?"

"I could ask you the same thing. I was just taking advantage of the quiet night and looking at the nature of the trees." He looks over you, a genuine smile on his face plastered as what you can assume to be looking at the area around us. "However I stayed aware of my surroundings despite having my own infatuations." His little snarky yet calm remark causes you to let out a groan, a pout slightly forming on your lips.

"I was also taking advantage of tonight as well thank you very much." Straightening your back, you cross your arms and give him a slight frown as if trying to regain back your little pride. Then quite suddenly a gust of wind howls a bit in your direction, causing you to shiver and quiver a bit. "Tonight is quite cold I must say." His slight remark makes you shiver even more as you are reminded of the cold.

"Yea, no kidding. I didn't prepare well enough so I'm going to head back." Your face is cold to the touch and your nose and cheeks can be seen slightly red under the pale moonlight. "Oh I see, perhaps I can accompany you then." He offers yet you turn him down in a polite manner. Your reasons? It's obvious you like Jade. You really like him, though because of all these mixed signals you can't help but feel like you need to stop. It already frustrates you enough and so you need to let these feelings die down even though sometimes you really do get a kick from the things he does.

"You seem to be quite cold indeed (y/n), if I can't accompany you back then please allow me to warm you up for your trip."

His words seem to catch you off guard and you look up at him quizzically. He doesn't seem to be wearing any sort of jacket, how can he offer you warmth? He chuckles a bit, amused to see your confused scrunched face. Gently bringing a hand to your cheeks your eyes can't seem to help but widen in shock a little from the sudden gentle advancement, your brain going blank.

"Can I kiss you, Prefect?" He says it ever so softly, his voice wrapping you up like a soft blanket. Did Jade really just ask to kiss you? What's going on, is this even real right now? Are you dreaming? Is this another one of his games? You feel your face starting to heat up and your heart is starting to race.

"W-Wait, what? Did I hear that right?" You say in disbelief, but he knows you heard it correctly because of your red face. His hands cupping your face causes you to freeze in the moment and all you can hear is the loud drums of your heart. Leaning down a bit more you can see his eyes perfectly now, his heterochromia jewel like eyes shimmering. "I must admit i'm a little hurt to see you trying to avoid me recently Prefect. I apologize for beating around the bush for so long, I hope you can take this kiss as a form of acceptance for my feelings and my apology."

This eel.... THIS EEL! He knows what he's doing, he knows! You're left stammering a bit before you could answer, the feeling of your head spinning. "I...accept your apology." And with that he goes down in one smooth motion, his lips in contact with yours with a perfect fit. Once he leans back, your eyes are met and he lets out a content hum. "I'm glad to see you're quite warmed up now. And if I must add, happier too." A big goofy smile is placed on your face as if you just won the lottery, your face all red and heated. "You know, I actually wouldn't mind if you were to accompany me back now. Who knows what might be out here."

You seem to be in a giddy mood, no longer holding back. Finally, you can understand Jade's true feelings for you now. It makes you overjoyed, a feeling of happiness now that you understand. And with a smile on his face he agrees, playing along with your little game of words. The feeling of warmth and fluffy happiness fills you up, and the cold cant compare with that as you make your way back with Jade, his little darling Pearl.

Floyd

"WHAT THE HELL FLOYD?!"

Crash!

Ah yes, just another regular day. You, Floyd, your phone in his hand, breathless, a cheeky and amused grin on his face, and just constantly trying to snag your phone back in the spacious long hallway. Call this a regular day occurrence considering how many times he's come to bother and mess with you now.

"Floyd, give me back my pho- STOP SCROLLING THROUGH MY CAMERA ROLL!" Running up and trying to snatch it away by jumping, only to fail because he's now outstretching his arms away and tip-toeing to refrain from you reclaiming back your item.

"Haaah? Your camera roll is so boring, just full of pictures of the sky. We see that everyday, you should take more pictures of other interesting things!" You really were running out of breath here and he seems to take great amusement with it since he's still here messing with you.

The sun shined brightly against the two of you, the open wall of the hall letting the air roam freely.

"Ahaha! What a funny picture of Crabby-chan! Oh, and you got one of little Mackerel too." Floyds not listening to your words, enjoying himself as he indulges in your camera roll. You let out a tired and heavy sigh, heaving a bit as you try to catch your breath. "F-Floyd, why are you doing this? Argh, I swear you've been bothering me so much lately." He only give you a little "hm?" in response as his smile now fades, turning to something more neutral and casual as he continues to indulge himself in your selective memories.

"Ya have soooo many pictures of other people lil' shrimpy. Ah! You even have a picture of Jade and Azul! No fairrrr!" Letting out a whine, you can see his prominent pout as he pinches his fingers on your screen to zoom in on you which was in between Azul and Jade. His eyes stick to the screen as he stares at the picture of your sweet smile looking as if you just finished some heavy and tiring labor just before.

"That was when we went camping during Vargas's stupid camping trip. Of course you weren't there!" You huffed out as you wipe a sweat off your neck, placing your free arm on your hip while you just watch him on your phone. At this point you just gave up and let him do what he wanted on there, of course as long as he's in the camera roll and nowhere else.

"But i'm here now aren't I? And you were even there when I went camping, jus excuses." His slightly upset voice makes you feel a bit guilty yourself, but you try to find a way to dispute his words anyways.

"Not true! If you keep scrolling more you'll see yourself in one of the pictures I took with Ace!" A huff escapes your mouth as you try to stay strong on your claim and he only lets out a disappointed groan. "I'm in the background Shrimpy, and you cant even see my face properly. Ya dont wanna have people mixin' me with my brother now dontcha?" His eyes look over towards you now as he drapes his arm down, just very offended with the lack of pictures you have available of him.

"It's not like i'm gonna show anyone Floyd. No one's gonna know its you except for me." You try to reassure him but he still isn't satisfied at all with your response. The sun shines in as its rays changes its direction and hits Floyd in the eyes, causing his already sour mood to worsen and he lets out an annoyed huff. The shadow of the pillars drapes over you like a veil and the sun hits him like a beam, so he then places his hand over his forehead to block the sun out while walking closer to you in venture for refuge. The light reflects into the phone causing a gleam hitting your own eyes and so you step back, squinting your eyes away. For a moment you actually forgot he had your phone if not for the reminder the gleam gave you.

"Floyd, could you please hand me back my phone now?" You say in a more gentle voice in consideration to his sour mood. His droopy eyes meet yours as a slight pout forms on his face which then looks over at your phone in his hand. Suddenly, his pouty face lifts up into a gleeful smile, his toothy lop-sided smirk giving you unease as if he's planning something not so great.

"Ya know, why not jus' take some pics right now? Say cheese~!" Suddenly, with his longer legs he quickly makes his way over next to you, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and pulling close.

"Wha-? Hey-!" Before you could even ready yourself though, he brings the phone above you two, angling the camera as he tilts his head against yours and maneuvers his thumb over the camera shutter button, pulling your bodies together.

Click! Click! Click!

"Hey stop taking so much! You're going to take up my storage!" Quickly swiping up your phone you press on the little square in the corner to open up the pictures. His arm continues to drape on your shoulder as he looks over at the pictures with a happy hum. Floyd looked as photogenic as ever when he wants to be, his silky skin reflecting in the pictures as his smile radiates and shine while his cheeks being a dusty pink. You on the other hand....Not so much. You were even blinking in one of them, most of the pictures of you looking off and funny.

"I wasn't ready Floyd." A stern look is scrunched on your face as you swipe and look at the pictures with a judgmental stare. A giggle can be heard right next to you as Floyd also looks over you in the pictures, a tinted pink running on his cheeks and a soft look in his eyes; his heart speeding up just slightly as he continues the close and intimate proximity.

"I think you look cute anyways." He says it ever so casually and in a gentle voice, causing you to look over at him. Upon turning your head to face him, its only then did you realize just how close he was. How intimate you two were being right now. His side profile looking perfect as ever, his olive colored eye locked on the screen staring only at you, his arm draped over your shoulders, your bodies practically meshing together right now as his pecks touch your back. You feel your cheeks starting to heat up, your heart begins to speed up as if you are starting a morning run the more you begin to get conscious. His eyes suddenly dart to look at you and you flinch back, jumping a little due to being startled; however his arm keeps you in place from moving any further.

"Seriously, you've been messing with me too much..." You grumbled out as you turn your face back to look at the now black screen. It shut off due to the lack of inactivity, and in the reflection you can see your furrowed brows and tightlipped frown. Though from the side Floyd can only give a bigger grin upon seeing your velvet cheeks.

"Cus' I like ya, aint it obvious?" The speed to which you flip your head can be compared to one of a bullet train and your jaw drops, mouth wide open and agape as you're left with no words. "HUH?!" Your whole face is now a full on red, your eyes filled with shock as if he just dropped the most jaw dropping information ever. Well, technically he did.

Tilting his head to the side a little, his face also grows a darker shade of red, though he lets out a giddy chain of giggles to your reaction. "Eh? You're quite bold Shrimpy, movin' kinda fast there huh?"

"W-What?" He can practically see question marks floating around your red beet face, his toothy smug face still apparent as he wraps another arm in front of you. He's basically giving you a side hug right now -a sweet and tender one.

"Hehe, nothin,'" smiling as if its something only he knows makes you a bit bothered and curious, but then he suddenly swings himself in front of you now. The sun hits the back of Floyd, making him radiate ever so brightly. "How bout' we start off a bit slower hmm? Whats it to ya Shrimpy, do ya like me back?" His soft and droopy slanted eyes adoringly stare into yours and you cant help but feel your heart turn into a big wet sopping pillow. Adverting your eyes down, you can only give a little nod. "Well i mean, I don't hate you. So yea, I.... I do in fact, Like you too."

Honestly, Floyds been nothing but smiles now and its as if he found the most pretty set of flowers ever on a grassy field. "Is that so? Ya really like me huh?"

My hearts beating so fast right now.

"Yea, I really like you."

"Shall I give you a kiss then Shrimpy?"

Tilting your head back up at him you can only give him a shy and flustered face. But with the silly state you're in right now, you let out a slip of a tongue response.

"C-Can I kiss you?" Totally unexpected to Floyd, his eyes widen for only a moment till he's flinging his head back with laughter and squeezing you into his chest.

"Hahaha! Will you kiss me?" Calming himself down a bit he looks back at you with you in his arms now, the suns rays slowly shifting over.

"Will I kiss you?" saying almost in a smug manner now, feeling yourself succumbing into his giggly state of self as you yourself now start to get giddy with your red cheeks.

"You will" He says it with a reciprocal teasing tone as he leans forward, the comfort in his lean arms making you feel as if you've been lovers forever.

"I will?"

"I will" And with that he softly goes in to press a kiss on your lips, the sun shining and hitting the both of you and its as if you two were getting the spotlight of a movie.

Click!

Huh? As you turn to slowly pull back from the kiss, slowly opening your closed eyes you see Floyds phone out. His arm is outstretched and propped in the middle of you two from the side to capture the kiss perfectly and you can only let out a gasp.

"A picture for me hehe~"

"FLOYD-"

610 notes · View notes

python333 · 4 months

Text

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.

#cod #cod hcs #hcs #task force 141 #tf141 #kyle gaz garrick #captain john price #john price #price #gaz #platonic task force 141 #i love them guys #age regression YIPPEE #no beta we die like soap #sorry #python333 #i'm done with tags bro #too tired for this #too tired for tags

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absolutebl · 9 months

Text

TOP 10 BL Trends of 2023

This is just me with my analysis hat on.

1. 2023 = the year EVERYONE went outside their lanes

Everything went topsy-turvy this year in BL.

For example, Korea gave us agonized yearning and outright queerness (The 8th Sense, The New Employee) while Japan served up soft office workers and tender family (Our Dining Table).

The BL world went askew for a while, especially in the spring of 2023.

Not that we still didn’t still get Korea’s soft angsty bubbles or Japan’s “what are you doing and why does it hurt?” kink-fests. But there were quite a few BLs that made us chronic watchers sit up in confusion and wonder if Korea was dabbling in Taiwan’s territory or Japan in Thailand’s. Then they fudged the kisses and we were like... okay, back in familiar territory.

In contrast, Thailand stayed course-correcting for the damage they’ve done in the past with tropes (2022) and self referential meta criticism (2021), but also almost aggressively returned to their BL roots after last year’s series of shockers. Certainly, they are reexamining those roots, transplanting some, aerating others. But they really went back to classic Thai university and high school BL and pulps in a big way in 2023.

Taiwan is always difficult to gage because they produce so few but they seem to have stuck with what they do best with no deviation while producing more this year than they have in ages. I’m happy for that, why change a good thing? But there is a tiny part of me that really wants them to hit it out of the part with a quality piece soon. For me, We Best Love still reigns supreme, but I would really like the HIStory franchise to give us that level but longer - like a happy version of Your Name Engraved Herein. I think Taiwan has the chops to give us something as good as The 8th Sense or Old Fashion Cupcake but in their style, and I would like to see them exercise their talent for good rather than just profit.

I know, what a very odd thing for me to say. But if any BL is going to break into the mainstream American market, I genuinely think it’s most likely come from Taiwan.

Vietnam and the Philippines are falling behind, in general. They just didn’t bring out very many shows in 2023, and what the brought out tended to fub the endings. This is forgivable in Japan (because of their style and quality) but not what watchers want in the lower production value propositions. In other words, if you do a pulp, you can’t mess up the ending (by romance standards). that doesn’t look to be changing anytime soon.

2. The Office Romance Dominated

After years of Thailand serving us an endless (and slightly bland) buffet of university (and a few high school) BLs, this year Korea was basically like...

Ofiice. We like the Office. It’s cheap to film we can use grown up actors, acting (mostly) their actual age.

And yeah... it totally worked.

To be fair, Japan has always given us office live action yaoi from the beginning (they had the source material) but this year everyone else, including Thailand, seriously started playing in this setting.

3. Boys Danced with Boys

The darling @heretherebedork was a big fan of this one, and I rather like it myself. Prior to this boys dancing together was very very rare in BL, but this year we got way more than our fair share. It was lovely.

Never Let me Go

My School President

Bed Friend

The Day I Loved You

Step by Step

Be Mine Superstar

Tie the Not

Dangerous Romance

I think there were a few more. These are the ones I remembered to write down.

4. Getting (even more) Meta With Tropes

BL has been getting more and more meta over the past few years but this year they really focused in on tropes specifically. Calling out their own biggest and most favorite tropes in a massive way, especially Thailand and especially GMMTV.

Like they tunneled in on damaging tropes with Bad Buddy and the like over the past 2 years, and now they are just having fun with us.

I mean they just started the dancing trope and already they are calling it out? That’s like rapid-fire regurgitated meta there, GMMTV.

5. Cameos are the norm now

Taiwan has always loved cameos but in the past the other countries have been show and steady with only one or two a year. (Unless Japan does a parody.)

This year Korea got in on the game.

Korea rarely starts trends but they do adopt smaller and lesser known existing ones and make them super popular.

This year they did that with cameo couple appearances, even borrowing a few of Thailand’s pairs (TutorYim and MaxNat traveled north). They did it so much I stopped tracking. Love Class 2, Why R U?, and Jun & Jun were the heaviest hitters.

Taiwan, of course, came back swinging. Kiseki was the gum-ball machine of pair cameos. (In Taiwan mafia = gay.)

6. We are entering the cross pollination age

The number of remakes picked up or started this year was startling, not just countries revisiting their own content (Thailand, Japan) but countries revisiting OTHER countries stuff.

Lemme explain...

Korea has started remaking Thai content (Why R U?) alongside cameo'ing Thai pairs.

Thailand is doing Korean IP (My Dear Gagster Oppa) and has 2 Chinese ones slated for next year.

GMMTV acquired a lot of Japanese IP (Cherry Magic, Ossen, and My Love Mix Up) - and then had problems distributing it.

This is probably the most surprising trend for me. Especially the Japanese stuff. I would have thought these properties well outside of Thailand's price range (even GMMTV's) not to mention Japan’s legendary IP issues (I swear I typed this pout before the pulled TayNew’s excellent Cherry Magic).

Also why not option some of the older popular manga instead? Bet that's much cheeper. (I did see a NEW Thai translation of Finder into Thai, which is 90s yaoi, so I have my fingers crossed on that front.)

I shouldn't be too surprised.

Thailand is running out of y-novel content. Their publication industry is just not robust enough (I was just talking to a friend about this at length recently). But I didn't think they had the funds to option, especially from Japan.

Perhaps the option deals are for peanuts?

7. Korea got cheeky

I’m not sure quite how else to put this.

After finally figuring out boys can kiss, Korea started to do not just higher heat but playful higher heat, with more aggressive word play and linguistic innuendo, like they are entering their racy rom-com teenage years (Why R U? Love Class 2 and Jun & Jun in particular.)

I guess: Welcome to your BL teens, Korea?

It’s cute of them. I am very much enjoying it.

And now that comedy is warming them up, we get to see them play with actual queer burgeoning physicality in shows like The 8th Sense.

It’s nice. I like seeing Korea stretch its wings. They still stick to their bubble, but that bubble seems to be expanding.

8. The Amnesia Trope is back

And I, for one, would prefer to forget about it.

9. BL got trendy

I’m not quite sure how to articulate this category but basically we started seeing a lot of “modern” romance trends out of the west (like a/b/o) show up in our BL. Not a ton and sometimes quite small, but there has a been a steady rise of things like: no seme/uke, femme gay, out gay, condom use, messy gay.

We also got an increasing range of sub genre frameworks (like mafia, office setting) that’s moved BL pretty firmly (even in Thailand) out of school and into the workplace, whether actual working is involved or not.

It’s not to the point where it feels like we get more non-school BL than school BL (if I include all countries in this assessment).

Japan, in classic Japanese fashion, quietly started moving in the opposite direction. It’s what they do.

10. The Vampires are coming

This is an announcement trend, which I don’t usually report on but it’s so CLEAR.

So last year we had a spate of announcements of possible Omegaverse (2 from China, 1 from Japan, 1 from Thailand - the only one that’s happened).

This year we got 5 Vampire (or vampire-esk) Thai BLs announced including one from GMMTV.

Whether all 5 will actually get made is unlikely, but having had (basically) none prior to this (Kissable Lips), I’m pretty confident that we will get at least 2 of them. And I wouldn’t be surprised if at least one other country made one as well. (Side eyes Taiwan with interest.)

Final thoughts

It feels like we are also seeing a decline in BL (both by quantity and quality) from Vietnam and the Philippines. As you all know, I don’t track or really watch either of these two very closely. But it feels like, now, no one else is either.

I think we have likely seen the BL heyday already in both places and their industries are now on the decline.

We might be witnessing a thinning in the players in the BL field.

FYI we had approximately

136 BLs in 2023

Previous Years

2022: 117

2021: 95

2020: 62

2019: 40

2018: 30

2017: 44 (China’s last gasp)

2016: 27

2015: 17 (50% micro)

2014: 17 (50% micro)

And that’s it! Let me know in the comments if you’ve spotted any additional trends you want to call out.

Last year, 2022′s trend report

2021′s Trend report

Last Year’s Stats & Predictions

(source)

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eddie-stinks-munson · 2 months

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Summer Depression- Eddie Munson

Prompt: Sharing Each Others Clothes Eddie Munson x Reader Word Count: 638 Tags: Fluff, Sad Sweetness (?) Reader is not gender specific, no y/n I don't think it's my best but my wife likes it

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The sun was setting and there was a crisp breeze to the air, fall was right on the horizon. You’d spent the entire summer causing chaos all over Hawkins with your friends, from dusk til dawn. Now that summer was coming to a close, you couldn’t help but feel a tinge of sadness begin to color your days.

You looked out over the lake, the sounds of your friends laughing and yelling in the woods behind you fading away as you got lost in your thoughts. Camping wasn’t your favorite activity, but you couldn’t think of a better way to close out the season than drinking and playing games with your friends, far away from the stresses of the real world.

A chill ran down your spine as a breeze blew by, pushing out what felt like the last of the summer heat, and welcoming in the cool night air. You quickly rubbed your hands up and down the length of your arms, trying in vain, to keep the heat from escaping.

You wanted to pretend that summer would never end, school would never come, and you could carry on- blissfully free of the responsibility and social conventions that came along with life going back to business as usual. As the cold settled in your bones, so did a sense of dread.

“You cold, Sweetheart?” A familiar voice called out from behind you, startling you out of your depressing ruminations.

“A little,” you replied, hugging yourself tighter and trying to suppress a shiver.

Eddie’s arms wrapped around you, engulfing your entire body in his warmth. You naturally melted into his embrace and sighed deeply. Taking in the scent that was so uniquely him: weed, campfire, and oreo cookies.

“More than a little,” Eddie mumbled, squeezing you tighter “Jesus Christ, you’re freezing.”

Before you could say anything, he was backing away and clumsily pulling his hoodie over his head. Only getting stuck for a minute in the process. You giggled as you watched, and Eddie playfully scowled, and gently threw the garment at you in a way that was so over the top you weren’t quite sure how he even managed to do it.

“I’m okay Eds, really,” you protested, involuntarily hugging the toasty material to your chest.

“I insist,” Eddie countered, “what kind of man lets his best friend freeze to death right in front of him.”

“Fine,” you conceded. Honestly there was little use in arguing with Eddie when he put his mind to something. Especially when it came to your safety or comfort.

You slipped the sweatshirt over your head, and let the hood conceal your eyes for a moment. Eddie’s laughter got closer, and you could feel his breath on your face.

“It looks good on you,” Eddie mused, gently taking the hood down, and looking at you with a soft smile.

You stared back up at him with the same tender fondness, “thank you.”

His deep brown eyes seemed to sparkle in the moonlight, and your bodies slowly gravitated toward each other, like the pull of the tides. Eddie’s hands gripped the hood as if it was the only thing keeping him tethered to this world as his lips ghosted over yours, and his breath tickled your nose.

You closed the distance between you, savoring the heat of his plush lips against yours. The kiss was soft, sweet, and filled with anticipation. Your heart fluttered in your chest and for a moment you’d forgotten how to breathe. When you pulled away, your foreheads stayed pressed together, the both of you frozen in time.

Still not daring to move- because if you moved you might wake up and this will all have been a dream- Eddie whispered, “I’ve been waiting all summer to do that.”

Maybe the end of summer wasn’t that bad after all.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #idk what else to tag this #Eddie Munson Fluff

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grandlinedreams · 11 months

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Hello!! Hope you’re well !! <3 if you’re still taking requests, can I request a cute scenario of reader who’s into crafts? Like she sews up shachi and penguin’s hats when they’re a little torn, she mends to the suits and makes patches for them time to time, and what law thinks of it? Would he want something too??? Would plushies that look like the heart pirate crew be scattered ???

Hope that’s not a weird idea, sending you good vibes and a good day !!

Oh, that's cute and not weird at all, no worries!! But i can absolutely do my best, I hope that this is to your liking!!

[Heads up!:fluff w a tiny pinch of angst, now i wanna find the materials to make mini Heart Pirates]

"Here's your hat back, Shachi."

Law watches from where he's slowly sipping his coffee, watching the redhead take the familiar cap back from you for inspection.

"Thanks, [name]. It looks good as new!"

You beam at the praise. "It was nothing, least I could do when it means so much to you."

Law's eyes drift over Shachi's hat. The hole that'd been torn into the dorsal fin is gone, previous damage unnoticeable as Shachi puts it on.

You'd fixed Penguin's hat the week before, mended something for Bepo before that, and for Hakugan the week before that ㅡ all within spare moments when you could find them, with a skill not born from a devil fruit.

No, your talent with needle and thread is your own. Sometimes Law wonders if you're ever tired of it ㅡ but when he asks, you shake your head.

"No, I don't mind. It's the least I can do, I think."

There's something sad to your tone as you say it, an undercurrent that makes Law frown and wonder what you mean by that.

ㅡ

"[Name]."

Law's call of your name makes you jolt, the case in your lap tipping to scatter the contents across the floor. Bobbins of every color wheel aimlessly, and you stare at the mess before you kneel to begin picking them up. "You startled me," you say, tone accusatory as you glance at Law. "Did you need something, captain?"

"My apologies." Law bends to pick up the few that have rolled to his feet before he hands them to you, fingers brushing yours. "I wanted to ask, ifㅡ" He catches a pop of color where you'd been sitting, and he blinks. "What is that?"

You follow his line of vision and tense. "Nothing!" You reach to hide it behind your back, and Law's eyes narrow.

"[Name]."

"It's nothing!" You scowl when Law lifts a hand. "Captain, don't you dareㅡ"

"Room. Shambles."

The item in your hand is replaced by a bobbin, and Law stares down at what you'd tried so hard to hide. It's made of soft fabric, tiny boiler suit carefully stitched ㅡ a small replica of Bepo.

"It's dumb," you say, voice small as you look anywhere but at your captain. "I know, but i had a bunch of space fabric so i...made mini versions of the crew. And...of you."

Law isn't sure how to react to the fact that there's currently a plush somewhere made in his likeness, but he still rubs his thumb over plush Bepo's forehead affectionately. "And you?"

"Hm?"

His eyes lock with yours. "Did you make one of yourself? You're part of the crew too, [Name]."

"Oh," you answer. "No, I didn't."

Law watches you, struggles with what to say to you that won't either make you both uncomfortable or breach the line of captain and crew member.

"Catch." He tosses plush Bepo to you gently, watches as you catch him before he continues. "Make sure to make one of yourself too, [Name]. You're important to this crew. And...to me."

You blink, toying with plush Bepo's arms. "Okay," you murmur. "I can do that." You watch as he moves to leave, what he'd originally come to ask you lost to the momentary embarrassment over his own words and feelings concerning you. "And captain?"

"Hm?"

"You're important to the crew too. And to me."

#ㅡmine.#one piece scenario #one piece x reader #trafalgar law x reader #law x reader #anonymous #ㅡanswered.#–ml: law.

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thechekhov · 9 months

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Dungeon Meshi Quick Reacts

Ch.26 (Red Dragon)

THEY'RE. SO. DANG. CUTE.

Damn these kids. I also love the fact that Falin has different hair as a child. Kids never changing their hairstyle as they grow into adults is such a storytelling pet peeve of mine.

Also: Laios at his most rambunctious? You mean now? Currently?

This man saw his son and daughter outside for half a second and already somehow knew they were up to shenanigans.

Oh no, he grabbed the wrong hand! How embarrassing. Hate it when that happens.

Bro, he's like 10, you need to find a better person to yell at.

That was solid. A konk on the head that came straight from the heart. The kind only a sibling can give.

.....th-thank you, pokedex junior...?

I would be thrilled if my kid knew how to ward off the undead! Well... I guess maybe thrilled is the wrong word for it.... There are certainly some complications to consider.

He's so cute. He's such a good brother!

HEY, THAT'S ILLEGAL.

Now that you mention it, healing magic stitching entire wounds closed so quickly would probably generate not only a lot of strain, but also heat, and also an insane amount of... well, if not pain, then at least itching on par with pain. That's SO MUCH REGROWTH.

Gotta give it to Marcille, she ain't bitching about things being weird now. Girl's FOCUSED.

Horrifyingly simple. I love it.

He really is just going to CoolAid man his way in there, huh.

But seriously, they're just walking on it! How are they slicing so cleanly? What about bones? They can just... what... cut between the ribs? What about the peritoneum or whatever? If they cut enough of that, wouldn't the innards start spilling out?

So Falin either wasn't eaten or... was already digested......but why would it be COMPLETELY empty?

It's not rested in THAT long... AND it fried up a bunch of Worgs and didn't eat them, now that I think of it. What's the use of killing prey and not consuming it, for a creature that has such a high caloric need?

Laios, mate, you good? Marcille is having an understandably stronger reaction to losing Falin but you're just... coping I guess?

You know, as someone familiar with ttrpgs this line of reasoning is solid. Resurrection spells need materials from the body to be effective. But to anyone else, this MUST be creepy as hell, right? Or am I overthinking?

................how do you even begin to come to terms with a death if there's nothing too big to come back from?

How is it that it's only NOW that I'm thinking of it?

#dungeon meshi #dungeon meshi quick reacts #chekhov reads dungeon meshi #delicious in dungeon #dungeon meshi liveblog

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moodymisty · 7 months

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[ 𝕸𝖔𝖔𝖉𝖞𝕸𝖎𝖘𝖙𝖞'𝖘 𝕸𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙 | 𝕬𝖔3 ]

Part 1 of ? - Part 2

Author's note: Hi! So multiple of you, COUGH @bispecsual COUGH incited the yandere Guilliman brain fungus, so here. This first part is mostly build up, the second half will have all the romance I just didn't want to make this some massive blob of a post with tons of timeskips. Enjoy.

Summary: Guilliman falls for the one person who's treated him like a man, and wants nothing more than for you to never leave him.

Relationships: Guilliman/Fem!Reader

Warnings: Yandere, Obsessive relationship and Guilliman using his power to manipulate and trap you, I don't have to tag age difference do I?

Word Count: 1837

Guilliman looks over the morning skyline of Macragge and takes a deep breath, before sighing.

He's pleased that it still looks familiar, after all of these years. Even if so much of the galaxy he once knew is almost unrecognizable. However he can still feel that even Macragge has also been brushed by the necrotic touch of this modern Imperium. It's inescapable now.

At least the view is still so peaceful. He enjoys this moment of quiet, before he becomes bombarded with every aspect of his Legion, and of the broader Imperium. He's surprised they've yet to begun doing so already.

It's just endless, all of it.

He can hear the hum of machinery and the droning noise of people speaking even at this early hour, and he partakes in it a moment more before he hears tiny footsteps behind him. Odd, no one comes to this area that he knew of, it's why he chose this spot.

When he turns to investigate, you spot him at the exact time he does you.

He doesn't recognize you; You're wearing ornate clothing befitting of someone of a higher stature, but your face is completely foreign to him. You completely freeze in place, and Guilliman supposes it's understandable. Your neck doesn't have to arch as severely to look him in the eyes from such a distance, though you still have to slightly.

Guilliman glances over you once more and notices you holding a myriad of parchment and other things in your arms. Study material.

He's stolen your spot, it seems.

"I should've supposed this place was already taken," He glances away for a moment and back towards the horizon. "It gives a good view." You look up at him, and he assumes you're surprised by his speaking to you. Many are, it makes even the most basic of communication frustrating now.

"...Yes, it does." You watch as he shifts slightly to the side, allowing you to come closer- if you choose.

As with most other humans in this modern Imperium he expects you to vehemently apologize for some imaginary offense against a god, to prostrate and kiss the floor before leaving him alone with his thoughts; Which leaves him surprised when you do not.

You hesitantly step closer, enough so that you can touch the railing that he also has an armored hand rested on. The Armour of Fate's gauntlets are ungainly and monstrous in comparison to your own hands, even as they rest so far away. Much of him is that way, towering over someone of the same species as him as he looks downward.

"I imagine it must be nice to see it again, after so long away."

He doesn't answer right away, and instead thinks for a moment.

He does miss many things, most of which are long gone- His mother, his real father, his brothers- but at least he can still enjoy the sunrise of his home after all of this time.

You however seem to take his silence as some sort of offense, and quickly begin to revert into speak that Guilliman has become more used to hearing from others in this recent time.

"I am so sorry Lord Guilliman, I-" He cuts you off before you have a chance to scurry away into a nameless mass of faces who have never given him this time of day.

"By all means, continue. I," Guilliman pauses for a moment. "I appreciate the casual conversation. It has been many years, and I would like to continue, if you don't mind."

You freeze for a moment, before Guilliman can see you noticeably relax. The fear of repercussion is gone from your mind, for the time being.

"Then, Lord Guilliman," You purse your lips for a moment, wetting them. You look out towards the sky, and he almost follows your gaze before he looks towards you upon hearing your voice.

"Do you think it's going to rain?"

Guilliman shifts in his armor, and for a moment laments that he still feels tired from his last attempt to take it off, before becoming lost in thought.

He never ask where you were from, that day. Or any of the meetings after. He had been so distracted by just enjoying his moment of humanity, that he'd forgone asking. To think he would be so distracted by such a menial thing, so drawn into someone who gives him something seemingly so simple.

As it has become a routine, and you've gone from nearing shivering from nervousness to smiling at him and laughing. He says plenty that is amusing to you, it seems. There isn't many moments now where you chest isn't shaking with silent laughter. He comes to you feeling at the end of his rope, and then leaves the place you both have claimed as your little secret smiling.

He oh so enjoys each little moment. He feels human. You just look at him, you don't look at his creation and his so called divinity.

He feels like Roboute. Not Lord Regent.

It's when he's leaning over this holotable, glancing around at thousands of little dots of interest, that he speaks the question to the man closest to him. Where you're from, your history. He wants to know anything there is to know.

When Guilliman speaks your name and description for clarity, of which he recollects perfectly, the Imperium priest is confused for a moment. He doesn't dare question why Guilliman is so interested in someone so seemingly random, and eventually collects himself enough to speak.

"Well, Lord Regent..."

Your father is in Macragge's high court, he says. He says his family name, but he can't put a face to it. They've either never met, or he put too little impression on him to bother remembering. Either way, he hums.

"Bring her here. I have something I wish to ask of her."

He freezes once more, for a moment. Though Guilliman takes rare enjoyment in his perceived godhood that the priest doesn't dare question such an odd request, and quickly scurries away to go fetch you.

In the moment of solitude, Guilliman continues looking at the holotable despite not absorbing any of it's information.

He is not going to let this opportunity slip him by.

Out of his short while in this new Imperium, he has found no one able to give him even a fraction of the feeling you've shown him. Even in this short time he knows that you are the one he wants beside him as we wades through all of this horror and mess, and he'll give you whatever you desire- or do whatever it takes- to keep you there.

He refuses to let this slip him by. He refuses to let you slip him by. If the universe won't give him his happiness, then he will take it himself. He deserves to be selfish just this one singular time.

He can hear the multiple footsteps before the door opens, and he's prepared himself to see your face again.

He needs to stay the way you know him. Any slip could mean you back away from him, and he doesn't know if his heart could take it after you've given him so much hope.

You stand between multiple guardsmen, your hands knit tightly together at your front. You look more on edge than when you'd first met, and he supposes he shouldn't be surprised. They probably just demanded you come with them to meet the Lord Regent and told you little else.

You could be going to your execution, for all you know. These guardsmen and his men in particular, whom you will be dealing much with shortly, lack the gentle finesse needed to treat someone like you properly.

He will treat you properly. He will make anyone you know pale in comparison, make the suitors you surely have fall to the wayside, once he bestows upon you a position and the respect you deserve.

He's in need of a diplomat. Or anyone that can adequately serve the role. He has little care of if you come from a family of such, you have the eloquent speech and attitude he needs for such a role. Your interest in languages and kind smile will help him momentously in repairing Ultramar in it's currently fractured state.

At least, that's what he tells himself. He knows that if he doesn't get you now, you might end up elsewhere, tasked under someone else and lost in the sea of the Imperium.

And he refuses to let you go.

"What do you need of me, Lord Guilliman?" He looks to you, and it's hard for him to keep his stoic expression.

"I suppose since we are familiar with one another, I can forgo the formal speech." He looks to the men that stand beside you, and the astartes that stand guard in the room as well.

"You all may leave. I wish to speak in private." The guardsmen leave without issue, but his men look at him oddly for a moment, before nodding their heads following suit. Once the door behind them closes, you step closer without the suffocation from his men all staring at you.

"I hope you do not mind the change in scenery; I know this is quite different than where we usually meet." His waroom is legions different than the gentle balcony where you both usually meet, though he hopes sending his men away calmed your suspicions a bit.

"But now that we are alone, I wish to speak with you." Guilliman glances away for a moment as he formats his words, trying to find the best way to voice his thoughts without startling you away. He has you so close, you can't pull back now. He won't allow it.

"I am in need of a diplomat. One that will serve at my side. In our conversations you have shown to be nothing short of the intelligent and kind woman I would need for such a role."

Your eyes are wide, and he sees the knot in your throat bob as you swallow. "Will you accept the offer?"

He knows you won't refuse it. He phrased it as a question, but no one would ever deny such a offer from him. He knows from your private conversations, you telling him of your passions and dreams, that you've longed for such a role. He'll give you exactly what you desire, and it brings you all the closer to him.

"I, I would be honored, Lord Guilliman." The moment those words leave your lips, Guilliman resists the urge to sigh in relief. Even though he had not a doubt in his mind you would say yes, it still makes his heart race.

He knew you were the perfect person for this, the perfect one for him- he would've hated having to use force in order to show you such, he doesn't want you to fear him the way others do.

"That is good." Guilliman smiles softly, and gestures for you to come closer with his left gauntlet.

"Then we have much to go over, if you would stay with me for awhile."

#roboute guilliman x reader #warhammer 40k x reader #primarch x reader #reader insert #reader #mywriting

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