#insecure john

[inevitably-johnlocked]

Hello!!! I have been pouring through all your recclists like crazy the last few months (I am a little hospitalized and bedridden)... I was wondering if you had anything where sherlock takes john for granted for an extended period of time, and then john responds somehow (either by standing up and leaving, or perhaps slowly having his self esteem drop.. either way some angst perhaps). much love!!

Hey Nonny!

First off, I hope you are alright <3 I am honoured that my blog is a source of happiness for you while you're resting <3

Ah, this is a good question, I can't really recall any fic directly, though you might enjoy these lists:

BAMF! But Insecure John

Insecure John

Insecure / Awkward John or Sherlock (Jan 2019)

Anyone able to offer up something more relatable for Nonny?

[girl-lostconnection]

New continuation to this

I’m sitting on the idea of Ghoap x Reader AU where Reader is Simon’s best friend that’s been with him since childhood, through thick and thin.

They leave together when they graduate, start renting a flat before Simon leaves for army which initially changes nothing. He still comes whenever he can, calls them pretty often, he’s there for Christmases (if they get leaves for it).

And then something changes. It’s nothing noticeable, he is just a little more distant, he’s slipping their Christmas for the first time instead inviting Reader to come out somewhere in Scottish Highlands (you decline partially because you are upset that he just cancelled out on you all of a sudden and partially you and Simon are two socially inept people and the thought of spending Christmas with bunch of people you don’t know is…well, not alluring).

And then at some point Simon introduces the shiny John (“Johnny”, practically purrs Simon and you feel your blood pressure rising) “Soap” MacTavish who’s beautiful and joyful and whose smile is infectious.

And you are cordial, trying to be friendly, trying to push down the “oh, so that’s who you spent Christmas with in Scotland” because it’s not fair to Simon, because Simon doesn’t owe you anything, you aren’t together after all.

And Soap is incredibly friendly, grinning wide, touchy in a way that overwhelms you at some point, discomfort probably evident because Simon pulls Soap away by the nape of his neck, growling that he needs to let you breathe.

And it would be better if Soap instead didn’t drape his hand over Ghost’s shoulders and god, you never were one to be jealous but for some reason (yeah, why is that, i wonder) you want to hole up somewhere and hide.

Part 1

[thundersoothers]

141 & insecurities

You know when someone makes a comment about something you can’t change about yourself and then you never forget it? Sometimes not even meanly, just as an observation of something you never noticed. And then you never forget. For example:

Your laugh is really loud. Can you quiet down?

Wow, you have a lot of hair on your arms and hands.

Your tits are different sizes, like. Significantly.

Oh, your pussy’s pretty fat. Is it swollen or does it just look like that?

Soap who notices you start to cover your mouth when you laugh. “What, am I not funny enough?” he asks you. “Where’s your giggles now, huh? C’mon, show me that smile.” When you finally laugh, loud enough to hurt his ears in a way that echoes so pleasantly, he grins wickedly. “That’s better. How am I supposed to know if I’m being funny if you’re all quiet?” He loves when you’re loud. It feels like winning when he makes you laugh. And it fucking feels triumphant when he gets you to scream his name as he fucks you.

Gaz who holds your hand so delicately and rubs his thumb over the back of your hand and the hair there, and runs his calloused palms up and down your arms, smoothing over your hair. He touches every part of your body, hair and all. Over your legs, your arms, your pussy. He’ll eat your cunt like it’s his last meal with any amount of hair. Full bush, baby, he can handle it. He doesn’t mind it. In fact, he doesn’t really notice it at all. It’s just you. And he happens to like all of you a whole lot.

Ghost who is obsessed with your tits. Both of em. The smaller one and the bigger one; the one that’s shaped nicely and the one that’s not as even. He doesn’t care. He doesn’t notice. Because tits. Perfect ones. Ones he’s allowed to touch and grab and suck on and bite—even if you smack at him after. Ones he stares at, almost hypnotized, when they bounce up and down as he fucks you. He comes home and lays between your legs, head on your stomach, with both arms reached up under your shirt to cup your boobs with rough hands, and he sleeps like a baby.

Price who grabs you by the hips and sits you and your fat cunt right on his face. He runs the head of his cock over the plush labia, spreading them open, and then sinking into your hot, wet pussy. “I can see your cunt through your leggings,” he says when you’re standing in front of him and he’s sitting on the bed, eye level with your crotch. You’re about to say you should change, but he breathes, “Christ, that’s sexy.” He notices what you look like because he wants to get a face full of your pussy so he can draw it from memory when he’s away. He doesn’t care—why would he? It’s hot. You’re beautiful. You’re his. He loves it. He loves you.

[purplespacecats]

one thing that fascinates me about jod is that this man literally recreated society from scratch and in doing so drastically expanded gender roles to the point that there seems to be more overlap than not

but he still is ashamed and somewhat defensive about having played with barbies as a kid. when admitting this to a child of his society who doesn't even know what a barbie is

[hey-hey-j]

spent a whole day on this only to decide in the end that I don't like it that much 🫠🫠 Ah well here it is anyway

(★ my Kofi)

[felsicveins]

Shot through the heart, and you're to blame, darling you give love a bad name

[torchlitinthedesert]

There’s something very strange about Paul’s usual “how John and I started writing” narrative. Here’s how he likes to describe it:

Me and John knowing each other, the fact that both of us independently had already started to write little songs... I said to him, “What’s your hobby?” I said, “I like songwriting,” and he said, “Oh, so do I.” You know, no one I’d ever met had ever said that as a reply. And we said, “Well, why don’t you play me yours and I’ll play you mine.” GQ, 2020

It’s my impression that this is now in the rotation of Paul Stories - I think he says it in McCartney 3,2,1, and in other interviews. Is it true? The earliest accounts contradict it:

“Paul’s first public performance, as a member of the Quarrymen, was at a dance… later on, after the dance, he played a couple of tunes to John he had written himself. Since he’d started playing the guitar, he had tried to make up a few of his own little tunes. The first tune he played to John that evening was called ‘I Lost My Little Girl’. Not to be outdone, John immediately started making up his own tunes.”

Hunter Davies, The Beatles, 1968

“‘I learned a lot from Paul. He taught me quite a lot of guitar really. He knew more about how to play than I did and he showed me a lot of chords. I’d been playing the guitar like a banjo so I had to learn it again. I didn’t write much material early on, less than Paul, because he was quite competent on guitar. I started to write after Paul did a song he’d written.’”

John Lennon to Ray Connolly, unpublished interview, 1970*

"He used to write songs before I even started writing songs."

John Lennon, St Regis interview, 1971

*[The Connolly quote is weaker as a source, because was published after John’s death (and he quotes it slightly differently: “I started to write after Paul did a song he’d written” is in Connolly’s John biography, but not in the version in his collected Beatle journalism). But it fits with the other accounts.]

Still, Paul’s version might have some truth in it. Mark Lewisohn cites a couple of 1971 interviews where John remembers trying to write a calypso song, tapping into a brief craze of spring 1957. I don’t know if he finished it, or told anyone about it. None of the Quarrymen mention it, while Pete Shotton told Bob Spitz that John was “floored” when Paul first played him one of his own songs. But the calypso story does make “so do I” seem more possible.

It’s still surprising that Paul wants to frame it this way. He’d be justified in pointing out that songwriting was his innovation, something he brought to the band. By any measure, he’s the one who started it: when he met John, he’d already written the melody of When I'm 64, plus Suicide and I Lost My Little Girl. And he was always prolific. As John told David Sheff, talking about I’ll Follow The Sun, “he had a lot of stuff”, “written almost before the Beatles, I think.” He was the one pushing to do their own material, whether that’s talking it up to music promoters or suggesting In Spite of All The Danger at their first amateur recording session. (To me, that suggests that Lennon-McCartney was established later than they tended to admit. In Spite of All The Danger, recorded in 1958, has George as cowriter; if Paul had written anything with John, I bet that's what he'd have suggested they record. And if John on his own had written something that was ready to record, they’d definitely have picked that. )

In the 1950s, writing your own material was groundbreaking: it’s part of the huge cultural shift into the 1960s. There were hundreds of skiffle/rock’n’roll bands in Liverpool, but it’s genuinely possible that Paul was the only songwriter among them. Why isn’t that the story he wants to tell?

When Paul started defending his legacy in the late 1980s, he was fighting against specific distortions. First, that he was the middle-of-the-road conservative one - which is why he lays out his avant garde credentials. So you’d think he’d want to remind everybody that he wrote songs first. But second, he’s up against the idea that he and John didn’t love each other, that they didn’t write together, that Lennon-McCartney was a myth. Paul is a rock star, with an ego to match; he’s not given to downplaying himself. But he wants the partnership more than he wants precedence, even more than he wants credit for innovation.

And he always did. Remember the story about John sharing half his chocolate bar? Paul joined the band, and shared half his songs.

He didn’t need to: he was already writing alone. If he wanted help, George was more musically accomplished, and would have been a more logical choice for a songwriting partner. But it's John whose attention and praise Paul needed, John who had the authority to say they’d play Paul’s songs, John who needed to feel like the most important person in the band. Becoming Lennon-McCartney formalises all of that. And Paul is still true to it.

Across decades, Paul has been consistent about promoting their partnership as a partnership, regardless of who did what. (This isn’t true of John, who by the late 1960s was eager to break down who wrote which song, which lyric, which middle eight.) After working with George Martin on the string arrangement for Yesterday, Paul signed the score: “"Yesterday" by Paul McCartney John Lennon George Martin Esq and Mozart.” Even as a joke, you don’t separate Lennon and McCartney. Ken Mansfield asked Paul why songs were “Lennon-McCartney” when John hadn’t been there for the writing process:

And Paul said: “John and I are so close to each other, we’ve been through so much together, we understand each other so much, our relationship is so deep, that when we’re songwriting,” he said, “even if I’m 6,000 miles away, I can be working on something and I can hear John over my shoulder going, ‘No, no, no, that’s not gonna work; why don’t we do this?’ Or ‘Hey, I like this.’” He said, “So, in essence, to me, we’re songwriting together even if we’re not together.”

Ken was asking about Ob-La-Di Ob-La-Da, not realising that John was there for that one: they worked on it in India. But rather than giving a practical answer, Paul chooses to frame the partnership as a profound connection. (Of course there are other times Paul insists on or overstates his contribution, or gets petty about who did what. He’s human, and he’s an egomaniac. But always, always within the framework that this was a partnership.)

Fundamentally, he’s loyal to Lennon-McCartney. “So do I” matters more to him than going first. It might not be literally true, but it's the emotional truth that he needs.

[adharastarlight]

Sirius: would you still love me if-

Remus: yes.

Sirius: I didn't finish

Remus: I'd still love you if you were bald, if you were two inches tall, if you were a worm, if you were a dragon. I'd still love you even if you repeatedly woke me up at 3am to ask me if I'd still love you

Sirius: you would?

Remus: yes, but I also might kick you. Go to fucking sleep

[alkaline-wtr]

Soap x reader

Description: Reader is jealous of Soaps new coworker.

Generes/warnings: Insecure!reader, Jealousy, angst, technical fem!reader but no specifics or appearance is mentioned, oneshot

WC: 580 (ish)

** 1000% based on real events in my life… Hahahahahaha 🥲

~ ~ ~

‘Comparison is the thief of joy.’

This saying had never felt more true to you than it did now. Why though? It’s not like your lovely boyfriend had been unfaithful?

Soap was loyal, kind, and attentive, and yet somehow your own mind had convinced you otherwise.

It had started as a joke, a halfhearted one, a way to cope with creeping jealousy. When Soap first mentioned the new girl at work, you’d thought nothing of it. You’d never had any reason not to trust him, even now. But that nagging voice in the back of your mind pestered you relentlessly.

One Afternoon, he’d mentioned a fleeting conversation between them and Ghost, he’d only intended to share his joke, hoping to make you smile and feel a part of his day. Before you could stop your self the snarky comment slipped out,

“Oh, you mean your work girlfriend?”

You tried to sound playful, but deep down it wasn't just a joke.

Soap chuckled, brushing it off in his usual manner. With him, nothing was ever too serious.

From then on it became a running joke between you. You would say,

"Ask your other girlfriend then."

After he'd teased you, claiming you 'didn't love him' when denying his request to install a trampoline in your living-room, or adopt an exotic animal from a local zoo. Sometimes you really did mean to joke but, as the words sank deeper into your mind it was harder to force out a smile.

'His other girlfriend.’ At least that’s what you referred to her as. Even her name left a bitter taste on your tongue. The hint of jealousy was easily shoved down in the beginning. After all, how could you not like someone you’d never met or seen?

It wasn’t until he invited you to the pub with his teammates one night, and you’d witnessed their interactions first-hand that you couldn’t ignore it so plainly. The ease of jokes and teasing conversation between them. But Soap? Well, he’s just like that with everyone.

"There you go making messes again, Johnny."

Ghost had nudged him after Soap spilled a bit of his drink on the bar, as she handed him a couple napkins and teased,

"Should we find you a sippy cup?"

You’d never felt this way, in the year you’d been together, jealous or insecure.

It was a gentle love from the start. He’d made you feel seen, heard, desired. Making sure you always knew how special and important you were to him. He gave you sense of security you'd never known. So why did it feel like he was slipping away now?

She was nice… and you hated that. The involuntary bitterness you felt for her left a pit of guilt in your stomach.

She didn’t deserve your judgment. She’d never crossed a line, never disrespected your boundaries. You only hated her because she was pretty, thin, funny… You hated her because she wasn't you.

The recurring nightmares were the heaviest burden.

This woman you barely knew… was somehow plaguing your mind and she’d done nothing wrong.

You hated how easily your mood changed on those mornings. Even the dreams were fairly innocent. Sharing flirty glances, Soap brushing his hand with hers.

It was nothing more than your own self-loathing manifesting in your most vulnerable state, painting a picture of betrayal and infidelity. When really your own mind was the only one haunting you.

Maybe it’s just easier to blame someone else than confront the harsh reality, you don't value yourself.

Regardless of the awareness of your own self-loathing, you shoved it down and continued the inside joke with a smile.

[eyelambspider]

hey I love ur writing.

Can you please do like any other the cod men x a chubby reader who's rlly self conscious and stuff??

idk it's rlly self indulgent

ty ♡ and its alright, I write readers like this! as for the characters and content, i sort of put a bit of everything for you soooo- here ya go!

♡ Hold You || COD Hcs

┊pairing : gn!reader x price, gaz, soap, ghost ┊content warning : fluff, hurt/comfort, nsfw, angst ┊a/n : the last hc zaps my brain so fiercely

soap! unprompted would always compliment you. its assurance, sure, but he genuinely loves your body.

soap! will always steal glances at your hips, waist, arms and hands. he would love physical affection in anyway. cuddling, or always having a hand on you gently. (it happens so often that he doesn't even notice he's doing it)

soap! is speaking to someone but his fingers are gently rubbing formless circles on your thigh or brushing his knuckles against your soft hands as if he wants to hold it.

price! would love your thighs. to feel them warming his ears and over his shoulders, his face nestled in your heat and savoring you with his tongue.

price! doesn't let you try to squirm away or try to hide if your shy. his hands are always on your hips and sides, skimming up under your shirt to feel your stomach.

the taskforce men who especially love to trace the stretchmarks on your skin. fingertips gently marveling at how soft the skin is.

ghost! just picking you up like nothing despite your worried protests. his hands sliding under your thighs and ass to hoist you up onto a counter to kiss you and smother your mumbles.

ghost! likes when you wear what you like. he might not say much when he first catches you wearing a shirt that's not baggy and actually fits you well. his brown eyes always linger a bit too long in their usual 'nonchalant' manner before they soften, like he's smiling under his mask.

gaz! this man would love sleeping with you. you are the warmest damned thing he's ever held and it shouldn't surprise you when you wake up the morning to have him practically laying on you. his head on your chest or stomach, arms on either side of you and body between your legs.

gaz! has boundless patience and time solely for you when you're having a really bad day. crying and so unsure about your body and how you look. anything you need, he'll get it for you. sitting with you, tucking a blanket around both of your laps and letting your head rest on his chest until your mind is off of it. whisper assurances that you're perfect into your temple... but most importantly, just hold you close.

(with love from @lady-boketto) ghost! sending you a video of him bench pressing your weight when you try to worry about him carrying you all the time.

[miyagic]

Scars and Stars

Remus Lupin x reader

SUMMARY: You and your best friends help Remus with his insecurities, his scars, making them easier to love.

MARAUDERS MASTERLIST

a/n: you don't have a defined house, but it's kind of implied that you're in Gryffindor. Marauders friendship >>.

w/c: 1,2k

English is not my first language, sorry for any mistakes.

REMUS looked at himself in the small mirror in his dorm shared with his best friends, he thought he looked disgusting.

Disgusting, disgusting. Looking at him is disgusting. There are so many ugly, horrible scars that pollute his face. But he got used to it a little, never having had a face without his scars.

Somehow, he really doesn't know how, he found a girlfriend, who loves him and who he loves, in some way he doesn't understand. But he can't help but think he's a nuisance, that he's going to hurt her one day. After all, he is a monster, a dangerous monster.

He can even hurt his friends, his family. And those ugly scars all over his body are just proof of that.

And then he is taken from his numb form in front of the mirror, with a soft slam of the door, as James closes it.

"Moony? Are you okay?" James regretted it as soon as the words left his mouth, it's obvious that he's not okay.

"Uhum" Remus shakes his head, tired.

"Moons, do you want me to call [Nickname]?" James asks, worried, then Sirius and Peter enter the dorm and quickly notice the tension, falling silent.

"No" Remus didn't want to bother you, it would be ridiculous for you to stop anything, just for a person like him, a monster.

"Are you sure? I know she would love to come and she certainly doesn't mind" Peter tries again, knowing that Remus needed her. That doesn't mean Remus doesn't need the other Marauders, he does. But right now, he needs all of his best friends.

But Remus didn't want to accept help now.

"I'm sure" he said somewhat aggressively.

"Remus, you know you're beautiful, right?" Sirius spoke for the first time.

But Remus let out a disbelieving chuckle, as if Sirius were joking.

"It's true, moony" Peter smiled, placing a hand on his shoulder.

"It is, moony, you're hot, you know who else thinks that?" James smiled widely, putting his arm around his shoulders.

Remus shook his head, "no one" Sirius raised an eyebrow, standing behind him, who was sitting.

"You're kidding, right? All Hogwarts thinks you're hot, have you ever seen how they look at you?"

"I don't care about them" he only cares about what his friends think, but he cares so much about what you think, and even though you always show and say that you think he's beautiful, he can't believe that that's possible.

You'll probably end up leaving him, and he will not blame you, it will be his fault for sure.

"I'll call [Name], you know you need her too" Peter said, squeezing his shoulder, but waiting for him to consent. To which Remus just shakes his head slightly. So Peter went in search of you.

———★———

YOU folded a blouse, placing it on your dresser, today is your tidying day. It seemed like you had already done so much, but the pile of clothes still waiting to be stored prove otherwise.

You pick up another blouse, starting to fold it, but your work is interrupted by someone knocking on your dorm door. You get up and open it, seeing Lily Evans standing in front of you.

"Lily, hey. How are you?" You smiled at her.

"Hey [Name]! I'm fine and you? Peter asked me to come here and get you, since he can't go up" Lily smiles back, she's such a cutie.

"I'm fine too. Do you know what he wants?"

"He didn't told me, but he seemed in a bit of a hurry."

"Ah, okay then, I'll go there" you smile and head out the door, leaving with Lily.

"Peter, hi" you hug him, “did something happen?”

"Yes, it happened, Remus it's sad again" he whispered, hugging back.

"Get it, is he in your dorm?", as soon as Peter responds "aham" they both went in the direction of the marauders' dorm.

Peter opens the door and lets you in first. You head towards Remus, Sirius and James with Peter behind you.

“Rem, hi” you hug him, giving waves to the other boys, who wave back.

You break the hug and look at him carefully, Remus looks so tired. Then you move to his side, facing away from James, who stands behind you.

"Do you know what I see?" Remus doesn't answer, even though the answer is obvious in his head.

"a horrible monster that can kill anyone in this room because of a simple and stupid moon."

"A brave boy, who deals with his problems, instead of running away" you pass the turn to James.

"A boy who loves his friends more than anything and would do anything for them" James nudges Sirius to speak.

"A boy who is always there when anyone needs"

"A boy who takes on a friend's blame when he needs it, but also corrects him when necessary" Peter spoke last.

"And I think we can all agree that you are perfect in your own way, and that, those scars" touch his face, "just prove how good, brave, kind, important and all the other good adjectives, that you are" Remus eyes glistened with tears, "and if you want to know, they make you, our moony" all the remaining marauders smile, knowing what would come next.

"And everything for our moony" they speak in perfect tune.

Remus lets a tear fall, which makes everyone embrace in a loving and caring group hug.

They stayed like that for a moment, before Sirius had an idea and pulled out of the hug. Sirius then searches his bedside table, pulling out a quill and an inkwell.

"You know, you love the stars," Sirius begins, smiling cutely. "Then you should love your body" you all release Remus and he dips his quill in the inkwell and carefully draws a star on a particularly large scar on Remus' arm.

Remus looked ecstatic, eyes still bright with tears. Sirius hands the quill to James, who draws another star, more clumsy, on another scar, but on his shoulder. Afterwards, James hands it to you, who draws another one, in his hand. Finally, you hand it to Peter, who draws a perfect star on the scar on his collarbone.

Remus lets another tear fall, not taking his eyes off the scars with a small star drawn on them, they looked less ugly now. In fact, they didn't look bad at all. But Remus feels he needs more little stars.

Then, hesitantly, Remus points to the scar that runs across his nose "can you draw one here too? And.. a few more" it was strange to see Remus shy around you all, but it seemed normal at this moment and none of you cared.

"Of course" Peter draws the little star and then gives the quill to Sirius again, who draws another one and hands the feather to you who also draws one.

And so you spend the afternoon, drawing stars on Remus' scars and he really wonders what he did to deserve such friends.

At the end of the day, Remus became the star man, full of drawn stars. And Remus loved the stars, which made him love his scars.

His scars are full of stars and his stars are full of love.

——————✮——————

[on-a-lucky-tide]

Do we know how Price came to his hat?

How about Nik gave it to him shortly after they met, because young Price got horribly sunburned on his face and neck, the translucent (and at that time not yet so freckly) fucker. He kept it every since. It's practical! It's only because it's practical, you see. No other reason.

Nik POV: That's my ha- nevermind, I'll never get it back (insert budding feelings accompanied by possessive pride that Price wears some of his)

Fuuuck, I love this so much. I usually have the cigar habit as something Nik gave him, but this is equally as delicious.

Maybe they were conducting an op in the middle east somewhere. It was a dry heat out in the desert so Price didn't notice it as much. He was used to the clammy, uncomfortable heat we get in the UK. To him, that's heat, the kind that makes you soak through your shirt at the back, under your arms, under your damn tits.

The dry desert crept up on him and while he absolutely recognised the importance of maintaining himself properly so that he didn't jeopardise their mission, he had been single-mindedly focused on everyone and everything else besides. He didn't realise he was dehydrated until he started getting dizzy while looking over a map with Mac and Nik.

Mac took one look at him and grunted. "When's the last time ye took a pish?"

Price couldn't fuckin' remember, could he? He looked at his captain stupidly, dry mouth sticky and cloying.

"Fer fuck sake, g'wan back tae the tent, ye dafty. If ah see ye out here before ye've sunk a litre, ah'll skelp ye. Nik, get him outta my sight."

So, Nik walked Price back to the tent they were storing a few crates worth of explosives in and sat him down with a Camelbak full of cold water. Once Price started drinking, he couldn't stop, it was possibly the best thing he had ever tasted in his bloody life. It didn't matter that half of it sloshed down his stubbled chin onto his shirt.

"Ah, ah, take it easy, lieutenant," Nik said, placing one of his big hands over Price's wrist. "You will make yourself sick." He smiled big, unabashed, and Price looked at himself in those mirrored aviators with a faint scowl. It was unreasonable how good-lookin' Nik was in a backwards khaki patrol cap and sunglasses. Shouldn't Russians burn in the heat? They were fifty percent snow, weren't they?

"'m fine," Price sniffed, always a little defensive around Nikolai, and now feeling extra sensitive after getting bollocked in front of him.

He hated that Nik made him feel his age. Twenty-three was young for a lieutenant but it was never usually a problem. People saw his scores, his records, his medals even now, and they forgot his age. But Nik had a way of reminding Price that, while he was looking up swearwords in the French dictionary at school to try and impress Tracy from class 9B2, Nik was already flying Sukhois and learning fifty ways to kill a man.

Nik nodded and they sat in silence for a while. Price's eyes wandered to the tent flap, and he was returning to the map in his mind when Nik's fingers, cool from where they had been holding the water bottle, touched his ears. They felt like shards of ice. "Ah, wossat fer, ya muppet?" He grumbled.

Nik's grin grew a little wider. "Your ears have burned, and the back of your neck."

"Fuck sake, I put factor fifty on this mornin'..." Price traced his fingers from his ear down his neck. The burning stopped at the line of his shemagh, which had offered some protection, even soaked in sweat.

"Da, but you are... hmm, svyetlokozshee, uh.." Nik's eyes flicked back and forth as if reading from an internal dictionary, "ah, fair-skinned."

It was damn impressive how he did that. His file had said eight languages. English was number eight. Mac had said something about mensa international having a file on Nik too. Too intelligent to be slumming it in the desert with the SAS, and yet here he was.

The way Nik said fair-skinned sounded far too fond and Price's skin would be blushing if it wasn't already red. He decided not to examine the reaction too closely. Price touched his ears gingerly, and scrunched his nose. "Great."

"You must look after yourself, lieutenant. You are the most valuable asset here." Nik dropped his pack from his shoulder and began rummaging through. He pulled out a roll of khaki and shoved it into Price's hands. When Price unrolled it, he puffed a laugh.

"A boonie hat, you jossin' me?"

Nik looked at him blankly.

"Oh, uh... Takin' the piss, as in, I'm gonna look like a twat if I wear this."

Nik rolled his shoulders in an 'eh' shrug that made Price want to shove the hat in his mouth. "You will look like a twat if you faint in the heat and the captain has to carry you out under fire."

Price licked the salt from his lips, fixing Nik with a long stare, hating the fact that he was right more than he hated the boonie hat. "Fair," he said, finally. He unrolled it, flattened out the brim, and shoved it on his head, picking up the water bottle for another long drink.

Nik watched him, eyes invisible behind his aviators, but Price was sure he was... admiring. Just felt it. Nik always looked at him in ways like that. Fuck knows why. "Wot?" Price asked, wiping his mouth on the back of his wrist.

"Hm, just... an echo of tomorrow."

"You are bloody odd, Nik."

"Da," Nik conceded, slapping his knees before he rolled to his feet. "I will tell the captain you are almost ready. Two hundred and fifty more millilitres to go, such a good boy."

A shiver of something not entirely unpleasant ran down Price's spine, and he growled. "Just for that I'm gonna tip it on the floor."

"No, you will not." Nik didn't even look back as he walked out of the tent.

Price scowled, flashed his middle finger at Nik's back, and drank the last quarter of a litre as petulantly as he could muster. "Fuckin' wanker..."

[twinklefoxes]

If I hadn’t read this with my own two eyes in A Study in Scarlet, I’d have thought it was a line from AO3.

[darkroomalleycat]

[tibby]

like. something that really struck me during saw x is the stark difference in the way amanda treats male subjects vs female ones, and it's something that's also very apparent in ii and iii. she's kinder to the women and wants them to win - and even when she's playing the role of the docile taunting apprentice, she has fun with it. like it's flirting for her. it's definitely something that lends credibility to lesbian readings of amanda (something i am always shocked isn't like, canon) but it's also very...heavy, given the way men have treated amanda all her life. john and hoffman and cecil and her father in the original saw iii script. what amanda knows from men is manipulation and violence and i think it's a very powerful feeling for her, to get to be the one making men scared of her. i don't think she enjoys watching people suffer, but i think she enjoys not being the victim for once in her life.

it's also important that the two women involved in games she helps orchestrate that she DOESN'T feel sympathy for or find any connection with are kerry and cecilia. kerry, who was close to eric matthews and wanted him to be alive and well even AFTER finding out that he was violent and corrupt and planted evidence. and cecilia, who preyed on desperate and innocent people and either conned them or manipulated them into doing her bidding. women who either allowed her to be harmed or harmed people like her.

and god. it kills me that amanda is able to see herself in gabriela and recognise that cecilia manipulated her and used her as a pawn. but she isn't able to see that john, like so many men in amanda's life before him, is doing the exact same thing.

[georgeharrisonsmiling]