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scarlet-empresss · 3 months

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Simon Riley x reader relationship headcanons Sooo after nearly seven years of being a mostly inactive member of the fandom, writing countless fics that nobody ever got to see - I can say I’ve developed a fairly clear picture of how I envision some of these characters. Therefore, here are some of the things I think would characterize Simon as a partner (and a few of just him as a person). English is not my first language so please bear with me :)

Friends first. I feel like he's not one to rush into a serious relationship without having strong foundations laid out first. You're a trustworthy, longtime teammate he's been working with for years, who has seen his darkest side and inner demons resurface, and still be accepting of him as a person? Or perhaps you're a civilian working at the coffee shop he frequents; the same civilian who spilled his usual at him one time, leading to an unexpected, but most certainly intruguing friendship? Let's fucking roll with either.

Following the first point—he's not a 'love at first glance' type of guy. He needs a connection, a spark; that spark that comes from knowledge and insight, both gained through meaningful interactions and a genuine bond. This is what Simon seeks. (Bonus points if you're a medic/nurse, because, you know, I fucking love medic x soldier trope)

Now let's get to the love language—definitely acts of service. You're tired after a long day at work? Boom, you've got a nice and hot bath waiting for you, together with your favorite snacks and a glass of wine/book to read (could be both). Running low on essentials, be it your favorite type of coffee, a preferred perfume, tampons, the likes? Well, expect it to be restocked as soon as possible. He'll change the oil in your car, scrape the frost from the windows, anything you as much as mention. If you're sick, he'll do whatever makes you feel better, whether that's a warm compress or something as simple as a bowl of soup and a couple of ice packs. He wants to take care of you. He might not be an expert at expressin his feelings through words, but he'll damn sure cook you a three-course meal and a dessert to show you how much he appreciates you.

That being said, he's an exceptional cook. He doesn't have many opportunities to experiment in the kitchen during deployments or safe houses, but you can be sure that Simon is behind the pots and pans preparing mouthwatering meals whenever he's back home. It's relaxing, and he simply enjoys spending time cooking for you and himself.

Not into excessive PDA - hand holding is okay, but when you two are in a crowd (which he hates), there's a hand on the small of your back or lingering on the back of your neck. Behind closed doors, he's more openly affectionate. Whether you're simply making a sandwich in the kitchen or he breezes past you, he's likely to stand behind you and simply rest his chin on the top of your head, rough hands on your hips, or when you two are sitting on the couch, his arm is either around you or resting on your thigh.

Non sexual intimacy is a big yes; head scratches, hand holding, shoulder rubs, baths together, or anything of the sort. But there's one thing that melts him completely and that's when you kiss his eyelids. If you're his teammate and you're in a relationship, he will appreciate you helping him out of his gear, washing the dirt and grime off his hands or helping him apply the camouflage paint on his face.

He may call you "love" or "sweetheart," but he attempts to restrict these terms of endearment primarily behind closed doors. He's not exactly fond of overtly cutesy pet names either, so he appreciates the occasional "Love" or "Si," but he draws the line at anything more ostentatiously affectionate. "Don't ya ever call me pookie again, got it, sweetheart?"

Wanna wake up before that man? Yeah, good luck with that. He's a proper, bona fide early riser, an early bird, prepared for the day well before the rays reach the horizon. It's like clockwork, a routine that's been ingrained into his circadian rhythm, something that governs his inner system. If he's not out on a morning jog, he'll lie on his side of the bed, staring at you, silently admiring. Oh, and he'll know if you wake up and pretend to be still asleep.

Simon values the power of silence. Quiet as he may be at certain times, this man is not indifferent; he's an observer. He considers observation as a means of learning and appreciates the sheer volume of knowledge that can be gleaned from the study of behaviors, facial expressions, and other body language cues. Furthermore, a comfortable silence may be the strongest indicator of the powerful connection between two people. That's how he knew there was truly something special between you and him.

HOWEVER. The previous point doesn't right away mean that he despises talking. Sure, he's not one for an idle chit-chat, but I feel like it’s a very frequent idea that he’s the brooding and sullen type who prefers grunting over speaking, kinda like Daryl Dixon (that's a huge compliment to Simon). I’d say, Simon is somewhere in between—more of a ‘I speak only when I want to/have something really meaningful to say’. If he's got something on his mind, he'll let you know. And, surprisingly, he has a way with words like the smoothest motherfucker ever.

Not surprisingly, he's a bit of a softie when it comes to animals, especially dogs. Not one to baby-talk when he sees a dog, he merely offers gentle pats on its head or side (if he's more familiar with the dog, I see him petting it like dads do lol). He’s also very careful about the animals and makes sure not to touch one without asking the owner first. As for service dogs, he's especially careful, keeping a safe distance and showing due respect for their role.

You know you're gonna have a K9 at your home when you get with this man.

He's not a fan of surprises or gifts, because he wasn't raised in a family full of hugs and "I love you's" or selfless acts of affection. He struggles to convey his gratitude in the conventional manner, so it's often expressed, albeit indirectly, through acts of service. No matter what it is that you've gifted him, he's grateful for the thought and consideration all the same.

But you better believe he will surprise you in turn. He goes out of his way to procure anything and everything you so much as mention wanting, be it a trivial trinket or something more significant. He's always listening, always paying attention.

Not very into verbal compliments, but his eyes speak an entire novel about how he feels about you. Gentle glances, lingering stares, and silent admiration. He might not be overtly forthcoming with his praise, but one look is worth more than a thousand words.

Big spoon. He's a tad bit paranoid about having his back vulnerable—much like a cat and its exposed belly. It has nothing to do with trust—as he does trust you. It's merely a product of his inner paranoia, though there's a touch of protectiveness in there, too. Beacuse he'd much rather have you enveloped in his arms, ensuring him the sensation of protecting you with his whole body. Perhaps with time he would let you spoon him, but I wouldn't count on it early on in the relationship.

He's territorial, not in a jealous, envious, or controlling sense but rather in a protective and defensive manner. He doesn't like men or women making advances on you, especially unsolicited physical contact or overt flirting. While he won't try to be overbearing or overly assertive, he will make it abundantly clear that such behavior is uncalled for and unacceptable.

civilian!reader - get ready for some self-defense lessons. He'll ensure that you know basic moves that can give you the time to escape a dangerous situation. Simon is well-versed in the brutality of the world, and he won't sugarcoat anything. If you're in danger, you run; if you feel something's wrong, you run. He can't always be there to protect you. So he's drilled this mantra into your brain: no matter how strong, tough, skilled you think you are, you simply can't trust that your enemy won't wield a knife or gun.

But one of the very first things he's given you even before you two became a couple was a can of pepper spray.

He's a direct, straight to the point man, which is why he has no time for beating around the bush. There's no awkward tip-toeing with hints that may go unexplored, no subtle suggestions that may fall flat—he's all in. Whether it's on a mission, in bed, or an argument, Simon lays it all on the line because you're worth it. He will commit to you wholeheartedly, leaving nothing on the table, giving you everything he has to offer because you deserve nothing less.

You fell first, but he fell harder—this man adores you. Although he's not mushy, he won't shower you with affection and cute nicknames all the time, he loves you. And when Simon Riley loves someone, you can be damn sure he means it. His loyalty knows no limits and once he's attached to you, he'll never let go. He'll go through and beyond any lengths to make sure you're happy and safe.

Though he might not openly admit it, he likes it when you take the initiative, whether it's in bed, in your relationship, or just life in general. He values your opinions and respects and acknowledges your boundaries, and makes sure to let his own boundaries and needs be known as well. So, step up and make yourself heard, cause he will listen.

He values honesty highly and has a razor-sharp bullshit detector. Can smell bullshit from miles away, actually. Therefore, never, ever lie to him. Because he will uncover the truth, one way or another. Lies are the one thing that can shatter his trust beyond repair, making it a cardinal sin in his eyes. So, don't shy away from telling him the truth—no matter how difficult or inconvenient or painful it may be.

Now it gets a bit complicated here, because while he expects honesty from his s/o, Simon himself holds back some things. These are largely related to his past or the missions he has been on, the things he has seen. He doesn't want to lie to you, but he does it to protect himself and you. You just have to accept the fact that there are certain things he won't ever tell you.

Is capable of being absolutely terrifying without even trying, let alone when he wants to be. His height, muscles, and scars are a force to be reckoned with. So you don't have to be worried about going on a walk with him in the middle of the night or wearing something a bit more revealing, cause he will beat the living shit out of anyone who dares to touch you.

Absolutely no one can defeat him in arm wrestling or even come close to his grip strength.

Very awkward around babies, and I mean extremely awkward. Like Jane Smith holding a baby in Mr&Mrs Smith. He doesn't know a flying shit about caring for children, especially since he didn't have a positive parental influence growing up or any good role models. The subject of starting a family is still a bit sore; though he would likely grow more open to discussing it as time goes on. Still, a major aspect of his psyche seems terrified of becoming like his father.

Would die a thousand deaths for you.

#simon riley #simon ghost riley #simon riley x reader #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x you #ghost call of duty #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #cod ghost #simon riley headcanons #ghost headcanons #ghost fanfiction #simon riley fanfiction

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awoogahonkhonk · 4 months

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There’s actually a lot of TWST characters who I think would (or wouldn’t) partake in the devils lettuce sooo here are some TWST weed Headcanons.

~~~

Also, Ik they teens. Teens, don’t do drugs. But I did as a teen and am still not of age, high while writing this soooo yeah. Please remember that this is fiction and these are fictional characters.

Note: not all characters are in this list. If I didn’t add a character it’s either cause I had nothing of substance to say about them or I don’t know the character enough to make a proper headcanon. Also if I say something wrong I’m sorry I’m not a connoisseur I just do what I get.

Warning(s): General talk about weed, Yuu is a stoner(maybe idk) in this, cursing, unedited and written by someone under the influence

~~~

Riddle Rosehearts: As much as I want him to, and I think he would actually benefit from it, he wouldn’t. Especially pre overblot but also post. And it’s more than it’s against the rules. All he knows about marijuana is what he’s learned from the anti drug PSA’s his moms had him watch. And he hates the smell. And his fragile lungs can’t take smoke. And he doesn’t trust edibles or like the taste. So, as much as I want him to just give it a chance and chill tf out, it’s a firm no.

Trey Clover: He’s impartial. Doesn’t like smoking, or getting high in general but he doesn’t have anything against others doing it. May smoke in group settings but rarely. He will 100% make some fire weed brownies if you ask. Also, number one guy to be with if you get the munchies.

Cater Diamond: I think he’s tried it, had a bad high, and never touched the stuff again. Might be convinced to try again with some close friends but only if they know what they’re doing. Also, acts like he knows what he’s doing but ends up hacking up a lung.

Ace Trappola: Yeah why not. He’s down to try anything once. Actually likes being high with people, like him and Deuce and Yuu have reg smoke sessions and he loves it. Just likes the feeling idk. I don’t think he smokes alone tho. Likes flavored pens.

Deuce Spade: Will attend every smoke session and get a second hand high but will rarely actually participate. He thinks he has to be the responsible one while Yuu and Ace get high off their asses. But he’s not against smoking a little every once in awhile.

Leona Kingscholar: For sure dude. Someone is almost always on something in Savanaclaw so he’s been around his fair share and tried a couple things. Doesn’t like the smell from joints cause yk beast man heightened everything. So he prefers edibles or pens. Pens still stink to him but not as bad. Casual stoner. It helps him sleep when everyone in his dorm is all riled up over nothing. Gave Ruggie his first edible but was not happy when he had to take care of him after he greened out. (I have so many nsfw thoughts about Leona and smoking with Yuu omg don’t)

Ruggie Bucchi: Like I said, first time he had an edible he greened out. In his defense, the dosage was way too much. Leona kinda forgot he wasn’t as tolerant as him. He didn’t really want to do it again after that but he figured out smoking was easier cause he could gage where he was better. So now he’s a lil stoner. High Ruggie = ravenous Ruggie. Like Fr you’d think this kid was starving the way he was shoveling shredded cheese into his mouth, straight out the bag.

Azul Ashengrotto: Just gonna make a blanket statement now, none of the mer students smoke. They aren’t technically supposed to have lungs and filling those lungs with smoke is just painful. So he doesn’t smoke. He’ll do an edible every so often, usually to help him sleep, but that’s it. IS the campus dealer tho. He knows a guy. He knows quite a few guys actually. Hooks everyone up, for a price.

Jade Leech: Never has, never will. Has absolutely no interest in it. Doesn’t like not being in control of himself. Will be around when others get high though, he thinks it’s hilarious. Especially when people do too much and get sick.

Floyd Leech: Complete opposite of his brother. Will get high anytime, anywhere, with anyone. It hurts to smoke, like I said previously, but that doesn’t mean he isn’t trying. It’s actually getting better. He also thinks smoking looks cooler than edibles. High Floyd is a very cuddly monster. Will squeeze anyone who gets close enough. Just be thankful that he’s too out of it to use his full strength.

Vil Schoenheit: Will loudly advocate against it and ban his dorm from doing it but probably has a secret stash somewhere. Only Rook knows about it. He’s stressed ok?! You try being a famous actor/model/fairest in the land.

Epel Felmier: My boy wants to. He really does. He thinks it looks so cool, and if Yuu can do it so can he! But the smoke burns his lungs and edibles taste bad. But that doesn’t stop him from trying!

Idia Shroud: OKAY so there are two ways I could write this. Cannon how he probably is, or headcannon how I want him to be and see him as. Cannon, he probably talks a big game but actually knows jack shit about drugs of any kind. And is kinda scared to try. But he will, to seem cool. Ends up coughing up his heart but he tried and that’s what counts. And now he can officially say he’s ‘done weed’. Headcannon, Idia as a little loner stoner. It calms his nerves and makes it easier to talk to people. Usually if he’s out of his dorm, he’s high. He’s also high when he’s in his dorm. It helps him sleep and he thinks better with a lil weed in his system. May have developed a small codependency but that’s okay(no it’s not seek help). Mr wake and bake.

Malleus Draconia: Weed? Like, dandelions? What? He’s so confused when someone offers. Why would you smoke weeds? Lilia has to explain it to him three different ways before he gets it. He’ll try, but please give him an edible. It’s for your own safety. His lungs could probably take the smoke but if he ends up taking a hit too big he will cough up flames and not little ones. Very spacey once he’s high. Will stair at the ceiling for hours and say absolutely nothing.

Lilia Vanrouge: Has, will, wants to rn actually. Lilia lived through the 70s, he’s done almost every drug known to man, and probably some not yet known, at least once. Why not? He can take it. Doesn’t smoke often but also does? Idk how to explain it. Likes flavored cartridges more than anything else. The weirdo who fucks with cotton candy. He gets bad cotton mouth tho so… I mean, if you believe in the vampire theory like I do…👀

Silver: The first time he smoked was with his dad. He walked in on Lilia and a bong when he was like 15 and Lilia was like cmon m’boy. Now, he’s concerned that Lilia wasn’t more careful and exposed him so young but that also means he has an okay relationship with weed. Like, he’s able to make his decision firmly due to plenty of experimentation. He hates smoking and edibles generally but will absolutely body some weed brownies.

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python333 · 4 days

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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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mugeesworld · 1 year

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Sanji with a chubby partner head cannons!

Omg guys. I'm getting way more likes and followers then I thought I would! I'm so thankful😭♥︎. Y'all are so kind tysm! Writing is a big outlet for me so to see other people enjoying it makes me so happy!

I also have a wattpad if you're interested! It's called heeheemugee. And I have a few stories there. Tysm once again. On with the head cannons.

NSFW (you've been warned) female y/n (as always if you want a Male y/n version or gender fluid version let me know!) ♥︎♥︎♥︎

Sanji is my all time favorite character so I will most likely be adding to this whenever I have a idea😍 he's sooo baby girl

And ik sanji goes for "skinny" girls but I'm here to tell you. He would love, worship, praise, the ground you walk on hunny. Theirs not good plus size representation in one piece and that's what you're gonna be. You're gonna be the goddess that walked in and changed that! As you fuckin should??!

Imagine. You recently moved to a small island to get away from your troubles for a while. You got to relax everyday. Taking in the beautiful sights of nature while there and living peacefully in your small hut.

Like any other day you decide to go for a walk and pick a few apples from a apple tree that was near your house. You grab your basket and cute little hat and skip along the streets making your way to your favorite tree.

The straw hats recently made it to this island while exploring the grand line. As per usual sanji was making his rounds to buy more food for their long journey.

While walking around the island in search of different food stands he comes across a single apple tree. I'm sure the owner won't mind if I take a few! He thinks to himself, walking towards the tree.

He starts to pick a few apples putting them in his basket when he hears a sigh coming from the other side of the tree. He looks around to see a gorgeous lady trying to grab a apple that was just a little to high for her to reach.

He stares for a moment taking in the gorgeous sight in front of him before shaking his head and helping the lady. "Here! Let me!" he says grabbing the apple and reaching his hand out to give it to her. "Oh! Thank you!" you say happily excepting the apple from his hand.

You take a closer look at him since he doesn't look familiar. He feels his cheeks starting to get warm as you scan him. "You're not from here are you?" you finally ask. "No- No I'm not. Im here picking up food for my crew!" he says anxiously.

You give him a warm welcoming smile. "I see! I hope you enjoy your stay! This tree isn't owned by anyone so you're free to take as many as you would like! Need help?" you ask putting down your basket.

Sanji feels his heart race seeing your beautiful smile. As if your face could get any prettier. That smile proved him to be wrong. It most certainly can.

"Sure! I would appreciate that..." he says scratching his neck. (You're making bro nervous 😟) you nod and start picking apples and putting them in his basket. While doing so you both finally exchange names.

"So Sanji..." you say making his spine shiver hearing his name roll of your tongue. Something he wish he could hear 1,000 more times.

"Are you the chef?" you ask. "Yeah I am. Why?" he asks. "Well I'm guessing you're a pirate then right? Taking these apples like this on sea. They will go bad very quickly. I can show you how to make them into apple sauce and then how to can them. They will last way longer. Plus it's delicious!" you explain.

Sanji thinks for a moment. She's right. These apples won't last long. And I get to see her longer.... "Ok! Sure!" he says excited to learn.

You smile and grab your basket. "Great! I'll show you the way to my house and we can start!" you say grabbing his hand to show him the way.

Sanji nearly jumps out of his skin feeling you grab him like that. You're hand is so soft and small against his. (I got big hands😞) He never wanted you to let go. He wants to stay like this forever.

As y'all walk down the street y'all talking more about canning sorta going over how it will happen. You see sanjis forehead sweating in result of the sun beating down on y'all. You suddenly stop catching sanji off guard as he turns around to see why you place your hat on his head.

"You need it more then I do!" you say before continuing down the path. Sanjis cheeks go red at your sudden act. How sweet he thinks. Y'all arrive at your house and you start to show him how it works.

Once y'all are finished he tastes the apple sauce. To his surprise it was amazing. "Holy crap! This is amazing y/n!" he nearly yells. You laugh at his reaction. "Oh stop it's just a simple apple sauce nothing crazy. But now that you know how to make it. It should help your crews food last longer!" you respond.

You put the apple sauce into jars so they are easier to store. As you turn around to hand him the case of jars you notice he has apple sauce on his upper lip. You put the jars down while laughing and quickly wet a rag.

Sanji turns his head. Confused at what you're doing. "What is it?" he asks. You continue laughing while making your way back towards him with the wet rag. "You have some apple sauce on your face. Here." you say before grabbing his face with one hand and wiping it with the other.

Sanji starts to have a overload while you do this. Blushing like crazy until his nose starts bleeding. "Oh no. Are you ok???" you ask scared as the blood starts pooling out of his nose he take the rag from your hand and nods embarrassed. "Y-yeah! This happens sometimes haha!" he yells trying to play it off.

You quickly grab a first aid kit. "At least let me patch your nose." you say taking out some supplies. You try to walk over to him but he quickly jumps back. "No no. Don't come any closer y/n." he says panicking.

Y/n gives him a confused look. "But why I just want to help? Did I do something?" you ask.

"No! Well yes.... But no! It's just.... You're making me flustered y/n and it makes my nose bleed.... Sorry" he admits. You continue to look at him confused. Flustered? But why....

"How do I make you flustered? I haven't done anything..." you ask. Sanji sighs at your cluelessness.

"You... You make me nervous....Cause you're so... Gorgeous." he finally admits. Your eyes widden. Gorgeous? No one's ever called you that before. Could you really make someone that nervous to make their nose bleed just by your beauty??

"Well... Can you close your eyes? Please so I can help you?" you ask still desperately wanting to help him. Sanji thinks for a moment before closing his eyes and removing the rag.

You slowly make you way over to him. Putting two pieces of tissue in his nose and wrapping under it so it stays. You tell him your done and he opens his eyes. Before you can say anything he leans in and kisses you.

Placing his soft lips on yours kissing you passionately like he's been waiting for this moment his whole life. You we're surprised at first but start to kiss back.

Y'all pull away to get air. "Y/n you're the most gorgeous girl I've ever seen. I'm never felt this way about someone in my whole life. I don't want to say goodbye to this. I don't want to see you go...." he admits holding you by your waist.

"Come with me. Join my crew! I'll keep you safe. We can sail the sea together and most importantly be together y/n. I don't want to leave you!" he says. You widden your eyes. Does he really like you that much.

You've only just met this man but he seems so genuine. Like someone you want to spend the rest of your life with. You've only talked to him for a couple's hours but the time you've had together and what you've learned about him means so much to you. You don't want to see him leave either.

"Yes" you whisper. "W-what?" sanji asks not thinking he heard you right."I'll go with you." you say looking up at him smiling. Sanji picks you up and sways around the room as y'all laugh together.

He suddenly puts you down getting serious. "Theirs one more thing I have to know y/n before you come with me..." he says looking at the ground. "Will you be my girlfriend?" he asks smiling at you.

You throw your arms around him and place a kiss on his cheek. "Of course I will!" you nearly yell.

And CUT. AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER!

Sanji just loves you. Home boy is obsessed with you. Everything about you. He can get enough. Your a addiction he don't want rehab for. It's almost unhealthy how much he loves you.

I can't put it in to words how much he would worship you. He can't believe you're real. He's scared your a dream and he's gonna wake yo with you not there. He treats every day with you like it's his last and saviours you every second.

He is so clingy. He can keep his hands off you. He would try to be respectful about it. But he just wants to tear you apart man. He wants to grope and grab every single inch, cm, mm of your body. Not one spot going uncherished.

Everything you do he finds attractive. Walking? Hot. Pushing hair out of your face. Hot. Sitting still. Hot. Literally doing nothing at all. Hot.

When he first seen you naked he has to get a look from every angle. To just take it the beauty. He had you stand in the middlebof the room. And he just walked around you. Taking it all in. Even getting on the ground or standing on a chair to see it from there. Nothing will go unnoticed.

Making sure to rub his hands up and down your body praising a worshipping every single inch before railing you.

I usually put in what I think the characters favorite part of you would be but lord. I can't pick. Cause he would love all of you. He would shoot himself in the head before answering that.

It's not possible to choose ONE thing that is better then the rest of you cause all of you is perfect to him. He sees no flaw.

He loves holding you. Laying on your stomach in between your legs wrapping his arms under your back. While you play with his hair. Makes him so weak bro. Always a horny mess. Always ready.

He probably love quickies. Just to help him get through the day. Cause with you walking around he won't be able to get anything done with out at least pounding into you once. Very very high stamina.

Position? Don't matter. He will do it from any angle you like. The feeling of you wrapped around him is enough. He gets pussy drunk instantly.

BIG AND I MEAN BIGGGG moaner. He don't care he letting everything out. He can't help it. He whimpers and whines for you. Breathing heavy. Trying to speak but it comes out as mumbles cause he's so overwhelmed by the way you feel.

Oh you're more submissive? He loves taking the lead and teasing/rubbing every inch of your body till you are a pleading mess. Beginning to be fucked. And he does. As a dom he would put everything into making both of y'all feel good. Definitely a service dom.

Any tiny thing you like while having sex he would do just to make it better for you. Whether it's being choked, spanked, kissed. Whatever you want. He's on it. He tries so hard to make you feel so good so he can see your lewd over stimulated face. He loves seeing how his cock makes you all "drunk"

Knowing he fucks you best and no one else can do that. Definitely the type to ask. "Who do you belong to/ who fucks the best?" during sex. Really gets him off knowing your his.

Oh but you're a dom? No problem. He love having a women dominating him. Being told what to do by such a beautiful lady turns him on in ways he can't explain. He wants to fulfill your every need and make you happy.

Anything you say goes. You want on top. Get on. You want to tease him with a vibrator? He's ready on bed. You want him to eat you out he's already laying on his back ready for you to take a seat on your thrown like you deserve.

Even stuff more kinky! Oh you want to peg him? He's down. He probably bi anyways. You can't tell me he's not zesty. I mean look at him! He probably love having you peg him.

The feeling of you driving into him with your strap so aggressively makes him go crazy. Pushing his head into the pillows to avoid screaming. Only thing is he feels bad that you're not getting anything out of it when you really are. So he makes sure to repay you after.

He would call you by whatever name you give him. Mommy? Done. Mistress? Hell yeah. He is down for whatever. He probably even has mommy issues. Look at him. I mean..... Like...

With all of that being said about him wanting to please you. It drives him insane seeing you between his legs sucking him off. He would throw his head back and just whine. He love language might be acts of service but Lord he loves seeing you this.

I'll add more later probably but I'm busy but wanted to get this out! ♥︎

#chubby #chubby y/n #chubby!reader #chubbyreader #heeheemugee #nami #one piece #robin #sanji #sanji smut #sanji x you #sanji x y/n #black foot sanji #sanji headcanons #sanji x reader #vinsmoke sanji #sanjionepiece #black leg sanji #op

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seyaryminamoto · 2 months

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Fic-to-Art #38: Ozai carries Azula to the physicians' wing

This has been done for A WHILE now, but I didn't post it because the past days have been chaotic and not just on a personal level. For one thing, I really wasn't eager to drop this when people were losing their shit massively over the liveaction and its recontextualization of Azula and Ozai's dynamics, I didn't look forward to releasing this just to be told that whatever I've done in my story is somehow wrong, sooooooooo... that held me back, for a few days.

Then? The AI-Tumblr deal started to be talked about and I may or may not have freaked out about that too. Sooo... this is the first glazed and nightshaded piece of my creation, as consequence. The original, clean and proper version is available in my Patreon. Is this me being a dick to Tumblr-only people? Unfortunately, it very much isn't, I'm not trying to say that if you want the best iterations of my art, you should pay me for it... this is squarely, entirely, at staff/the CEO's feet. Obviously, there's the insecure side of me that goes "what makes you think they'd steal YOUR art when there are so many better artists out there!" but ultimately? AI is about taking everything en masse. It isn't a matter of developing a criteria about who makes the better art... it's just taking EVERYTHING and trying to repurpose it in whatever twisted way it needs to. Therefore? I think my choice is more of a matter of caution than anything else. Once AI bullshit dies out (and I really hope it does), we may just return to the same level of quality across all my accounts. For now, it is what it is.

ANYWAY! Point is this artwork is very much what my Patrons happened to vote for this month, a very shocking scene where Ozai reacted in the least foreseen way to Azula being attacked. Azula's confusion/terror comes from a place of not knowing what to do and being powerless to stop her father even if she doesn't feel comfortable with his help... but for once, Ozai isn't making a dreadful choice that will only devastate his daughter. He's actually worried about her health... and feeling genuine guilt over what landed her in the situation where she was in danger in the first place. Yes. I like me my complex Ozai who finally learned actions have consequences. He bores me to death otherwise :') if anyone STILL doesn't know that this whole situation is Gladiator-specific, then I shall clarify fully: this is artwork based on my fic. It's about a story that has been developing these characters for ALMOST ELEVEN YEARS now. It has nothing to do with whatever's going on in canon or in the liveaction, the scene in question was written almost two years ago and the artwork proposed and voted for several days before the liveaction aired. Ergo: there is no connection between this and that. Nor am I saying through this piece that Ozai is a good father. He is not. He can still be an interesting character to work with on a narrative level anyway :')

Alright. With that out of the way, hope you guys like this piece! The big one I haven't posted is ALSO finished, also glazed and nightshaded, but I think I might just end up posting it on the 26th if I don't have time to do anything big for our eleventh anniversary... yep, I'm so busy I don't even have a huge project in mind this time. Also? I have a lot to write and I'm finally happily writing it, and I would like to continue doing that...

Anyway! If you would like to be part of the creative process behind this piece, as well as see it in its proper, OG, less color-bleeding clunky version? A $1 Patreon pledge gives you the chance to join in suggesting prompts, voting for them and reading Gladiator snippets 6 days before a new chapter is released!

#fic-to-art project #ozai #azula #obviously this was the February piece #and I'm very sorry for the long time it took me to post it but #god I hate it every time there's any “new” thing going on in this franchise #has nothing to do with me and yet it's always a pain because people with the STALEST takes #start to spring out and start trying to police what's going on in the fandom #even people with sense are saying things that blow my mind lately #... so yeah I don't feel entirely safe posting anything to do with my work lately #but hopefully that will change :')#for now enjoy this one

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sleepy-gee · 2 months

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okay okay

so like I love zombies and I love tbosbas sooo tbosbas characters(I think you only do the guys right? 🤔if so, my fav dude is coryo) x reader in a zombie au :3

🔦 ocean eyes - snowjanus/gn!reader

burning cities and napalm skies one of dr gaul's latest creations– or monstrosities– has broken containment and caused a full blown apocalypse in the capitol. it's been chaos for the past few weeks.. but at least you had them.

trigger warnings: none that i can think of?? just lots of fear and anxiety.

a/n: you're getting the oneshot treatment because i fucking love this idea ( btw i write for everyone but mainly the boys because I am a giant fag). also sejanus is here because :3

it was storming. hard. rain battered down against the roof of the snow's penthouse– what you were now calling home base. the walk was tedious, but it provided safety in many ways.

coriolanus had run out to see if he could find any food.. anywhere. this wasn't his first rodeo, the war from a decade ago acting as a training session for him of some sorts.

you decided to try and get some amount of rest, exhausted by the whole ordeal. the outbreak started a month ago, and you had barely slept a wink since. how you were going was still a mystery.

sejanus wasn't anywhere to be found either, having run off to perform his own errand. being alone for this long caused anxiety to settle in your stomach, sprawling up your throat and squeezing your neck, nearly choking you.

you were curled up on coriolanus' bed, hugging the stuffed dog he had tightly to your chest. it smelled like him– roses and old books, oddly enough. each time the thunder would rip through the clouds above, you'd clutch it a little tighter.

after a good while of drifting in and out of sleep, the door to coriolanus' room opened. your head shot up, and you were met with the comforting sight of sejanus. "just me, babe. you can go back to sleep."

".. wasn't asleep in the first place." you said, laying your head back down. sejanus slipped off his rain soaked jacket and muddy boots before laying down beside you.

"when was the last time you got any sleep..?" you didn't answer, but it told him everything he needed to know. ".. c'mere." nearly effortlessly, he pulled you in closer, draping a leg over your own as he settled your head against his chest. "try. please."

you closed your eyes, pressing your cheek against his chest. the sound of his heartbeat– sturdy and slow– acted as a lullaby, allowing you to drift off.

coriolanus returned home after another hour or so, completely drenched in rain and sweat. what he wouldn't give for a shower. noticing his bedroom door was open, not closed as he had left it, he peaked his head into his room and found his two lovers laying on his bed, supposedly asleep.

as quietly as he could, he stepped into the room, stripping off his own soaked garments and throwing them into a pile on top of sejanus' own.

speak of the devil. "y'find anything?" sejanus asked, voice thick with sleep.

coriolanus shook his head no, pulling his drenched t-shirt off over his head. "not yet.. i'll go out again once the rain clears. how were things here?"

".. they're okay. finally got them to sleep, thank god.. i think this is really starting to get to them."

"it's getting to everyone." coriolanus grabbed a towel off of the back of a chair and began to dry his hair. ".. but i know what you're trying to say."

"just wish there was more i could do.. any news on that cure yet?"

"with dr. gaul having been killed this morning? no." coriolanus laughed sadly, placing the towel down and smoothing out his damp curls with a hand.

sejanus' eyebrows shot straight up. "killed-?"

"shh.." the blond sat down on the bed beside the two of you, leaving you sandwiched in the middle. "it's a long story.. i'll tell you later. why don't you try and get some sleep, too?"

"it's fine.."

"sej," coriolanus continued. "please. just.. a nap or something. for me?"

sejanus glanced at coriolanus before glancing down at you. he gave in, resting his head on his pillow again. coriolanus sighed in what felt like relief before laying down himself, staring up at the ceiling. sejanus reached a hand over you to grab coriolanus', giving it a reassuring squeeze.

"we're gonna make it through this." the brunette spoke.

".. we can only hope. the odds aren't exactly in our favor."

#sleepy.answers #the ballad of songbirds and snakes #tbosas #tbosbas #coriolanus snow #sejanus plinth #coriolanus snow x you #coriolanus snow x reader #coriolanus x you #coriolanus x reader #sejanus x reader #sejanus plinth x reader #sejanus plinth x you #snowjanus #coriolanus x sejanus #coriolanus x sejanus x you #that's a lot of tags. wow.

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chrollohearttags · 3 months

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it's ☃️ here again and I have more questions but reverb edition bc I love how 3 dimensional the characters are...

1. Now what is rapper!connie's true IDEALL type (if he actually has one). like he's immediately folding and falling to his knees because she's everything he wants type shit.

2. Do any of the pole assassins ladies swing the other way perchance...? IDK if you mentioned this but i'm getting a vibe...perchance.

3. What are mika and jean's favorite things about one another?

4. How would eren react to being posted on the shaderoom and having them get in his business? I recently saw a video of summer walker flipping the shaderoom off and I screamed 😭😭

5. IDK if you didn't go into detail but is sasha an influencer here as well or an artist?

6. Does eren like any other forms of art besides music/writing in this universe? I don't feel EJ is the type to like go walk a museum (or maybe he is) but I feel he definitely holds some appreciation for like visual arts yk??

7. Is influencer!y/n any good at games? I remember you mentioning him being a gamer and I had the idea of him teaching her to play madden or COD or some shit and her being sooo bad to the point where he gets a little upset bc no way you're this bad at the game.

once again that is all the questions my brain has come up with, until next time *fades off into background*

hello again, snowanon!! 🤍 I swear you always come with the best asks. I’m actually working on reverb right now so thanks for this! (sorry these took so long btw!)

1. now Connie isn’t the type of dude to discriminate when it comes to the ladies. He loves them all but he will undoubtedly fall in love (and maybe propose on the spot) for a tall women or BBW. he loves him a girl who’s taller than him or a plus size lady. I’d say his range is anywhere from Meg to Lizzo. But he really just a loves a woman who can make him laugh. Somebody he can clown with.

2. Yes 3/5 do in fact! 😭 our girl (y/n) is bisexual. Eren is honestly the only man she loves. Niesha is pansexual + Syrai is lesbian. Kelley and Brianne have only ever dated men but they’re not against the idea of being with a woman!

3. omg I literally love these two so much and I hadn’t had a chance to elaborate yet but Jean and Mika are each other’s saving graces, dramatic as it sounds. Jean helped Mika stand up for herself when she felt powerless and she helped him realize his dream and that he was worth more than being on the sidelines. I think Jean’s favorite thing about Mika is her determination and how smart she is. If she wants something done, nothing can stop her. She’s headstrong but she’s soft in the same turn. Not in a weak way or that she wants to be babied but she’s so compassionate and emotional about the things + people she loves. As for Mika, she loves how much of a natural leader Jean is. He’s dominating but in the best way possible. He knows she can handle her own business but she doesn’t have to when he’s around. She can be comfortable in her feminine energy without feeling weak. All in all, they just compliment one another so well!

4. LMAO! the day Eren ever ends up on the ShadeRoom, everybody’s getting their feelings hurt. 😭 what makes it so bad is that it would probably be for some dumb shit, like them trying to messy about he and (y/n)’s relationship and now he gotta cuss everybody and their family dog out :(

5. so the next few chapters are going to feature Sasha heavily but my baby is actually Mikasa’s assistant for the time being. Her ultimate goal is to do music, more so as like a country hip-hop artist. She’s basically mentoring under her and Jean both.

6. Eren does have a great appreciation for other art forms. He has a few unique and expensive paintings in his home and he himself loves to draw. Many of his tattoo pieces are artworks of his. He also enjoys stage plays, shockingly! (he’s really a theater kid cosplaying as a delinquent, don’t let him fool you 😭😭) but he enjoys reading from time to time as well.

7. okay listen! my sis be giving it her all to beat this man LMAO. Eren is so damn competitive that he can’t just play shit for fun, he makes everyone want to fight him. But the one game he does NAWT want to see her in is Tekken. That’s been her favorite series since she was a kid and she gives him the work every single time.

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meiieiri · 9 months

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hii could you please write about how the jjk men's social media would look like, like what would they post, how often, what socials they would have? sorry if this is 2 specific!!

HOW THEIR INSTAGRAM PAGES WOULD LOOK LIKE [FT. JUJUTSU KAISEN]

❁—CHARACTERS: nanami kento, yuta okkotsu, gojo satoru (toji isn’t here bc the only online platform he’s on is onlyfans)

a/n: hey hey~ no worries! i love making stuff like these anyway, thanks for this btw, had a lot of fun making these. i only made ig as their socials as of rn because i don’t have twitter so i don’t rlly know how that works ໒꒰ྀིっ˕ -｡꒱ྀི১

༊*·˚ NANAMI KENTO

↬ nanami’s instagram would have really warm, vibrant tones to accentuate each and every mundane detail of his life into something that looks so euphoric and almost utopian-like which isn’t at all surprising seeing as this man has seen so much pain and suffering for a good majority of his life.

↬ i think he’d pick up photography as a hobby, maybe he’ll dabble into playing around with the settings on adobe lightroom or maybe secretly attend saturday workshops, on his way home from his bakery run, where he gets to learn all the fundamentals on photography composition. he eventually learns about instagram and he downloads the app on a whim when he gets bored at work. he appreciates the user friendly interface and gets the hang of it pretty quickly. he usually posts thrice a month, more if his schedule allows.

↬ now the thing with kento is he doesn’t usually put captions on his photos other than single emojis like: “🐱” or “🥐”. an exception to this is when he posts your birthday photos. he lovingly spares a few words for you that are minimal, at best, only containing a short birthday greeting. but hey, it’s written in pretty font, sooo~~

kento watches you from the couch situated near your home’s screen door leading to the pocket garden the two of you set up when you first moved in together. a small smile plays at his lips when you momentarily jump in surprise as your cat rubs herself against your legs finally ending your little game of hide and seek. “there you are,” you crouch down to scratch her ears. the loving scene of domesticity unfolds before him like a record tape from the nineties, complete with subdued hues of yellow and rose. “sweetheart, could you look here for a bit?” he calls as he fumbles with his phone. you look up confused and that’s when he decides to snap the picture. “hey! i wasn’t ready,” you protest. but he’s already posting the picture on his instagram with the caption: “💕”.

༊*·˚ YUTA OKKOTSU

↬ yuta has a fascination with sunsets. there’s just something so alluring and somewhat sorrowful about the last flicker of sunlight waging a war against her opponent, the night sky and her stars, to keep its dominion over the sky. yuta has always struggled with the notion of impermanence — he finds change to be downright terrifying which is why he took it upon himself to confront this fear by taking pictures of the setting sun, a form of change that is ironically as unchanging as his love for a certain someone, hehe.

↬ he normally uses his instagram as a digital journal of sorts. he’s always away owing to the many missions he’s now been assigned as a sorcerer second only to gojo satoru. he writes down entries, as much as possible, on a weekly basis to properly process the many emotions he’s felt that day.

↬ naturally, you’re always the first to view the pictures ergo press the heart button which always makes him turn a bright shade of pink despite the many years you’ve been together. AND, even though you’ve already technically seen the pictures, yuta will ALWAYS show it to you again when he gets home from work and regale you with all the amazing details about his recent trip.

yuta practically melted into your arms when he came in through the front door. “missed you,” he murmurs. you crane your head back to get a good look at him and you heave a sigh of blissful relief when you neither find a single scratch nor bruise on him. “are you alright, my love?” he asks, head tilted to the right, his eyes wide with curiosity at your silence. “yeah, fine,” you shake your head, playfully pinching his unscathed cheek earning a whistle-like chortle from the young sorcerer. “you know,” he says thoughtfully when his laughter dies down. “i never realized how beautiful the hida mountains are,” he recounts the wondrous things he’d seen and taken photos of from the sleepy lake town they took refuge in, to the mighty mountain river he and gojo had crossed on their way to the summit, to the towering willow trees with branches so ancient they could practically block out the sun, and finally to the mysterious abandoned forest shrine that only showed itself to an honored few, emerging from the haze like a ghostly apparition. he continues to ramble on for a substantial amount of time, scrolling through his phone gallery, not knowing that you’d dozed off. “2:48 AM,” the clock read. yuta sighs at your sleeping form, hearts practically swarming in his eyes. he lifts the blankets to cover your forms. “guess we’ll just have to go together someday,” he says, pecking your cheek before shifting ever so carefully to turn off the nightlight.

༊*·˚ GOJO SATORU

↬ posts low contrast pictures with low brightness because he’s cool that way. if not for the fact that he mostly shares memes, his feed actually looks pretty good, it’s subtle but appealing in many ways and it looks glorious on dark mode, it kinda reminds you of those pinterest or twitter moodboards. he knows his way around setting a moody vibe on his feed, and to think almost all of his pictures were shot on his old iphone. satoru gojo, the strongest sorcerer of his generation, much to the surprise of many, is actually quite talented. who would’ve thought?

↬ but please PLEASE someone get instagram away from this man, the world is not ready for his genius. now unlike the others, satoru uses instagram purely for fun. and yes, he posts dumb shit like they’re scripture. he got in trouble with the community once when he posted a picture of dixie (depicted above) from the teletubbies with the caption: “bake those cookies dixie”. you had to help him submit an incident report to the community moderators and a promissory note stating that he’ll never post such lewd things again. and he didn’t (thank god). for a full week, that is. he relapsed almost immediately.

↬ on the bright side, though, his followers always find it cute whenever he posts pictures of the two of you on your dates, even the ever-stoic nanami couldn’t resist the urge to smile whenever he comes across a picture of his senior having the time of his life with you. god knows how much gojo satoru deserves to love and be loved in return, even if he once thought it to be the most repulsive of curses.

gojo watches you from the other end of the table, a tipsy simper on his features when he notices your eyelids drooping, your head bobbing in your drunken stupor, your lips slightly open as your breathing evens out. “you drunk, baby?” he slurs as he polishes off the last of the yakiniku set you ordered, the oily, sweet and salty grilled meat seemingly simmering down the effect of the alcohol. you were the only ones left in the izakaya, at this point, the owner has half a mind to throw the both of you out so they could close for the night. “nooooo,” you sniffle before a tiny hiccup rips through your throat. cute, satoru stares at you with lovestruck eyes. “stop that,” you look at him through your blurred vision. “stop what?” satoru asks, his head resting on the hardwood table as his hand searches his jeans for his phone. he had to capture this moment before he blacks out. “looking at me like i’m the most beautiful girl in the room,” you scowl disapprovingly. he manages to find his iphone just before he nods off to sleep, snapping a picture of the both of you. empty plates and half-finished shot glasses are strewn about your table and the night’s festivities are perfectly captured in the frame. the two of you looked absolutely hammered — your normally tidy hair was disheveled, and his face looked like a cross between a sore thumb and a ripe tomato — but still, you looked happy. and to satoru, that’s all that really matters. “but you are, baby,” he pats you on the head before finally passing out. “you are.”

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dilfhos · 7 months

Text

sooo this is gonna be a messy rant on the observations ive made between different writer communities, blog interactions and overall “status”. just silly little things I’ve noticed in my 4+ years being on tumblr btwn 2 diff blogs. and this is about no one specific, a very generalized post so if you find urself offended i honestly dont know what to tell you?? :o do better ig. & if you relate, i feel for you. TLDR @/end.

i dont like interacting/ building connections with people but not for the reasons ppl think. im not stuck up or pretentious or weird or anything. just another anime-enjoyer who loves to write in her free time. nobody special by a longshot!! i enjoy writing, always have since before i was a teen. (wasn’t always ff tho!).

but over the years ive just noticed fandom writing has its gritty sides that no one talks about often and its no mystery why so many prolific/ popular writers deactivated, me included. i had some shitty experiences and have seen friends go bc of it.

firstly, I’ve noticed, once you start interacting and building friendships with people, it’s easier to see the bigger perspective of where ppl stand and the blatant hierarchy of friendships and groups. same applies to that outside. like its literally just me n’ my bsf then my acquaintances bc mfs be weirddd omg its like cults or something. like thats why initially I didn’t interact w/anyone starting on my new blog. that n’ fear of drama following from my last blog ugh. ‘Cept the few i’ve met on my old blog (like my wifey)

not to mention i have bad anxiety. and sometimes im cue-deaf. i dont always pick up what people put down and vice versa and it makes me conscious in a lot of my interactions. so a part of me doesn’t want to interact at all to avoid all awkwardness and possible miscommunications. that’s not to say i don’t notice subtle changes in interactions after one situation / conversation or so forth, that in myself or witnessed between other ppl. (im perceptive, just not that good conversationalist lol. like i really have to try.)

but then…if you don’t interact with people on here, your chances of building an audience or a reader base is slim to none. the likelihood of developing relationships is zip. because you’re already perceived and pegged as just another tumblr writer. pause. to clarify, a writer who doesn’t want any recognition or interactions from mutuals or new friends. or just a lonely writer? a introverted, lonely writer. which leads to little to none interactions (anons, reblogs, moots —exposure.)

so then its like you’re kinda placed btwn a rock n a hard place. and there’s absolutely no problem with that! in fact this is the best part—meeting friends and like-minded people! people that make being online all the more worth it right? thirsting over fictional characters and sharing in each other’s works!

but you have to be in specific circles it seems. but then you can’t imply that you want to be in those circles bc then you’re desperate.

but well, then you cant purposefully want to be independent or be on your own or else you’re a hater, hypocrite or stuck up. not to mention, no one will reblog your stuff lol. no one will interact fr, and you’re friendless essentially. and god forbid if you disagree on something as if opinions don’t exist btw! then you’re being ganged up on. (like omg grow up!)

but then if you reach out you’re seen as trying to wedge in or kiss ass? you interact and follow and you’re ignored or left hanging? (bc im gonna touch your hand when i say this—it never gave fan, your majesty of horny nerds) and this is about ALL the writing communities and fandoms—spicy content, black content and dark content. ALL.

yet no one wants to talk about the pregnant elephant in the room—bias. and favoritism. also people seem to have a hard time being direct with how they’re feeling toward/about someone ( in a good or bad way) which in turn leads to a lot of miscommunication and subliminal attacks. (not to mention hate anons? one of my moots just had her inbox flooded w/them recently, ew.)

you can lead a horse to water AND you can write a 500-word essay on the observations made on tumblr writers as a whole. (a long ass post on the truth on behalf of those feeling this too)

also, slapping a HEY LOOK AT ME! IM A WRITER WHO WANTS INTERACTION AND FRIENDS! on a blog is frankly embarrassing. it shouldn’t even take all that seeing how easy it is for others wanting the same thing.

or doing less to achieve the same result.

not to mention, yall shit on ppl who essentially feel this way altogether bc you peg them as sb who doesn’t “try” or just jealous when their own works are phenomenally written themselves. ive seen it. and ive lived it. never gave jealousy baby.

at the end of the day, we’re all writers— either longterm or hobbyists. (personally, im longterm) self-indulgent or not! and its absolutely amazing when people are being fair in how they spread love and feedback to their writers.

Secondly, its not news that people have to want to reblog your fics so that their followers can reblog, so they can reblog, and their followers can reblog and so forth. but ppl honestly dont care atp bc once they’ve already read it, they owe you nothing. and apparently asking for reblogs is crass and bold. (imma do it anyway) but putting your very all into a story just to turn and see a half-thought out hc soaring 3k in 2hrs and 5k in a day — you have to stfu, open your ass and take it. keep it cute!

you’re getting fucked after all!!

because if you complain—you’re just jealous and lazy and uncreative!! and i hate that to seem like a writer worth a damn, you have to change up your writing style every two weeks to fit in with trending waves.

“no more poetic long fics, nobody’s into that! short, snappy slutty shots are all the rage!” “ppl are only into these specific tropes but you can’t exceed 2k words!” “only add trending characters to these hcs! ppl love them only!” “don’t write too much about a specific character or else ill unfollow you!” its exhausting.

i am well within my right as a literary artist to desire more feedback and interaction on anything i put out. period. and you are too! 🫵

God, im tired of that stupid, ‘you have to enjoy your writing for yourself and not worry about notes’ line. i do love my writing! don’t get me wrong there’s nobody id rather write like if not myself fr. not to mention the inspiration i draw from famous literary authors. however, i would love feedback and the same energy that i see with others in my same caliber.

and when i see others that didn’t even try fr—its a slap in the face to put it bluntly.

i can want silly little comments and notes about something i cherish and put out for that reason and yall aren’t gonna make me feel bad about it. sorry! like yall really be making people feel shitty for wanting the same type of interactions you get! especially when its harmless, bye asf. nb want to recipe to ur peach cobbler b!

the only one giving push back are those appointed popular /top blogs n’ cliques tho. now personally, i honestly dgaf if you have 20 followers or 25k, writing is writing and if its good you should want to support it regardless of following count/interaction right?

unfortunately, and quite unsurprisingly its not the case for the rest of this hellhole lol. there’s always gonna be some “big blog” in any part of tumblr or any social media for that matter.

but when the sole purpose being on a site like tumblr to write is mainly exposure, then it just makes it ten times worse especially if it seems that these blogs are steady at the top of every. single. tag. and listen, i know how initially stupid that sounds but when you’ve picked up on patterns for as long as i have, well iykyk.

so imma be real bc no one else will, half of the posts that yall see with 25k notes have alr been done. just different characters, different words, different dialogue. And 8/10 its been done by sb who only received 100 notes. Thats the evil part. whats more is that it lacks the creativity the one post with 100-300 notes is filled with completely.

POP QUIZ! what post would readers be more inclined to read? — one that says 10k (ohhh that must be popular!) or the one with only 150 (oh i guess nb really liked that one) that no one is even willing to reblog for MORE. and BOOM. now yall wonder why so many great writers LEAVE, its a fucking joke.

so unfortunately its no longer only about or only on readers anymore. its about who you know and who you know is willing to support your fr. who is willing to REBLOG your fics for their friends and followers, so that their friends and followers can reblog. to fit in you actually have to get in these days and it makes it all less enjoyable. makes it a chore and if you aren’t ‘doing it right’ ultimately it makes you feel shitty about your writing. (Please don’t, you are doing amazing. its the platform.)

it makes people not want to jump into writing. it pushes away those who actually want to join writing communities and meet people without feeling like they have to jump thru hoops to thrive or worse—live in other ppls shadows. and then it deters those from speaking up in fear of being shut down by bigger groups. ive seen it happen time and time again.

lastly, and this is the juiciest part! you absolutely cannot say anything about any of this bc you’re complaining and a fisher just looking for attention and not someone who just want things to be fair all over. play the game, right? ( wrong. and if this is your logic, you suck! )

its no longer about making flashy banners and pretty themes. its no longer about how many clever directory links you add or how many games you initiate on your blog or whether or not you’ve reblogged your fic three times already. its about your “friends”, other mutuals, and blogs willing to support you too. not just the audience. audience gonna do what they want regardless. reblog, don’t reblog, whatever. “at least ive read it right?” but everyone knows this. duh! but it’s obvious who doesn’t care as long as they’re on top of that tag! its admirable in a way but it sucks for those wanting to break out and build some kind of readerbase and/or make friends.

TLDR; people need to stop being bias and be fair and open lol. stop picking favorites and share the love all around. you see another person writing your favorite character or trope, give them a fucking chance and reblog, regardless if they’re in your ‘circle’ / radar or not. regardless if you know them or not. hell, let them put you on to a new fandom. bc writing is writing and making new moots and finding new fics seem to be what everyone loves to showcase until its time to actually do it. no wonder people get discouraged to make friends and write, yall treat it like some kind of secret society when its supposed to be fun💀 not a competition. (yall need to dead this clique-y shit. )

#writers #writers of tumblr #WATCH EVERYONE SKIP OVER THIS DHDHDJDN #OH OH OH #and im black #LMAO THATS THE PUNCHLINE #so #all of this isnt only happening in a general writing fandom #but the little corner for my black people??#and in the corners of other minorities #IT HAPPENS HERE TOO DHGSGJG #nb is safe🙅🏾‍♀️#i thought we were escaping exclusivity?#and assumptions made about other people??#trust when i say this is NOT about anyone specific #just silly little observations #and pieces of my experiences #so any complaints #SHOVE IT SHOVE IT SHOVE IT!#will delete if this starts a revolt #or not bc i love chaos in the name of truth #i hope yall can feel the sarcasm this is kinda longer than i intended but i wanted to be as thorough as possible in my point #been working on this for a min #im not tagging as discourse bc this isn’t what this is #and if you treat is as such imma just assume you’re exactly who im talking about and keep it pushing🤷🏾‍♀️#just be better is all im saying #BYE I JUST CAUGHT SO MANY MISTAKES #the shame #i was caught up #but yall get it

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