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from-the-clouds · 1 year

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moonlight on the river - joel miller x reader

masterlist | song inspo

summary: Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter. Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true. Takes place during episode one of the TV series. pairing: joel miller x f!reader words: 2.4k warnings: angst, fluff, good ol' fashioned hurt/comfort. depressive thoughts, reader sort of has a death wish, references to alcohol/drug abuse, death, loss of family members & loved ones. implied age gap, references to casual sex, heavy petting (no smut). a/n: it's been months since i posted a fic on here! some of my best work comes when it’s 2am, i’m emo and touch-deprived and i have an 8am appointment so i stay up until 5am to write. this was actually supposed to be fully a fluff piece but the angst queen had to strike.

You wish you could drown in the pile of blankets you’ve wrapped yourself in. Wish the couch would swallow you whole, like a whale, then drag you down to the deepest depths of the ocean and leave you there until you can’t hold your breath any longer, until the cold pricks the tips of your fingers and toes, until you succumb completely.

But in some ways, you’re already existing like that, in the sea-level equivalent of the Marianas Trench. One of those sea creatures that look not of this Earth, features warped – adapting, evolving, surviving, despite your environment’s best efforts to eradicate. Your mother had once shown them to you in her old textbooks and shown you the photos of anglerfish, frilled sharks, phantom jellyfish. The memory of your mother makes you wince, and you try to think of something else.

How anyone else around you managed to put on a brave face and make their way through each day was beyond your comprehension, even though you do it, too. They probably all feel the same way about it as you do, but no one talks about the collective trauma you’re all slogging through. No one has anything new to add, and it’s foolish to believe that anyone’s insight could somehow take the pain away. Even if you have a chance to tell your story, there is always someone who has it worse.

Get in line.

Exhausted as you are, you don’t sleep much. Most of your nights are spent at the precipice of unconsciousness, and you can never quite make it over the edge, the helicopters, radios, sporadic gunfire always manages to rouse you first. When you do manage to sleep, you’re plagued with nightmares. You prefer perpetual fatigue.

A knock at your door comes suddenly, and you start, sitting up quickly – but quietly – to not alert the unexpected guest that someone might be in the tiny studio you call home. It’s well after dark, which makes you doubt that whoever, or whatever is at the door, isn’t there for a friendly drop-in or a cup of tea, not that friendly drop-ins or cups of tea ever happened.

But before you grow too panicked, your name is muttered, accompanied by another impatient rap of knuckles against the hollow wood. It’s a familiar rasp, even-toned and calm, and your shoulders sag in relief before you abandon your post on the couch.

“Joel?” you ask softly, squinting in the dim light of the hallway through the crack in the door. He doesn’t look any different, though it’s been about a month since you’d last seen him. You’re not sure what to expect, but he’s the same as always, wearing a worn, tight denim shirt and fraying jeans. He looks tired, but you can’t recall a time when he doesn’t. Everyone looks tired all the time, it just only concerns you because it’s him.

Not waiting for an invite, he steps through the small opening you allot for him and into your place, wordlessly.

“What the fuck, Joel, it’s past curfew are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“I’ve done worse,” he says, dismissively, and yanks the door from your hand to close and lock it behind him.

You don’t argue with him. You rarely do – which you think is partly why he likes you – but especially now, you don’t have the energy. And when you do, he’s too stubborn to listen.

Joel has been many things to you. A dealer, a mentor, a friend, a lover. Lately, it’s the latter. Sometimes he’s none of those things, or a handful of them, or all of them at once. And it’s up to the both of you to decide in the moment which things are true.

So when he steps forward, crowding you backwards until your rear hits your kitchen countertop and you have nowhere to go, you don’t ask questions.

His hand cradles your chin, tilting it back to look into his sad eyes, and he kisses you. For a split second, it’s chaste, and you’re almost confused, until it’s suddenly not, and his grip on your jaw tightens, his lips parting. Joel stakes his claim, his free hand winding into your hair and pulling. You sigh, closing your eyes.

He moves both his hands to cup your ass through the flimsy athletic shorts you’re wearing, lifting your hips up and against him, making to carry you to the bed, or maybe even take you on the countertop – it could be one of those days. Everything he’s doing would normally light you on fire, and there’s a primal instinct that’s telling you you like it, but for some reason, you hesitate.

Joel senses it right away. You’re not sure how. And you don’t want him to. You’re prepared to submit, even though you feel numb everywhere, because you hope for the chance to feel something, anything other than what you’ve felt the last few days. He pauses, too, pulls back.

You expect to meet his eyes when you look up at him, but they are fixed on something else. Tugging on the collar of his shirt, you try to kiss him again, but he doesn’t budge, until you follow his eyes. An empty bottle of liquor sits on the bar behind you. Fuck.

“You’re drinking again.” It’s not a question.

“That was actually from yesterday,” you say, like it would make any difference. The remnants of a hangover have been tweaking your temples all day, biting the back of your eyes. It was half empty when I got it. It was just one night. I can have a couple drinks without getting out of control. Your brain cycles through several more excuses before you decide not to waste your breath.

“What did I tell you about this?” He reached behind you and lifted the bottle, holding it in front of your face like you hadn’t been able to see it clearly enough before.

“You should talk,” you don’t like being cruel, but you’re already desperate to end the discussion. He’s probably drunk or high right now, but it’s none of your business, and you’d given up trying to save him a long time ago.

You shift your weight to lower yourself off the counter and move away from him and the once-inviting warmth of his embrace. Joel doesn’t let you make it far, reaching out to grip your upper arm and tugging you back to face him with little-to-no effort on his part. His strength always startled you, even though it shouldn’t, considering his size. It also should’ve scared you, but the manhandling mostly just turned you on. Not enough that you were going to keep letting him lecture you.

“It’s different. You’re still so young.”

“What does that matter?”

He doesn’t have an answer.

You lift your chin, squaring up to him. “That’s what I thought.”

He puts his hand on hip and studies you carefully. Despite your attitude, you’ve never liked disappointing him. He’s the closest thing you have to a father, which you can recognize is an awfully fucked up way to feel about someone you regularly have sex with, but you lived in an awfully fucked up world.

There’s a wistfulness to Joel’s expression you’ve never seen before. He chooses to change the subject, and you’re thankful until what he says registers.

“I’m leaving town tomorrow night. You might not see me again.”

It takes a moment to process, but it hits you like a blow to the gut. So hard, you’re surprised you don’t stagger backwards with the force of it. Even when it settles, you know it hasn’t even sunk in all the way.

“Well…” you take a long, thoughtful pause, and offer the only thing that your brain can come up with, “....stay safe out there, then.”

“Yeah,” he runs his tongue over his teeth and squints at you. “You want to tell me what’s going on?”

Snorting, you know it’s important to remain as blase as possible so you don’t cry. Although, you don’t really cry anymore. Even when you want to, the tears never come. At some point, after watching every person you’ve ever cared for die in uniquely devastating ways, you must’ve reached your lifetime limit.

“I know you. Something’s up.”

No, you don’t! You want to scream, but that would be a lie. It’s been three years since you met, maybe one since your….arrangement, or whatever you’d call it, had begun.

How the two of you had become so close was a mystery even to you. It’s not like you were charming or charismatic, or willing to put up the innocent act. You didn’t try to inflate his ego, which most men loved. At first, you didn’t even really like him at all. That changed with time. Somewhere along the way, things just clicked.

“It’s nothing that no one has ever felt before,” you shrug. Joel has his fair….or rather unfair share of demons, and is the last person you want to complain to. Most of the time, he’s unflinchingly guarded, but he’s shared enough – secrets whispered in your ear while tangled in damp sheets, your hand on his chest, feeling the steady thump of his heart – to make you wonder if you have it so bad. Focusing on a fixed point, a crack in the tiled floor, you avoid his eyes.

“Hey,” his voice pulls you back. “Don’t do that.”

“I’ll be okay,” you say. “I’m just having a d-a week.” A month, a year, a life. Reluctantly, you meet his gaze.

His face softens, his hand reaching to clasp with your own, thumb grazing across your palm. “Come here,” he murmurs. He pulls you against him tightly, tucking your head under his chin, his fingers weaving into your hair.

“You’re going to be alright. You’re a strong girl.” He’s too smart to believe that, you think. But it doesn’t stop you from pressing your lips against his sternum. His broad chest is sturdy, firm, and you close down your eyes.

Neither of you speak, and one of his hands begins to stroke your back in soothing circles. You stay wrapped in his arms for a long time. Long enough to think about how you might never get to do this again, and you suddenly want him in all the ways you never had him, and all the ways you had. Just one last time.

He presses a kiss to your temple. “I can tell you’re exhausted, baby. Let’s get you to bed.”

There’s no reason to protest, he’s right, so you let him lead you to the bed. You’re already in your pajamas, and he draws back the covers and tucks you underneath them carefully.

“You’re staying,” you say. It’s meant to be a question, but it comes out like command, and although you can’t stand the idea of pleading for it, would if you had to. You’re that desperate.

You hear the clunk of his boots landing on the floor, feel the dip of his weight on the opposite side of the bed.

“Of course,” he says softly, voice barely above a whisper as he slides underneath the covers.

Joel’s arm snakes around your waist, and you’re being pulled back against his chest. You wriggle to be closer, even though it’s not possible, his nose resting on the crown of your head, stroking your hair softly. He’s being so tender, so sweet, it makes you feel sick.

“What if I don’t want you to leave?” you turn your head slightly, so you can see him out of the corner of your eye. You want to be able to remember his face, in case you never see him again. He was handsome, you’d always thought that, even despite the years between you.

“It’s my brother. I don’t have much of a choice, baby.”

Joel had told you all about Tommy. You wished you could be resentful at his leaving to find his brother, but you knew you’d risk pretty much anything for the chance to see anyone in your family again.

You shake your head. “This…sucks.”

He offers a rare chuckle, one that vibrates through his chest and straight to the ache in your stomach that started when he told you he’d be leaving. “It does. I’m sorry.”

Joel sighs, his breath on the nape of your neck, and you shiver. “I’ll miss you.” It’s a simple truth you can hear in his voice without even needing to look in his eyes.

“I’ll miss you.” You reach for his hand.

You roll over to face him, his head propped on his opposite hand, looking down at you.

“You remember everything I taught you?” he asks. “Be smart, keep yourself safe.”

Joel had proven to be a pretty valuable resource when it came to survival skills. He’d taught you how to shoot a gun, to load and reload it, how to take it apart, clean it, and put it back together. You recalled the feeling of him leaning over your shoulder, adjusting your grip to shoot at a target. And even if most of his lessons in hand-to-hand combat resulted in him having his way with you on the kitchen floor – you didn’t mind it at all – you knew enough to defend yourself.

“I do,” you answer. “And I will.”

You think of all the time you’ve spent with him the past few years. How it has made things bearable. It’s likely the last time you’ll ever see him, and you know what you’re supposed to say. But for the life of you, you just can’t say it.

Instead, you lean in to kiss him, lazy and lingering, both your hands on the side of his face, palms pressed against the scruff of his beard. You pull away after awhile.

“Tell me about what it was like. Before all this.” When the outbreak began, you were just a child. It felt like a dream, your memory so fuzzy it was hard to recall anything except the worst parts.

Joel does, and you listen, captivated, though it’s not the first time you’ve heard it. For such a gruff man, he paints a pretty picture.

It’s easy to imagine what your life might be like if none of this had ever happened. It would have been better, infinitely better, for yourself, for Joel, for everyone. It would be better, but if it hadn’t happened, you wouldn’t have met him. For some reason, something about that doesn’t feel right.

#joel miller x reader #joel miller #pedro pascal #tlou fanfic #tlou hbo #the last of us #fluff #angst #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #hi please read this and say nice things to me i worked really really hard on this #writing #fanfiction #joel miller imagine #joel miller tlou #joel miller the last of us #joel miller fluff #joel miller angst

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magicalrocketships · 7 months

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Here's a little Max/Daniel + a fucked up bond ficlet (1130 words)

Max dreams of his bond.

He's dreamed of it his entire life, nights bombarded with somebody else's feelings and emotions and someone else's voice, dreams weighed down with how it feels to share some of what he's feeling with another person. The weight of it, night after night after night. A bond that haunts his dreams.

And then he wakes up and it's not there, and Max feels isolated, cut-off, alone. An orange, its juice squeezed out. He's just the peel. He is what's left behind.

You are not supposed to dream of bonds like this. He tries to explain it as he grows up, but everyone tells him he's imagining it. Fantasising about a future.

In the middle of the night, Max feels like he could stretch his hand out and touch the person sharing his bond, and have them touch back. Sometimes he reaches his hand out, holds it up over him, fingertips outstretched. Sometimes, desperately, it feels like someone is touching back.

Bonds are not like this, he is told, over and over again. He tells himself he's got it wrong. He learns to dread his dreams as much as he dreads waking up from them. He is 14, 15, 16, 17.

18. 19. 20.

One day he wakes up from his dream in a hotel room with his hand stretched out.

Daniel's hand is touching his, reaching out over the gap between their beds. His fingertips press to Max's wrist.

For the first time in his life, Max's chest loosens. His breathing eases. Max touches Daniel's pulse point with the pad of his thumb.

Daniel's eyes fly open. His eyes are wide, bright. Immediately empty. He jerks his hand back.

He is gone from the room when Max comes out of the bathroom.

Max feels like his feet are being dragged down into the earth. Like his steps grow heavier. The only time he's ever free from it is when he's behind a wheel. Everywhere else it is relentless.

Daniel is leaving Red Bull. They don't talk. The dreams continue. They're worse, this time around. When Max reaches out, desperate, haunted— no one reaches back.

Bonds are not like this, he is told.

"I know this," he says. He is tired, furious, aggressive on the track. He can't get it up for his girlfriend. Daniel will not look at him.

Maybe this is not a bond. Maybe this is just him. Maybe there is just something wrong with him.

His dad takes him to a doctor. It is not one on any approved list. Make his dreams stop, his dad says, and essentially hands over a blank cheque, Max's name on the account.

Max takes pills. A little blue one, two white ones, one circular, two oblong. He can't get it up for anyone. There is no girlfriend anymore. He sleeps like the dead. Daniel doesn't look at him.

He comes alive in his car. There is nowhere else to feel anything. Daniel is mid-field at Renault. Max is leading at Red Bull. The pills keep coming, the dreams are gone, and he leads the field. He is empty, he is hollow, he is nothing but silence and fury and rage.

"Born to race," his dad says. Pride alive. "Bred to race. My genes."

His mum raced too, but it is never her genes.

"Look at me," he says to Daniel, one time when they see each other. "Look at me."

Daniel does, but his gaze is tired. "What do you want me to see?"

"Me looking at you," Max says, and Daniel looks away.

That night, Max punches a wall so hard he feels it all the way up his arm and into his shoulder and down into his chest. His knuckles bleed.

"You're extremely lucky not to have broken anything," the team medic tells him.

Max doesn't care anymore.

He gets in his car and he drives through the pain. Bonds are not like this. He crashes off at turn seven, eight laps in, goes straight into the wall. When they ask him over the radio if he is okay, he doesn't say anything. Sleeping like the dead at night has bled into the day.

Max. Are you okay?

"No," he says finally, and the red flag flies.

The doctor at the hospital takes his pills off him. There are hurried conversations outside of his room. He presses his face into the pillow. I have heard of bonds like this, one person says. But only in scientific papers. Never in real life.

Max doesn't want to hear it. Not anymore.

He wakes in the middle of the night to Daniel sitting in the chair by the bed. These are the dreams Max pays not to have. His dad will find another doctor. There will be other pills. The bond he is not supposed to have will melt away into a grave of silence, night after night, day after day. He rolls over.

"Max," Daniel says. "Max. I crashed too, you know."

A nightmare, Max thinks. He is empty and hollow and cold. He turns his face into the pillow, breathes.

"You went into that wall and I blacked out. Did you know that?"

Max remembers all those endless nights of reaching out, of wanting so desperately for someone to reach back. For Daniel to reach back. That single moment of touch, of ease, of quiet, before Daniel left him, left Red Bull, left this.

"I've seen your onboards," Daniel goes on. "I've seen you crash. And then I close my eyes and I see what you saw and I feel what you felt. And I can't make it stop."

"Bonds aren't supposed to be like this," Max says. "That's what they say."

Daniel reaches out and takes Max's hand in his. They both breathe. "Look at me."

Max unburies his face from the pillow. "What do you see?"

"You," Daniel says, in the dark of the night. The ache in Max's soul is gently unclenching. "You, looking back at me."

Daniel presses his palm to the pale inside of Max's wrist. They are caught in a soft slash of moonlight through the blinds. A pulse beats gentle across his skin, like the first birds of sunrise. It crescendoes. It is like he can hear again. He has never cared about music but he cares about this. His body sings.

"Maybe our bond is supposed to be like this," Max says, softly, desperately hopeful. He looks. Daniel looks back.

Daniel lifts Max's hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to the back of his hand, to Max's palm, the base of his thumb, his wrist. Max's whole body thrums.

"How do you feel?" Daniel asks.

"Alive," Max says, and neither of them let go.

Thank you to my lovely @flawlessassholes for reading this over for me :) This song accompanies the closing paragraphs.

#my fic #fic that i wrote #a little bit of fucked up daniel/max and a fucked up bond

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r-f-m-writes · 18 days

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A Lark In a Hollow Chapter Two

Lark stared at her hands, the cuticle on her thumb was bright red, scabbing over slowly, the curved edge of it gummy and recessed after years of relentless picking. Just her right one. Her left was the one she used to wound its twin.

Christopher Hollow’s truck was big, black, and almost as intimidating as the man himself when Lark walked toward it across the small, crowded, city parking lot.

Mrs. Poppy’s voice rose light and chipper on the air behind her, speaking to Hollow with enthusiasm while Lark came to a stop beside the truck, standing still and silent. Waiting. Her father’s voice rasped in her memory, hazy as a cloud of cigarette smoke, half as bitter.

Good girls are seen, not heard.

“- very smart, her grades are the best I’ve seen in a long while, no need to worry about tutors, just to have her enrolled in school before the end of winter break. Do try to get her outside and socializing once in a while. Lark’s a shy thing.”

Averting her eyes to the dusty cracks in pavement, Lark blinked at the white rubber toes of her worn shoes while Mr. Hollow moved past her, the heat of his body like an open log fire as he loaded her duffle bag into the bed of the truck, reaching up to fasten it to the safety screen with a length of elastic cable.

“That right?”

Christopher’s voice was rough and low, syllables rumbling out of him like the grumble of a bear who just woke from hibernation.

Lark tucked her chin toward her chest, shoulders hunching against the uncomfortable sensation of being looked at.

Mrs. Poppy saved her from having to speak.

“Wouldn’t say boo to a goose, this one. A bit of an introvert.”

The whole truck rocked when Christopher took his weight off its side, suspension squeaking slightly as dark boots stepped into Lark’s sight.

The steel caps of his boots mimicked the shape of her scuffed up sneakers.

Christopher stood near her and gave a grunt.

“‘s alright. Not much for people myself.”

Lark toed at an immature dandelion sprouting determinedly through cracks in the concrete.

Mrs. Poppy laughed, loud and bright.

“Oh, you two, peas in a pod! Come along Lark, let’s not keep Mr. Hollow waiting around.”

~R.F.M~

Christopher Hollow doesn't listen to the radio while he drives, and he drives safely, sensible and precise.

The inside of his truck is immaculately clean with dark leather seats and a grey plastic dashboard. The air smelled vaguely like dog and wood and muddy boots - but those were all scents that Lark was happy to endure for however long it would take them to get to where they were going.

He doesn't make her talk or take any offense to her silence, caution masquerading as shyness.

The girl sat still, not letting herself fidget, not letting herself become an irritation. Only Lark’s eyes moved, dark honey brown irises flicking rabbit quick over the landscape as it shrank from city, to towns, to farms, then shot up again in towering green-gray forest that enclosed all around them, swallowing the big truck in it shadows until Lark felt it must look like a shiny black beetle scurrying through dirt.

She had learned about old growth pines in school, got ninety five out of a hundred for her essay on the importance of preservation and advocacy. Gazing up at them from her passenger seat, towering and celestial like gods on earth, Lark felt she had sold them short in her paper.

The sun rose and rose and rose until it halted at its peak, then, slowly, began to regress back toward the tops of trees, casting long golden shadows over the road and the hood of the truck as it sank.

#original writing #original work #ao3 original work #ao3 writer #ao3feed #a lark in a hollow #sweet'nshort #rfmwrites #dark romance #dark writing #dark aesthetic #dead dove do not eat #dead dove fic

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saintmurd0ck · 10 months

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if the tide takes california

masterlist

pairing: frank castle + mentions of reader

summary: frank spends time contemplating if he's deserving of your love

warnings: angst, hurt (with comfort), mentions of grief and loss, frank being a little sad

a/n: i wrote this in one cathartic hour, please cry with me. ok love you

song pairing: til forever falls apart (ashe ft finneas)

And that's a wrap! Thank you for tuning in today to 6NEWS Radio, late night edition. The time is currently 9 PM and we hope you have a good night, wherever you are.

"Damn interference," Frank mutters. He grits his teeth, cursing as he bends forwards to twist the volume knob down. He knows he should be minutely grateful for any service at all, considering that he's out in the middle of nowhere, forty miles from the nearest backwater town, but his tolerance still wanes to a sliver.

Sighing, Frank goes to rub his temples, remembering why it is he has the radio on in the first place. It's because he'd rather the distraction than to be alone with his thoughts.

For now.

Pushing the reminder aside, he tightens his grip on the pair of binoculars in his lap, bringing them up to his eyes. He's done a good job choosing this location. From where he is, the van is completely hidden --- concealed in a copse of trees right opposite the compound. It's a cloudless, starry night; beautiful, if it weren't for the assholes across the way. He'd run out of fingers before he'd get halfway through the gang leader's rap sheet.

He's been casing them for a week. And very soon --- Frank glances at the time on his phone --- the lights would turn on, girls and gang members arriving in hordes, and maybe, just maybe, he'd finally get to meet the head of this operation. Then, they'd have a little exchange, man-to-man.

That, of course, involves Frank being the only one of them to get out of the compound alive.

He inhales sharply, licking his lips as he continues to survey the area.

When he measures the situation in his head, taking every decision and every course of action required to execute his plan, it's simple. Easy. It's all he knows, and it makes sense.

So why is it so difficult when it comes to you?

Frank scoffs at himself, as if to say, "No, not again." Not tonight. There's a dangerous edge to his behaviour, one he continues to sharpen with every passing minute he's in this van. He purses his lips, casting aside the hollowness in his chest, the void worming its way into his heart.

The radio crackles, and a small noise sounds from the back of his throat. Thank fuck it's music now playing. He couldn't bear a single second more of that aimless, idiotic talk show.

There's a bitter taste in his mouth as he recalls that anger, the sheer turmoil within, just from listening to those people talk. He digs his boots into the footwell, his knuckles going white as the radio presenter's voice echoes in his head. He narrows his eyes, because how can people be so… carefree? How could they laugh about concert tickets and the best pie in town and harmless pranks when he has to do this?

He could've turned the radio off, and let silence fill the cracks in his environment, but some small part of him wanted to listen. Not just for a desperate glimpse into a "normal" life, but at the sweet, gut-wrenching agony it caused --- knowing he can't be a part of it, and pain is a healthy reminder he's alive.

It's a fair assumption to say that most people would run from his burden, or at least try to bury it with the rest of their closeted skeletons, but Frank can't. And he never will.

Because he can't count on anyone else. If it isn't for him, then the scum of the earth walk free.

Emotions are messy. Futile. At least guns served a purpose, no matter what that asshole in red told him. It was uncomplicated this way --- put one bad guy down, then the next. Put 'em where they belong, and they wouldn't reoffend.

Sometimes, Frank feels almost insulted that no-one sees it this way.

He puts the binoculars down, wringing his hands as he checks the time again. He allows himself to breathe in deeply, to fill his lungs with air, before turning up the volume on the radio. It's crackly, but better than before, and instead of overlapping voices, it's a mindless, endless drone of music.

He's not fussed about what comes on, as long as he can concentrate on the mission. At the end of the day, that's all that matters. Or so he convinces himself.

He rubs his eyes, listening to the words of the next song. He doesn't care for the melody, or that the singer has the kind of voice that'd smooth over the bumps in his soul, but something about the lyrics perks his ears.

…Dreaming in a world that we both know is out of our control

A muscle feathers in his jaw as he contemplates turning the radio off completely, but he stays his hand. He can't tell if it's a matter of internal torture again --- a yearning for something he, as the Punisher, could never have --- or that just this once, it's a song worth listening to.

But if shit hits the fan we're not alone, 'cause you've got me and you know That I've got you and I know

The thought of you hits him like a blow to the stomach, a twisting, red-hot knife in the embers of his fury.

If he's right about emotions, then why does your presence make him feel whole? Why is he thinking about you, three states away, before another life-threatening mission?

Frank grimaces, feeling his face contort into something that'd scare him if he looked in a mirror. He knows what he'll see, and it won't just be the husk of the man he used to be. He doesn't know if he could stand to see himself longing for yet another person who'd be better off without him.

If the tide takes California, I'm so glad I got to hold 'ya And if the sky falls from heaven above, oh, I know I had the best time falling into love

He swallows, blowing out a shaky breath, not knowing what to do next.

But it seems that you do.

'Your voice was the only thing that got me out of bed today.'

Frank looks down at your text, torment lining every heartbeat.

'Please come back to me.'

He keeps staring, frozen in place, unsure if he's worthy of your concern. Of your love.

His shoulders tense at the image of you, staying up late with him on your mind. These are feelings he's associated with danger, with grief and loss, and he's unsure if he'd be willing to go through it again. Frank hasn't allowed himself to feel in years, and for so long, he's been better off being that way.

We've been living on a fault line, and for a while, you were all mine I've spent a lifetime giving you my heart, I swear that I'll be yours forever 'Til forever falls apart

"'Til forever falls apart," Frank murmurs to himself, thinking back to the last time he made that commitment to someone, just before his world imploded before his eyes.

"Stupid fuckin' song," he says, shaking his head, but he regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth.

He opens your messages, feeling his gaze tentatively soften, and taps on your contact information. He's presented with options to reply, to call you, or to delete your number and move on, just so he can spare one more innocent soul.

His finger hovers over the screen, hesitating, and his eyes glaze over, trancelike from the song.

His instincts scream that it's a mistake to get involved, but maybe, just this once…

You pick up after the first ring, a sudden flood of relief calming your firing nerves.

Frank clears his throat. "Your voice is the only thing gettin' me through today."

#frank castle #frank castle x reader #frank castle angst #frank castle fanfic #the punisher #the punisher x reader #the punisher fanfic #the punisher angst #x reader #rhi writes 💻

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deadrattitude · 11 months

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Introducing the host of our spooky radio show, Edwin Nightly! Learn more about him in Nova Unconfirmed at 3pm, centova.rockhost.com:8001/live

#dead rat titude #hollow earth radio #radio show #internet radio #nova high school #radio broadcasting #radio #ghosts #spooky aesthetic #spooky

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talonabraxas · 2 months

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A monolith is a mysterious black slab, discovered throughout the Solar System in various sizes, but all of them maintaining a 1:4:9 dimensional ratio in Arthur C. Clarke’s Space Odyssey series.

Jovian Monolith, designated TMA-2, was the second monolith discovered. It was found by Commander David Bowman of the Discovery spacecraft. TMA-2 was found at the Lagrange point between Io and Jupiter, and was commonly called the Jupiter Monolith. The Jovian monolith measured nearly 2 kilometers long.

After Discovery reached Jupiter, Bowman parked the spacecraft at the Lagrange point between Io and Jupiter, since scientists back on Earth had pinpointed this to be the destination of the radio signal. Upon arrival, Bowman went out in a pod to get a closer look at the huge monolith. As he got closer, he saw that "the thing's hollow—it goes on forever—and, oh my God, It's full of stars!"

Bowman was pulled into the monolith, going on a fantastical, almost surreal journey through time and space. In the end, Dave was turned into the Star Child, an immortal being of pure energy, capable of doing whatever he wanted, while obeying the orders from the monoliths and the Firstborn.

When the Cosmonaut Alexei Leonov arrived at Jupiter, another strange chain of events occurred, ultimately transforming Jupiter into the minisun, Lucifer. The Jupiter monolith vanished near the end of the Leonov mission. It was soon discovered that it had gone to Jupiter and replicated itself millions of times over, transforming the planet into a sun. These millions of monoliths were presumably destroyed when the planet was converted.

"Monolith" Talon Abraxas

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jocia92 · 23 days

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Dan Stevens in an exclusive interview (Google translated)

Hollywood star Dan Stevens can currently be seen in the blockbuster “Godzilla x Kong: The New Empire” in cinemas. The film is currently topping the box office charts and is number one worldwide. We met the charismatic actor in Los Angeles and talked to him about his current film, his next two projects and his choice of roles.

April 5, 2024 by Grace Maier

Can you share with us your first reaction when you were offered a role in Godzilla x Kong: The new empire? It's always a pleasure to work with the same people several times, but this time it was extra special as Adam Wingard, the director, is an old friend. I was also invited to play with an even older friend, Rebecca Hall, as well as Brian Tyree Henry, who I have known and admired for years. It felt like I was being asked to play with friends.

What was it like entering the universe of these iconic monsters? Did you have any ideas or expectations? It's a fun task to be asked to stretch one's imagination to the size of such cinematic titans! I've worked with CGI on an epic scale before, so it wasn't too foreign, and I was surprised at how many practical locations we had.

How did you prepare for your role in this blockbuster? Were there any unique challenges or exciting moments during filming? It was really exciting to shoot in the Australian outback, in the Daintree rainforest - this incredible ancient jungle. That sense of adventure on the way to work every day, passing crocodiles along the river banks, waiting for pythons to be removed from the set, really fueled the mood for the Hollow Earth walk in the film.

“Godzilla x Kong: The new empire” promises to be an epic clash. Without giving too much away, can you give us a hint as to how your character fits into the plot? Trapper is initially brought in to help Kong with his toothache - he is a vet for all Titan creatures - and is then approached by Rebecca Hall's character, Dr. Andrews, invited to the mission. He's a kind of happy, carefree Han Solo type, good to have around, tirelessly optimistic and impressed by little.

The film contains a lot of CGI and visual effects. What was your experience like acting in such an environment and how did it differ from previous roles? I've worked with this type of thing before so it wasn't too scary. I actually really enjoy working with a VFX team and helping to create something using our entire collective imagination. It's truly incredible to see what they achieve long after you've left the process.

Were you a fan of the Godzilla or Kong films before joining this project? How does it feel to be part of their legacy? I feel like I've known these characters my whole life: they are such an integral part of cinema history. I've loved seeing them in all their different iterations over the years and of course being asked to perform alongside them - and even fix their teeth - is a huge honor!

The film will have some intense action scenes. Can you describe one of your most memorable moments while filming these scenes? While it's not the most intense scene, the way my character is introduced - rappelling from a floating vehicle into Kong's mouth to perform large-scale dental work - was one of the more exciting stunts I had to do!

How do you think fans of the franchise will react to Godzilla x Kong: The new empire? What can they look forward to most? I want them to enjoy the ride! You'll see things you've never seen before and meet some fantastic new creatures and characters, but also maybe some familiar fan favorites...

You also have the film "ABIGAIL" coming out in April. Can you tell us a little about filming and what audiences can expect? This is a completely different kind of thrill! Essentially, it's a vampire ballerina heist movie - you know the kind - directed by the Radio Silence guys, Tyler Gillett and Matt Bettinelli-Olpin, who specialize in a particularly wacky brand of horror-comedy that I love .

“CUCKOO” will also be released in the summer. What particularly interested you about this film? Tilman Singer, the director, is a truly exciting new voice in cinema - he has a very distinctive style that is so captivating and artfully disturbing. I was also very curious to work with Hunter Schafer, the lead actress of Cuckoo, who is such a bright and brilliant artistic soul.

Your career is so dynamic. How do you go about choosing a role? I crave variety, challenge and surprise, so I'm often guided by the search for those things, but it can also be a certain quality in the writing, a desire to work with certain directors or actors. It's different every time!

#godzilla x kong: the new empire #godzilla x kong #abigail 2024 #cuckoo 2024 #abigail #cuckoo #dan stevens #l'officiel liechtenstein #interview #godzilla x kong spoilers

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hihhasotherfixations · 9 months

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Nightmares - Price x Reader | Part 1

So, I decided to stop trying to make every piece of writing I do perfect before I post it. So here is this :3

This part is a little silly, next part will be angstier

CW: slight angst, graphic nightmare, fem reader though you make no appearance in this part

Part 1 | Part 2

Word Count: 7875

Exhausted and bloody, the 141 walked into the cave while the storm raged behind them.

Rain pelted from the sky, obscuring view and covering everything in a curtain of water. Boots, clothing and rifles, everything was drenched as the Task Force trudged into the hollowed out rock.

“Go on, get deeper inside.” Price huffed, waiting at the entrance and letting his whole team pass him, silently counting heads as he did. The task force had after all grown a bit from the usual three men that shadowed him. An extra four now present with Farah, Alex, Rudy and Alejandro.

Once he was sure everyone was there, the SAS captain turned to them to see everyone standing around a little awkwardly.

“Go on, walk further.” He ordered, jostling Alex and Soap who were the farthest, now walking deeper into the cave. “Check if there’s no surprises in the back.”

“Price, what do we do?” Farah was the first to speak up, directly to the man’s right.

“We’re gonna sit here and wait for the storm to pass. I’ll radio Laswell in a bit to let her know we’ve found shelter. And then we can do nothing but wait.” He sent a small smile down at her as he spoke that.

“Sir?” Gaz asked, a little confused and Price turned to his sergeant.

“We have what we came here for. Proof of Shepherd’s involvement with Al-Qatala. Continuing to run will just exhaust us.”

“It’s as good a plan as any, amigo.” Alejandro spoke up, clapping Gaz on the shoulder and the Brit hummed.

“Get some rest.” Price then spoke, motioning for everybody to sit down while Soap and the former CIA-agent briefly swept the back of the cave, finding nothing.

Seeing his team listen, Price turned around, looking at the incessant rainfall in front of him; pouring down onto the earth and thankfully running down the slope of the hill the cave was situated on, away from the opening he was standing in front of.

“Bravo six to Watcher.”

“Send your traffic.”

“We’ve found a place to wait out the storm.” Right as he spoke that, lightning struck down, almost immediately followed by a thunderous bang; the storm truly right on top of them. “Waiting for exfill once it passes.”

“Copy, Bravo 6. Stay safe.”

“Always.”

With that, John released his radio and sighed softly, turning back into the cave and walking over to the rest while he pulled his rifle from his shoulder, leaning it against the cave wall to his right before sitting down with a groan.

“Getting old there, captain?” Gaz quipped as he watched the man and Price raised a brow at the sergeant across from him.

“Try backpacking the weight you all bring with you. You’ll be ‘old’ like me within three days.”

A chuckle swept through the cave at that and with it, the tension of the mission seemed to seep away.

Over the next hour or two, rations were shared and eaten while the storm continued to rage outside, the darkened day slowly turning into an even darker night.

Somewhere during that, Price had gotten up and walked a bit away to stare out of the entrance of the cave, staying on alert though he let his mind calmly wonder - relaxing with the steady beat of rain.

A shifting to his right made him turn to see Ghost moving to stand beside him. “Y’alright?” He asked the masked man, who hummed and nodded.

“Want me to take first watch tonight?” It was a simple question and the captain turned his head to look forward and out of the cave again, seemingly in contemplation before he turned back to his lieutenant.

“No, I’ll keep watch. You and the others get some rest for now.” Giving an encouraging nod as he spoke, Price dismissed his suggestion.

Briefly, Ghost seemed to hesitate before he gave a curt nod and turned to walk back deeper into the cave, leaving the man on his own, closer to the entrance.

Letting out a quiet, but deep breath, the man slowly shifted to sit down against the wall to his left.

Turned to look outside, he situated himself comfortably against the wall before reaching over to grab his rifle. With it securely in his lap, he glanced into the cave once more to see the guys and Farah laughing together, seated in a circle with Ghost recently rejoined.

A fond smile briefly tugged at his lips before he turned back to the sheet of rain, watching through it for possible hostile movement.

It was going to be a long night.

About an hour or two later, everyone was recently asleep while John still sat at his post, exhaustion nipping at his mind though he kept brushing it away.

The rain had not let up in the slightest while thunder continued to rumble - less violent than before but no less present.

Suddenly, all the way down the hill in the treeline, he spotted movement, making his brow furrow.

Ever so carefully, he raised his rifle, looking through the scope as he adjusted the dial, zooming in on the trees.

Far below, several men walked, small torches mounted on their guns as they swept the forest. It didn’t take a genius to figure out they were looking for the 141 and co.

Squinting his eyes slightly, Price kept his sights trained on the men, watching their every move as they clunkily searched the woods far below. From their movement and formation, it was clear that none really were experienced, putting the older man at relative ease.

While he had been about to wake up the others - or at least one or two - now he instead opted to shift onto one knee, keeping his sniper rifle up and simply monitoring.

There was no reason to compromise their hiding place simply to gun down some inexperienced boys. He might as well let the others get the good rest he knew he himself couldn’t get.

As he suspected, the soldiers out in the rain never once left the trees, staying beneath the slight shelter of the canopy and naively thinking there was nowhere for the 141 to run except through the forest.

It wasn’t for half an hour before every last soldier was gone from sight and Price sighed, lowering his gun.

Turning the scope back from its zoom, the man glanced through once more to check if everything was truly clear before he let himself lean back to sit against the wall to his left again.

Moving his neck side to side to loosen it up, Price sighed once more, the smallest of groans leaving him as his neck cracked a bit.

Blinking a few times, he glanced at his watch to see it was 00:30 in the morning. The mission had been gruelling and while the team had to get up at 3am to get to location in time - which was already bad - he had been working through the night, going over the mission and required paperwork. With that and him getting up very early the previous day, he was nearing the 44 hour mark without rest. And with it, his need for sleep was growing more steady by the minute.

Reaching into his shirt, the man dug around for a few seconds before he managed to grab onto what he was after. His dog tags.

Looking down at them, it wasn’t the two which held his personal information that he grabbed them for. No, it was the third one.

Fondly, he rubbed his thumb over the small metal plate, lightning striking somewhere in the forest, illuminating the cave and giving a brief visibility to the words engraved on it that he already knew by heart.

By hurricane, war or old age,

In life or death, I will be by your side

Unable to stop himself, the tiniest of fond smiles came onto his face as he reread the words.

It were your vows to him.

His wife who was waiting at home, holding out for him to return.

Rubbing the small metal plate again, that thought caused his smile to turn into a soft frown. You’d given this dog tag to him on your first wedding anniversary. A little something he could wear in lieu of a wedding ring whenever he was out on deployment, so that you could be by his side. By his heart even.

Still, the man often wondered why you waited for him. He wasn’t stupid. In his line of work, one mistake and he’d be gone. And yet you braved that risk and stress and not only dated him, but actually fell in love and married him.

Sitting here now in the cave, the storm rushing outside, thunder and lightning filling the sky, he wondered if there was an afterlife. And if there was and he got there, would the world be cruel enough to force him to watch you find out he was gone?

God, even sitting here now, exhausted, clammy in soaked gear and with no clue what the next few hours would bring, John couldn’t stop his mind from going to you. Your sweet frown if you found out about what he was thinking, your kind smile, your soft hands holding his face as you reassured him.

He was completely and utterly whipped.

It was the reason he’d been unable to stop himself from seeing you in the past. From asking you out on more dates. From asking to move in together. From asking you to marry him…

“What’ve you got there, captain?”

A voice startled him out of his thoughts and Price quickly closed his fist around the dog tags, hiding them as he looked up to see Kyle walking over, no longer resting in the sleeping pile.

“Sergeant.” He greeted, raising an eyebrow at the young man. “Why are you awake?”

Not saying anything, Gaz instead pointed at the dog tags still in his hand and Price rolled his eyes.

“That’s none of your business.” He grumbled, quickly sticking the chain back under his shirt and vest before looking up at his subordinate again. “So, why are you up?”

“Thought it was about time to switch watch, no?” Gaz smiled, now sitting down on the cave wall opposite to his captain.

Huffing out a dry chuckle, Price looked down at his watch; 0100. “It’s not exactly my time yet.”

“Sir, we’re with a lot more people, we can afford to take shorter watches now. Switch more often.” Gaz spoke, a little confused and Price briefly ran his tongue over his teeth.

“That’s true. But don’t worry about it, sergeant, I don’t mind.” He sent a brief yet not entirely convincing smile to Gaz, who frowned a bit. “I’d rather you all get sufficient sleep. We don’t know what’s waiting for us tomorrow.”

“Alright.” Gaz mumbled, slowly getting up - not entirely happy with that answer but not wanting to go against his superior. “Just wake me if you get tired, cap.”

“Will do. Now get your ass back in there.” Price huffed a chuckle as he pointed his thumb to the circle of sleeping bodies, Gaz smiling as well as he shook his head, walking over to his previous spot.

Watching the young man walk away, Price let out a subtle but deep breath, his relief seeping out with it. With it, he could feel his dog tags pressing against his chest, reminding him of exactly why he was doing this.

Nightmares.

Every night, without fail, he would get nightmares. The only thing that helped? You.

For some reason, his arms around you or vice versa was the only thing keeping them at bay. On base, the solution was a pillow with your smell. It felt childish, but resting his head on it or holding it worked the majority of the time.

It made it so that at home he had very little - almost a normal amount - of nightmares, at base, it was only 40% or so. But out in the field? Here? John knew that no matter what he did, his past would haunt him the moment he closed his eyes.

Experiencing them was one thing. Warped memories turning into something worse. But his main reason for staying awake came from the fact that he didn’t want to show that kind of vulnerability to the team.

He was their captain for goodness sake. The man telling them what to do while any stray bullet could be the end. He reigned over their life and death and he was fortunate enough that they all believed in him. Trusted him. But how could they trust him to make those decisions in the heat of battle when they knew he had bloody night terrors over it like a kid.

So instead of risking that, he opted to forego sleep when a situation such as this arose - where they were forced to sleep in the field.

Sighing softly, John shuffled again to bat away his sleepiness, settling in for a long night.

Ghost was the first to awaken. 6 in the morning sharp, the man slowly sat up, looking around the cave and taking in his surroundings, only to furrow his brows when he glanced to the opening and saw a familiar bucket hat sitting there.

Alarmed, he immediately got up, silently jogging over to the entrance of the cave to see his captain’s rifle propped up against the rock while the lone hat sat in the vacant spot.

Outside, the rain was hosing down, almost entirely obscuring vision and Ghost narrowed his eyes.

While the captain would usually never part from the item, Ghost recognised it for what it was; a silent signal.

The calm positioning of the hat paired with the rifle neatly leaned against the wall still - Price was letting the team know he’d be right back.

A signal that was decided upon with some chuckles in the meeting room, quite some time ago.

Still, Ghost knew whatever the captain had left for, it couldn’t be good. So, he moved.

Reaching down, the man grabbed the rifle with scope, bringing it up to his eye as he pushed the tip out through the waterfall of rain rolling from the top of the cave.

Squinting, he scanned around the area before quickly spotting a man standing in the field.

On the hill between the cave and the forest, he was walking around while the world slowly became lighter, even though the rain didn’t let up.

With the sun slowly rising and the sky turning from pitch black to a dark grey, Ghost scanned around. The man was still a ways down the hill to the right, but the further he walked, the closer he would get to realising the entrance of the cave.

Down below in the forest, more men walked and Ghost clenched his jaw a bit, his eyes hard set as his finger moved to the trigger. Shoot one and he’d alert the others, unless he could perfectly time it with one of the thunder strikes.

Just in that moment, lightning struck down and Ghost counted the seconds between the visual and audible thunder, measuring fifteen seconds. So the thunderstorm had moved by 5km in the entirety of the night.

Cocking his head a bit at that realisation - that it was in fact morning - Ghost flexed his hands, re-gripping the gun as he did another sweep for Price, waiting for the next thunderstrike.

Just as he was about to pull away and refocus on the slowly approaching target, a movement in the tall grass of the hill made him halt. Slowly, he moved the scope over to see a figure crouched, approaching his previous target at a creeping pace.

Keeping the rifle fixed on the body, Ghost reached up to his comms. “Price, come in. Is that you out there?”

There was a silence for a few seconds before Ghost saw the figure’s arm move up to his shoulder, a corresponding two statics sounding in his ear. It was Price, he couldn’t talk.

Relieved that he had located his captain, Ghost watched as the man snuck closer and closer to the unsuspecting target in the field, the rain covering any tracks Price would leave behind - though that wasn’t much already.

Barely a minute later, the lieutenant watched as Price jumped up behind the man, stabbing his knife straight into the target’s neck and dropping him like a sack of potatoes.

Chuckling softly at the stealth takedown, Ghost continued to keep watch while the captain was rummaging around with the body, he himself sweeping the forest to see if anyone else noticed what had gone down, keeping watch of his superior’s six.

Shortly after, Price made the slow but stealthy trek back up the hill, re-walking his previous path.

A second later, Price’s voice sounded in his ear. “Mornin’, Simon.”

“Morning, captain. Had a good time, did you?”

“It’s muddy and slippery, so no.” Right as the man said that, Ghost watched his foot slip down, a curse cut off from his comms as the captain had to let go of the button to instead catch himself. A chuckle escaped Ghost and he pulled back from the entrance, pulling the rifle up and setting it back against the wall.

Two minutes later, Price walked through the entrance of the cave, showered with the falling water rolling off the top of the opening, though it didn’t do much to make him more wet, given he was already soaked to the bone.

“Don’t even start.” Price sighed as he saw the amused glint in the masked man’s eyes, walking over and bending down to pick up his hat, dripping water everywhere.

“I didn’t say a thing.” Ghost hummed, watching as the man ruffled a hand through his hair, a desperate attempt to get some water out before he stuck his hat back on with a huff.

Humming a bit Price didn’t say anything as he instead rubbed at his eyes, groaning softly.

“Sir, why are you still awake.”

And there was the million dollar question Price knew was coming, a soft sigh leaving him as he pulled his hand away from his eyes. “Didn’t feel tired.” He sniffed pointedly to clear his airways, grabbing the rifle positioned against the wall after Ghost had used it and checking it over, just to be busy.

“Price-“

“Don’t worry, Simon. I’m used to a lot worse. Besides, you can take over watch now while I figure out how Al Qatala is doing.” With a sly smile, he clapped the lieutenant on the shoulder, holding up the comms he’d picked off the soldier he just killed.

Ghost opened his mouth to protest but instead held his tongue, sighing out as the captain handed him the rifle and already walked away, over to the others in the cave, some of which were slowly starting to wake up - the hour ingrained into their bodies, as well as the noise of the conversation making it so.

And thus, while Ghost sat down with a sigh, clutching Price’s rifle to look outside if he must, Price walked over and sat just outside the circle of bodies, cleaning the earpiece before sticking it into his right ear, waiting for anything to come through.

Running through the field, gun in hand, John was huffing. Out of breath and exhausted, all around him, gunfire and explosions sounded out, his head ducked in the hope it would make any bullet miss that vital spot.

With every step, his lungs burned. But if he could just get over the ridge, could just get past that barrier the enemy set up, he’d be fine.

His rifle was long gone, where or how he didn’t know, all he knew was that he was running.

“Price!”

Snapping his head to the right, John watched just in time to see one of his squad mates fall down, his foot stuck in barbed wire.

“Hang on!” Shouting that out, he came to a skidded stop before he ran back, rushing over. To the right, an explosion sounded and he jumped the last bit, sliding down the dirt to reach his fellow soldier. “I’ve got you.” He panted, taking hold of the barbed wire and immediately pulling. Yet as he did - inexplicably - instead of simply popping the sharp points free from fabric,

John pulled entire strips of flesh out of the man’s leg.

Screaming out in pain, the man clutched his leg and John let go in shock, unable to speak as his eyes were wide, looking at what he just did.

Roughly, his fellow soldier grabbed him by the front of his vest, pulling him in. “How could you?! Price, you-!” Whatever he was going to say was cut off as suddenly, a missile landed by the man’s foot, going off and blowing the top of his body to smithereens.

Blood, guts, insides. Everything was visible and John felt himself get covered in it. His breathing was panicky and he felt like vomiting, but still he couldn’t will his body to move, not even when the lower, lifeless half of the man’s body fell forward and into him, trapping him there completely as if he too was stuck in the barbed wire.

“Fuck!” Finally finding his voice, John cursed as he tried to push the dead remains off of himself, blood gurgling out of it and spilling even further onto him, soaking his uniform so severely he could feel it clinging onto every part of him, every movement now restricted by the clammy gear.

Struggling in vain, a noise then reached John’s ear and he snapped his eyes up to see a UAV rushing straight down, right at his face.

Shocking awake, John shot up, only for his head to smash into rock. “Fucking- jesus-!”

Cursing out, he grabbed hold of his head while those around startled at his sudden exclamation.

“Y’alright, captain?” Alex asked while he looked on as said man smacked the side of his fist into the overhang of rock he was beneath - a measly form of retaliation.

“I need to pick better spots to sit down.” The man grumbled, exhaustion nipping at him as his heart still hammered from the nightmare.

Tired and sore, with a new bump forming on his head in the near future, Price moved to stand up, cringing at the feel of his wet uniform, clinging to every part of him and making movement difficult.

That explained the feeling in his dream.

Grumpily, the man walked between the legs of his team and sat down next to Rudy, now the furthest into the cave.

“You would pick a better spot if you got some sleep.” Gaz spoke, replying to his earlier grumble.

“Don’t go there, sergeant.” Price sighed, exhausted and unwilling to fight it.

“You didn’t get any sleep?” Farah questioned, concern showing on her face, Soap joining in as he glanced between his captain and the spot the man had just jolted awake from.

For, as badly as Price hoped otherwise, in the fifteen minutes he’d fallen asleep for, he tossed and turned, alerting those around.

“It’s fine, I’m used to it.” Price waved it away, trying to will away the headache all this questioning was forming. Closing his eyes, he leaned back into the rock behind him, thinking over the nightmare.

Like usual, it had been a mix of real events and fabrications of his mind. He remembered that soldier. While trying to pull his foot free from the barbed wire, a small remote controlled missile had indeed been shot at them. Yet different from his dream, the soldier had pushed Price down the slope, saving his life.

It was a whole different kind of guilt to bear.

“You need sleep.”

Getting pulled back into the present at Soap’s concerned comment, Price raised an eyebrow. “I’m not a senior, you know. I’m barely any older than Alejandro.” He huffed, a little miffed. “You’re all well rested and I’ll survive.”

“You-“

Whatever Soap was gonna say next was cut off as Price suddenly sat up and held up his hand, his attention out of the conversation and focused to the sound coming from his earpiece. Recognising the look in his captain’s eye, Soap dutifully shut up, waiting while Price concentrated on the Arabic sounding in his ear.

“No sign of them, we’re retreating.” Price repeated the words, Farah and Alex perking up as they were the only others who could understand Arabic.

“What’s that mean?” Rudy asked and Price looked up at him.

“Means we’re in the clear for now. Let’s hope they won’t miss the soldier I took out until we’re long gone.”

“Laswell.” Price grunted as he nodded at the woman before him, cracking his neck a bit to get the stiffness out.

He’d just survived several hours in a helicopter back to base with the team.

“How did it go, John?” She asked while she watched the rest of the team hop out of the heli and walk down the tarmac in the distance, looking tired, wet and exhausted.

“Good in terms of mission objective. Bad for what said objective means for us.” The man sighed, reaching into his pocket and handing a usb to her. “If you don’t mind, my head is killing me.”

Frowning a bit in concern, she then saw the forming bruise on the man’s temple and nodded in understanding. It also wasn’t uncommon for him to get headaches after missions, given the stress put on him.

“Let me walk back with you.” She sent him a small smile and Price nodded. With that, the both of them walked towards the 141 barracks, sharing some occasional conversation.

Before long, they walked into the barracks to already see most of the team in loungewear, only those who cared enough to not let the tiredness win off to take a shower.

“Hey, Laswell.” Gaz greeted with a smile, which she returned.

“Good work out there, sergeant. Because of you all, we’re all one step closer. Thank you.” Laswell turned to the rest of the team lounging around with that, and Price couldn’t help the small quirk of his lips at the happy response from those present - an almost visible deflation seen in their bodies.

“Indeed, well done.” He hummed in agreement before being tapped on the arm.

“This is for you, by the way.” Looking down at Laswell, the woman was holding out a letter to him and Price hummed, taking it to inspect it, only to see a familiar handwriting stating his name. Briefly, he glanced at Laswell and she nodded with a little smile. “You know who from.”

“Got it. Thank you, Kate.” He hummed, briefly touching her upper arm in thanks before turning around. “See you all for supper.”

- - - -

“What was it you wanted to talk about?” Soap questioned, lounging on the couch together with Farah and Rudy.

About ten minutes ago, Gaz had called everyone into the living room and so now here they sat on all the couches and chairs.

Well- everyone minus one very specific person.

“Did any of you know the captain has a third dog tag?” Jumping straight into the topic, Gaz looked around to see everyone share some confused looks before all eyes turned back to him.

“What are you talking about, compadre?” Alejandro asked from the left, getting some agreeing hums from the others.

Understanding he needed to explain, Gaz moved to sit on the coffee table, in the middle and surrounded by the others on the couches. “So, two days ago, while we were in the cave? I woke up in the middle of the night to see Price sitting at the entrance, keeping watch.”

“Where he stayed all night until I took over.” Ghost rumbled, crossing his arms.

“Yeah.” Gaz pointed at him as if to say ‘just like that’ before continuing. “But the thing is, he was holding his dog tags and when I approached I noticed that third one specifically. He was looking at it with such concentration.”

“Where are you going with this?” Farah questioned, wondering why she even tried with all these boys.

“He was so entranced with it, he didn’t even hear or see me approaching.” Gaz clarified, his brows raising to define his words.

At that, both Soap and Alex perked up while Ghost tilted his head, all seeming a bit more intrigued.

“That’s unusual.” Soap spoke up, getting more into it and Gaz now pointed at him.

“Exactly. And he immediately hid it when he realised I was there.” Gaz pondered, glancing between his teammates with an excited glint in his eye. “I’m bored. I wanna find out what’s on that tag.”

And so, between the 141 and co, a silent pact was made.

The first attempt came from Gaz himself.

“What was that?” Price questioned as he was sat at his desk, papers spread around while his reading glasses were perched on his nose, his eyes now glancing over the square rim of them to look at Gaz.

The sergeant had been rambling off about something he hadn’t been able to follow, his mind still too engrossed in the text in front of him.

“I was wondering if you wanted to go swimming with all of us. You know, as a bonding experience.” Gaz smiled as he repeated himself, though something seemed off about it, making Price squint a bit in confusion.

“‘M afraid not, son. With Makarov and Shepherd on either side, I can’t really afford to take leisure time like that.” The captain sighed, holding up the paper he’d been holding in his left hand to emphasise.

“Are you sure?” The younger man tried, seeming to almost be pleading and Price chuckled.

“Quite positive. You boys go have fun.” With that, he shoo’ed Gaz out of his office and returned to slaving away over the paperwork, leaving the sergeant disappointed.

The second attempt came in the form of Soap, Alex and a dragged along Ghost.

“C’mon, go.” Soap shoved at Ghost, who sent a death glare back at the man, his hand threateningly raising to retaliate at the Scot. “Don’t hit me.” He quickly squeaked, ducking as he shielded his face and Ghost rolled his eyes, instead crossing his arms.

“Think this might be going a bit too far.” Alex murmured, not entirely sure of this plan as they stood outside the man’s room.

“I’ve made a bet with Alejandro, I’m not losing it now.” Soap responded, determined

“Your own fault for making a lousy bet.” Ghost huffed back, preferring to go to sleep over whatever Johnny was planning.

Narrowing his eyes at the masked man, Soap then turned back to the door instead, glancing up at the narrow sign bolted into the middle reading ‘J. Price’.

“Soap.” Alex tried, reaching out to stop the Scot but he simply swatted the former CIA-operative’s hand away, pointing at his face.

“Ah, ah, I am finding out before Gaz. I told you, I’m winning this bet.”

With those, words, he reached down to grab onto the door handle while Ghost facepalmed with a deep sigh, the muscles in his legs tensing to leave.

Yet right before either he or Soap could move into their actions, the door pulled open instead.

“What are you muppets up to?” A tired Price stood in the doorway and Soap immediately jumped back, his hand still stuck in position to grab the door handle - for which he quickly yanked the limb back.

“Captain! Surprised to see you awake at 1 in the morn’.” Smoothly covering his surprise at the man’s appearance, Soap smiled at his captain.

“Even if I were sleeping, no one can stay asleep with the racket you three were making.” Price grumbled as he tiredly rubbed at the bags under his eyes before passing a look over all three men. “So, what’s got you gathered at my door in the middle of the night?”

“Uh…” Soap swallowed softly, glancing to Ghost for help, only for the man to shove him forward a bit, a silent order to answer before he turned.

“Not my circus.” He grunted out as he began to walk away, but Soap was faster as he shot out and grabbed Ghost’s wrist, yanking him back.

“Actually! It was just- we were- it was a joke! We were gonna play a joke.” Soap blurted out after Alex poked him to hurry up.

Sighing tiredly, Price crossed his arms as he leaned into his doorway. “On me? All three of you. Including Ghost?”

“Ghost makes me feel safe, that’s why I brought him with us.” The Scot panicked, feeling said lieutenant attempt to pull his sleeve out of his hold, only for Soap to hold on extra tight, not wanting to be left alone now.

“Bloody hell.” Price groaned, hanging his head before lifting it and glaring at Soap, side-eyeing Alex who had been very quiet in the hope of avoiding any wrath. “Get to your blasted beds. If I see any of you here again, it’s toilet duty for a month.”

With that, Price stepped back and slammed his door in the faces of the three men.

Which left Soap to the mercy of Alex and Ghost.

- - - -

The final attempt came around dinner time.

It had been a week and a half since the last mission and a week and a half of trying to figure out the mystery dog tag.

Be it in the form of blatant ruses, attempting to sneak a peek during work-outs or in the communal shower room, none had been able to get anything.

Ghost and Farah had pointedly stated their refusal to participate, Rudy staying impartial though curious, while Alejandro merely had the bet with Soap.

Miraculously, they had been inconspicuous enough that Price didn’t seem to realise what was going on - or he was too busy being swamped with work to notice.

Right now, the 141 and company were gathered at the dinner table, just about finishing up while pleasant conversation flowed.

“Sooo, captain?” Gaz started in between, earning the notice of some of the others as he scooted his chair a little to the right, closer to where Price sat at the head of the table. “Your mother?”

Tilting his head, Price placed his cup down, looking a little puzzled at his sergeant. “What about her?”

“Father?”

Even more confused, Price turned his head right, looking at Soap who held a mischievous grin as he had seemed to butt in on the conversation. “My father?”

Yet the others at the table had now picked up on what was going on, Alex speaking up next. “A sibling?”

“What are you guys talking ab-“

“Any family member?” For the first time, Rudy participated as he spoke up, genuinely intrigued.

Yet all it did was make Price furrow his brows, completely lost in the conversation as his team seemed to pick on him one by one.

“Maybe a frie-“

“Could you TELL ME what you are talking about so that maybe I could give you a decent response?!” Price burst, splaying his hands wide as he interrupted Alejandro, glancing at Farah and Ghost for help given they seemed to be the only ones who didn’t seem to have lost their minds.

At his words, everyone shared a look, making Price’s irritation grow, given they were clearly all in on something he wasn’t.

Just then, Gaz shifted, earning him the ire stare of his superior. It didn’t deter him however, holding an almost boyish glint in his eyes. “The dog tag.” He spoke, the corner of his mouth lifted up as he pointed at Price’s chest.

Admittedly, it didn’t immediately click for him as the man reached for the chain around his neck, grabbing the tags and revealing the top one, showing one of his personal tags holding his information. Lack of sleep and the immense workload on him making his brain slower than he’d like.

Seeing it was the wrong one, Gaz good-naturedly rolled his eyes, pointing at the other two tags hidden in the man’s fist. “No- the other one.”

Blinking softly, everything fell into place for Price, his annoyed yet confused stare turning into one of realisation. “Oh, I see.”

At his words, those invested in the mystery perked up while Farah just looked disappointed, with Ghost deadpanning as he glanced around the table of idiots.

“You all really have nothing better to do?” Price questioned, one eyebrow pointedly raised as he looked around the table.

“We’re just curious, sir.” Soap grinned, leaning a bit more onto the table, eager.

“Stay curious.” With that, he pushed the chain back under his shirt, pushing out his chair as he got up with his plate and cup. “And given you all are bored it would seem, I’ll get something for you all to do.”

A groan instantly swept through those at the table as they knew what that meant, Soap getting a kick to the shin from Ghost while Farah roughly slapped Gaz’s upper arm - Alex receiving a punch to his on her other side.

- - - -

Standing on the sidelines with his arms crossed, Price held a stern face as he watched Soap and Gaz spar on the left while Farah had Alex in a headlock on the right.

Frantic, the blond tapped out on Farah’s thigh, about to be choked to death. Chuckling, the woman let him go and Alex rolled away from her, laying face down for a second.

“Well done, you two.” Price gruffly spoke, nodding in approval. “Farah won by a slight margin.”

“What about you, capitán?” Alejandro then spoke up as he stood besides the man.

Curious, Price turned his head to look at the colonel. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve never seen you fight hand-to-hand yet.”

Scratching his beard slightly, he hummed, thinking Alejandro’s words over before shrugging. It could never harm to know your allies’ capabilities. “Alright.” With that, he ushered Alex and Farah off the field, handing his hat to the Mexican colonel before taking his place in the grass and looking up. “Ghost, you feel like going a round?”

Wordlessly, the masked man complied, walking over to stand in front of his captain.

“Remember, no slapping or punching. This is purely a sparring match with the goal to pin the other.” Price repeated what he said for every match, even when he was about to fight his own.

“I’ll keep my hands close by.” Ghost spoke and the captain nodded, glancing at Alejandro who got the hint.

While the two in the grass got into defensive positions with arms raised, he stood forward. “Ready… go!”

Price was the first to move. With a surprisingly fast step, he got up in Ghost’s face before side-stepping to avoid his instinctual push-back.

Grabbing his wrist, the captain tried to pin it to his own back, but Ghost was faster as he turned around to get behind Price, prying his arm free and grabbing the man from behind.

Letting out a grunt from the impact, Price reached over his head to grab the back of Ghost’s vest, throwing all his body weight forward in a motion that sent the lieutenant flying over his shoulder.

Slamming onto his back in the grass, Ghost hadn’t let go of Price however, making the man fall to the ground with him, groaning.

Recovering faster than his captain, Ghost rolled over and grabbed hold of Price in a chokehold from behind - making sure not to actually choke him.

“Come on, Ghost, show the old man!” Soap’s cheering made both superiors on the ground glance up and glare at the sergeant, noticing the small crowd that had formed though neither let up in their fight.

Snaking his hand up, Price pried it under Ghost’s arm before pushing out, making the lieutenant lose his grip, now only holding Price down by the arm over his neck.

Price immediately took advantage of this and grabbed hold of said arm, pulling and pushing his body out at the same time, making Ghost grunt as he reached his free hand out to try and get his grip back, only managing to grab at the back of Price’s neck, holding onto the man’s shirt.

While the captain pulled away, Ghost felt something give underneath his hand - allowed only a second or so of confusion before Price twisted the arm pinning him back, forcing him to roll onto his side for which the brunet took advantage, getting underneath the masked man and practically bear-hugging him from behind.

Cursing, Ghost felt his left wrist being grabbed as Price tried to pin him, the man’s legs wrapping around his own to pin them down.

It was a good hold, though Ghost managed to pull the hand Price had pinned behind his back free, now able to use it to break the captain’s grip.

Struggling on the ground together, Price flung his arm over Ghost’s chest and grabbed hold of his own forearm, trying to keep hold and keep Ghost pinned on top of him while said man tried to pry his arm free.

“Captain! Captain Price!”

A sudden shouting brought everything to a halt and both men on the floor stopped their efforts as they instead looked to the right of the field to see a soldier running over, looking winded.

“Sir, I have some information from Colonel Norris.” He breathed, only now seeming to notice the annoyed looks he was getting from the entire team gathered around the grass.

They weren’t too happy to see the sparring match interrupted.

Untangling his limbs from Ghost, Price groaned as he nodded before letting his head fall back on the grass. “Be right with ya.”

With that, the soldier was forgotten as Ghost grunted while getting up. Rolling his shoulders a bit, he then turned to his captain still on the grass, sticking out his hand to help. “You held your own, old man.”

“You would have broken free. We’ll call it even.” Price smiled a bit as Ghost pulled him up before letting go and turning to the sergeant who had just rushed over. “Let’s head to my office.”

With a nod of goodbye to the team, Price accepted his hat back from Alejandro and placed it on his head before walking off with the soldier, brushing himself off a bit.

Yet while everyone deflated a bit, sweaty and happy to be done with the PT, Ghost bent down, picking up a small chain from the grass.

Dangling in his hand were his captain’s dog tags - all three glistening in the sunlight - and Ghost scoffed in amusement as he flipped them up to hold them properly in his fist.

He knew he’d felt something break underneath his hand.

- - - -

Walking into the mess hall in a frazzle, the 141 watched their captain walk around, eyes pointed at the floor, very obviously looking for something.

“Captain, over here!”

“Not now, Kyle.” Price dismissed, not even glancing up as he continued his search and Gaz shared an incredulous look with the others.

“No, captain, they’re here.” Farah was now the one to speak up and Price stopped in his tracks, looking up while his brows furrowed in confusion, seeing Farah beckon him over.

Everyone was gathered - which wasn’t too unusual for this time, but them standing around a singular table was.

Walking up, he got in between Farah and Rudy, only for his eyes to widen to what was laying in the middle of the table.

Without a second to spare, he snatched his tags up before glaring around at the circle. “What the bloody devil is the meaning of this?”

Anger very clearly simmered from his form and those around shifted a bit before Gaz stepped up.

“Look, sir, I know you know we’ve been trying to know what’s on your tags, but this was an accident.” The man spoke for the team, given it was his idea that got them all there anyways. “The chain broke during your sparring match with Ghost and he saw them lying in the grass while we all left and picked them up.”

There was a small silence as Price took in the sergeant’s words, giving him a scrutinising stare before he spoke up.

“But you all took a peek?”

At that, Gaz looked down for a second, shuffling a bit. “…Yes.”

Taking in a deep sigh, Price closed his eyes and rubbed at the back of his neck in an irritated manner before he let it all go with his exhale.

“They’re my wedding vows, you curious ingrates.”

At that, the entire world seemed to pause for the 141. “Your what?” Soap practically squeaked out while Price was checking over the break in the chain.

“Wedding vows, MacTavish. One speaks them while getting married.” He spoke dryly while not looking up.

“You’re married?” Gaz asked, his heart both jumping in elation and squeezing in hurt that the man had never spoken about something so important.

Hearing the tone of voice, Price finally looked up to see the conflict in Gaz and his eyes softened slightly.

“Why would you not tell us?”

“Same reason Alejandro won’t divulge where his family is. To keep her safe.” Price spoke, getting an understanding nod from both Alejandro and Rodolfo.

“What does she look like?” Alex spoke up after a small silence and Price looked at him, contemplating for a second before sighing once more as he realised there was no more going around it.

“Alright, hold your horses.” With that, he stepped back from the table and walked away, leaving those around curious.

A few minutes later, Price returned and handed a singular photograph to Farah to pass around.

It was one of his favourite pictures with you. In it, the two of you were on a boat, sun shining down while you hug your husband from behind, your cheek squished to his while you smiled so bright.

Once it came to Ghost, he glanced at the picture before flipping it around, seeing a few words jotted down in pen. ‘Honeymoon 2017’.

“You’ve been married for six years?” He asked and Price scratched the back of his head.

“Seven. I unexpectedly got called in for deployment shortly after our wedding.”

“Steamin’ jesus, cap.” Soap cursed, blowing out a long breath. “Feels like I don’t know you anymore.”

A brief regret flashed through Price at the words before he crossed his arms again, blocking it out. “You know now. It doesn’t change much. Only difference is that I have someone to go home to during leave.”

“Can we meet her?” Soap poked and Price grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I’m not bringing her here, MacTavish, if that’s what you mean. I’ll see if she wants to say hello next time I phone her.”

That seemed to appease most of the members who shared looks and nodded happily.

“Is there anything else you muppets need? I have to place an order for a new chain.” Price questioned, emphasising his words by sliding the tags off the broken chain.

“Would she like us?”

At that, the man couldn’t help but smile to himself, looking around at his team. “She already does.”

#price x reader #john price #john price x reader #captain john price #call of duty modern warfare #captain john price x reader #cod x reader #cod mw

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adriankyte-writes · 22 days

Note

Ooh can you tell us about The Derelict? 👀

A tiny bit of backstory...I decided that I wanted to start selling smut on Amazon, and the best way to do this would be to rip the serial numbers on some fanfic. So I took my favorite ideas from SGA, Battlestar Galactica and Farscape to build my setting. It's grown pretty out of hand and I'm not sure it's going to really resemble any of those series in any way when it's finished LOL.

Excerpt: (The POV character is an Air Force Major named Jasper Ward)

It is several long moments before he can lift his head. The pain in his head has lightened. He stands, meaning to find a towel to clean up the mess but the movement is too much and he drops to his knees, vomiting until there is nothing but bile coming up.

When he is finally able to stop, he’s on his hands and knees, panting, vomit on the floor. He pushes himself shakily to a sitting position. He has managed to keep his pants clean but there is vomit on his shirt. He pulls it off and uses it to wipe his face. His breathing returns to normal and he tosses the shirt aside. He pushes to his feet, his dog tags dangling from their chain.

His legs are shaky, but they hold him.

A change in the light quality brings him to full alertness and he looks up quickly, terrified to find that the Daiomon is in his quarters. Its head is tilted uncannily to the side, like an owl hunting prey. He wants to reach for his radio, he needs to call for help, for backup.

Instead, he locks up, staying put.

The Daioman locks eyes with him, and he can’t move. He’s never been this close to one, but he’s read the survivor reports. The way they can entrance their victims, drawing them in with only a look. So many people simply walked into their embrace to die in their first few encounters with the menacing race.

He feels himself take a step towards the Daiomon, feeling a sensation of peace settle over him. He knows something is wrong, something should bother him, but he can’t remember what. He feels the fabric of his shirt slip from his fingers as he takes another step forward. He is within arm’s reach of the Daiomon and it raises a cool hand to his cheek.

He closes his eyes and rests his cheek against the hand which gently cups his face. The clawed fingers trace over his flesh. Those claws, so deadly; they are hollow, used to inject a poison of some kind to neutralize prey, and yet he doesn’t fear them. Somehow, ridiculously, he feels safe.

A voice in the back of his mind is screaming at him, because this is exactly how the report, from the only expedition member to survive being fed on, described the moments right before the attack. The Daiomon’s eyes trail over him, a finger traces his cheekbones, tilts his face to examine it from different angles.

This time when he smiles Jasper doesn’t resist, doesn’t snap out from under his influence. He runs a finger over Jasper’s lips and he feels his lips slide open, an urge to lick the clawed finger creeps over him but he’s too hazy to act on it.

The Daiomon steps back, his trailing fingers falling from Jasper’s face, and Jasper steps forward, blindly following him from the room. A part of him is still screaming that he’s in danger, but there is no agency in his steps as he wanders down the corridors and through crawlspaces that lead deep into the ship. Far deeper than their explorations have reached. He notes, in a vague hazy way, that the fleshy valves which serve as doors open for the Daiomon as he approaches. He never needs to touch a wall, to find a tendon to tug, as the human explorers do.

End excerpt

This is part of a series centered around a group of explorers called the Cygnus Expedition. They are stranded in the Cygnus galaxy with no way to contact Earth, trying to find a way to fit in with the native alien species, both sentient and not. They are running low on supplies and don't have a way to repair their machinery as it ages, so when they find an abandoned Daiomon (predatory, insect aliens who communicate telepathically...hush they get way less wraith-like) ship on a planet they are exploring they decide to wake it up and use it as their own.

Jasper Ward and the science team have been working on getting it operational and Ward is expected to fly it. What they don't know is that Daiomon bond rather intimately with their ships, and to get it to accept him as its pilot Ward is going to have to get it to trust him. In this scene the ship is trying to communicate with him, but it's using a daiomon avatar because that is all it knows; at the same time Ward is pretty delusional due to exposure to some of the ships fluids during repairs.

#writing #writeblr #writers on tumblr #creative writing #writers #WIP game #wip tag #tag game #original sci fi #mostly original sci fi

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burstanddecay · 1 year

Text

Clouded Eyes

The bluest things on earth don't know shit about the blues.

Pairing: Benny Miller x (named) F!Reader Summary: You wonder if, despite your efforts to keep the damage behind closed doors, Benny somehow knew how bad you've gotten, or if he's just now seeing the ruins for the first time. Wordcount: 2K Contains/Warning: A continuation of the preface, this chapter deals with passive suicide ideation. This is mostly angst, folks. Part two of Cold Is The Night

You’re tired.

Not the kind of tired that comes after a productive day, but the kind that settles into your bones, that aches and begs for deep sleep.

It’s something you feel often lately, when the anxiety crashes and burns.

Benny had goaded you towards his truck, clipping your seatbelt in place before you even could blink, already in the drivers seat and turning out of the parking lot before you could voice a single protest on the whole thing.

Despite that, the steady hum of the engine almost proves to be calming, if it weren’t for one small detail.

The car ride is fully silent, not even the radio playing as Benny’s gaze is focussed on the road. An anomaly: he’s talkative to a fault at times, filling the empty spaces with thoughts, things he’s seen or heard, memories he’s willing to share.

His posture, too, is off: he usually has a single hand on the steering wheel, the other resting on the armrest, completely at ease as he navigates through traffic. Today, both hands are on the wheel, placed at three and nine. Though the positioning is technically correct, it looks unnatural on Benny.

“You gonna tell me where you’re taking me, or am I gonna have to guess?” you ask, the words softer than you meant for them to be, eyelids heavy as your head is leaned back against the headrest.

He doesn’t reply, instead continues to stare at the asphalt stretched in front of you, not a single car in sight. It’s quiet enough that you could fall asleep like this, into the kind of sleep that comes with a tired mind that knows it’s in a safe place, but Benny’s silence keeps you from it.

Instead of giving into the exhaustion tugging at you like a persistent toddler, you open your mouth, ready to fill the void with half baked guesses when he suddenly pulls to the side of the road, coming to a halt in the frosty gras.

“Wh—Ben?” you ask, breath halting in your throat, suddenly wide awake. You shift in your seat, the leather creaking beneath as you sit up, hand coming up to his arm.

He shakes his head, knuckles white as the steering wheel protests under his iron grip, muscles twitching beneath your fingers. A small reminder of the brutal strength he possessed, but that he never used outside of work.

“Benny?”

“Mh,” he hums in acknowledgement, the sound rumbling through the quiet night, his head ducked as his shoulders rise and fall in a controlled pattern.

You don’t want to say the words. You can’t say them, you don’t want to hurt him even more than you already have, but they’re flashing in your head like a warning sign.

You’re scaring me.

Not because you think he might hurt you.

It’s just that in all the years you’ve known Benny, you’ve never seen him like this. Not after returning from deployment with his first squad, to coming back from his first mission with the delta force, or the one deployment that took him away from home for six months with almost no contact because of the level of confidentiality.

It isn’t like nothing seems to shake him: of course it does. He’s seen atrocities you can’t even begin to imagine, done unspeakable things in the name of his country. He was quiet upon returning every time, a little hollow, as if little bits of him were chipped away, but he was still Bennyat his core and mostly bounced back to those core aspects.

And yet you’ve never seen him like this. As if something touched a part that has remained untouched all these years, rattling him to his core, unable to pull up the façade that he was trained to maintain no matter the circumstances.

You hesitate, not sure what to say or ask, and start to pull back your hand when Benny catches you off guard, his warm palm engulfing your hand before you can remove it from his arm. Your breath falters, almost sounding like a gasp at the unexpected gesture. He doesn’t lift his head, but you can see a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth regardless, his quiet and steady breathing easing you.

Eventually, his gaze finds yours, blue eyes searching for something you can’t figure out, and he gives your hand a soft squeeze before reaching for the key. The car comes back to life and he pulls out of the grass with ease, his posture a little more relaxed than it was before.

You want to ask, more than anything, but it feels like something you lost the right to a long time ago. You shut him out: you don’t get to pry. It’s as easy as that.

“I’m taking you to the ring I train at,” Benny says, eyes trained on the road. “I’ve got the keys, no one will be there.” With that, he looks at you in a quick glance. “We’re gonna spar, you and I. Right now. Give everything that’s going on in that head of yours an out. I should’ve taken you to do that way earlier.”

“You couldn’t have known, Ben,” you say, voice quiet.

The steering wheel creaks as he adjusts his hand, jaw tense. “But I did, didn’t I?”

Of course he did. You aren’t stupid: you know to give credit where credit is due. There was a reason why Benny had been in the Delta Force, and it wasn’t just brutal strength.

Ben Miller is as smart as a whip, and is even more skilled in the department of hiding it. He makes decisions in a split second, both the calculated and impulsive kind, and is a master in manipulating the outcome when it threatens to slip of out his control, to ensure the outcome is as intended. He usually doesn’t get the credit and is fine with that: it works in his favour to let people believe he’s not the one calling the shots, his shadow work holding the loose threads together on the downlow.

You don’t often get to see that side of him. It comes out very rarely, usually just the happy-go-lucky golden retriever side of his personality at the forefront, but it always leaves you in awe to see him in his element. It happens in the ring, during high pressure situations, and when others lose control, even if it’s a just little bit.

Will moving house comes to mind: his ten year relationship had come an end when his ex-wife had cheated on, citing emotional distance as the reason. Though the elder Miller rarely showed emotion, being the more stoic one of the brothers and their friend group in general, you felt it a cruel reasoning. Will is many things; stoic, dry-humoured, serious, but he isn’t heartless. When he trusts you, he does so with his full heart and soul. It’s something all of them have in common: being able to blindly trust their squad was the key to staying alive and helping others do the same.

During the move, you could see him slipping between the cracks: there was a little uncertainty in the way he carried himself, unnoticeable to a bystander and nearly invisible to his friends, but not to Benny. He’d notice if someone was running a fever just by looking at them: his brother slipping between the cracks was like a beacon being lit. In result, Benny stood in places where Will couldn’t, keeping things upright when they’d been threatening to crumble, all while letting Will maintain the feeling of full control.

It's a work of art to see happening in real time, but it makes you wonder just how much of you Benny has been holding up without you noticing. How hard he tries to glue the pieces back together, to sew up gaping wounds, to place tourniquets to ensure you don’t fully bleed dry as you keep going and going and going.

The other options is that you have been succeeding at hiding it, and he’s just now getting a glimpse at seeing just how big the damage actually is. How much of you is being held together by the inability to give up, even though a part of you is begging for it.

You’re not sure which is worse.

You silently wring your hands in your lap, not sure what to say.

“I knew you…” he starts, and you can practically hear the frown on his face, see the crease between his eyebrows. “Fuck. Look, I could see you weren’t doing great, and I fucking—”

“Don’t you dare—”

“—carry some of that blame, alright? I should’ve stepped in, and—”

“I’m not a child that needs minding, Ben, I can—”

He hits the break, causing you to fall forward in your seatbelt as the car comes to an abrupt stop on the abandoned road.

“I know you can take care of yourself Peach, but that doesn’t fuckin’ mean you have to carry every goddamn thing alone.”

His accent comes out thick, the countryside that he grew up on shining through. You always figured that he’d be a cowboy given half the chance, but he ended up in the army instead.

You bite the inside of your cheek, jaw clenched so tightly that pain radiates up to your temples and the bitter tang of blood fills your mouth, a thousand yard stare aimed at the road.

Next to you, Benny heaves out a low sigh and a warm hand finds your thigh, fingers squeezing gently just above your knee. “I shouldn’t have snapped—it was outta line. I’m sorry.”

The breath stuck in your throat feels the size of a brick, hard and stuck sideways, Benny’s hand familiar in the way that he’s always casually touching you. A hand on your thigh, on your lower back, between your shoulder blades, an arm around the back of your seat.

“I’m fucking tired, Benny,” you say, voice breaking a little as you break your stare away from the lit up road, back down to your hands. There are no tears: where they’d been threatening to spill earlier, they were replaced with that bone aching, all-compassing feeling of exhaustion as soon as Benny buckled you in.

“I know.”

His voice is low, heavy; an anchor.

You know it’s not right, but that’s what Benny is. An anchor, keeping you somewhat in place in the middle of a vast ocean. You can’t drown, even if you wanted to: you’d take him right down with you.

You’re sure you’re imagining it, but it almost feels as if his hand is trembling as he shifts his fingers.

“We’re maybe five minutes out. Five minutes,” he says. “And then we’ll kick and scream until we’ve got no voice left, we’ll confront every single thing that’s stuck in your head.”

A laugh bubbles up in your chest, the sound light in a way that only Benny could cause.

“What’s so funny?”

“You couldn’t lose your voice if you wanted,” you tell him with a half smile, finally turning to look at him. “You were born to be a loud presence in this world. You need that voice.”

He looks at you for a moment before a smile appears on his lips, his eyes carefully scanning your face.

“That’s not the only thing I need.”

“Ben—”

“I need you to pull through this fucking thing, Peach.” The smile is still there, but his true feelings are hidden behind a carefully crafted mask. “Really. I’ll be with you day and night if I have to, but whatever it is your head is tryin’ to tell you, it’s wrong.”

You open your mouth to protest, almost telling him that there most certainly is at least one thing it’s insisting upon that is wrong, but something about the look in his eyes stops you.

“I need you here, okay? We’ll just take it five minutes at a time. We can do that, right?”

“Five minutes,” you agree quietly.

“Five minutes,” he mumbles before the lifts his foot off the break and slowly starts picking up speed again, his hand never leaving your thigh as he continues the drive into the darkness.

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