#every single fucking weekend starts off with hours of drilling and hammering
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Just so you know, if i disappear i either jumped off the roof or finally snapped and murdered my upper floor neighbours.
#every single fucking weekend starts off with hours of drilling and hammering#every day the kids are screeching well into to the night and stomping around so loud i can hear it even through good quality headphones#they had been asked to keep it down#multiple times#not just by me#at this point i do not give a fuck why it happens i don't even remember it has been so long i just want it to stop#i want one fucking weekend of quiet without a sensory overload first thing on a saturday#my brain is hurting#i already have problems focusing and getting chores and stuff done one the weekends on it's own#i'm so fucknig tired i have enough shit to deal with without this added to the pile#levynn tries to think#levynn cries about nonsense
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Gather around everyone, here’s some soft!Gaz headcanons. Idk if it's a blorbo or me ranting and fangirling but i need to share the brain rot. another post today cause fuck it, i’ve been thinking about it for a while. also this was like a constant stream of thought and not proof read.
I truly don’t understand why this man gets ignored so much and I never will. He literally has everything you could ever want, saying he’s a ten doesn’t cut it. And yet I barely see people talking about him. (Except the gaz nation pookies, I see you).
This man absolutely bags the hottest significant other, doesn’t even know how. Don’t get me wrong, he 100% has rizz but he’s also just naturally attractive and inviting so i feel like by the time he starts to flirt on purpose it’s been two hours of pure smoothness. He’s also absolutely whipped but plays it off really smoothly.
- - - - -
Not only does he bag the hottest and meanest pookie aka you, but he also absolutely knows he did. And he’ll let right about everyone else know. I do think he’s more private about his life than say Soap, so it’s not like he’ll stop a random recruit and tell him about you (which i truly believe Johnny would do). But he has absolutely followed Price around base while he tells him about the two weeks leave he took to be with you.
Poor Price on his desk, dealing with the paperwork that comes as a necessity after Ghost and Soap blew something up during a drill that didn’t involve explosives at all. Not only is he having to fill out like fifteen different forms and reports, but he has Gaz sitting across from him, scrolling through his gallery and showing pictures of the place he took you out to on your Friday dinner date. Not only that but if Price just pretends to look but doesn’t actually pay attention Kyle will know and insist until the captain actually looks at the slideshow.
He doesn’t hammer your dates' knowledge onto Soap and Ghost as much, but he’ll definitely do subtle flexes. He chest the time on his phone instead of his watch so they’ll see the picture of you he has as a background. If someone brings up a weekend plan he’ll say how he can’t because he’s already going out with his darling. Subtly will tell anyone that will listen how you got him his new shirt, pants, cap, whatever it is tbh.
He also knows every single product that you prefer, doesn’t matter what kind it is. Makeup, skincare, cologne, fabric softener, snacks, beverages, food places, clothing brands. He doesn’t care, he knows all of them by heart. It’s like he has a six sense too, every time you’re close to running out of them he’ll randomly stop in the store on his way back to you from base and get them.
While i headcanon that Johnny gets into skin care after his darling introduces him to it (which you can read here, if you want). I believe Kyle absolutely has his own routine and that he is the one who first brings up the idea of having a spa night once a week. He’s the one to get the products, he even goes all out and does them themed, like by scent or colour or something.
Has a bunch of hoodies in rotation (or any other clothing piece you might steal from him) always making sure to wear at least one of them for a few days before “forgetting” it at yours or “forgetting” to take it to base once you’ve moved in together. He knows how much you love wearing them and how important it is that it smells like him. So he dutifully makes sure you always have a fresh Kyle™ piece of clothing available. Also it absolutely works for him too because he takes back the one you’ve had with you meanwhile. The mix of your cologne, body wash and fabric softener his favourite scent for sure.
And last but not least of my Gaz is the perfect boyfriend agenda (for today) is the fact that i know he just gives the best back massages. You don’t even have to ask for it, he’ll just come to the living room, lightly pat your shoulder so you move forward. He fits himself between the couch and your back and just gives you the massage of your life. He just laughs it off when you tell him he could be a masseuse if he ever retires from the military.
It takes less than 5 minutes to have you absolutely melting, and when he’s pleased with how comfortable and relaxed you look he just pulls you back against his chest. His arms wrap around your waist and his chin rests on your shoulder as you sit between his legs, the both of you watching a random show he saw good ratings of.
#cod x reader#x reader#call of duty#call of duty modern warfare#cod mw2#kyle gaz x reader#kyle gaz garrick#kyle garrick#kyle gaz x you#gaz x reader#gaz cod#gaz call of duty#gaz nation#soft!gaz
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Eulogy
A little scene from my upcoming John and Talia slow-burn titled Missing Pieces. Wanted to see what the tumblr community thought of it first before I really committed to a serious writing schedule and started hammering out word count.
@lpmurphy @authortobenamedlater @mrtobenamedlater @fabulaprima @silverpelt3600
@t65flyer @ionlymadethissoicouldleaveanask @sarnakhwritesthings
@makowrites @morganas-pendragons
@ageless-aislynn @pelgraine @inafieldofdaisies @helix-studios117 @littleneonlily
2327 hours, April 5th, 2552 (military calendar)
UNSC Halcyon-class light cruiser Pillar of Autumn
Slipspace transit on randomized vector per Cole Protocol
Leaving the Branta system, bound for Reach
"Have you seen Corporal Perez?"
Even in just his techsuit, the Master Chief seemed to fill the corridor. Which is probably why the crewman apprentice he was addressing was trying to disappear into the bulkhead. Even with Cortana gone for six months now, he could practically hear her hum, "Social graces, Chief," and took a step back.
The E2 - name tape obscured by the apron he still wore upon emerging from the galleys - gaped and pointed down the corridor, muttering, "On the right," indicating a sliding steel door opposite the entrance to the forward enlisted mess.
Chief nodded once, gruffed a perfunctory, "Thank you," and stalked down the corridor. The Pillar of Autumn, functioning on military standard timekeeping now that they were underway, was in night mode. The chrono above the enlisted mess hatchway glowed a red 2327 hours, and the main lights overhead were off, leaving the only light in the corridor as one lonely lamp over the door labeled FREEZER A-19.
Chief snaked his hand into the recessed handle and yanked the door aside on its track, and stepped inside. He found a single light on inside as well; illuminating shelves and racks of frozen foods, three black body bags on the floor, and next to them, wrapped in a gray Navy-issue blanket, dark hair cascading off her shoulders, sat Corporal Perez.
Master Chief took two firm steps forward, stopping a stride from where the young Marine sat, legs tucked under herself. He stopped and settled into parade rest.
"Corporal Perez, why are you not at your post? Our shift began over a half-hour ago."
She didn't budge, save for breaths that came shallow and a little jaggedly, as if she'd been crying.
"Corporal Perez?"
Silence hung in the artificially frigid air, and Chief began to wonder if he should walk to the wall intercom and summon a medical corpsman. He glanced around, as if missing something, then returned his gaze to the small woman on the floor before him.
"Rand had a thing for me," she croaked out suddenly. So she had been crying. She didn't turn, didn’t move, except to reach a hand out from her woolen cocoon to stroke the bodybag nearest her.
"He always used to sit next to me in the chow hall on drill weekends, but he never knew what to talk about. 'Are you enjoying your chicken, Corporal?'" She laughed weakly, "'Rand, it's just fucking chicken. The same chicken we had last month and every month before that.'"
Her accent thickened alongside the sorrow in her voice. "We picked him up on Midvale back in '49, after the Red United Front bombed that dam. Pulled him off the roof of his family's ranch house with his two sisters. His sisters settled on Culloden, but he stayed. He was one of our full-timers; the Colonel found a job for him as the armorer's assistant. He lived on-base and sent all his pay to his sisters so they could buy land and start again."
She took in a shuddering breath, shoulders trembling underneath her blanket. "He said he saw something in the fog. Country boy, you know? Grew up hunting and I… I should have believed him."
She seemed to shrink in on herself for a moment, hunching against some wordless pain, until a low keening wail escaped, “He was only 19!”
She shook her head, and Chief saw hot tears fly, while she bit her lip and fought to get her emotions under control. After a moment, with a grunt of pain, her hand shifted from one body bag to the next.
"Zara Bennett. She was our linguist. I loved her accent. She was from London, and she was the first person from Earth that I'd ever met. Her dad manages a titanium mine out in Tengeri back home on Reach. They're loaded, but you'd never guess it from Zara, we used to go thrift-shopping together. Her parents have a penthouse in downtown New Alexandria, and she could have gone to university back on Earth, easily. But she enlisted. Said she wanted to protect her new home."
She patted the body bag fondly, black plastic crinkling in the silence, and her hand extended a little further.
"Milo Alvarez. He used to bag groceries down the street from my grandparent's place. He was an atheist, and we always used to argue and… oh, God!" Her voice broke. "I don't know where he is right now…"
She bowed her head, leaning into the body bag, as if shielding it like Chief had shielded her from the glassing beam on that mountainside, sobs hitching her shoulders, "H-he didn't know you, Father, but take him home… take him home."
She lapsed into Spanish, a language Chief didn't know, and he fervently wished Cortana was there to translate. His brow furrowed; the lack of knowledge a gap in his preparation, the gap in his understanding suddenly a splinter in his mind. Without thinking, he took a step forward, closing the distance between the miserable scene before him, and kneeled beside Perez.
“You speak well for them.” He spoke in low tones; he wasn’t sure why. It simply felt right to do so. Perez stopped, turned upwards to face him, dark eyes reddened and slender face puffy in the dim light of the freezer.
“God, I h-hope so. They’re m-my friends.” Tears still flowed freely down her cheeks, and her voice was hoarse. Umber eyes - the color of rich soil Chief had seen on a dozen worlds - held his gaze steadily in the dark, despite the pain swimming in them.
“What were you saying, just now? In Spanish?” Chief cocked his head in question.
Perez smiled weakly, eyes unfocused for a moment. “Yes, Spanish. I’m from Santiago Circle. I grew up speaking it at home,” she took another breath, steadier this time, “I-I’m Catholic. It was our Prayer for the Dead.”
Her eyes met his own in the dark, and she held his gaze for a long moment. Chief wasn’t sure why, but he needed more. The name of a prayer wasn’t enough. He needed to understand this young woman sitting in a pool of her grief beside three corpses.
“Tell me what you said,” he rumbled gently. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t an order. He just needed to know.
Perez kept his gaze for another long moment, then began to slowly recite, in English.
In your hands, O Lord,
We humbly entrust our brothers and sisters.
In this life you embraced them with your tender love;
Deliver them now from every evil
And bid them eternal rest.
The old order has passed away:
Welcome them into paradise,
Where there will be no sorrow, no weeping or pain,
But fullness of peace and joy
With your Son and the Holy Spirit
Forever and ever.Amen.
The freezer-turned-mortuary fell silent as her recitation ended, and her eyes remained locked with his.
“Thank you, Corporal.” The Master Chief rose suddenly, took three steps back, and turned to face her, once more at parade rest, his expression unreadable.
“Corporal Perez, I am not rated in cryotube maintenance or repair. You are. There are 1,042 cryotubes in our area of responsibility and all need to be monitored and, if necessary, serviced without compromising function or the occupant inside. I need you to --”
“I can’t leave them,” Perez croaked, voice thickening once more. Her eyes were pleading, her head shaking slowly. Chief’s augmented heart ached to see it, but he couldn’t say why.
“Corporal Perez,” Chief started slowly, not sure how to proceed. “You’re no good to anyone watching over three bodies. What made them your friends is gone. There are 1,042 men, women, and children packed into an identical number of cryotubes, all constructed by the lowest bidder, housed in compartments that were never designed to support them. They need us. They need you.”
The Chief stepped back into the hatchway, turning to look at Perez out of one eye, half his face painted into shadow by the dark of the corridor outside.
“The living need you, Corporal.”
#halo#halo tv show#john 117#master chief#pablo schreiber#silver timeline#talia perez#halo season 2#halo fanfic#halo tv series#halo the series
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Lights and Sounds
Happy 4th of July to all my US followers! I´ve read a bunch of great Tony vs. migraine stories recently and got inspired. Featuring Peter, Happy and Pepper. Tags for lots of pain, some emeto and a tiny bit anxiety.
“Kaboom!” Peter shouts after punching Tony hard into the ribs. “You didn´t see that coming, Mr Stark, did you?”
As a matter of fact, Tony didn´t, and that is part of the problem. The aura that has been obstructing his field of vision since the morning has spread to conceal most of what´s on his left in a white haze, and Peter´s fist has caught him completely off guard. Tony groans tiredly, resisting the urge to cover his aching eyes with a boxing glove.
“Could you stop accompanying each of your actions with graphic comic book expressions, that would be marvellous.” he spits into the kid´s direction.
Peter frowns at him. “Mr Stark, are you al-” but Tony silences him with an unexpected right hook that leaves both of them reeling.
He´d worked on his repulsor upgrades till three in the morning after sending the kid off to bed in the upstate Avengers facility where they are spending the weekend. Then he´d fallen asleep at his work bench just to wake up four hours later to a stiff neck and a pounding headache.
He´d skipped breakfast in favour of a hot shower and a bunch of painkillers that did nothing except making his stomach churn angrily. He knows exaclty that the only wise thing to do would be spending the day in bed, but he´d promised Peter a round of sparring before returning him to his aunt, and Tony Stark would not let something as petty as a migraine stop him from that.
Right now, however, he isn´t so sure how long he can keep up appearances before the kid will notice. Aura and a general feeling of lightheadedness are making his steps unstable and causing him to miss more punches than he lands.
The pain behind his eyes is already blinding, and he knows that the migraine is only in its beginning stages. He wishes that it will wait with kicking in full force until the kid is back at his aunt´s and he is back at his tower, but he doubts the universe will answer his prayers.
Another of Peter´s punches hits him in the stomach, making him bend reflexively, and for a frightening moment he is fighting to keep down the nausea that´s suddenly threatening to take over. God, he shouldn´t have taught the kid so well. When he straightens up, the world is spinning around him. Tony is stubborn, but not stupid. He knows when to make an exit.
“Happy, you take over”, he commands the bodyguard who had been watching their fight stoically, “I need a coffee.”
Tony is proud that he manages to climb out of the ring without toppling over, but the thought of getting to the kitchen is quickly dismissed when the gym starts swaying around him. He all but collapses onto the bench at the side of the room. Sparing a look at the Peter, he decides that the kid is too preoccupied with beating up Happy to notice, so he rests his head in his trembling hands, blocking out the burning lights.
A few hours, he tells himself, just a few hours and then he can shut himself off from the world in his bathroom and die alone. That is, until Pepper will expect him for their date night at six. He groans. Life was so easy back when all his personal commitments seemed to consist of training Dum-E and making a monthly donation to the boy scouts. But then again, whom is he kidding? He wouldn´t go back to that kind of life for anything in the world.
As if on clue, a hand lands on his shoulder. “Mr Stark, are you okay?”, Peter gasps, out of breath and grinning from ear to ear, apparently having won the recent episode with Happy. Tony squints up at him, the light from the artificial bulbs making his synapses protest in pain.
“I´m good, kid. Jeez, you smell like a soccer team´s been trapped in a sauna for a year.” He wrinkles his nose in feigned disgust. “Go, take a shower and make yourself presentable. I promised your super-hot aunt to drop you off by noon.”
“Hey, don´t talk about her like this!” Peter boxes him playfully into the shoulder, and Tony tries not to flinch. “And I beat you today, old man!” he shouts over his shoulder before running off to the changing area.
“I let you beat me”, Tony mumbles back. He takes a deep breath before straightening up and and grabbing the wall for support until the dizziness fades away. That´s gonna be a long day.
----
Tony gets into the driver´s seat before Happy even has a chance to. He hopes that driving will give him an excuse not to talk, and he also knows that he will make the way from upstate New York to Peter´s house twice as fast as Happy. And, deep inside, he is absolutely aware that the true reason is simply his never-ending ambition to prove himself that he is stronger than a little bit of pain. It's just a migraine, after all. He's had them before, he´s survived all fine, and worse things have happened to him anyways.
Tony is wearing sunglasses although the sky is clouded, but the light still hurts in his eyes, as does about everything in his body right now. Happy dozes off after a few minutes. In the backseat, Peter starts to watch videos on his phone, a comedian talking too loud and too fast. Tony might find it amusing on any other day, but right now the artificial laughter from the audience feels like a hammer being smashed on his head.
“Pete, can you switch off that nonsense?” he demands, trying not to let his voice tremble.
The boy just gives him a look and plugs in headphones. He is uncharacteristically quiet for some time, until he finally asks, “Mr Stark, are you angry at me because of the boxing?”
“What?” Tony is so caught by surprise that he nearly drifts to the other side of the road. “God, what are you thinking, kid?”, he huffs, “I get it I´m kinda a show-off, but I wouldn´t get angry at you just because you land a few hits on a day I got a killer migrai-”
Shit, he wasn´t supposed to say that.
“You´ve got a migraine?” Peter bends closer to the front seat, immediately lowering his voice. “That´s why you were so out of it all day! Is it really bad? Why didn´t you say anything?”
“It´s okay, kid, not a big deal. Happens sometimes.” Tony reassures, trying to smile while swallowing down nausea.
Peter stares at him intensively. “I´m - I´m so sorry, Mr Stark, I didn´t know. Is there anything I can do?”
“Na, I´m good. Just don´t be mad if I´m not up to fancy conversations today. And keep the volume down.”
Ten minutes later, Tony is sure that driving with a migraine was one of the worst ideas he´s ever had. He´s put the sunblinds down although it rains outside, but he still finds it hard to spot the outline of the road through the haze of pain and aura clouding his eyes. Every heartbeat reverberates like thunder in his ears. His whole body is oversensitive, the bumps in the pavement making him feel like he´s back in the boxing ring taking a beating and doing nothing to calm his rising nausea. God, he didn´t even know it was possible to get carsick while driving.
The stretch of road ahead of them is typically Sunday-morning quiet, until suddenly it isn´t anymore. The car seems to come out of nowhere, and all Tony can do is pull sharply to the emergency lane while the other vehicle´s side mirror rubs over their door with a screeching noise.
“What the hell was that?” Happy half-shouts at him, now wide-awake, “You nearly hit them!”
Tony doesn´t reply, he is busy bringing the car to a standstill with trembling hands. He can feel himself hyperventilating, pain from the migraine mixing with a surge of anxiety when he realizes that he barely avoided an accident. He nearly got Happy and the kid killed. Fuck. The nausea hits him full force, and he all but falls out of the door, bracing himself against the side of the car when he heaves. There´s not much to bring up, considering that he avoided breakfast today, but the stench of liquid and bile splashing on the ground assault his nerves and dials up the pain a few more degrees.
“Just let it out, okay?” The kid has jumped out behind him, hovering at his side. He tries to pat his shoulder, but Tony flinches away. Everything hurts. Holes are being drilled into his skull, but they do nothing to relieve the pressure. Instead it is just increasing with every retch, until he is sure that his head will burst open any moment. He can't see anymore, and he catches himself wishing he would pass out, just to make the pain stop.
When he is done he keeps on panting, not daring to move and cause the nausea to spike up again. For a moment he doesn´t know where he is, dark memories and panic pulling at him with luring fingers. He desperately tries to get himself under control. A hand tugs at his jacket, hesitantly. Someone comes from the other side and pulls him up. Tony´s overly sensible nose recognizes Happy´s aftershave and he nearly gags again.
When his vision clears, Peter and Happy have deposited him in the backseat. "I´m driving now”, the bodyguard states the obvious. Tony is miles from protesting.
----
The rest of the drive is agony. The nausea returns about two seconds after he's back in the car, but he vows to keep it down until the kid is gone. Tony leans his the head against his elbow in a crook of the window. He can feel Peter giving him worried looks from the side, but there's nothing he can do about it right now. Pain is tearing him apart from inside, eating his brain and spitting it out all upside down and scrambled up. He tries to distract himself with citing equations, but he can't remember a single one. For a moment, he´s irrationally afraid that he will never be able to.
It seems to take eternities until they reach Peter´s appartment building to drop him off. Tony gives him a tired thumbs-up and a very weak fake smile from under half-closed lids. “See you tomorrow”, he croaks, swallowing heavily and hoping that he is not overconfident of his abilitiy to recover until then.
Happy stops at the sidewalk as soon as they are out of Peter´s view, and Tony heaves up air and acid for what seems like years. He can´t muster the energy to stop his former bodyguard when he hears him calling Pepper from his mobile.
When they finally reach the tower, she is waiting downstairs. He hadn't wanted her to know, god, he'd planned on throwing down the heaviest painkillers he can find together with a good amount of booze, getting a few hours of sleep and then showing up halfway presentable to make it through their date night. He didn't want to ruin it, again. But when her blurred form gets bigger through his squinting eyes, he's just incredibly glad to see her.
“Oh, Tony”, she whispers when he stumbles out of the car and into her.
“Come on, I expected a little more enthusiastic reaction. I'm still a very handsome guy who's come all the way to meet you.” he musters, trying not to slur.
"You look terrible", she replies, cool fingers wrapping around is aching neck and pulling it forward till his head rests in the blessedly dark curve above her collarbone. "And you smell like a sewer."
Tony doesn´t care. Pepper smells like home, which is finally something that doesn't make him more nauseous, and he decides that he never wants to move again. He holds her as tight as he can without breaking her. After a while, Pepper carefully leads him inside, taking on more of his weight than he'd like to admit. He allows himself a small moan when she bends to hit the elevator button and his balance is screwed up.
“Sorry for this,” he manages when they reach the bedroom.
“It´s okay, Tony. I´d rather have you here than somewhere in outer space fighting aliens”, she grins, gently lowering him onto the mattress.
Tony is sure he´d prefer any amount of aliens to the agony he is currently in, but he doesn´t say it out aloud. Instead, he shakily removes his pants and jacket while Pepper fetches a glass of water and deposits a trash can next to the bed. He crawls under the sheets and pulls the blanket over his head before she quietly slips in next to him.
“Jus´a few hours,” he mumbles as he curls up against the familiar warmth of her body. “Date night´s still on, gotta movie planned, you can look forward to it.”
“Yeah, of course, Iron Man”, she smirks with a hint of sarcasm. But her voice is all soft when she adds, “I always do.”
#migraine#sickfic#fanfic#tony stark#peter parker#happy hogan#pepper potts#emeto#sick tony#tony!whump#emetophilia
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