No thoughts just soap who has always run warm, something you've always loved.
People are used to you butting into soaps conversations just to make him hold your hands, enjoying the warmth in the middle of winter. Or seeing you two cuddled in a far too public space, you practically zipped up in just jacket to trap the body heat.
"My personal space heater," you tell him, hands cupping his face and cooing lovingly when you snuggle into the bed that's already warmed by johnny. "What would i do without you?"
"Ach, you couldn't shake me if you tried!" Soap laughs, pulls you into bed and unceremoniously flops down on top of you. By the end of the night you'll be sweaty from the heat, but right now it'd nothing short of comforting.
When soap doesn't come back from the tunnel, you're not sure what to do with yourself.
"I miss you, johnny." You tell the frame that sits on your nightstand. His jacket warmed by the dryer, heat seeping into the cold bed until all you feel is the bite of the winter.
Those long cold nights spent in bed, the winters without him.
People whisper about you when they think you aren't looking. They whisper about the man who's more ice than person, don't try to get close to him unless you want to freeze too.
You shower with the water set to cold, and not one of your teammates comment on it. You wear johnnys tags over your heart, the cold metal pressing against your sternum.
It feels wrong to be warm in a world without johnny in it.
Don't think about cryptid hybrid reader that doesn't know how to cope with Johnny's death. You understand death. You've seen it before. The team even allowed you to look at his body before he was cremated, so you wouldn't wonder when he would be back. You still aren't sure how to grieve.
You mimic his voice at night, away from the others when everyone is asleep. You made the mistake of doing it around Simon and he screamed at you. He apologized later. Grief can make humans angry.
But you aren't human.
You cry sometimes. You aren't sure what the feeling is. It's never happened before. But you feel better when you mimic his voice. You don't want to forget what he sounds like. You already have a hard time remembering his face without pictures.
"You did good, Bonnie." Johnny whimpers from your lips; with the darkness of the night being your only company.
No one said much when Y/N came back. A nod from Price. A quick “good to have you back” from Gaz. Even Ghost just gave a short look, eyes unreadable behind the mask.
Leave had been short — too short.
Everyone figured Y/N just needed time to settle again, to get back into the rhythm of briefing rooms and rifle checks. But the truth was, Y/N hadn’t said a single word since stepping foot on base. Not during gear prep. Not during drills. Not even when spoken to.
At first, it was almost a joke. “Cat got your tongue, mate?” someone had asked once in the armory, earning only a blank stare in return. After that, nobody tried again.
They thought it was burnout. Maybe shock. The kind of silence that comes after too many bad missions.
But it wasn’t that. It was grief. Their family was gone. A car crash while Y/N was halfway across the world. Two names carved into stone while they were cleaning their weapon.
Price found them in the gym late one night, the sound of gloves hitting the bag echoing sharp against concrete. He waited until they stopped, breath heavy, knuckles split and red. “You’ve been quiet,” he said finally.
Y/N only nodded.
“You planning on talking again anytime soon?”
A long silence. Then, quietly “Talking won’t change anything.”
Price’s jaw tightened. He’d seen that look before — the kind that came from soldiers who’d lost something that couldn’t be replaced. “Still helps,” he said.
“Didn’t help them,” Y/N muttered.
It was the first full sentence they’d spoken since returning. Price stepped closer, voice softening. “Who?”
Y/N didn’t look up. Just stared at their hands, at the bruises across their knuckles.
HIIII🦄🦄 can you write something about Ponyboy's reaction to mr and mrs Curtis' death? like the whole gang is huddled in the living room since it's Darry's birthday, and Pony happens to be squished between Dally and Johnny on the couch when he hears the news and he just starts to bawl so hard. While Two-bit and Steve stay with Soda and Darry, Dally and Johnny are frantically trying to soothe a crying and screaming Ponyboy, then they eventually take him to bed and hold him, pet him, speak to him to try to calm him down THE WHOLE SHEBANG. just pure angst basically... (but with comfort!!)
I'm not sure if this is what you were hoping for- I kind of felt like Pony would be really out of it and kind of confused, and that the he wouldn't do much other than cry/dissociate/deny on that first night.
The Knock
The knock on the door on Darry's birthday is every bit as abrupt as the change in their lives that starts the moment the door swings open. Schrödinger's cat is both dead and alive at the same time, and the same could be said for the Curtis parents from the moment of the accident until the policeman delivers the terrible news to their sons. Mr. and Mrs. Curtis were dead, but they were also still alive in the Curtis house, and in the heads of all of their boys.
Until the knock.
The room, which had been boisterous moments before, goes deadly silent. None of the welcome guests ever knock at the door of the Curtis house.
Darry opens the door on his twentieth birthday, with Two-Bit behind him. Steve and Soda stop wrestling on the floor. Ponyboy is sandwiched on the couch between Johnny and Dallas, and his stomach drops.
In any other circumstance, the gang would have laughed about the officer asking Darry if there were any adults in the home. Ponyboy can hear how tight Darry's voice is when he explains that their parents went to pick something up from the store.
Then the officer speaks again, and the world as Ponyboy knows it ends.
Ponyboy can't really process what is happening at first. He sees Two-Bit resting a hand on Darry's shoulder, pale as a ghost. He sees Soda crumple with a wail, clutching on to a practically frozen Steve.
Their parents can't be dead. They were fine an hour ago. His mom had hugged him, and she was so warm. He could practically still hear his father's booming laugh. They were too alive to be gone. They can't be.
He doesn't pay attention to what Darry and the officer are still talking about. He just keeps thinking that it has to be a mistake. They've got it wrong, somehow.
He hears a sob, and he doesn't realize that it came from him until Johnny wraps a shaking arm around his shoulders.
Once he starts to cry, he can't stop. He keeps telling himself it can't be real. This is wrong, maybe it's a horrible dream. He wants to wake up. He's not sure how much of that he said out loud. He can't breathe. His chest hurts; he's hyperventilating and bawling, face a mess of tears and snot, and it's choking him.
The next thing he knows he's in the bathroom throwing up and still sobbing. It feels like something has been torn open in his stomach, and he thinks he might pass out. Dally hands Johnny a damp washcloth, and Johnny wipes Pony's face with it. Pony realizes that Johnny is crying, too, and he'd think that Dallas was as well, if he didn't know better. Johnny wipes his face gently, like his mama will never do again apparently, and he cries harder. Johnny strokes his hair out of his face, wiping at the tears, but they keep falling.
When Ponyboy seems to be done throwing up, Dallas picks him up and carries him into his bed. Johnny climbs in next to him. Ponyboy turns toward him, and Johnny hugs him tightly while he sobs into his friend's shoulder. He feels Johnny rest his chin on the top of his head, and he feels the occasional tear drip down onto him. Johnny holds him, rocking a little and essentially petting him. trying to be comforting even though he's not really able to stop crying, either.
If he had the energy for it, Ponyboy would be shocked when Dallas sits on the other side of him, and even more so when Dally rests a hand on his back. When Dallas awkwardly pulls Pony and Johnny both into a tight hug, Ponyboy really does wonder if this is all just a dream.
"This can't be happening," Ponyboy rasps suddenly. "It can't. They can't be-". He feels his face crumple, and then hews working himself right back up. He probably sounds downright hysterical, but he hurts too much to even care what anybody else might be thinking about him.
"Kid, you gotta calm down," Dally pleads, voice hoarse. "You're gonna pass out or something you don't quit bawling like that."
"It's-it's gotta be a mistake," he chokes out. "They're wrong, right Dally?" Dally stiffens. "Tell me they're wrong."
"I wish I could," Dallas whispers roughly before clearing his throat and reaching up to roughly wipe at his face. "God, I wish I could."
When Ponyboy does exhaust himself enough to fall asleep, he does so while clinging to Johnny, with Dally's arms wrapped around them both.
I haven't written a letter in a very long time and I have no idea whom it might reach... But I want to thank you. If you are reading this, thank you.
Thank you for every fic and every ficlet, every piece of art, every tweet and reblog...every recommendation, every follow...
I've never been a part of a community so funny, so dedicated, so open, so talented, so ridiculous and so kind.
(please read the tags)
Today is a year since my little brother died; you'd think these things happen only in films, one moment you are lounging on a holiday, another your mother gets a call that there's been an accident.
I had no idea then, that it will be both, an angel and a demon and the many humans who love them, who will make the next months bearable. Become such a huge part of my life.
Many writers attempted to describe grief or what it feels like when someone close to you is gone. I don't think I can even try. I used to think ... I never was the kind of person afraid of death, but then, I never really thought of others dying... and yet, it's as common as birth. It must be.
When my grandparents, my uncle died... I was sad but this... feels so wrong.
"Do you have any siblings?" people ask and I freeze.
'I must bring this to P next time I fly hom....oh.'
You may not know and I might never tell you, but your drawing or your painting or your funny meme or tweet or your tiny fic or the 100K+ gorgeous slow burn helped and helped SO MUCH.And also the frankly unbelievable fact that people, real people read words I’ve written and thought they were worth a reblog, a kudos or a comment!
It keeps helping. The talent of the fandom and the talent of the actors and the crew and every little detail we unearth...
It's all beautiful and precious and makes me think that if I am still here than I must enjoy it. However silly or childish or weird it might seem to some, being a part of a crazy fandom is what makes me happy.
And I am SO glad you are here with me.
May Aziraphale and Crowley bless you and (remember, Crowley did a whole bunch of Azi's assignments, he's pretty skilled at blessings) give you strength to face whatever it is life is throwing at you.
Also, yknow I've heard March is like, THE most depressing month. And I really don't mean to add to the vents already on people's dashes. Idfk what I'm saying.
45 minutes of chemistry, he gave us time to do the worksheet. The other 35 minutes he spent lecturing us about how college is life or death, and how you won't get in unless you have excellent grades.
Then he told us to do the worksheet.
45 minutes, thanks to his lecture and my dad's screaming session yesterday and everything else, I spiraled over the worst case scenario. The realistic scenario. The worst case of tonight and 5 years from now.
What if they're right. What's this all fucking for if it ends a couple years from now with me dead on the street. What if this is the one universe where I don't end up in that cozy and safe apartment with my beloved.
anyways, going home rn. I can't feel my body lol. I was about to cry in class but now I'm just fucking tired.
