#Spr

[insightonthestars]

This man in the big 2025!

Random yap underneath

I don’t really draw much of SPR as much as I’m normally drawing and writing stuff about my own story and lore, but it truly is incredible of how much my art style has changed compared to a year or two ago from now.

I still have a long road ahead of me in the journey of art ✨ I’m pretty proud for how much my art has developed in the past few years alone.

[samythecoolkid]

dusekkar spr or forsaken or roblox whatever you want it to be

was this drawn very fast ? yes yes of course yes

[southernbelllle]

And He Was Haunted

Richard Reiben x Reader

Prompt: The war comes back to Reiben in many different ways, and it's up to you to help him cope.

Word Count: 2.6k

AN: I promise I will write for Platoon again soon lol. I just have to figure out how to finally tune my interpretation of Barnes into someone I can write something "sweet" about lol.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

The train ride back to Brooklyn was long and bumpy. Arduous, Richard Reiben sat in front of a lady dressed from head to toe in an emerald, green dress and fur coat. The jewels that hung from her neck were gaudy and chunky. They didn’t shine, they just sat.

“Soldier boy,” she spoke, voice coated in sugar. “Am I to assume you’re heading home?”

Reiben simply looked at her completely devoid of emotion. He spoke not a word, simply looking at the older lady. He could see right through such an individual. He could even before the hellish torment that was his time overseas.

He continued to ignore her, unwilling to engage with the absurdity of the common civilian. He had seen enough; he no longer had the energy to devote himself to the pointless. He doubted if he ever did.

“You’re a quiet one, aren’t you?” She asked with a sly smile. “Must’ve had the breath taken from you on your travels.”

“Bitch, you ain’t got a fucking clue.” He thought to himself. His body rocked with every chug of the train. He averted his tired eyes from the woman to the window that he had sat himself beside.

“The strong and silent type I see…” she lowered her eyes at him like a cougar on the prowl. He could sense her growing need to pull him into her grasp. He wanted no part in it.

“Strong yeah but far from quiet.” He stated bluntly. An annoyed smile that faked congeniality spread across his lips. Like a dog showing its teeth, but not posing a threat. Not yet at least.

“Oh…is there a way I could test that theory?” The woman flirted.

“Fuck yeah there is.” He was growing more and more annoyed as the time on the train dwindled. The combined screeching of the tracks against the wheels combined with the lady’s redundant question asking made him wonder if making it out alive was really worth.

But then he remembered you.

And suddenly, he found the will.

A thin brunette boy who worked on the train’s service crew was walking down the aisle when suddenly, he felt an arm stiff at his side.

“Hey kid.” Reiben said. “What’s a poor bastard gotta do to get a scotch around here.”

“I’m sorry sir, no alcohol after 8 O’clock.’ The boy answered cooly. His voice was quiet like a kitten’s whisper. Barely audible over the chatter of the train.

“Mother fucker….” Reiben muttered under his breath. He brought a hand to wipe the sweat that hung from his brow.

“What- What can I get?”  He asked with annoyed desperation. “I need something to get me through this God forsaken train ride.”

“At this hour we are offering water, tea, coffee, or juice.” The boy counted the options on his fingers. A damply wet towel hung from his forearm. Reiben noticed the tiny ghost of a mustache and the thin pencil like straightness of his eyebrows. He reminded him of someone, someone he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

“Uh,” He glanced down toward his toes, eyebrows knit firmly together. His fingers running through his hair in frustration. “Can I get a- a coffee?”

“Of course.” The man nodded. “It’ll be right out.”

Reiben’s head fell into his hands. He craved a quiet moment. He hadn’t experienced a true moment of peace since he left. He thought about you again. God, he couldn’t wait to get back home to you. You were the life’s blood that ran through his veins. Your gorgeously delicate face lived on the backs of his eyelids. In just about, he looked down to his watch, 10 short minutes this train ride would be over, and he’d be on his way home to you, and he could put all of this shit behind him.

“You know, if your looking for a way to get through this train ride-“the woman spoke up again. Her voice dripping in the same seduction. However, Reiben had lost his patience.

“Look, look look listen lady,” Reiben lifted his head up from his hands. Anger burning through his tone. “I don’t want you. Ok? I just fucking don’t.” He flashed a sarcastic smile as he threw his hands in the air. “I got a girl at home. A beautiful girl. Who’s been writing me letter after letter about how badly she misses me.” He scolded. “I know that you won’t understand this, considering your sorry son of a bitch husband is waiting for you at home while you’re out stalking men on trains, but I’m one lucky bastard to even have a girl waiting on me. Ok? So, if it’s fine with you. I’d like to end this miserable train ride in silence.”

The woman was gazing scornfully at the soldier. Her ego clearly bruised as she accepted her defeat. “Well.” She spat. “I guess I know when I’m not wanted.” She picked up the fox fur that had been sat around kitten heeled feet. Reiben watched as the dead fox’s head whipped around her shoulders as she got up. Finally, one fucking free moment.

His back bounced against the seat as he let out an exhausted breath. He looked around the train at the other passengers. A man with a big black top hat and well pressed suit, a woman with blonde hair in a Dutch braid, two small children dressed in faux military costumes celebrating the end of the war. None of these assholes would ever be dealt the blow that he had been. If they did, they’d know that there wasn’t shit to celebrate. No, not a damn thing.

Good men died wearing the same uniform they did, except only that time, the blood and gore was real instead of imaginary.

As he began to look at the children closer, he noticed the stark height difference between the two boys at play. The tall boy had caramel skin and buzzed hair. He played with a wooden sniper rifle that he’d point at random passengers on the train. The second boy was little. He flew a small toy blimp around with his tiny palm. He had big brown eyes like a baby deer. He’d seen that look before, when his wounded friend was looking up at him from the dirt. He averted his gaze.

Man, he was angry. He was an angry man before, when he was just another guy from Brooklyn spitting at the pavement and shaking his fist at the sky. Now, he was all of that plus running himself ragged from replaying the gut turning memories he’d collected from his time in France.

His ticket home was the worst thing to happen to him. He really did believe that out of the eight men he had been sent to search the French countryside with, he was the least deserving of coming home. He was pissy and rebellious throughout the whole mission. Quite literally even “giving up” at one point. Yet, he was the one chosen to come home. He knew that it should’ve been a soldier with talent and grit like Jackson, or a medic that had tended to the wounded quickly and devoutly, like Wade.

But no, it was him. One of two survivors. He’d made a point to fuck off as far away from Upham as possible because of the trauma that would flood his brain and make his face turn cold. He couldn’t look at him without seeing them.

The train whistled as it halted to a stop. The screeching of the tracks and abrupt ceasing of movement yanked him out of his thoughts.

He puled his gear out from the top compartment and slung it over his large frame. He started down the thin isle with steps heavier than boulders.

The two children dressed in the costume version of his current uniform ran past him. He stopped and stared as they ran toward the door.

One of the children, turned to look at Reiben, and with a toothy grin, saluted him. The boy then tapped the other boy’s shoulder and pointed at the towering man. Upon seeing him, the second boy shot the same nod and salute, then hurried off of the train.

Reiben was never a crier. He wore the rock-solid mask of a macho man everywhere he went before the war. But now, after the mission he’d had the misfortune of being thrust under, he cried at the drop of a hat.

Neither was he a Godly man before, but he felt God had temporarily shot his brothers down from Heaven for one last memory, seeing them one more time in a way that didn’t involve them groveling for mercy. Something to help him sleep at night. Jackson told him once that God would send him signs of his grandaddy randomly. He’d talked about how the two of them would go dove hunting every weekend, and after his granddaddy died, he’d have a dove gently rap outside his window. Peeking in to check in on how Jackson was doing. Reiben thought about how the two of them were probably flying across the Eastern Tennessee sky together now. It was bittersweet.

But he thanked God anyway.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

Reiben stood still in the middle of the isle, lost in his own mind.

“Sir,” a man tapped him on the shoulder. Reiben was splashed by the surprise that washed over his face. It was the bus boy.

“We put your coffee in a cup to go. Your father suggested to us that you may want it for the walk home.” He said, handing the cup to Reiben.

“My father?”  He asked.

“Yes,” the bus boy said. “The man with the dark hair who ordered for you.” He looked across the aisle. “He must’ve gotten off already.”

“That’s impossible.” He spat. “I ordered by myself.”

The bus boy looked at him with confusion. “No sir. He told us that you preferred a lid because you take great clumsy, strides when you walk. He told us that he’d watched you walk in front of him and gripe. He seemed to have known you very well, sir.”

Reiben blanky starred at the thin boy. He looked him up and down with his, and gently took the coffee cup from his hand.

“Thanks,” He trailed off as he turned around, coffee cup in hand.

As Reiben walked off of the train (by this point he was the last man aboard) and grabbed the metal handle to help him step off.

Through the quiet of the train though, he could hear the gentle clicking and clacking of a typewriter tucked somewhere within the train car. He peeked back into the car and saw the small bus boy, clad in proper military gear, devoid of any scratches or stains, pecking on the keys of a typewriter.

Reiben remembered.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

His Brooklyn neighborhood late at night felt more foreign than homely. He felt as though he was a phantom haunting the streets of an innocent community. His steps poisoned each broken slap of concrete on the sidewalk. His whole life felt like a dream at this point. He was the angry troll that had returned to the kingdom to terrorize the civilians with his gruesome aura.

He walked up the steps of your shared town house and fumbled with the keys to the door. It was an old, familiar sensation of tying to match they key with the lock. He felt as if it had been a decade since he had performed such a mundane action. A goblin breaking into the princess’ castle with a battering ram is how it translated in his head. He felt sick.

Once he had opened the door, he saw a welcome sight. A sight he wasn’t aware that he’d missed, he saw a room clean. The apartment was spotless. You didn’t know when Reiben was going to return, but you knew it could be any day, and you wanted to make sure it was welcome.

It was warm, too. He slipped his jacket off to stand in his olive toned sleeveless shirt and trousers as he stood in the doorway. A kitchen, a living room, a bathroom with a toilet. He could’ve cried.

His eyes then led him over to the staircase that led up to his favorite room. The room where he knew you were asleep, blissfully unaware of the man and his baggage that were standing in the house.

He gulped a nervous swallow as he slowly walked up the stairs. Pictures of you and him framed and polished held his hand as he took each agonizing step. Your eyes, full and bright in each picture. You almost seemed like a fantasized legend of folklore at this point. The sleeping mermaid princess being rudely intruded upon by the evil great white shark. The angry, great white shark.

He finally arrived at the bedroom. He perched at the doorway and watched your sleeping silhouette rise and fall at a snail’s pace. He could see your satin nightgown hug your curves as the blanket laid loosely on your frame.

He almost felt perverse for watching such a sight. It had been so long since he’d been able to love you the way he wanted. To touch you, caress you, gently nibble at the shell of your ear as he felt your weight on his lap. It felt like a lifetime ago, and with his newfound trauma, wondered if you’d even ever let him again. He thought about it all the time back overseas. He’d just never really thought it through.

He took his shirt and boots off at the base of the bed. He looked down at the empty space beside you that had grown cold and hollow. He forgot how exciting it was to simply crawl into a warm bed.

He laid down and to his surprise, felt the mattress welcome him home by reforming back to the comfort level in which he liked. At least the bed remembered him… at least.

He then turned on his side to you. Your back was turned away from him. Sleeping so soothed and gently, he wanted to touch you. Truth be told, that was the very least thing he wanted to do to you, but it was a good start.

Terrified, he reached the palm of his hand to rest on your shoulder. He could’ve cried again. You were warm, and your skin was soft. He hadn’t remembered the feeling of being warm and soft.

He couldn’t help himself; he brought another hand to your shoulder and did the same. Warm and soft.

Like a grizzly bear, he couldn’t stop himself from wrapping you into a full hug. He loved it. He felt a sense of crazy euphoria. His skin goose bumped with the sensation. Bliss, that’s what it was, it was bliss.

The best part of the hug, however, was your sleeping figure turning to cuddle into his solid chest. Your nose brushing against his bicep as you settled into him. As if no time at all was lost, your two puzzle pieces fit back together and completed the picture.

He was angry, sad, and all ripped up inside when he came home to you, but with time, he felt that it would all be alright.

And when he awoke that morning, Reiben saw a white mourning dove sitting at his window.

˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥˚₊· ͟͟͞͞➳❥

[superpaperrobloxhcs]

Dusekkar and 1x1x1x1 are mainstream… but at what cost.

[bumpkinbitch]

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

said you’re a wild mustang

─── ⋆⋅ ♰ ⋅⋆ ───

i promise I’ll have your requests out as soon as i can. For the meantime, enjoy this board of my favourite beautiful bumpkin🌞

[frog-doctor]

i haven't seen anyone upload these in full, so i figured i'd be the first. here are all the custom 2d sprites for demiurge down!

PART 1 : DUSEKKAR

[mewezzy]

grunky

[dreamofacheese]

the money is calling

[1337fumolover]

Sigmol and wisusra🤫

[boundless-ut]

Hello PR/SPR community. I went digging into my files and found some of the old artwork I have on hand. Unfortunately, between then and now I've had a hard drive failure and switched to a new PC, so some things are just lost to time now.

(By the way, if you know of Paper Roblox Adventure and wonder what happened to it, it's here!)

[soul-of-determination]

super paper roblox, anyone?

[iceman-kazansky]

Heyaaa I saw that you are writing for private Jackson so I’ve come to kindly ask you this 🙏:

Could you write a fic where there is a female reader who is a soldier who joined the squad and she falls in love with private Jackson and he falls in love with her? And omg please include the scene where he is abt to be killed by the tank but she saves him by destroying the tank( she‘s a super badass) with a bazooka and they survive till the end( maybe you could also include a little Timeskip at the end where they‘re married?🥹)

I‘m sorry if this is too long it‘s just that there are not many fics about Jackson and I love that man 😔🫶🏻

Anyways, have a good day ❤️

As Long As It's With You

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Requested by: ^^

Request: ^^

Pairings: Daniel Jackson x f!soldier!reader

Warnings: Canon-typical violence, kissing, swearing

Word count: 3.4k

A/n: I finally got the motivation (and time) to write this and MAY have gotten a little carried away 😭 Anyways!! Hope you enjoy this! I don't mention them being married, but I'd say it's implied?? Or really, up to interpretation.

Taglist: @footprintsinthesxnd @inglourious-imagines @anamiad00msday @grenadesandglory

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩

Cold soil reached around his boot soles, his rifle hanging heavily off one shoulder.

The other soldiers were conversing amongst each other, making jokes and backhanded comments to the new guy.

What was his name again? Daniel mused. Dunham, or something like that.

Daniel shrugged, he couldn't be bothered to remember his name right away. He'd hardly met the guy.

“Put me anywhere up to a mile near Hitler with a clear shot,” Daniel suddenly chimed in as the conversation shifted to the war, “and we'll be packin’ up because the wars over.”

A few of the men snickered, and you joined them.

The noise caught Daniel's attention, who’d only thrown you a stray glance or two in passing. He turned his gaze just quick enough to see the smile that graced your lips and the crinkle of your eyes.

For a brief moment, you met gazes, everything around Daniel dulled as he allowed himself to finally get a good look at you.

Your uniform was dirty, as was everyone else's. Bits of mud and sand collected on your chest, elbows, and end of your trousers, on your blouse and right at your socks, which barely peeked out. As you walked, your gun was cradled by your fingers casually, the stock resting just hardly on your lower waist to where your arms fully extended. A lot more casually than the other new guy, who held onto his with white-knuckled strength, swinging it and pointing it rather recklessly– something Irwin had snapped at him for already.

Suddenly, his foot hit a patch of particularly uneven and mucky ground, forcing himself from his haze as he was forced to avert his gaze. He glared at his now muddied boot before casting one last look at you and continuing on.

Little did he know, this small, seemingly obscure moment was the first of many.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

The squad was resting in a church for the night and you were seated on one of the pew. Miller had made rounds and told everyone to go asleep. Daniel had been asleep, but he'd woken as the others drifted off.

Only, Daniel wasn't alone. You were sat up slightly, head poking up over the back of a pew. A nearby candle illuminated your soft features. Daniel was laying on his side, supposed to be sleeping but his eyes were glued to you.

He examined the highlights of your cheeks, which were stained with an orange glow of flame, serving to accentuate the contour of your face.

“You're staring.” You spoke up quietly and Daniel nearly jumped out of his skin.

You turned to look at him, the light in your eyes shimmered like precious stones, glistening in the flickering light of the dim candles. Your face had a small, amused smile present and Daniel felt his heart flutter.

Snapping out of his small reverie, a sheepish smile creeped onto Daniel's face, tugging at the corners of his lips. He had been caught red handed. “Sorry,” he murmured, thick southern accent a sincere and apologetic tone. Though, he wasn't really sorry. You were hard not to admire, but he wasn’t about to go about telling you, or himself for that matter, that.

Silence settled back over the two of you. You didn't turn away, and Jackson was thankful for that.

The only sound in the church was the quiet hiss of a candle as it touched its own melted wax and the noises produced by that of the others, a soft murmur- a shuffle of clothes from those asleep and those awake. It was serene, in an odd way. The hellish battlefield outside dulled by the warm and welcoming church.

After a while, Daniel gathered his courage to speak again, “You look tired.”

You simply nodded, confirming his suspicions while Daniel watched the way your hair shifted with the action. Your gaze turned down to your hands, where you picked at your nails. “I am. Just can't sleep.”

Daniel wondered if the sudden nail-picking was a nervous tick. “How come?” He questioned.

Shoulders lifting slightly, you shrugged in reply, “I'm not entirely sure. Might be nerves. Might be my mind.”

The blond haired boy nodded. He understood. It was something he struggled with himself. He was struggling with it now.

“How come you’re still awake?” You inquired.

“Same reason,” Daniel replied simply. “I wasn't before, though.”

A voice somewhere across the church someone hissed out a “Shh!” and you and him stopped talking.

Daniel observed as slowly, you stood from your spot on the pew. Taking a moment to stretch, arms reaching over your head and a yawn falling from your lips. You ambled the few steps it took to reach where he was.

Without warning you sat down next to him, some part if your gear clinking against the ground before you drew your knees to your chest. Daniel sat up with you, blanket he'd used falling to his lap.

Quietly, you began conversing again. Daniel smiled a little at the notion. You talked about anything and everything– where you were from, your family, your school years, your time in basic. Not a thing was spared. And truthfully, Daniel didn't mind. It was nice hearing you talk, your voice drew him in until he was entirely absorbed with what you were saying and clinging onto everything you said.

You asked him questions, too. Asked about his home life. What he did before the war. What he'd planned to do after.

He was mid sentence, answering a question of yours, when he felt something on his shoulder. He stopped mid sentence, glancing down and seeing you passed out.

A small smile lit up his face. He slowly and cautiously opted to lean back to sit against the wall, providing somewhere comfier to be.

The only noise he earned was a small murmur, causing him to freeze while his breath involuntarily ceased. You didn't stir awake, and Daniel sighed in relief. He relaxed, feeling his own drowsiness creeping up through his system, clawing its way up to reach his eyelids.

Together on the floor, thats how sleep greeted the two of you. Daniel eventually dozed off, head resting on top of yours gently.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

The squad kneeled around a wounded Irwin. Bullet holes punched through his skin while blood oozed from the gaping holes. Someone grabbed their canteen, pouring water over his blood-stained stomach while wiping their hands along the skin. Their efforts were in vain when in a few seconds his stomach was red again. No matter how many times they wiped, the blood just kept coming. Another soldier poured sulfa powder on the wounds.

Daniel kneels at his head, supporting his neck and cradling his head while he looks at his own wounds.

“Tell us how to fix you,” Upham speaks, standing a little bit away while Irwin squirms in pain.

The young boy stammered that he'd like some morphine, wincing while someone complied, giving him a shot of morphine.

“I don't wanna die,” Irwin whimpers, voice frail and unlike anything he's ever heard from the medic before.

Someone shushes him softly, murmuring comforting words to him, but Daniel's too absorbed to recall who.

“Give him another one,” He whispers, watching Horvath give him another shot of the analgesic.

Daniel swallows thickly, watching helplessly while Irwin bleeds to death slowly, his life leaving him like water from a glacier, ebbing away slowly.

“Mama,” Irwin suddenly whimpers, and he feel the medic start to panick. “I wanna go home. I wanna go home”

Irwin lays his head back, allowing himself to go limp against Daniels palms that cradle the nape of his neck and lower half of his head. “Mama.” he says again, though it gurgles from his throat like a drowned man, and his eyes droop.

Finally, he goes completely quiet and limp, his eyes glazing over. His chest freezes and face goes blank.

He's gone.

Irwin, is dead.

Daniel stands up, Mike following not far behind as they storm up the hill. Reiben, who'd already left the scene earlier, beats on one of the still alive German soldiers. He kicks him before wrestling his collar into his hands and lifting him up to eye level. Daniel and Mike join him, landing blow after blow to his body and face.

He's angry, upset that Irwin died. Everyone is.

“Jackson,” Captain Miller speaks up, having trudged up the hill with the rest of the squad to stand behind them, “You’re hit.”

Daniel panics, eyes meeting a red patch on his bicep. He sighs in relief, realizing it's just a nick. Captain Miller orders him to get it cleaned and dressed.

He fights to pull his uniform off and reach the wound. In his peripheral, Daniel sees you step in front of him.

“Here,” you murmur, eyes meeting his. Daniel notices the teary, near-tears look in your eyes. Slowly, your hands move to help unbutton his wool tunic, “let me help.”

He doesn't say a word, standing still while his hands lower, allowing you to work freely on his arm. Your presence fills him with a strong sense of calm, forcing his anger to melt.

You reach into a bag on your hip. It's Irwins. You must've grabbed it while Daniel was running up the hill to lay his fists on the German.

At the mental mention of the man, a burst of fury ignites deep in his chest. His eyes leave your figure to glare daggers at the man.

He is only brought back to the moment when you pour some water from your canteen onto his wound, wiping your hands around the cut before opening a pack of sulfa powder on the open gash.

Unwinding a ribbon of thin bandage, you begin wrapping his arm. Your movements are delicate and precise.

Once you've finished with the wound on his arm you reach down and grab his hands. They're stained red, evidence of Irwin's death clinging to him. You bring your canteen up again, dumping some water into his palms. “Rub,” You instruct him, and he does. He keeps rubbing while you add the appropriate amount of water until most of the blood is gone.

“Thank you,” Daniel says after you've finished. He notices the way your hands linger on his, perhaps for a moment too long. There's a gushy feeling in his stomach and he wonders if it was intentional.

He doesn't get a chance to contemplate any further before you're pulling away, hands falling away (which Daniel feels the action force a frown to his features) and sauntering off without another word.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Daniel would consider himself in deep trouble.

He'd fallen for you. And hard.

What had started out as a quirked eyebrow because ‘they had a new squad member.. and she was a woman’ had somehow, in some way, shifted into the strongest rush of adoration he'd ever felt for someone.

And you were seemingly clueless. That was the thing– you just kept on doing what you were doing and Daniel couldn't help but become absolutely enamoured by you. Drawn to you like a moth to a flame. He couldn't resist, even if he tried.

Like now. There's some singer playing over a gramophone, and Daniel can faintly hear it from his high up perch in the clock tower.

He watched you from afar. It wasn't impossible to spot you, even if he was where he was.

However, the moment didn't last long. He, from his high perch, noticed the large German group rolling into town. Quickly, he signalled down to captain Miller, watching as everyone on the ground dispersed.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

Screeching filled the streets. The side of a track came into view and you realized it to be one of the tank.

“Shit,” you muttered, ducking into cover as it rolled into town.

You looked sideways, finding the rocket launcher the team had bestowed you lying on its side.

The tank screeched to a halt, swaying where it stood. It fired off a few shots, the sound of them crackling like lightning in rapid succession.

You peeked over the top of your cover, watching as the tank slowly began pointing to the sky. Following its angle, you found the only thing it could be shooting at. The bell tower.

Picking up the heavy weapon you aimed it carefully towards the tank. You only had one shot at this. The side of the track, which was fully exposed to you, would be your best bet.

You pulled the trigger. The explosive round shot from the barrel with a whoosh, leaving you no time to react as you were met with an explosion of fiery orange and red. Shrapnel flew past in chunks, ranging from big to small.

The explosion drew attention to yourself and before you knew it, gunshots were raining down on your position. You dived to the floor as the pile of rubble you hid behind were pelted with shots, dust flying up.

A few cracks– one at a time, but quick in succession – filled your ears. You recognized it to be sniper fire, turning your head to watch as a handful of the firing soldiers fell. Taking advantage of the covering fire, you bolted behind one of the buildings. You hugged the rocket launcher to your heaving chest with your rifle slung over your shoulder.

You set the large tube down, grabbing your rifle and firing off a few shots.

The battle raged on around you, until you were eventually forced to retreat to the bridge.

Mike Horvath was shot, and soon after so was Captain Miller. Mellish and Upham was nowhere to be seen, Daniel was still in the bell tower, Reiben dived for cover, and Ryan was crying, rocking in fear as the world exploded around him.

You leaped to your feet, standing from your cover because you'd be damned if James Ryan were to die now after all the sacrifice. You quickly grabbed hold of him when everyone began to fall back. He didn't protest, only followed you as you gripped his sleeve and dashed.

There was a sharp sting in your calf and it caused you to stumble in your step. You glanced back to see red coating the back of your leg. You'd been shot? Thankfully, when you stumbled, James wasn't completely incompetent and was able to keep you standing. Together, you ran for cover.

Suddenly, there was a roar overhead. A glint of silver in the sky followed by the thunderous shots of cannons. The tank that was crossing the bridge blown to smithereens.

Someone cried out of joy while the P-51’s did a few laps on the German foot soldiers. The battle was coming to an end.

But your mind wasn't on the battle anymore. It was on Daniel. Where was he? How was he?

You scanned through the growing mass. Was he here? Was he alive?

The thought that maybe he wasn't still alive– that he was another casualty like Caparzo, Irwin, and now Mellish, Horvath, and Miller, sent a chill up your spine.

Quivering, you fought to calm yourself.

‘Maybe he was still in the clock tower and hadn't climbed down yet’ you told yourself.

But that only worked so long. The battle had been over for a while now. 15 minutes, you figured.

You scanned the area again, feeling an uneasiness building in the pit of your stomach.

But there– through the small crowd, there he stood. His face had a small splatter of blood, but besides that and a little grime from the previous journey he was unscathed.

A sigh of relief tumbled from your lips and you found your feet stumbling to him. The pain in your calf seared up your leg, causing you pain, discomfort, and a limp as you walked.

Panic crosses Daniel's face, his usual observant self not failing to notice your injury. A sheepish smile creeps across your face as he meets you halfway.

“I got it saving private Ryan,” you said, feeling oddly guilty under his gaze.

He just stares, not saying a word in reply, but you notice the way his eyes glide across your face. Eventually, his gaze stops at your own. You notice the concern first, being that it's as evident as a red flower in a green field. There's a sense of relief that swims in his gaze and lingers in his features, however. It's the way his muscles relax, even if it's just in the slightest. How his shoulder drops and a deep exhale leaves his lips.

With the lack of respondence, you're starting to feel nervous. “It's not bad, I promise. I'll get a medic to check on it–”

You've barely finished what you've said before suddenly he's there. Planting his lips against yours, smoothing They're slightly cracked and dry, but you don't care. It sends a rush straight to your stomach, fireworks explode like grenades. The touch of one of his hands to gently cup your cheek has you subconsciously leaning into the pads of his calloused fingers. His other hand holds your waist gently while he–

The moment is shattered instantly. You shift your weight, accidentally placing the weight of your body onto your injured foot. Wincing, you withdraw with a hiss. “My leg,” you offer when his eyes ignite with fear, hoping to explain yourself.

Daniel sighs, leaning his forehead against yours. He closes his eyes momentarily.

“When the war is over, come home with me,” he suggests after a minute. He opens his eyes, gazing into yours. “Please,” he pleads, “come to Tennessee with me. I want to do this with you. I want to be with you and do these kinds of things. I wouldn't rather it be anyone else.”

You smile. It's like a dream come true, actually. “As long as it's with you, I'll go anywhere,” you murmur, moving to place another kiss on his lips.

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

The radio hums quietly, filling your home with music. You're in the kitchen, washing dishes.

The first song ends, and you hardly notice the next song that comes on.

‘Nous nous aimions bien tendrement,’ the radio belts, and you vaguely recognize the tune as familiar. But from where?

You stop what you're doing and listen, withdrawing your hands from the sink while trying to remember where you'd heard this before.

‘Tu es partout car tu es dans mon coeur’

‘Tu es partout car tu es mon bonheur,’

It instantly snaps once you've heard half the chorus.

It's the french song from Ramelle. The song transports you three years back. A time when you're back there in the ruined town. Sitting on the stairs near the gramophone, sun on your face, while the french music fills your ears. The calm before the storm. And it's just as vivid in your mind as the day it occurred.

Daniel comes into the kitchen, his face looking curious. “What's this?” He asks upon hearing the french music.

You've lit up, crossing the floor to him. “It's the song from Ramelle,” you murmur, a soft smile on your face.

For a few more moments the song carries on, and Daniel pauses to listen and identify the music, too.

“Dance with me?” You ask. It's impossible for Daniel to resist when you've already intertwined your hands with his.

He nods and slowly you begin swaying around the kitchen.

Daniel's arms lower to circle your waist. Your own arms reach up to rest on his shoulders.

The world around you doesn't matter anymore. Not when you're like this. When he's looking at you like that. With such a fondness present in his wonderful blue eyes while he takes you in. How his eyes draw you in, committing you to memory. The contour of your face. The way your eyes crinkle slightly. He stares down at you with something you wouldn't ever doubt was love.

And you stared back into his eyes with just the equal amount of love, for you were absolutely smitten for the blond haired boy. Perhaps you had been since you'd locked eyes over a joke and a laugh in a field

˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙·̩̩̥͙＊*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚˚*•̩̩͙✩•̩̩͙*˚＊·̩̩̥͙

ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ || ᴛᴀɢʟɪꜱᴛ || ɴᴀᴠɪɢᴀᴛɪᴏɴ

𝐋𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐲 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐤? 𝐂𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐢𝐝𝐞𝐫 𝐫𝐞𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐠𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠! 𝐈𝐭'𝐬 𝐠𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐩𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐜𝐢𝐚𝐭𝐞𝐝!

[krisisnotok]

i tried to find a whiteboard app and ended up finding one that has a lasso tool bucket and i love it

i’m also stuck in a boba shop because my mom loves talking with her friends

[southernbelllle]

My Boy Only Breaks His Favorite Toys

Private Daniel Jackson x Reader

Prompt: Jackson snaps at you...

Word Count: 1.8k

AN: Writing Jackson angst is so fckn funny bruh imagine getting yelled at and bro starts reciting scripture.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

The lake was shimmering white dots of light as the sun began its daily descent. The heat was prickling at your shoulders as you watched Daniel’s pole bob up and down into the water.

His beautiful blue eyes were trained on the small red and white bobber, unmoving for large amounts of time.

“Damn” you heard your inner monologue sigh. The steel lapis of his irises put the clear blue water to shame. He sat on the dock, shirtless in the sun. His ragged blue jeans were cuffed around his calves, his toes gently nipping at the water’s surface.

His brows were tightly furrowed together in concentrated dread. No bites all afternoon. He was biting the plushy blush colored corner of his bottom lip.

“Still nothing?” You leaned beside him, your head resting lightly on his shoulder.

“Nope.” He stated bluntly. His eyes stayed glued on the bobber.

You had noticed all morning that your Daniel hadn’t been himself. When you woke up, the side of your bed in which he usually smothered you in kisses, was empty. He was standing outside on your deck facing the water, watching the blue heron fly away from its nest. You had offered to cook him his favorite, a full Saturday morning breakfast, he didn’t want it. He said he wasn’t hungry. In fact, you had to follow him out to the dock in order to get a word out of him. He never liked fishing alone, he told you constantly that your conversations made up for the boring parts of fishing. The excitement in your voice when he’s reel in what felt like a good catch was enough to fuel his ego for weeks, and yet you weren’t invited this time.

Daniel scoffed as he reeled in his rod. Not a single fish caught in two hours.

“Sonofabitch.” He got up and headed to the small wooden table where the tackle box sat.  He threw the plastic lid off the container of worms he’d gathered that morning.

You sprang up beside him, “Oh, Daniel!” You followed him with bare feet. “Let me bait the hook for you!”

He turned his back to you as he fiddled with the hook. ”Nah I needa do it.” He mumbled.

“Oh, c’mon Danny let me do this for you, you been out here all afternoon.” You pleaded. “Let me help you somehow.”

“Nah, I got this. I can do it.” He shot in a tone that almost felt…mean? Judgy? Upset with you?

“Are you sure Daniel I don’t mi-“ You were interrupted by a guttural yell.

“Dammit woman I can do it myself!” There was no mistaking his tone this time. You had never seen this side of Daniel before.

You shrank downward into yourself as you stepped backward from him. You were, to be quite honest, in shock at him.

“Sorry…” you mumbled to no one in particular. “I’ll just be going back up now.” You turned to walk to the rocky path that led to your kitchen door. You felt a few tears fall and escape your eyes. You let your hair fall down beside your face so he wouldn’t see you cry. You needed some time alone.

ততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততততত

You threw yourself into your cooking as means to distract yourself from the snarling dog that stayed behind you on the dock. You had been planning a nice dinner for your boyfriend all week. You had been secretly slipping to the supermarket with the extra change you’d collected. You’d buy the fancy herbs and spices to add to the juicy salmon that you assumed your Daniel was soon to catch. You remembered what they say about assuming, now.

Tears began to fall once more as you moved the small bottles you’d bought into the cupboard. You guessed you wouldn’t need them anymore, your Daniel had very clearly grown not only tired but annoyed by you.

You never imagined that this was a possibility for your relationship. You could’ve sworn that he loved you, loved you like one day he’d get down on one knee and ask you to be his forever. That dream felt lost to the wind right now, there was no hope.

He was probably going to leave you, He was going to find him another nice girl he went to church with, and discard you like an old hubcap. It was the most painful thing you could imagine.

You were holding your arms up against the cupboard doors, starring into the empty void that had just sucked up all of your most precious memories when you heard heavy footsteps rutting against the rocky path. Daniel was coming back, and you had damp eyes the color of Jupiter’s great storm. You wiped your eyes and once again brought your hair down to curtain your face and busied yourself by cleaning the coffee maker.

Daniel walked in with steps much lighter than you’d heard before. You felt his eyes scan you up and down, never once daring to turn and meet his gaze. You picked up the wet yellow sponge and brought it to scrub the inside on the glass coffee pot.

Quietly, he approached you like a rabbit to an eagle. You cold see his advances in your peripheral vision through your hair. You turned the faucet on to rinse the pot.

He unexpectedly reached his arm out toward your shoulder, causing you to jump and drop the glass pot into the sink. It shattered into a million tiny pieces with an echo that sounded far too similar to his earlier outburst.

The straw that broke the camels back, you drop to you knees and bring your hands to your face. You open mouth sob, completely disregarding the man who stood behind you.

“Aw nah” he sighed remorsefully. “Aw nah baby,” Daniel whispered, wasting absolutely no time to scoop your shaking frame into his strong arms. “I’m sorry, Darlin’” he repeated over and over, rubbing small circles atop your shoulder blades. “I’m awful sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to bark at ya.”

You continued to sob into his shoulders. Bracing him for dear life, as if you were to physically stop him from walking out the door to find a girl that would grant him more independence, and not insist on doing menial tasks such as bait a hook for him.

Your cries broke him into more pieces than the shattered coffee pot. He, as your man, was to eliminate any reason that you’d cry, and now look at him. He was the reason your tears were now dripping down his shoulder. “I’m so so sorry, baby.” He gently rocked you back and forth as you both still sat on the ground.

You lifted your head up to look at him, it was the first time you’d seen his face all morning. Even when he was miserable, completely drained from hearing your painful sobs, he was still beautiful.

“No,” you said. “I’m sorry. I should never have offered to bait your hook, I know you’re perfectly capable of doing-“ Daniel quietly shushed you as he pulled you back into  a soft hug.

“No,” he interrupted. “No, I’m sorry. I never shouldn’t have yelled at you.” He kissed the tip of your scalp. “I been strugglin with somethin for a while and I took it out on you.” He pulled you in tighter. “I failed my duty as a man.” He whispered under his breath.

You broke free from his hug, “what’s been bothering you?” You asked, bringing your hands up to cup his face. All insecurity fading as Daniel grew vulnerable.

“Truth is my darlin’” His big eyes met yours, “I been called to duty.”

Your mouth hung open, eyes the size of dinner plates. “You what?”

“I gotta call from a recruiter late yesterday afternoon. Theyn’t a single man inna whole military who can snipe worth a sheeyt.” His palms rested in the curve of your hips. “They need me, darlin.”

You knew this was Daniel’s dream. God gave him this miraculous talent for a reason, and he’d been praying over the foot of you bed every night for an opportunity for his talent to arise.

“Ya know I been talkin to the Lord about it all day,” he shared. “I been so wrapped up in deciding whether I should take it or not, that I took allat frustration out on you.” You could tell he genuinely felt nauseous for snapping at you. “I made my little wife cry. I’m so sorry,” he began to silently cry into his hands.

“Aw baby,” it was your turn to comfort him. You understood where he was coming from, why he felt the way that he did. While serving a greater cause and devoting himself to the honor of his country was Daniel’s ultimate goal, that meant leaving you, his girlfriend, (who he had just referred to as his “wife.”) He was clearly being torn apart by two giant life altering decisions. It was a reasonable thing to get upset over.

“Daniel,” you felt your eyebrows bend in sadness, “I forgive you, I really do, I always will.” You brought his blonde head down to your chest. “I’ll love and stick by you no matter what. Whether you’re an hour or an ocean away. I’ll be there.”

He sobbed harder into your chest, bringing his arms to pull around you in a snake like embrace. “I didn’t mean to bite, I just know God put me here to defend my country, and I was terrified that meant sacrificing you, my ass was on fire and my head was catchin’.”

You felt your heart melt like butter in a hot skillet, but with a light chuckle. Even in the darkest of times, Daniel still shined through. “Baby,” you whispered into his ear. “If you go, I’ll miss you every single second.” He got worried again. “But” you stated, “But I know that this is your talent. I know that God didn’t give you the skill he did just to have you sit at home shooting squirrels.” HE looked up at you like an abandon puppy. “If you want to go, I’ll be here when you get home.”

“Really?” He whimpered.

“Really.” You kissed his cheek.

He hugged into you once more, breathing in your scent and committing it to memory.

“Now, I need something to cook for dinner…” You teased, motioning to the lake that glimmered outside of your living room window.

For the first time that day, the sun came out. Literally and figuratively. The sunlight danced across his face as the corners of his mouth traveled upward.

“Oh, my darlin, I’ll catch you the biggest, baddest, juiciest fish that there river has ever seen.” He stood both of you back up and brought your arm up to kiss your hand. “C’mon back down and sit beside me hot stuff I gotta give you something to remember.” He laughed.

“Well, on one condition…” you trailed off.

He knit his brows together in worry again, “Anything. Anything at all my love.” He stated with a genuine heart.

“You let me bait your hook?” You tried to hide your smile by biting your lip.

He felt the color wash back into his face. “Yes,” he laughed. “Yes, of course.”

You giggled as he grabbed your hand and led you to the rocky path. “Now I gotta ask you something when we get down there,” his fingers slipped into his back pocket of his jeans to fiddle with the small velvet box holding his mother’s wedding ring. “Somethin’ real important about this idea I have after I get home.”

ততততততততততততততততততততততততত��ততততততততত

And he comes back home alive and well and puts a ring on it and has 10 babies with you praise Jesus Hallelujah

[superpaperrobloxhcs]

Headcanon: This is what Dusekkar looks like without his pumpkin

Rozanda and Pink I are the only ones who know because they took it off one day as part of a bet and they were never the same

[ruggowhatever]

Say 1x1x1x1, I hear you like em DEAD