sleepycerulean

[lotus-pear]

mourning black and the death of ideals

[bixels]

Just gonna have to wait and see, right? Just wait and see! Just gotta wait and see! Who knows, we'll just have to wait and see! It's anybody's guess, we'll just have to wait and see! The future is exciting, we just gotta wait and see!

[inkskinned]

you were raised in comparison.

it wasn't always obvious (well. except for the times that it was), but you internalized it young. you had to eat what you didn't like, other people are going hungry, and you should be grateful. you had to suck it up and walk on the twisted ankle, it wasn't broken, you were just being a baby. you were never actually suffering, people obviously had it worse than you did.

you had a roof over your head - imagine! with the way you behaved, with how you talked back to your parents? you're lucky they didn't kick you out on your ass. they had friends who had to deal with that. hell, you have friends who had to deal with that. and how dare you imply your father isn't there for you - just because he doesn't ever actually talk to you and just because he's completely emotionally checked out of your life doesn't mean you're not fucking lucky. think about your cousins, who don't even get to speak to their dad. so what if yours has a mean streak; is aggressive and rude. at least you have a father to be rude to you.

you really think you're hurting? you were raised in a home! you had access to clean water! you never so much as came close to experiencing a real problem. sure, okay. you have this "mental illness" thing, but teenagers are always depressed, right. it's a phase, you'll move on with your life.

what do you mean you feel burnt out at work. what do you mean you mean you never "formed healthy coping mechanisms?" we raised you better than that. you were supposed to just shoulder through things. to hold yourself to high expectations. "burning out" is for people with real jobs and real stress. burnout is for people who have sick kids and people who have high-paying jobs and people who are actually experiencing something difficult. recently you almost cried because you couldn't find your fucking car keys. you just have lost your sense of gratitude, and honestly, we're kind of hurt. we tell you we love you, isn't that enough? if you want us to stick around, you need to be better about proving it. you need to shut up about how your mental health is ruined.

it could be worse! what if you were actually experiencing executive dysfunction. if you were really actually sick, would you even be able to look at things on the internet about it? you just spend too much time on webMD. you just like to freak yourself out and feel like you belong to something. you just like playing the victim. this is always how you have been - you've always been so fucking dramatic. you have no idea how good you have it - you're too fucking sensitive.

you were like, maybe too good of a kid. unwilling to make a real fuss. and the whole time - the little points, the little validations - they went unnoticed. it isn't that you were looking for love, specifically - more like you'd just wanted any one person to actually listen. that was all you'd really need. you just needed to be witnessed. it wasn't that you couldn't withstand the burden, but you did want to know that anyone was watching. these days, you are so accustomed to the idea of comparison - you don't even think you belong in your own communities. someone always fits better than you do. you're always the outlier. they made these places safe, and then you go in, and you are just not... quite the same way that would actually-fit.

you watch the little white ocean of your numbness lap at your ankles. the tide has been coming in for a while, you need to do something about it. what you want to do is take a nap. what you want to do is develop some kind of time machine - it's not like you want your life to stop, not completely, but it would really nice if you could just get everything to freeze, just for a little while, just until you're finished resting. but at least you're not the worst you've been. at least you have anything. you're so fucking lucky. do you have any concept of the amount of global suffering?

a little ant dies at the side of your kitchen sink. you look at its strange chitinous body and think - if you could just somehow convince yourself it is enough, it will finally be enough and you can be happy. no changes will have to be made. you just need to remember what you could lose. what is still precious to you.

you can't stop staring at the ant. you could be an ant instead of a person, that is how lucky you are. it's just - you didn't know the name of the ant, did you. it's just - ants spend their whole life working, and never complain. never pull the car over to weep.

it's just - when it died, it curled up into a tight little ball.

something kind of uncomfortable: you do that when you sleep.

[laz-kay]

Alastor: Here's some advice-

Rosie: I didn't ask for any.

Alastor: Too bad. I'm stuck here with my thoughts and you're the only one who talks to me.

[deoidesign]

when your main characters start dating after years of writing so they finally get to be like this

[saetoru]

i think the first time you really realize alhaitham’s in love with you is when you see how he inconveniences himself just for your sake. it’s subtle, you don’t even notice it until one day it all hits you at once.

“you…got these on your way home?” you ask, taking the bag he holds out. you didn’t even think he was listening last night when you said you’d like to try that new bakery off handedly. evidently he was.

and he stares at you with that aggravatingly blank face of his. “yes.” it’s all he says, all he chooses to offer even when you leave all the unsaid questions in the air.

“but that’s not on the way home,” you say confused.

“it is, if you take a different route.”

“and you took a different route?”

“yes.”

“you took what would be a slightly longer route?” you raise a brow.

“yes.” and then he walks off to change, dropping the discussion all together.

you stare at the bag in your hands, at the small token of proof that he listens, that he cares. and then it hits you, all at once it hits you. those extra pillows he spends time rearranging when he makes the bed because you insist they’re nice and you need them. the papers he gives you at the akademiya already sifted through and sorted in order for you to sign. the late lunch he takes just to have yours with you. those fifteen minutes of sleep he sacrifices to shower first so you can stay in bed a bit longer. that table he hates and always bumps his hips into that you love in the living room.

and that longer route he takes on his way home to get you something you like.

it’s all so inconvenient. it’s a lot more trouble than he likes. it’s inefficient and over complicated and probably is an obstacle to his usually simple life.

“i didn’t know you were listening,” you mumble, “i thought you were asleep.”

“well, it’s difficult to sleep with all your tossing and turning,” he says simply, making your lips quirk into an easy grin as you roll your eyes.

he turns to walk to your bedroom, and you grab his hand and keep him in place. and then you smile that little smile of yours. lean in and press your lips to his. mumble a quiet thank you, haitham against them before kissing them again. and again. and again, for longer this time.

he loves you. it’s the easiest thing he does.

[stopthatfool]

"And here we are in heaven. For you are mine... at last!"

Nick and Carole on their wedding day! Based on the headcanon I made in this post where their first dance song is: At Last! By Etta James! (Mav took this photo)

[ticklepinions]

No more t*ckling scenes in media. PLEASE

Why is it the ones that circulate always sprinkled with an unhealthy amount of *weird*

Or is it just me because I'm hyperaware of seeing my own interest on the big screen

What happened to lighthearted pokes in the sides why is it so deeply non consensual or used in a way to make fun of it.

Like PLEASE be fucking normal about it!!!! Whether it's as a kink or not don't make it weird 😭😭😭😭😭😭

[vulpinesaint]

off of last post! do ace people know about the black ring on the right middle finger!! are the kids aware!!! do you guys know that we have a community symbol that you can wear out in public without scrutiny? do you guys know that we have something physical to tie us together? a way to recognize each other???

[mssallsunday]

mouthwashing features a mc who rapes and impregnates a woman and then crashes a spaceship full of innocent people to cover that fact up when the news gets out to the ppl she confides in and the captain tells her her assaulter wouldn't do that because he "knows him" and the mc pretends like it never happened as he is haunted by the images of his lies and deceit and cowardice and the image of his unborn child and the sound of a child's cries and the captain who failed to act cannot move himself or feed himself or speak for himself or defend himself when the mc attacks him and berates him and blames him for every lie he's ever told as the captain loses every scrap of autonomy he has left. but yeah it's about fucking. capitalism and yaoi. whatever i guess

[heatwa-ves]

day 21 + 22- family

[pomodoriyum]

idk i dont think we give hickey enough credit for jumping on the bomb that was about to be the whole manson / irving conflict to de-escalate it.

like manson had just shoved (?) irving (MAJOR no-no, since irving outranks him. also you cant hit your coworkers)and irving was threatening to lock manson in a room alone in the dark with dead men over an unspecified amt of time, because manson expressed being afraid (dangerous to admit!!).

obvs irving is projecting his own anger at himself onto manson here, but it’s especially not ok to do that to manson of all people, who reads to me as someone who’s mildly intellectually disabled. you dont do that to your coworker, or your subordinate, and you certainly dont do that to someone who may not be capable of defending themselves in the same way you can attack them/defend yourself. it’s a complete abuse of power, and it’s fucking sick. irving i dont care if you hate yourself and youre stressed!!! dont be a dick!!!!

like yeah, it’s to hickey’s benefit to reassure manson (hes already read crozier’s little note, and i think hickey’s probably disturbed by francis’ previous plans to leave, shaken that francis believes they need rescue, plus being flogged is not reassuring about crozier’s mental state or sense of control over the crew, and while i dont think hickey is really consciously planning mutiny yet, it’s definitely something his subconscious is chewing on) but there’s definitely a sense of hickey saying, ‘oh fuck this shit i am stepping up and interfering with this’. which is something he’s demonstrated before, and was flogged for it. like, christ. give the man some credit for calming manson down, and giving him actual tools (lantern, safety in distance, ‘guarding’ the others) to cope with his fear.

also. sidenote. it’s been made very clear earlier that hickey is not supposed to be carrying heavy things. goodsir says this. hickey flinches when he sets that toolbox down. and then he goes and volunteers himself to help hold a dead body so that manson wouldnt be punished for being afraid. you know how much pain that probably caused him????? like literal, physical pain??? christ

[twinsfawn]

i get that gore can be fun but the way some of y’all will post/reblog actual corpses on here for “aesthetic” as if that’s not someone’s loved one is fucking disgusting. the internet has rotted some of y’all’s brains so bad that you forget you’re circulating images of an actual fucking dead body, someone who had a life and people who cared about them. imagine if one of your loved ones died tragically and photos of their body were getting passed around the internet. look inward, your humanity is close to gone.

[uhohdad]

Dad I have read all of your works and I adore you the most, but I have to know, do you have any gentle giant konig recs from other writers? It’s nearly impossible to find any and I don’t have the energy to write it myself but I am in desperate need for that man to be soft for me 😔

ohhh this is an excellent question my dear i’m going to defer to the kiddos on this one. drop ya recs below - c’mon now don’t be shy. we help each other out in this house.

and tell you what drop me another ask so i don’t forget (more than welcome to customize it to your tastes) and i will get to it as soon as time allows ✨💞💖🩷💕💗💞💖

[constellation-skirmishes]

[text]: has a crush on padme, is also married to padme. these things are not mutually exclusive.

[text]: no thoughts in his head. cute wife.

[softspeirs]

gosh, these prompts are just so fluffy, it makes me want to cry! 🥹

maybe these for whoever you're feeling in the moment:

❛ what, am i not allowed to look at you? ❜

❛ seeing you happy is all that matters. ❜

A/N: First, you asked for this so long ago, I'm sorry it took so long! I wanted to explore a lil reunion for Rosie and Grace after (one of the times) his plane goes down and he makes it back. I did a smidge of research for this, but to be clear, this isn't the time he lands in Russia that we see in the show. This is an earlier mission where he crash lands in France - p422 (? I think?) in Masters of the Air if you want to read more. I tweaked the dialogue of that second prompt just a tiny bit, hope that's okay. These Heartbeats Clear Masterlist

Seven. Wounded.

When Robert Rosenthal opens his eyes, for a moment he doesn't remember where he is. There's a brief unsettling moment of sheer panic where he tries to get his bearings, tries to sit up and tries to remember what's happened to him in the last 48 hours.

"Whoa, whoa, slow down." A voice says. American. He sighs in relief.

An unfamiliar worried face swims into his vision. "Major Rosenthal?"

"What--" His throat hurts, his entire body hurts, and he stops trying to talk.

"You've been asleep for almost two days."

"Where am I?"

"Please, try to relax. You're safe. You're in Oxford."

Now that he hears the words, he remembers loud, urgent voices, he remembers flashing lights and the feeling of being manhandled around. It doesn't do much to quell the fear rising in his gut. "My crew."

"They're fine. Some wounded, but everyone's going to be okay." She moves around the bed with quick, sure steps, checking his chart before meeting his eyes again. "You've got a broken arm and a few broken ribs, Major. Now that you're awake, we'd just like to monitor you for a few hours and then we can talk about a transport back to your base."

He nods, thanking her, and she smiles before disappearing down a corridor, leaving him to his thoughts. His mind is slow, fuzzy, but there's one thought blaring like an alarm louder than anything else - he needs to find a way to call Grace.

He swore to her a long time ago that he'd never give her a reason to think he wasn't coming back. He has no idea if anyone knows he and his crew are here.

He also has a panicked thought that he won't be able to fly again, not if they were helped the French resistance. He forces himself to take deep breaths and tries to beat back the anxiety fluttering in his ribcage.

"Rosie?" A familiar voice breaks him out of his thoughts, and he tries to sit up before pain laces up his spine, making him wince.

"Croz?"

Harry's worried face peeks around the curtain. "Jesus." He says, making Rosie wonder what he must look like.

"What are you doing here?"

"We got a call. Wasn't going to let you guys walk back to Thorpe Abbotts, was I?" He takes a few steps closer, scraping a chair closer to the bed before sitting down. He looks exhausted. "I volunteered to come get you."

"How long--"

"It's been five days since the mission." Harry rubs a hand over his face. "Can't begin to tell you how lucky you were, Rosie."

It starts to hit him, how close he was to not coming back. He doesn't even remember the plane going down, not entirely. He has no memory of being rescued. He feels strangely guilty. He's the one that's supposed to lead and help his crew when he can.

"Have you talked to a doctor?" Harry asks.

Rosie shakes his head. "Not yet, just a nurse. Obviously I can't do much with this--" He struggles to shrug with his injured arm in a sling.

"It'll be fine. Desk duty until you're well."

"Croz, you know I hate--"

"You can't fly like that, Rosie. Technically you should be pulled from duty altogether."

Rosie clenches his jaw, takes a deep breath and tries to calm himself down. It's not Harry's call, even though he knows he's right. He's going to do everything he can to get back in the seat again, even if he has to get demoted to do it.

.

He discharges himself so he can leave with his crew and with Crosby and hitch a ride back to base. The doctor fixes him with a stern look as he does it, but he must see the determination on Rosie's face, and just tells him to take it easy for the next few weeks.

Fat chance of that.

"Stop looking at me like that." He grouses to Harry as they bounce along the road back to Thorpe Abbotts, Rosie biting back a wince with grit teeth as the road jostles his muscles uncomfortably.

"I'm not looking at you like anything."

Harry has long stopped trying to convince Rosie of anything, just like Rosie has stopped trying to tell him to get more sleep or eat more. They're all just doing whatever they can to survive at this point. The cost of it all is secondary.

"I'll save the lecture for Grace." He mutters.

Rosie's head snaps up. "Is she--"

"Worried sick? Probably, but you know her. Once she knew you were alive, she went from worried to furious."

"Not like I had any say in the matter," Rosie counters, voice dry. "Didn't try asking them not to shoot at us, though."

Harry smiles, shaking his head. "You know what I mean. Angry at the circumstances. Frustrated with herself for being emotional. That's Grace."

That's Grace. And isn't that the truth. Rosie can't help but smile softly, because he knows Harry is right - he's going to get an earful when he gets back. But he must be a masochist, because he's almost looking forward to it - it means she cares. Not that he's ever had any reason to doubt that.

The truck rumbles along for miles. Rosie hadn't thought about how long it would take them to get back to the base, but he tries to close his eyes and get relatively comfortable until they arrive.

He hears the noise of the gates and opens his eyes to find the sun nearly down. There's a big commotion as they enter and he takes a deep breath to try to get his bearings.

"We'll go to command first, and then to the infirmary. You'll probably have to sleep there." Harry says groggily.

They're let out in front of the command building, Jack Kidd already there waiting for him along with the Colonel. Both look like they haven't slept in days. A few paces behind them is Grace, and the sight of her softens Rosie, makes his shoulders lose their tension. He meets her eyes and tries for a smile, but he thinks it comes off as more of a grimace.

Grace, for her part, is restraining herself. She feels a mixture of relief and anger wash over her at the sight of him, arm in a sling and bruises and cuts littering his handsome face. He looks exhausted, and she's sure she looks much the same.

She knows being angry is the wrong thing. It's not his fault he got shot down, after all. Really, she's angry at herself. She's angry at her heart, at the way it plummeted to her feet when she heard the news that his plane didn't come back, and she's angrier that every day since confirms to her what she already knows: she's in love with him.

And that's as terrifying as it is liberating, because there's a very real chance he could break her heart, whether he means to or not. (She knows that Robert Rosenthal doesn't have a cruel bone in his body, but sometimes, in war, the choice isn't his)

"Jesus Christ, Rosie." Jack says quietly, voice heavy. "I--" He takes a deep breath, and seems to remember what he needs to do. "It's good to see you back. We need to go to interrogation."

"The crew isn't ready--"

Kidd shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Rosie, but the quicker we do this, the better. It's already been a few days."

"Who's back?"

"Maddox, Rubick, Palmer, and Hartos. The others won't be back until tomorrow, but we'll debrief them then. I don't want to wait an extra day."

Jack looks over his shoulder, and Rosie is sure he catches an apologetic look on his face that's there and gone quickly as he sees Grace there. "Twenty minutes, then go to the infirmary." He says as he turns back to Rosie. "Let's go."

The interrogation is as grueling as Rosie expected. He's glad to see some of the members of his crew again. Despite his brain telling him that none of this is his fault, his heart can't help but beat wildly, flooding him with guilt as they give their account of what happened after they went down, when Rosie was knocked unconscious.

It feels like hours before he's trudging towards the infirmary, luckily only a few steps away from the interrogation hut.

The door is opening before he arrives, and Grace's worry-filled face fills his vision. "Grace." Her name leaves his mouth without his permission, his tone exhausted, but full of emotion.

She swallows hard. "Major." Her tone is relieved and... frustrated. He's not surprised, but he hopes she'll spare him Nurse Grace and instead give him the Grace he's been dreaming of for days, though he knows it's selfish, knows that she has a job to do.

He sees the doctor hovering behind her. She opens the door wider so he can come through.

All he wants is to be alone with her. He wants to tell her he's sorry, he wants to tell her that she was on his mind every second, that she is one of the reasons not only that he gets in the seat, but the reason he comes home.

Home.

The exam is quick, thankfully. They took good care of him in Oxford. The doctor leaves Grace to administer pain meds and do the paperwork, and it's only when they're finally alone that he sees the emotion on her face, though she's trying valiantly to hide it.

With each injury she catalogues, her face hardens. Her eyes meet his as she tilts his face up to dab a cooling salve on a bruise forming on his orbital bone.

"You have a look on your face." He says quietly.

"What, I'm not allowed to look at you?" She asks, and he can see how she's trying so hard to hold it together. Pretending. Pretending this is all business for her. He wishes she wouldn't.

"I'm sorry." He croaks, throat dry from overuse.

"Please don't apologize," she says, expression suddenly stricken, as if she realizes what she must look and sound like. "You didn't--" She stops herself, eyes closing for a moment as she gathers her professionalism. "I'm just so relieved you're alive." She whispers. "I'm not angry at you. I'm upset... I'm angry at the war. At these circumstances. That you're hurt--" She stops herself.

He wishes more than anything he had the use of both his arms. He settles for reaching out with one hand, thankful when she doesn't hesitate to take it, lacing their fingers together.

"I never want you to worry." He says, and it's the truth, even though they both know it's pointless.

She shrugs. "Comes with the territory, Major." She squeezes his hand. Her voice lowers to a whisper. "Worry happens naturally when you love someone."

His pulse pounding in his ears is all he can hear. He feels like the world tilts on its axis and then rights itself, all at once.

"Maybe it's too soon or too big for me to say it, but I don't want you to fly ever again without knowing it." She says, voice strong this time. He loves her for it.

He loves her.

He tugs her a little closer and she seems to understand, her face softening as she stands as close as she can, leaning down to meet him halfway. He tries to tell her how he feels when he kisses her gently, mindful of the black eye he's sure he's sporting and the soreness of his cheekbone. His hand leaves hers in favor of cradling her jaw, and the sigh that leaves her is music to his ears.

"Of course I love you." He murmurs, barely a centimeter between them when they break apart. "Probably have for a long time, Grace."

She pulls herself away, just for a moment, and starts to tidy up the triage area where he sits with her. He recognizes what she's doing and gives her the space she needs to gather herself, to come to terms with whatever she needs to. He's relieved at least that the smile hasn't left her face.

"Winning this war and seeing you happy are just about all that matter to me anymore." He admits, and watches as she stops what she's doing to turn back to face him.

"I just want to be sure I'm not a distraction for you."

He shakes his head. "No."

"Rosie, I'm--"

He shakes his head again, cutting her off. "Grace, you don't think I'm going to let you tell me you love me and then push me away, do you?" He tilts his head to one side.

"That's not what I'm doing. I promise."

"Then come over here and let me kiss you again."

She smiles, and he swears to himself that he's going to be responsible for that smile on her face every day, for as long as he can help it. He has no doubt that they have some trials ahead, but they have each other, and sometimes the will of the heart is stronger than anything else.