#motiontrackersset

Rumbles tossing him over and biting him back-

How dare. How VERY dare you.

Send my muse a fear you see them having, and they will rate it from 0-10 depending on how much it frightens them.

Oh no no no. That isn’t even something to joke about, and the idea of it has Maine turfing out the contents of his armour storage and wherever else it is he seems to hide things: the usual knife and spare ammo fall out onto the floor alongside at least six packeted brownies, two (Maine-sized) handfuls of boiled sweets, and about eight little tubes of yoghurt with silly faces depicted on them.

He sighs, satisfied that all of his stash was still there and hadn’t actually disappeared, then begins gathering them back up.

The statement itself, the words spoken, is, in essence, nothing he hasn’t heard before. But the sentiment is something else entirely. The sentiment sets his heart to racing and the rest of him to feeling weak.

Well... most of the rest of him. With one very, very glaring exception.

The sniper cracks a hazel eye open to regard the sharpshooter, then opens its twin and looks to check where the shrapnel had been flawlessly removed from his shoulder, where North has fastened a crisp, clean bandage.

Closed starter for motiontrackersset

Θ Theta stood in the hallway between his and North’s bedrooms, shifting on his feet uncertainly and stuffed animal tucked firmly under his arm. His pajama top clung to him, a little bit damp from sweat, but the cool air made him shiver.

North had said to come get him if he had nightmares. And he did have them- fairly often. There were things he didn’t remember, things that would come back to haunt him while he slept. But how often could he keep knocking on North’s door in the middle of the night before North got tired of it?

Shit, shit shit....Wash froze, panicking. If he didn’t answer North would probably break the door down in worry, but he couldn’t answer with the voice of an eight year old. Maybe North would buy it if he just feigned sick...?

“Uh, that’s okay,” He cleared his throat roughly. “I don’t- *cough*- feel great. I’m gonna, uh. Go to bed.”