EVERYTHING TAKES YOU BACK

[gawdamn.livejournal.com]

the song drabble meme

It's pretty simple and fun, folks. This is how this works!
( 01 ) Have a playlist ready! Don't use all your songs--try and narrow it down a little.
( 02 ) Let everyone know how many songs you're working with. Also, which characters you would be willing to write about.
( 03 ) Others tag your post, picking a character or pairing or friendship or familial relationship or whatever, and then choose a number from your list.

( 04 ) Write a drabble related to that song, using that/those character(s)!

<b>Characters:</b> -Name || (<lj user="username"></lj> ) -Name || (<lj user="username"></lj> ) <b>Number of Tracks:</b>

- reference our previous meme if you're still confused

Comments

[nobleleader.livejournal.com]

Okay, so the first one was "Happy Holidays, You Bastard," by blink 182 but there was no........way......... I could do anything with that???

SO LOL you get 240. "Soldier in a box | Hot hot heat." ALSO THIS WILL NOT BE DEPRESSING GODDAMNIT.

___

Emile never thought of himself as claustrophobic, honestly. After all, he's dealt with tighter spaces on missions, before, but with each rumble of the ground and shake of the building, he realizes that it's really possible to get claustrophobic. He's got barely enough room to move, one arm pinned-- his good arm, goddamnit, of course, and the slow, steady burn and ache of it lets him know yeah, something is fucked up in it. He hopes it's not too bad, because that's his good arm, and he really, really needs that.

There's little else to do besides, wait, though; the concrete and metal interferes too much with the comms to get anything out past a rush of static. He can really only hope they know where he is, and even then, that they can get to him.

Emile's head thunks back against the rock behind him, and he curses lightly under his breath, each little movement making his shoulder scream with pain, shooting all the way from his fingers to his toes. There's another rumble, and for the longest moment he feels sick, staring at the rocks above him like he has been for the last two hours, watching rubble fall down onto his helmet. He always assumed he'd go out fighting- not like this, not trapped under rubble, waiting to bite it.

The huge rock above his head trembles, more rubble falling onto his mask, and he just yells, straining against the rock pinning him, ignoring the way his whole body protests and he almost vomits inside the helmet. It's only that that keeps him from fighting more-- he doesn't want to be sitting there, trapped with his vomit, too. Emile sinks back, eyes closed, hissing a breath out between his teeth as more static comes over the comms, and he hears Kat's voice yell, distorted but panicked over the radio, followed by Jorge's loud holler of-- well. He can't make that out either, but it's something.

There are explosions in the distance, and Emile chokes on bile when the rock on his arm shudders and shifts, dropping down, pain shooting up his shoulder, making him nearly vomit all over again, breathing in shallow, panicked gasps. There's not enough room, there's really fucking not and he's fairly sure that there's too much rubble out there to get any sort of idea where he is. He's not scared of dying-- none of the Spartans are, it's just not in their heads to be, but he is scared of dying like this. Trapped, unable to fight, when fighting is what he's good at, what he's been trained in.

"Boss, this is Emile, I'm --" he starts, and hears the scream of static and feedback on his mic and headset, shutting up instantly when it gets too sharp. Still no luck.

All he can do is wait, then.