#ooc more than likely

[theirishwolfhound]

Bit of a rambling thing, so like fair warning I suppose. But these are topics that I would like to use in my stories one day, just so that I can figure out my own thoughts. There is more information at the bottom about why I am personally writing this, but consider this more of a self insert type of fic (but a lot of physical details are left ambiguous) for comfort. It has a lot of different thing from my own life.

Task Force 141 (Comfort Fic)- Are You Still There?

Content Warnings: Mental Health Related Issues (Disassociation/Derealization), Passive Suicidal Ideation, Hurt/Comfort

Written In First Person, Nickname: Cardinal, You can read this as a x Reader fic but it isn't intended that way

Joining the army was something I never wanted to do, but I had no choice. Between the lack of familial financial support to the increase of the general price of living, I had no choice. I don't even know why they would accept someone like me into the force. Perhaps they were like me. Desperate. In need of anything they could get their teeth and nails in. Willing for anything, or anyone that would approach with an offer. But now that I'm in it I can't really get out. A trap I willingly walked into like an animal that doesn't know any better. One who was hungry and tired of fighting everything so I chose to fight with a collective. It nearly broke me. But the pay is nice. So at least there's that. My bones and body ache every day. But the people I work with make it worth it. Right now however is a brief rest, no missions, no worries, no problems. At least that's what I think it should be, but my mind is too busy. There are too many thoughts in my head.

What if I didn't have to join up? I wouldn't be here, that's for sure. What if those pills back in secondary school had done the job? Then I wouldn't be here, but I'm not going to try it again. What if I took a bullet next mission? There's nothing I can do it it does, if it happens then it happens. What if I don't wake up in the morning? Preferable, but I have things I need to do tomorrow. Do my pets back home miss me? I hope so. Does my family miss me? Half of them do. All of these are valid thoughts, I think they are at least, and I can't help but to have them even as I sit with my friends in the common room. Two of them play cards together, one reads a book, and the other simply scrolls through his phone. But we're watching a movie at least, so there's noise. Looking at them, I realize that I'm lucky to have them. They're my friends after all. But I don't know what they're thinking, or if they feel the same way. If they feel trapped. ...if they feel real. Are they real? Counter question: am I real? Is this... all in my head? Arguably what is in my head and what is not? Should I reevaluate my decisions? ... My life? ...

Even now as I type this I can't tell if the men around me are actually there. If the phone in my hand is real. If these thoughts are my own. It's scary. To not trust your own mind that is. Life is scary in general. For example: never knowing if you're going to even wake up in the morning. But it's something I'm willing to accept. Something quick and painless. Sleep is the best way for sure. Would I wake up? Maybe. I don't have any underlying health problems as far as I know. Where would I wake up? Hopefully in my bed. What time line would I be in? One that I'm familiar with, I pray for that. Would I adapt if I woke up in a new body? God, I hope so. ... Would they miss me? ... I hope so.

I don't hear his voice when he talks to me, I can't even see who it is, I can only sit and remain transfixed on my notes app. If I ever have to go to therapy because it gets too bad I need something to show them, right? I can't tell if the pressure on my shoulder is real or not, if the way the couch dips next to me is actually there or if I'm still lost in the idea that maybe the world I'm in is all just a dream. That my friends aren't real and that I'm going to wake up in the next moment. It has to be real. It has to be. It feels real. But I don't.

"Are ye okay, Cardinal?"

Am I okay?

"Can you talk t' me?"

Can I?

"What's going on, mate?"

"...I don't know."

"'ad us worried there, mate."

"Yeah ye' was jus'... starin' off again., thought ye might start cryin' yer eyes did that glossy thing."

"Mhm, spaced out a good ten minutes ago."

"...you okay, mate?"

"Ah... sorry... and yeah. I guess I just have a lot on my mind."

Coming back to reality was a bit hard but with the grounding hand on my shoulder it made it easier, the same with the presence next to me. For a moment I could focus. But deep down I know it won't last, the next time I start to think, I'll spiral again. It's a scary thought. I can feel my eyes burning at the mere thought, but there's nothing I can do about it.

"What do you need, Cardinal?"

What do I need?

There's not much I want in life, not anymore. I had to give up my dreams and aspirations so that I could just live. I need basics, this I know... but I'm not hungry. There's a roof over my head. I don't need a drink yet, and I'm not tired.

What did I need?

"...I dunno." "Maybe some bubble tea?"

"Yeah? C'mon then. I'll drive."

"Shotgun!"

"Cardinal get's the middle seat."

"Mm, 'spose that works."

The hand on my shoulder shifts down to my arm, helping me to my feet before two of them wrap an arm around each shoulder so that we could begin to walk out of the common room. It could be real, it could be fake, but for right now... I know that I want it to be real... for my sake.

Part of me likes to think about the possibilities of not being myself, not really in the depression kind of way (i think i could be wrong) but like in the day dreaming kind of way.

Again it may be the mental illness but like constantly formulating these ideas in my head about myself or my OCs really keep me level headed.

I don't know what it is. But it's the only way I am able to not focus on burning out. Like one moment I could be the fucking Dragonborn fighting off Alduin (I'm actually walking through a supermarket trying to get groceries) or the next moment I'm on an undercover mission with the 141 giving me updates on my surroundings via the earpiece in my ear so that I can survive (its a headphone, I'm listening to music while working a job that is breaking my body down with each shift.)

It's like I don't exist but the people I want to be do.

I would give anything to just be in a different world for like a few hours. Whether it be Skyrim or where ever CoD takes place (don't actually send me to Britain) rather than where I am. I want to be without pain, or worry about work— I want to worry about dragons burning down my fucking house.

I should be happy in general, not only when I play DnD or get to just sit with my fiancé in relative silence (parallel play if you will).

I can't tell if this is disassociation or not. I don't think it's derealization but what would I know, y'know?

[distorted-prince]

Started watching critical role C2, i love these two

[tvlandofficiall]

[ash-and-starlight]

modern au and esen’s honkers are haunting the instagram feed

[ihatebrainstorm]

Glad you’re still alive :P

How about some science trio shenanigans? >:)

Just something I've been thinking about ever since I noticed Percy had treads on the back of his legs ksdkf

Nautica needs a bit of time to adjust to the "in lab shenanigans"

[thedemises]

. . . SAVE A HORSE, GO ON A RIDE WITH THE COWBOY! featuring boothill!

notes! . . . y'know the phrase, “save a horse, ride the cowboy”? well, I decided to-do something about it with boothill... except it's sfw and more like “save a horse, ride with the cowboy” cuz i dont do nsfw here >:/. god give me acceptance for how boothill is so ooc here- 😭😭 idnk how to write his character properly, and does he even have a horse?? I don't remember seeing a horse when his character and banner got leaked, so let's just pretend he does have one for the sake of K'hailreigh for this plot. 💀

imagine returning the horse boothill had been searching for all day after it got the chance to escape through the tall fences the moment they were opened, his eyes widen at the sight of his companion with you guiding alongside it. normally, his horse wouldn't follow after someone else's orders other than him... and it behaves pretty feisty and rough with people who isn't him.

boothill is relieved to see that his trusty horse hadn't been injured, briefly thanking you as he goes over to fuss over his stallion. you can't help your gaze wandering and examining his figure, in awe of the metallic and cyborg parts of the cowboy in front of you. sure you might've seen people having artificial and metal parts attached to them, but this man right here just plainly looks like a robot if it weren't for his humanly head.

boothill notices you eyeing every inch of him, glancing from the lasso that hangs at his hips to the pistols to his arms and to his legs. he glares a wolfishly smile at you, baring the shark-like teeth that you gaze in short surprise at, and asks in a teasingly tone, “like what you see, darlin'?”, observing how you blink owlishly at him. but then, he's becomes sort of surprised when you nod your head and confirm that—yes, you like his appearance and how the color scheme matches altogether, while indirectly  commenting how he's a good-looking cowboy.

boothill, after his turn of blinking at you, grins and narrows his eyes with an intrigued look in them; amused by you and how you don't seem in the slightest.. nervous or terrified in his presence. you perked the cyborg's interest.

finishing the small talk with the man, you mention that you'll be needing to go somewhere for an errand and boothill takes the opportunity to offer a ride there on his horse—as a thanks for retrieving his horse, taking in your surprised expression with a grin as he ends the sentence with a “darlin'”. he insists, even if you refuse, so you decide that it'll be quicker to go in a horse ride with the cowboy than rather walking by foot as you were given no other choice.

with boothill's assistance, you were boosted onto the horse and instructed by him to hold on as he looks back at you, flashing a toothy grin and a finger tilting his hat just slightly for a short moment before you and him rode off towards where you were needed to be at with his horse. startled by the increasing speed his horse was going, you instinctively grasp onto the cyborg cowboy's built body in order to not fall off during the ride accidentally—boothill grins at your expression, his laughter going with the wind, “better hol' on tight for now, sweetheart. this'll be a rough ride! i'll get ya to where yer headin' in no time!”

© thedemises 2024. all rights reserved. please do not repost, copy, or claim as your own. ━━  word count: 508.

[chleb-uwu]

cannot stop doodling these rats

[theirishwolfhound]

AHoGiSoG- Chapter 1: Milk and Sugar

Summary: A deviation in Crow's normal schedule leads to the beginning of his healing journey. This was also originally only a Ghoap x OC but it changed to Poly!141 x OC so keep that in mind for this chapter and the next one.

Content Warnings: This chapter starts off with Catholicism references, it is just Crow praying to the rosary but other than that there is nothing to make note of for a warning. Word Count: 8992

“For as long as I exist you will always be loved.”

Those words kept him awake at night—the countless sleepless cycles continuing as if he were an everlasting moon. He would lay in bed and stare at the ceiling, hoping that God would send down his most cherished for the one last kiss that never graced his lips. The lively paintings in his room were the only things that made the place feel like home no matter how long he had been there. 

“As long as I'm alive, you will always have someone proud of you for everything.”

How could he not lie awake at night in thought when all that he could feel was loss—loss of innocence, love, hate... loss of everything as if he was in a constant state of derealization and only snapped awake when someone spoke to him. 

And by God did he love when people spoke to him... as if the conversation that he wanted to seek but never did calmed the thoughts that swelled in his heads. He knew he had friends, or at least friendly people around him. He could go to bars with them and speak with them—but he couldn't be the one who sought company. He couldn't be a bother, not when the words of his fiancé lingered in his mind constantly and reminded him how much these new people would never love him. He couldn't be vulnerable. 

He had to force himself to sit up, a soft groan rumbling from his throat as he did so, his eyes glancing over to his alarm clock.

03:43

He was supposed to rest for another hour, but he was too restless. Too unreal. It got to him at times, causing him to grow anxious and weary as if anyone could be a different person than who they said they were. He rose to his feet, legs wobbling slightly as if he couldn't be anything more than a newborn fawn left to the world for his mother to graze. 

He sank slowly to his knees by his bed, grabbing the red rosary from the nightstand next to his bed; his right hand moved from his forehead to the bottom of his chest, then from each of his shoulders before he brought both hands to his front, his elbows on his cot and the delicate beads of his rosary hanging from his folded hands. He pressed his forehead into his thumbs, bowing his head as he spoke out softly. His voice strained from lack of hydration to speak a prayer that he had known since he was little—one that was turned against him—and one that he still cherished whether at mass or in his lonesome. 

“... I believe in God, the father almighty…”

His fingers grazed over the smooth, ruby red beads of the rosary as he followed the patterned scripture; the words flowed smoothly from his lips like red wine from a bottle, the only pauses being ones of contemplation and gentle breathing. Deep and even breaths caused his chest to expand, his freckled and ink-covered skin stretching ever so slightly to accommodate the intake. From the ”Apostles’ Creed,” all the way to “Final Prayer,” he remained knelt at his bedside, loyal to the religion that gave and took from him. 

He would stay like that even after his normal routine, breathing quietly as he thought to himself, his mind drifting to the faint smile of his lost love. He could only think about how the curl of his lips brought faint wrinkles to his eyes, the eyes that stared so lovingly to him. While he couldn’t remember the sound of his laugh he could remember the way his shoulders raised and shook with each hearty breath. Though just as the visuals began they faded away, a whine slipping past his scarred lips as he grounded himself slowly.

“Eternal rest grant unto him, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May he rest in peace. Amen. Like t’seed buried in t’ground, you have produced t’harvest of eternal life for us; make us always dead ta’ sin and alive ta’ God. Amen..”

He finished then slowly rose to his feet, his head still bent to stare down at the dull cream of his sheets that did nothing to keep him warm on the coldest nights on base. He had been here for nearly six months now and still struggled to find solace in his own bed. The grief had made him an insomniac, but even if he ever got to rest it was never replenishing. Slowly, he raised his head and turned to his closet to gather his light clothing for that day—the only thing on his schedule being training and studying for the Task Force’s next mission, a recon that would hopefully remain a recon and not an all out firefight.

He pulled the black pants over his legs and over his hips, moving his hand to adjust his boxers, leaving his button and belt undone so that he could tuck his shirt in as well as add his packer. As he pulled the shirt over his mop of untamed, curly hair he turned to look at himself in the small mirror he mounted to the wall. 

It was still him, still Crow. Every freckle remained where it had been the many days before, the dark circles under his hazel eyes at this point made their home on his face without plans of leaving any time soon. It was still him despite all he had been through, the lonesome dog of 141 in all his glory. He held his shirt up, tracing over the flora and fauna he had inked into his skin, the centipedes that crawled across his chest scars forever hiding the secret he kept locked up from most. His fingers drifted up to his neck, tracing the scar he had gotten from a bullet grazing his skin. He had always scarred easily, but he wished that this one had gone away. It reminded him too much of the last mission with his love, the one where he watched the life fade from his eyes. The man's hands moved up to his eyes, rubbing them as if to clear the thought and wake himself up at the same time.

He sighed and pulled his shirt down his torso, covering his tattooed skin just as the sleeves did leaving just his hands and neck uncovered. Crow walked over to the mirror and ran a hand through his red hair, the locks being lightly untangled before he simply gave up to deal with it later. He would then return to his bed after grabbing one of his soft packers, stuffing it into his pants and hastily fixing himself to grab his rosary and slip it into one of his pockets. He sat down to pull socks on then followed them with his boots. The Irishman glanced towards his clock once more and sighed a little bit.

04:45

He still had time for a coffee—at least there was that—a fresh cup to lighten one’s thoughts. Crow stood up and grabbed whatever else he needed before exiting his quarters to head towards the mess once his door was locked. He walked quietly through the halls. He knew most people’s schedules after his first few months and was comforted in the knowledge of not having to see many people currently. Most sane people, which was still up for debate on if anyone on this damn Task Force was sane, were still in bed until around five fifteen, save for a few people. 

As Crow walked slowly towards the cafeteria, he built himself up for the day, his posture straightening out as he pushed his confidence forward to outshine his grief. He had gotten rather good at the tough soldier act, as if years in the closet had helped instead of hindered. His steps remained quiet, though his pace picked up as if he needed to keep up—his new team still had longer legs than him after all. 

He reached the cafeteria a bit faster than he had planned but the idea of a bitter coffee was much more important than a light pace. However, he halted briefly upon entering when he noticed his Lieutenant pouring himself a cup of hot water. He knew he had the chance of seeing the masked man this early but he had hoped he wouldn’t. The man had a stare that put Crow on edge the longer it went on. 

Deciding to just deal with the potential gaze of the devil, he made his way towards the other to grab a mug and start a fresh pot of coffee for himself and those that came after. He had grown friendly with the other officers—he had to as they were practically his co-workers for life or until he retired at this point. Yet he still found Ghost to be a mystery to him, the man was quiet like him but opposite in other ways. He was more rough and headstrong compared to the Irishman, but he was the lieutenant of the Task Force, he had to be more serious and authoritative than the sergeant. Though the fact that they could sit in silence and enjoy the quiet with Price while Soap and Gaz bickered was rather nice.

“Dia Duit, maidin mhaith, Ghost,” Crow greeted quietly as he glanced over to the taller man, watching him place a tea bag into the cup of hot water. 

“Wolfhound,” Ghost replied shortly, his voice quiet yet firm. It was a greeting, one the sergeant was used to at this point. He used to think the man hated him, but he realized that Ghost was just like that to everyone: blunt, cold, and reserved. It was nice. It balanced out Soap’s more cheery but serious attitude. 

Crow continued to stay by the coffee pot, patiently waiting for his beverage to brew, though he did watch how the British man made his tea. He never understood how people could ever like tea—he knew coffee was a close equivalent, so never made his opinions known, however his sideways glance did not go unnoticed. The lieutenant could practically see the mix of confusion and slight disgust on the Irishman's face.

“Have a question, sergeant?” Ghost asked as he poured a bit of milk into his cup, and a small spoon of sugar would soon follow. Crow could almost hear the man’s brow raise in questioning—a hint of amusement perhaps? He could never tell with the man most of the time.

The shorter man blinked a little bit and shrugged a little. “...why d’ya’ make yer tae like that?” He asked and furrowed his brows a bit. “It’s… vile.”

“Vile? What are you talking about?” Came the gruff, but slightly intrigued reply. “This is how everyone makes tea.” 

“...milk an’ sugar?” 

Ghost slowly turned his gaze over to the Irishman and squinted at him slightly, the look insinuating that it was a stupid question. “Yes. Milk and sugar. What’s wrong with that?”

Crow looked to his lieutenant then looked away once again, his eyes fixing themselves on the coffee pot—it would be his best friend for the rest of his day. “Can’t… ye just drink it wit’out the milk an’ sugar?” He asked curiously his hands resting behind his back as he watched the coffee begin to fill the glass pot. 

“Sure, you can drink tea plainly… but the real question is: why would you? The milk and sugar add flavor, freckles,” The older man said seriously, though a sparkle of amusement shone in his honey-brown eyes. It was one of the few times that the younger seemed to be willing to joke around despite his respectful tone, it was rather nice to see for once.

“Then… shouldn't ya’ just drink milk wit’ sugar? Tae… barely ‘as flavor of its own.”

“...What?” Ghost asked seemingly a bit dumbfounded by this statement. “You’re just speakin’ rubbish at this point… tea has a flavor, of course… it's a tea flavor.”

“...leaf flavor?”

A sigh was pushed from the British man’s lips as he pinched the bridge of his nose in faint annoyance, though shook his head as if he were slightly entertained. “It’s a very complex combination of many things, Crow. You have to take in account the type of leaves and spices, the water, the temperature, the cup you drink from… and then the milk and sugar,” He explained slowly as if it would change the man’s opinion on how tea tasted.

Crow raised his brows a bit and let out an amused huff, only to glance at the man’s cup of tea. “So… ya’ just drink… watered down hot milk wit’ sugar in it?”

This little bastard, Ghost thought with a chuckle and glanced over to the shorter man, his gaze angling down slightly to meet the other’s eyes. “It’s not watered down. When you get it right, the milk and sugar can actually enhance the tea’s flavor… have you ever had tea before?” 

“No… I don’t like tae,” He replied as the corners of his lips curved upwards slightly. This was a new side to Ghost he hadn’t seen before, which meant he was either warming up to him or he was genuinely a tea fanatic.

“You… don't like tea? Then what the hell do you drink?”

“Coffee,” Crow mused, picking up the pot once the beverage was done brewing. “Black coffee.”

“You drink black coffee? Is it not too bitter for you?” The masked man asked.

“It wakes me up, an’ keeps me awake,” The Irishman replied.

“You know tea can do the same thing right? And it is much nicer than coffee.”

“I t’ink I’d rather drink boiling water.” 

“You’re jokin’, right?” He asked in a bemused way.

“Is tae really this impor’ant fer t’British?” Crow asked. 

Ghost turned to face the smaller man, watching him sip from his mug for a few seconds. “What does being British have to do with it? Tea is important, period… it can be a life or death thing,” He said, his brows furrowing enough to be seen through his balaclava.

“...Is t’at the reason t’Americans dumped it in their harbor?” The younger man asked calmly after enjoying his first sip of coffee. Though, this question seemed to throw the lieutenant off, seeing that he could only blink slowly.

“Crow.”

“Yessir?”

“Never talk to me about the Boston Tea Party ever again.”

“Aye, Ghost.” Crow chuckled faintly and watched as Ghost picked up his cup of tea before stalking away. 

“Go sit down and drink your bitter dirt water,” The man said with a silent chuckle before disappearing out of the cafeteria. Crow could only assume that he was going to his office to drink his morning tea in privacy. He hadn’t expected that to be his first conversation of the day but it was a better way to say that his day started. 

It had to have been the longest conversation he had with the other man, and despite it all, it was rather comforting to know that Ghost was somewhat willing to put up with his antics even for a few minutes whenever he decided to break his mold. Crow wondered if the other man enjoyed his less professional attempts at conversation versus when they spoke about missions, as he enjoyed the conversations he had with the others outside of work. He took his mug to go sit down at one of the many tables and enjoyed the silence while it lasted. 

05:30

Before long recruits and soldiers apart would begin to fill the halls as they made their way to the morning drill, Crow by then had begun to make his way outside to join his fellow operators. The morning air of the area around the base was crisp, though a light breeze swept through the clearing

 He approached them listening into the conversation between Gaz and Soap, the two discussing the plans for this morning’s drill. 

“‘M just sayin’, Kyle, ya’ run drill betta than I do. I think ya’ should do it today,” Soap mused while thinking a bit. Crow had been worried at first when he realized he would be working with a Scotsman, yet he was glad that they only had the occasional playful banter about their origins. “I can run the calisthenics if ya’ handle the first half.”

“As much as I like that plan, we can all just do it together,” Gaz replied and rolled his eyes a bit, turning to look at Crow as he walked over. He was the most normal one of the operatives—at least in Crow's opinion of normal—especially considering all that he's heard about Gaz's experience with ropes and heavy machinery. “Isn’t that right, Crow?”

“Aye… t’ough I wouldn’t min’ runnin’ t’warm up section. There’s tree parts o’ morning practices and tree o’ us,” The shorter man replied and shrugged a little, giving a slight nod to Soap, as if agreeing with his idea. The three sergeants had had this conversation many times before and it always ended up in the same way: “Team buildin’ an’ such… but it can work wit’ all tree o’us workin’ together.” 

The British sergeant sighed, rolling his eyes a bit at the younger men’s words, though nodded a little in acceptance. “We’ll rotate it for tomorrow then. It’s only fair,” He said, though he knew very well that it would never rotate as they were comfortable with what they did. It honestly worked out in the grand scheme of things, but it wouldn't be routine if they didn't have the discussion. 

The drill went about as well as it normally did: Crow led the warm up stretches, Gaz led the running, and Soap led the rest. Occasionally, Ghost or Price would drop in to watch, though not for long as they had other matters to attend to while the sergeants kept the soldiers busy with the morning’s physical training. However, the Lieutenant could practically see the Irishman’s drowsiness in the way he ran alongside the other two men. Ghost made a note to bring it up later, but would silently leave to return to his other tasks. 

Crow had a certain way he ran. Ghost had seen it when they had been on missions before—determined and graceful—but now he was just barely keeping up. He’d noticed the lack of sleep, but now that it seemed to be interrupting the sergeant's work, he would have to bring it up later. For now, he had paperwork to do, and he hoped that Kyle and Johnny would keep an eye out for the Irishman.

07:38

By the time that training was over, Crow had a bit of sweat running down the nape of his neck. The temperature was still relatively cool despite the desert-like terrain, but the combination of a long sleeve shirt and physical activity caused his body to heat up a bit more than the other soldiers. He wiped the sweat from his brow a bit and breathed in deeply, working on calming his heart as the others began to head towards the mess hall. Then a hand playfully smacked along his shoulder blade, causing Crow to stumble forward a bit before he turned to narrow his gaze playfully at Soap, who laughed at the smaller man’s glare. 

“Ya’lready look worn out, freckles,” The Scotsman teased while using the nickname that the Irishman had had since day one, though the smaller man liked it as it had made him feel welcome when he was still fresh on the team. “Gonna go for a wee nap or ya’ gonna join us for chow?”

“Aye, mohawk, I’ll be joinin’ fer breakfast,” Crow chuckled and rolled his eyes slightly, glancing up to the other sergeant a bit before gently nudging the man in the side. It was not very often that he returned any physical contact but he would occasionally do so for Soap or Gaz to be friendly. “I need ta’ eat somethin’.”  

“Perfect! We like havin’ ya’ at the table,” Soap hummed, wrapping an arm around the smaller man’s shoulder to guide him back into the large building so that they could walk to the mess hall. As their strides synced, John looked to Crow for a few seconds then spoke as he moved his arm off the other. “Gearin’ up for the recon?” 

“Yeah… more tha’ ready fer it,” The Irishman said with a tired shrug. “T'ink it's what's keepin’ me up a’ nigh.” He knew it was not the full truth, but he was not ready to seek a deeper closeness from the rest of the team quite yet. 

“Nerves or ya’ just want to get off base?” The Scotsman asked.

“Jus’ need ta’ get off base.” Came Crow’s reply.

Johnny chuckled a little bit. Since his joining, Soap noted, Crow always kept himself busy—whether it was shifting his weight from side to side or fiddling with his dog tags—needing something to do at all times, even when he was exhausted. He could only assume it was one of Crow’s quirks, one of many among a list that grew the longer he was around the team. 

The two would continue to walk side by side, making their way to the cafeteria to join Gaz, who had claimed a table for the operators to enjoy breakfast together. The oldest sergeant already had some food in front of him and soon Soap and Wolfhound would join him. The Irishman grabbed another cup of coffee, as well as some toast, while the Scotsman came back with a well balanced breakfast and a glass of juice.

“So… what do you two think of the recon location? Ready to get a little cold?” Gaz asked the other two men once they were settled. The group knew they were headed to the Ural mountain range in Russia to investigate rumors of hostile insurgents camping out there. Their lead believed that they hold vital information that the team needs to aid on their much larger investigation. 

“Cannae say I’m a big fan,” Soap said while taking a bite from a piece of toast on his plate. “Prefer warmer climates… the cold just makes mah bones ache.”

Crow rolled his eyes a little and sipped on his coffee. “I enjoy te’ cold,” He said simply. “I… want a chance t’see te’ aurora borealis… could catch ‘e sight ov’ an ouwl or a lemmin’.”

“Never heard of a lemming, what the bloody hell is that?” Soap asked with a laugh as Gaz shook his head a bit.

“A rodent,” The Irishman mused, pausing to yawn and drink another sip of coffee. “... an’ our targets.”

“A new insult to add to the book,” Kyle hummed. “Can’t wait to use that on a twit.”

Soap chuckled a little at the words of the others then nodded a bit. “Well I’m sure you’ll see ‘em, Crow, you’ve a good eye… sometimes I wonder if you’re better than Ghost.”

The three laughed a little, though the shorter man shook his head a bit. “I don’t t’ink I can beat te’ L.T.”

“Beat me at what?” The sound of the lieutenant’s voice cut the sergeants’ laughing short as they slowly turned to look at Ghost and Price who had approached the table. Price sat next to Gaz, holding a cup of coffee in his hands, looking at the three with an amused expression, while Ghost sat beside Price. 

“Ah, spottin’ wild animals of course, L.T.,” Soap quickly answered with a short chuckle. “Dinnae worry you’re still leagues above Wolfhound.”

“Ní féidir liom tú a chreidiúint,” Crow hissed then chuckled a little bit as he sipped his coffee, rolling his eyes playfully. 

“Ah dinnea ken what you even said, little guy,” Soap mused teasingly. 

“I said, ‘I cannot believe you’.” 

“I'm better at makin’ tea, too… and freckles, tea is important,” Ghost replied seriously as he folded his arms over the table a bit to get comfortable while the three sergeants continued to eat. “It's a way of life; it's more than just a drink.”

“I neva t'ought o’ tat,” Crow hummed, chuckling as Ghost brought their earlier conversation back up. 

“I would tell you to make me one, but I don't trust you enough to do it right,” The lieutenant said, lightly waving the Irishman off. 

“T'ere is no right way ta’ make tae,” Crow teased. While he was unsure if the other was joking or not he still felt it was fine to joke back. “Besides… I could probably make it right.” 

“I dinnae, Irish, th’L.T. seems to have the way he makes tea down to a science,” Soap replied playfully. 

“I watched ‘em make it,” The Irishman replied softly and looked to the lieutenant. “Ya’ want tae?” 

Ghost stared at the man for a few seconds then shrugged slightly in agreement. “Mess it up, you'll get more paperwork to do.” 

A challenge wasn't very easy for Crow to say no to, no matter how much sleep he needed, he liked having the chance to prove someone wrong, no matter who it was. Wolfhound just enjoyed the idea of a challenge. He stood up after downing the rest of his coffee and turned to head towards the drink table. The others watched him for a few moments, his movements a bit unsure as he grabbed a cup similar to what he saw Ghost use that morning. 

Crow grabbed the pot of hot water and poured it in the cup before adding an earl gray tea bag into the water to let it sit. He stared at it for a moment then slowly turned to look back at the table when he heard Soap begin to laugh. His eyes narrowed slightly before he turned back to the cup of steeping tea. He felt a little silly doing this, sure, but if he could get close to being good at making a Brit’s stupid tea he’d never let the lieutenant live it down.

The two sergeants and the captain would occasionally glance at the Irishman, while Ghost's eyes were trained on the back of his head. He watched him intently, noticing that his gaze made the younger man shift slightly. He rested his elbows on the table and sat forward with interest as Crow continued.

“You're makin’ the boy nervous, Ghost,” Price chuckled as he shook his head and sipped his coffee. 

The redhead would close his eyes slightly. If he wanted to, he could fall asleep right then and there. He jolted awake, quickly looking at his watch, keeping his back turned to the table knowing that if he turned around he would make eye contact with Ghost. 

07:41

“Fuck,” He hissed to himself as he picked up a small spoon to put sugar into the drink, stirring it slightly to mix all of the contents. A three minute power nap would have normally led to a full on rest, but he couldn’t risk more paperwork. Crow grabbed the milk from the cooler near the table and looked it over for a moment before pouring it into the cup, mixing it in as well. Despite trying to act normal, Crow’s apparent exhaustion became more noticeable from the way he had gone still and perked up immediately. They watched as he poured another cup of coffee for himself and finished making Ghost’s tea. 

“...abomination…” The Irishman hissed at the cup of tea before taking it over to the table. He made brief eye contact with Ghost, setting the cup down in front of the lieutenant, and sat back down in his seat. “Here, sir.” 

“...you better hope that is a bloody good cup of tea, freckles,” Gaz mused, causing Soap to laugh and pat Wolfhound's back playfully though both had a look of faint worry in their eyes. 

“Thank you, Crow,” Ghost said to the Irishman, picking up the cup to take a sip after he lifted his balaclava up slightly, not paying attention to the younger men as they watched. Price could only chuckle and sipped his own coffee, passively waiting to see how this played out.

“...how's t’ tae?” 

The lieutenant hummed a bit then shrugged a little. “...It is good, thank you, Wolfhound.” 

A faint, fuzzy warmth spread through Crow's chest for a few seconds before he chuckled softly and smiled. He never really got too much praise from the man. On missions it was different, but this? This felt… nice. With a nod he sat down then lifted his mug to his lips to drink a sip of his coffee, his eyes closing slightly in thought before the faint sound of tapping got his attention. He opened his eyes and looked up curiously, his gaze going back to Ghost before he cocked a brow curiously, noticing how the mood at the table had shifted from a lighthearted one to a more serious one. 

“You’ve been tired for a while, I think all of us can see it,” The lieutenant said firmly, finally deciding to be the one to bring it up. Crow glanced between the other men, now realizing that they all looked at him with concern. He feared there was some sort of disappointment in their eyes. “Why?”

“Ah…” The Irishman started, waving a hand dismissively. “...I jus’ don’t sleep well a’ night… but I nap durin’ te’ day… when I can… Planned on takin’ one after I finish m’paperwork t’day.”

“How long has that been a problem, son?” Price chimed in, moving to lightly lean on the table after he set his coffee to the side. 

Crow was silent for a few moments, he never liked whenever Price’s concerned fatherly tone was used towards him—it reminded him too much of something he had previously longed for from his own father. “...since b’fore I joined up wit’ te’ task force.” He admitted with a sigh.

Soap glanced over to him with a bit of surprise before he nudged the Irishman. “Would ya’ want me ta’ pick up the class you’re in charge of today? So that ya’ can actually get a break before lunch today?” 

“Aye… I was gonna ask… but I felt terrible doin’ so,” Wolfhound sighed and sat back in his chair a bit, rubbing his eyes slightly. “I.. don’t like talkin’ about m’problems… so t’anks fer th’ offer.” 

“Yeah, of course, lad… but what’s goin’ on? That’s a long time to go without a proper rest,” The Scotsman asked while the three British men watched with a bit of concern.

“It’s somethin’ I don’t like talkin’ ‘bout,” He admitted gently. It was always hard to get him to open up about his own issues, no matter how many times he had helped the others with their problems. Whether it be picking up extra tasks, or simply being a listening body to someone’s concerns, Crow had put the rest of the team before himself.

Soap was quiet at Crow’s words, respecting the wish to not want to talk about it but still holding concern for his friend. However, he did glance at the other three to see if they planned on pursuing the topic, in which Ghost spoke up once more.

“As your lieutenant, I would like to know what is going on, Crow,” He stated firmly, though the twinge of worry in his voice caused Crow’s lip to twitch with slight annoyance.

“...Sir, wit’ all due respect, I’d rather not do tis right now.” His voice was still soft like it normally was, though now there was the tone of irritation laced in his words. The edge in his voice caused the table to fall silent for a few seconds. Gaz and Soap glanced at one another while Price and Ghost kept their eyes trained on Crow.

“We’re about to go on another mission, son. I’ll be damned if I send you out there more exhausted than you already are. So how can we help you be better prepared for it?” The captain chimed in while Ghost nodded in agreement. 

“I have to agree with Price here, Wolfhound. We need to know what we can do to prevent anything from compromising your health and the mission,” The lieutenant reaffirmed.

Despite their voices being level and filled with some sort of care and concern, Crow only managed to breathe in and grip his mug tightly to ground himself and his emotions. He closed his eyes and spoke much more firmly. “Don’t do tis right now.”

The shift in his demeanor quieted back down once again, though Ghost’s eyebrows raised a bit in surprise as that was a first. Crow had always been compliant, so this change in his attitude really threw the team for a loop.

“Crow, we cannot, in good conscience, let you continue down this path,” Price said, giving the younger man an understanding look. 

“Ya’ t’ink I chose tis path?!” Crow hissed as the bottom of his mug hit the table, the action causing the other four to rear back slightly. A bit of hot coffee spilled onto his hand as he stood up, his chair screeching on the ground slightly. “I didn’t ask ta’ lie awake at night, okay? Fuckin’ drop it!” He spat and left his mug on the table as he stalked out of the mess hall. 

At the sound of the chair and the sight of the Irish sergeant storming out of the mess, the whole room went silent with confusion. The operators looked between one another in bewilderment. No one spoke for a few moments, though a soft murmur began to spread throughout the mess hall. At the table however, Soap was the first to break the silence. 

“I… think we hitta nerve,” He spoke, his voice soft and confused.

“No shit, Johnny,” Ghost sighed and pushed his cup of tea away from him a bit. 

“Well… do we go check on him?” Gaz asked.

“No, let the boy blow off some steam. We’ll check on him at lunch,” Price sighed, watching the exit with a bit of worry. 

07:57

The Irishman made his way to his office, closing the door behind him gently and pressed his back to the door. He felt childish for acting out that way, embarrassed to have lost his composure, but how could he explain that his guilt and loss kept him up at night. His therapist had recommended speaking about it with other people, but in Crow’s mind, he had no clue what it was like to be vulnerable around a bunch of men. He would never know the fear that simple idea caused. It was hard enough being honest to Price about his identity, but the Irishman still couldn’t afford to be vulnerable. He could not see a good way to explain his situation. At least for now, he had paperwork to distract himself with. Crow sat down, scooting his chair up to his desk before opening his drawer to grab a pen to begin working. 

He would work for hours, moving between his stack of papers and his computer to try and get most of his office tasks done. However, he would only get halfway through before slowly coming to a halt. Crow stared at his desk for a moment then glanced over to the small drawer next to him, his hand slowly moving to open it and pull out the contents. The dog tag lightly clicked alongside the rings as their chain was lifted up into the man’s calloused hands, followed by a few pictures that they had been laying on top of. 

He looked over his most prized items, a relic from a life he was promised though lost within an instant. Tears welled up in his eyes as he ran his fingers over the chain of the necklace, down to the rings and tag. The dog tag was clipped and missing its twin tag, though he knew that the other was buried with the man he lost. He picked up the tag lightly, inspecting it as if the text had changed from before. 

Harper Malakai

It was still him who had died; the man who helped him through his darkest times, the one who helped him sleep at night and made life worthwhile. His eyes fluttered shut as a few tears managed to slip down his face despite his determination to not cry. He knew that grief was hard, and that others processed it differently, but he wished that it was easy. Crow wanted it to be easy for once, to not have to worry if he was going to be able to move on one day, or if he would be better off not waking up that morning. He wasn’t even sure what stage of grief he was in anymore, though he knew for certain it wasn’t shock or denial- those were the first two he had gone through. ‘It should have been me..’ He thought as more tears fell down his face. He felt selfish for wishing he had been the one to have taken that bullet instead, to have left Malakai with the survivors' guilt so that he wouldn’t have to deal with it. The Irishman wondered if it would have been easier on Malakai to deal with his death rather than him having to deal with the loss of the only man he had actually loved. He wished it had been himself that bled out in Malakai’s arms, to grow cold as his blood drenched his lover’s pants.

 It had been nearly ten months since he lost his fiance and he still felt like he couldn’t function without his lover’s guidance and comfort. He felt a quiet sob catch in his breath as his fingers drifted down to the set of rings on the chain, one much too big for his own ring finger while the other fit just right. Crow’s vision blurred as he looked at the rings, more tears falling down his face to the desk under his elbows, his digits rubbing over the engravings they had chosen for their rings.

‘Wherever you go’ ‘I will follow’

Malakai had been the one to suggest it, and Crow had loved it. He thought the phrase suited them well as he had rarely left Malakai’s side—even as he died Crow was by his side. Cradling his head in his arms and lap as blood seeped from the hole in his head that the bullet had made. He didn’t even flee when the enemy’s second round grazed his neck. He had hoped it would’ve hit him dead on as well so that he could follow his lover up the stairs to the heavenly gates to their paradise. 

Another soft cry escaped past his lips as his shoulders shook with each shuddering breath he took, bringing his sleeve to wipe his nose and tears away though it didn’t help too much. “Airím uaim thú,” He managed to whimper out as he brought the dog tag up to his scarred lips to press a gentle kiss to the metal, all the while he slowly curled up in his chair. He managed to get somewhat comfortable, using the chair’s arms in place of his lovers to hold himself as if he were a princess in a prince’s arms, as he rested his head on the back of the chair to stare longingly at the rings and dog-tags in his hands. Oh, what he would do—what he would give—to just feel the warm embrace of his lover once again. 

Without much effort to stay awake, Crow slowly fell asleep in his desk chair with his hands curled to his chest so that he could hold the items to his heart. 

13:12

Thirty minutes after lunch began, Crow was still nowhere to be seen, despite being somewhat punctual about schedules. It wasn't normal for him to miss anything, though they didn't know where he had gone after the argument they had that morning. They weren't exactly sure how to handle the situation as Crow never stormed off or had any issues with them before, but the show of concern for his own well being seemed to have upset him. Whether it was because he was tired or simply upset that they had kept prying was still up in the air. The four had never heard him raise his voice before, let alone at Ghost. 

Soap sat in silence, slowly eating his sandwich as he occasionally glanced over to the mess hall doors, expecting his friend to walk through any moment. However, as more time passed the group began to assume he just wasn't coming and was spending his lunch break somewhere else. It worried the Scotsman, and he could tell that the others were worried as well. ‘Note to self, drop a topic when an Irishman says to drop it.’ Soap made a mental note of the conversation earlier, thinking back to the way Crow had seemed uncomfortable when the rest of them showed him genuine concern.

“I’ll go check in on him,” Ghost huffed softly before standing up slowly to head out of the mess hall. “He really only goes three places. Bunk, office, and gym,” He muttered. 

“Check his office first, he did say that he had work to do,” Price sighed. “Go easy on the boy, Ghost… we pushed him too far today.”

The masked man simply nodded and turned back to head out in search for the Irishman. He would make his way through the corridors of the base, stopping by Crow’s bunk first to see if he was there. He would knock and wait, doing so a few times, before trying the door handle, only to find it locked. When he got no reply, he did not worry knowing he had two other places to check before attempting to barge into his room. As he made his way to the sergeant’s office he reflected on their conversation, wondering if bringing up Crow’s sleeping problem in private would have gone better than it did in the mess hall. Though no matter what route he took, it seemed like none of his options were great. Crow was mentally blocked off for one reason or another, just like himself. Deep down, he wondered if this was what it was like to deal with himself. To some degree, he knew it was different. After all, they both had different quirks and traits.

He shook his head slightly and made his way down the hall, heading towards O’Neil’s office to lightly knock on it. He was a bit concerned that the younger man was still upset, or even injured. God only knew what Crow was capable of. The others had no clue what went on in his mind or what he was willing to do. ‘No answer,’ Ghost thought to himself as he wrapped his hand around the door handle to slowly open the door and poke his head into the younger’s office. The office was dim, the natural light that managed to stream in through the blinds in the window off to the side of the room illuminating Crow’s body curled up in the arms of his chair. Noticing that the sergeant was sleeping, Ghost quietly entered the office and glanced around after silently closing the door behind him.

He took a seat in one of the chairs in front of the desk and folded his arms over his chest, observing the sleeping Irishman and the way he curled up. He noticed the faint tear lines down the man’s face, the way he clutched something tightly in his hands, and the way his breathing was a bit more strained than normal. His eyes lingered on the younger man’s hands. It would be wrong for him to snoop; he would question the items later. It was not normal, to him at least, to see Crow in this position of vulnerability. He wondered how much the man had been hiding from the rest of the operators to have gotten to this point. However, that did not matter right now, he simply sat in the office with his eyes closed and made sure that, should Crow need it, he had someone to speak to when he woke up.

15:03

The office was silent, Ghost having closed his eyes after the first hour of waiting—there was no way in Hell he would have woken the sergeant up, Crow needed the sleep after all. The Lieutenant had only been in the office for two hours when the Irishman woke with a start, a faint curse being choked out as he breathed quickly. The noise caused the British man to open his eyes and sit up a bit more. 

Crow sat up as best he could, though it wasn’t by much due to his already uncomfortable sleeping position, and glanced down to his hands. ‘Still here,’ Crow thought, though closed his eyes a bit to try and relax his racing heart. ‘Unfortunately.’

“Sergeant,” Ghost’s voice cut across the silence, causing the red-headed man to jump and quickly turn his eyes to the British man. He looked like a deer in the headlights of a vehicle, fear of death but the willing acceptance of it. It surprised the lieutenant, not really expecting to frighten the man like that. “...are you okay?”

“L-Lieutenant! Ah… uh… how long ‘ave ya’ been in ‘ere?” He managed out as he slowly swung his legs off of the arm of the chair and sat normally, wheeling himself back up to the desk. Crow’s eyes flicked over to the other’s, as if searching them for some sort of motive, ulterior or not. Yet all he found was faint concern. “...I’m… fine, why are ya’ ‘ere?”

“I haven’t been here long,” He was lying. He had been there for two hours, but he knew he might upset the other for telling the truth. However, he also knew Crow was lying as well; the corner of his lip twitched whenever he lied. “What’s in your hand?”

The Irishman swallowed lightly then sighed softly, handing the chain with the dog tag and rings to Ghost, his eyes moving away from the other man to focus on the ground. “Look… I don’t want te’ others findin’ out about tis, Ghost. Please?” 

When the items were handed to him, Ghost took them gently and looked them over, his brows furrowing slightly as he ran his gloved fingers along the engravings. He had seen his share of single tags before; it only took a bit of thought to realize what had gone on and he’d be a fool to not put the pieces together. “Simon. You can use my name in private, Crow.” 

He could only assume that this was what kept the younger man up at night. The same thing happened to him on occasion, though not as much as it used to. Simon moved to place the chain back on the desk and lightly pushed it to the other man, keeping his hand on the desk as a small symbol of reassurance. “What’s goin’ on?”

Crow blinked a little and slowly looked back up to his lieutenant, his hand reaching to take back his mementos before lightly cradling them in his palms. “...I lost my lover, Simon,” He said slowly enough to enunciate each word. “An’ it haunts me… every night.” 

He didn’t know if Simon knew what it was like to lose someone close to him, but judging by the faint shift in his expression he could tell that it was something he could relate to. His gaze drifted down to the hand on his desk and he lightly placed his in front of Ghost’s. His hand was not touching the Lieutenant’s, rather showing the other that he was somewhat willing to open up to him. “It’s… one o’ te’ reasons I’m ‘ere wit ya’... and te’ team.” 

Simon nodded a little, a faint glimmer of understanding in his eyes before he lightly tapped Crow’s hand in a way that a friend would when offering to hold another’s. “How long were you two together?”

“Five years… Malakai, he was my rock, my everything.” Crow breathed out shakily and closed his eyes as he lightly placed his fingers to Ghost’s palm before fully sliding his hand into the other’s. It was odd to seek comfort from a man he saw as a ‘lone wolf’, but he wondered how much of a lone wolf Simon actually was. He clearly liked the company of the other operators. Currently he was just glad that Simon did not pull away when he implied that he was gay. “... He helped me… through so much…” 

“You loved him very much then?” Ghost’s voice was the gentlest Crow had ever heard it, it definitely took him back a bit but he could only give his hand a squeeze.

“With… my whole being.” 

Simon could see the tears beginning to form in the man’s hazel eyes. He saw the way his lip trembled while trying to find his words as if he would break down if he uttered another. The least the British man could do was give Crow’s hand a light squeeze in return, silent reassurance that he didn’t have to continue if he didn’t want to. 

“I… I’m not… used ta’ sleepin’ alone…” The sergeant said quietly as he turned his attention to their hands. He knew that it wasn’t odd to hold hands with friends—at least when he had to live as a girl it wasn’t, as that's how they stayed safe and together in large gatherings—but it was hard to find as a man from other men, so he grew accustomed to only seeking affection and comfort from Malakai. He knew it wasn’t healthy, but what else could he do? 

He barely noticed the tears that streaked paths down his face down to the desk, nor did he notice that his grip around Simon’s hand had tightened. His brows and lips twitched as he tried to think, tried to speak, but found that nothing would come out. 

It was quiet for a few minutes, though occasionally a shuddering breath would be heard from Crow. Simon would be the first to break the silence fully. “Is it just… falling asleep, or staying asleep, that is your problem?” He asked while pressing his thumb comfortingly against the tips of the other’s fingers.

“I… t’ink it’s just… fallin’ asleep… tat’s te problem..” Crow replied softly while briefly looking back up to Ghost, only to glance back to their hands. “But… I dunno really..”

“What if… we make a compromise then, eh?”

“A… compromise?”

“Aye, I’ll stay in your bunk until you fall asleep… in exchange for evening tea,” Simon offered, his words lined with a light amusement.

The Irishman’s eyes flicked back up to the British man’s, studying his face slightly before sighing a bit. “...and you’ll be gone by mornin’?”

“I’ll leave once you’re asleep, yes.”

Crow couldn’t really find an argument against Simon’s plan. The worst that could happen was that they both remained sleepless. At least, that was what he wanted the worst outcome to be if it came to that. He slowly began to nod then sniffled softly, setting the chain on his desk to use his free hand to wipe away his tears and snot. “I… ‘ave a chair ya’ can sit at… read an’ such..”

“Then… we’ll do that tonight, hopefully you’ll be able to sleep,” The lieutenant said before giving Crow’s hand one last squeeze, finally pulling away to stand up slowly. “We’ve a meeting to go to, freckles.” 

Crow closed his hand into a light fist, running his thumb over his pointer finger as he nodded. “Yea’? Te’ one ‘bout our trip to t’mountains?” He asked while standing up, his hands rubbing his face slowly to help compose himself before glancing at the clock. 

15:54  

He missed over half of his day but he was glad that Soap had taken over his class for the day. Now, he could only hope that no one questioned where he had been for hours during the middle of the mission briefing. He opened the little drawer in his desk to put away the chain then gently shut it once again, looking back to Ghost, matching his gaze briefly before glancing away. “Thank you,” He said gently. “...fer being a good friend..”

“I’m only returning the kindness you give out, Wolfhound. You need to be listened to, too,” The lieutenant said, which in turn caused Crow to pause for a moment then smile faintly. 

With that the two would exit the Irish sergeant’s office. He wouldn’t be able to rid his eyes of the redness and puffiness that came with crying but he looked otherwise composed enough for a meeting. Simon led the way to the room that the operators normally used for their meetings, Crow following a step behind due to him not matching the other’s speed. He wasn’t left behind, nor was Ghost intending to do that, it was just how they chose to walk. 

They approached the door, hearing the muffled voices of the other three men coming from within. From Soap’s laugh to Kyle’s quip in response to whatever Price said, Crow could tell they were in a good mood and he’d be damned if he ruined it. He gazed up to Simon, hazel meeting brown, before playfully nudging the older’s shoulder with his fist. “Shouldn’t keep ‘em waitin’, yeh?”

Ghost’s lips formed a smirk under his mask, only for him to return the light punch and open the door to enter the room. All eyes were on the both of them the moment they entered, there was a mix of relief and worry when they saw Crow, but nothing much was said. The men sat down in their normal spots so that the meeting would begin.

[team7-headquarter]

Whenever someone tries to make a point about something the Konoha kunoichis, I need to make a pause and remind them how out of character they were in some of those moments.

Kishimoto pretty much abandoned Sakura and Ino's friendship and then tried to bring it back during the War arc. Ino lost her sensei and then her dad, and when was Sakura? You mean to tell me she wouldn't care? About any of it? Or when Sasuke was declared to be killed, do you mean to tell me that Ino wouldn't have run to find Sakura?

The way Hinata was written on Shippuden???? Naruto aside, people forget that Hinata refused to give up during the Chunning Exams and forced Neji to almost kill her if he wanted the victory. She was stubborn, she was prideful too, she had more going on than simply a crush on Naruto. She was told by her father she was a failure and yet she didn't give up on becoming a kunoichi, did she?

Then why is that Shippuden wrote her like her sole ambition was Naruto, hm?

And Tenten? She was MEAN when she wanted to be because she was highly competitive. We know that she wanted to train under Tsunade, so where did the death of that dream take her? She's such a powerful kunoichi and yet we know so little about her personality, her life...

We got "Ino and Hinata know some medic min techniques" in the most random way possible... We know Sakura would walk around with Hinata even, so what about their girl bonding moments during the genin to Shippuden years?

It made me so angry whenever the girls treated each other like strangers in Shippuden. So many stupid situations made to highly their teammates even if I meant to write the girls out of character...

[misc-obeyme]

Hii!!

I'm the anon who asked about belphie and mc's nsfw moment and by their first meeting I meant when he seduces mc instead of killing them as a form a revenge. Just that!

You can start it however you like

Whenever is OG or NB

Okay, got it!

Well, I did my best lol. I used some actual lines from the game from Lesson 16 in OG. I don't know if I managed to write what you're asking for... but I tried! Hopefully it isn't too terrible.

GN!MC x Belphegor

NSFW MDNI

Warnings: Belphie is super manipulative and probably kinda OOC, penetration (reader receiving), biting

When Belphie opened his arms to hug you, you stepped into them readily. How long had you been hoping to set him free? And now you were in the attic and the door was open.

Belphie held you close, almost gently, his face buried in your neck. You felt the warmth of his breath on your skin.

"Ah… this really brings back memories," he said. "This feeling… I wonder how long it's been since I've touched a human? So, MC…"

He stepped back, but kept his hands on your waist and suddenly he was in demon form. A thrill ran through you at the sight.

"…how can I express how I'm feeling right now?" Belphie reached up to trace your bottom lip with his thumb. "What can I do?"

You weren't expecting to have this kind of reaction to him. There was a hunger in his eyes that you couldn't mistake and yet you found yourself ready, willing.

"You're stunning," Belphie said, clearly looking you up and down. He stepped closer to you again, wrapping an arm around you. "You won't make me beg, will you?"

He pressed his lips to your neck, almost biting, before he pulled back to kiss you properly.

You could have resisted, perhaps. You could have refused him. But there was so much tension between you and in that moment, all you wanted was to feel him. You kissed him back, tugged on his clothes, indicating your desire for their removal.

Belphie laughed into the kiss, pulling you against him as he moved toward the bed in the attic.

You were in a haze of heat and need as he undressed you, removing your clothes without a second thought before tossing his own to the floor.

For months, you had been working toward opening that attic door. Never once had you imagined that it would lead to this. The look in Belphie's eyes made you feel like he was planning to devour you and you found you wanted nothing else.

You squirmed a bit with impatience and he laughed again.

Belphie put a hand on your cheek. "Ah, you're so desperate for me, aren't you, MC?"

You didn't have a chance to reply as he pressed his cock into your heat. He moved faster than you were prepared for and you cried out, clutching at him, leaving nail marks in his back.

His thrusts were hard and fast from the start. You moaned and your body shuddered, your legs naturally wrapping around him.

Belphie didn't hold back. His horn pressed against your cheek as he bit your shoulder and your nails dug deeper into his back.

You came first, crying out incoherently as you did, squirming beneath him as he kept going, never losing momentum even as you squeezed him hard with your orgasm.

He lifted your hips to give himself better access and his cock was hitting that spot inside you with a consistent rhythm. Tears sprang to your eyes as you crashed into overstimulation, your fingernails raking down his arms, his name falling unceasingly from your lips.

When Belphie finally came, you gasped at the feeling of his cum inside of you. He slipped out of his demon form, laying down next to you and pressing his face into your neck.

"You humans really are foolish, idiotic, weak creatures, aren't you?" he whispered into your ear.

masterlist | Thank you for reading!

[sera8273]

“I see now why you were so adamant into freeing your mortal now.” He joked as he smushed more insects in his hand.

When Athena practically promised that her Mortal would make everyone bleed he didn’t at all think that it would also, literally, include everyone.

Said Goddess was currently choking on those bugs of hers in her Talon whist shaking like she was having a nother seizure. Trying to stop any other laughs that hurted her so.

A gurgle of anger caught his attention as he stared in amusement at his now bandaged-up-like-a-mummy uncle.

“Shut….your….fucking…mouth….” He hoarsely replied when one of his tentacles twitched uncomfortably as he coughed up more blood.

Just like Athena, who became her more Owl like form and acted more like one with talons, feathers, and more beak like mouth. Poseidon was more sea creature like. Tentacles, fins for ears, gills for hands, and he was glowing.

A smack on the Sea God head made him stare directly into glowing yellow and irritated eyes.

“Fates above Uncle, when I say to not talk I mean it! That mortal did more damage than we all have realized. One more strike and he would’ve pierced through your skin-“

“Like a fish kabob!” A certain messenger piped in resulting in more laughter from the War God.

“Or worse, your heart and skull would’ve smashed open! Now drink!” Apollo finished hastily as he placed a mint-green and blue potion in the unwilling lips of his Uncle. Not at all caring if he choked on it or not.

“And to think that my own bloodline did that to you.” A chuckle escaped from Hermes who looked at his two other siblings. His eyes turned to pity as he saw his dear sister eyes twitch while her smile looked crooked, forced, and lopsided. Shaking his head, he stared at the War God who was feeding, or trying too atleast, feed their dear sister smashed insects, the only thing she could stomach at the moment. “As much as I despise you with every bone in my body, that was amazing darhling!”

Ares let out a ‘tched’ at that. “He had a lot- and I mean a lot of pent of rage mixed with guilt built up in him. I just gave him one final tipping point for it to break.” His eyes wandered to his bandaged uncle who coughed weakly. Another chuckle escaped from him. “I was not at all expecting for Athena’s Mortal to do that to him however.”

“I have never seen that much loyalty in one singular human before, and that’s saying something.” A certain peacock piped in while sipping at her wine. She was standing in a corner watching both Poseidon and Athena. Mostly the latter however. “And to do this for said loyalty, now that’s a deal.”

“Hah! I heard that he broke off Circe’s spell because he thought of his wife! No wonder Ody got pissed off when Uncle over here said that he would never see them ever again!” Hermes, now with a bag of popcorn, Hermes looked over to his uncle again. Rolling his eyes as Poseidon groaned in pain once again. “I still don’t get how he managed to even hurt you, more or less make you of all Gods bleed red.”

Said God let out a shaky pained filled laugh. “Don’t….fucking….start….with me…..” more blood flowed from his mouth. “He used…my own fucking- ack! Weapon….of all things!” Apollo stared at him with disregard as he turned to his siblings. “From what I’m able to gather. Our dear Athena was able to bleed red because she showed emotions:remorse, guilt, teasing, anger, and will power. Our Uncle also showed emotions, however, not ones that Athena got;Pain, Fear, a taste of his own medicine.”

Poseidon groaned once again in annoyance as Hera and Hermes laughed. Apollo shared a smile with them.

Ares watched and then commented - “Heh, now we just need to try that on dear old Father.”

[radio-writes]

Congrats on the 300 followers Vien! for the event:

"They were there, you weren't" + "What keeps you up at night?"

Embracing Faded Pages of Tainted Saints

300 Followers Event

Warnings: Mentions of past physical injuries

Tags: Alastor x reader, gn reader, relationship can be read in any way

MDNI

You stood awkwardly at the doorstep of the new hotel, unsure exactly of what to do next.

You knew there was a chance he'd be the one to open the door and greet you, but truth be told you were hoping otherwise. You thought you had worked through all your emotions about him years ago; but standing in front of him now, you realized that was far from the case.

You felt a surge of pressure almost squeezing at your heart, but you tried your best to ignore it as you offered Alastor a small smile.

"Hey, Al. Long time no see." You tried for casual, despite the way things ended the last time you were together.

"How are you—" Al finally spoke, his grin tight as his eyes narrowed at you.

A bright, bubbly woman shoved her way to the door, effectively cutting off whatever Alastor was going to say.

She grabbed you by your hands, and you did your best to shift your focus to her. You listened, responded, and tried very hard to ignore Alastor's burning gaze on you.

You were very swiftly taken into the hotel lobby, brushing right past the tall man. You were introduced to the staff and guests alike, and you painted your best smile as the blonde host swept you here and there. You merely tried to swallow past the lump at your throat as you greeted everyone.

You heard this place offered a chance at redemption, as well as some sort of protection from all the horrors Hell had to offer. You thought it was worth it, that the solace you could find in here would greatly outweigh having to be near Alastor again.

But his mere presence, just knowing that he was in the same room as you again, was already eating at you—suffocating you.

It was like you could feel the sharp stabbing pain across your gut again. The blood—the life—leaking out of you. The desperation crushing your heart. 

"I'll take it from here, Charlie, dear." You heard his voice before you felt a heavy hand at the small of your back. "This lovely demon seems to be a little bit overwhelmed. They can do with some rest, don't you think?"

The bright blonde agreed easily, allowing Alastor to quickly guide you along the halls of the hotel and away from all the excited chatter.

"You're alive." Alastor stated, his eyes set ahead of himself as he walked beside you. His hand had retracted from your body, now resting behind his back.

No thanks to you.

"Nope, still dead." You tried to joke, a soft, fleeting attempt at a laugh following it. But you stopped immediately when you realized that, despite his wide smile, Alastor didn't seem to be in the mood for jokes.

"You were bleeding heavily." He said instead.

You tried to keep your responses vague. "Yes, I...I remember."

You've thought about it many times over since your near-second-death experience. How Alastor had always been a dear friend of yours, through life on earth and Hell. How you both knew you were helpless at that time. How it was perfectly normal for him to choose to save himself instead.

You've forgiven him, at least that's what you told yourself. You still saw him as a friend, even after he abandoned you—and that's why you would never let him find out about your betrayal.

You could never hurt him like that.

You thought that this was all so crystal clear to you. That you've long healed this wound, but evidently that wasn't the case.

Just seeing him now. So well poised, so put together, cozying it up with the Princess of Hell. His smile was as you remembered it, and not a hair was misplaced on his head.

He had continued on like nothing happened, like he didn't once leave you to die.

And there was that awful, bitter, anger slowly filling your chest. That nauseating feeling of betrayal that twisted your gut. No matter how hard you tried to stick to reason, to remember all you've resolved in the past years, you just couldn't help but hate how he was able to move on so easily.

The rest of your time heading to your room was silent. Just a constant soft static noise following your steps. You spent that time fighting your base instincts to just jump him, throttle his neck, scream at him.

How could you? How could you just leave me to die like that?

Alastor finally halted by a door, his clawed hand turned the knob and ushered you in. 

You looked up at him, smiling once more as you tried to hold onto your more logical side. "I don't know how I feel about you having keys to my room." You try to joke again.

Oh did you miss the times when the two of you wasted hours in hysterics; just exchanging the dumbest jokes you could think of.

But that felt like almost two lifetimes ago.

"This is my room." Alastor clarified.

"Well that explains the swamp." You say bluntly. You walked slowly in, not exactly knowing what you were doing here now.

"I thought we could sit down for some coffee—" Alastor said, closing the door behind him. His hands reached for a coffee pot, but paused before he could reach the handle. "No no, this definitely calls for something much stronger."

He sat down on one of the seats by the fireplace, easily summoning two small glasses and a bottle of rye on the table. 

You watched him tentatively, heart tightening at the familiar sight.

There was once a time when nights like this was something you looked forward to—but it didn't seem that way anymore.

Your eyes couldn't help but narrow at how well off he looked. It's like nothing had changed for him at all.

You attempted to be civil, still, and made your way to sit across him. It's was stupid to hold a grudge against him for something like that. What he did made sense, and you shouldn't be mad about it.

Your eyes scanned the knickknacks scattered about his shelves and walls, eyes catching on a wide set of antlers mounted high above.

"That yours or a friend's?" You once again tried to lighten the mood. Whether it was for your sake or Alastor's, you weren't sure.

"We both know I've never been one for small talk, dear." Alastor said, pouring alcohol in your glass before his. He easily downs the drink he poured himself before filling it up again. "How are you alive?" His head tilted.

The moment the words left his mouth it felt like someone emptied a bucket of ice water over you.

The question simply came out of nowhere. Sure you had expected him to ask sooner rather than later, but to jump right to it?

Your half-assed smile dropped just a fraction of a bit.

Looking up at your old friend, the ever charming, ever present smile, you realized that perhaps you were being stupid—and not for the reason you originally thought.

You've been friends with this man since either of you could walk, friends through his stupid murder fixation, friends through his takeover of Hell.

But he left you for dead.

He finally found out that you survived and the first thing out of his mouth was an interrogation?

Where was your fucking apology?

So maybe, just maybe, you've been stupid this entire time. That you didn't need to be making excuses for him. That you didn't need to forgive him. That maybe your anger, your want to hurt him back, was more than valid.

You picked up your own glass and downed its contents in one go, relishing in the familiar bitter taste.

"There's no bed." You noted instead of answering your old friend, your grip was tight around the glass you held. "Where do you sleep?"

"I don't." Alastor answered simply. He moved only to fill up your glass again, but his eyes never strayed from you.

You weren't sure how much truth there was behind his words. Sinners still slept, and no matter how highly Alastor thought of himself, he still functioned the same way the rest of you do.

"What keeps you up at night, then?" You couldn't help but ask.

Perhaps it was an attempt to piss him off. Make small talk, delay from giving him answers.

But as much as you hated to admit it, it was likely because there was an answer you wanted to hear. One caused by that part of you that still hoped for your old friend to show you even just a hint of a conscience.

Perhaps if he gave you that, it would be enough for you to hold onto civility. It would be enough for your to at least honor what past friendship you had with him.

"Nothing in particular, really." Alastor glanced away from you, downing his drink once more.  "There's just no rest for the wicked, isn't that what they say?"

You followed his lead, throwing your head back and letting the alcohol burn its way down your throat.

It almost felt like old times when you'd compete with him in old dingy bars.

"Ah, I figured you wouldn't be hung up on it." You held your empty glass in your hands, a finger unconsciously caressing its cool surface.

"My bad, dear." Alastor gave you a faux look of guilt, but the mockery that dripped from his tone easily gave it away. "Did you want me to mourn you for a couple decades?"

You rolled your eyes. "Considering everything we've been through, I'd have expected at least a few years." 

You noticed Alastor fill his glass up again, he knocked it back just as quickly as the previous ones.

You both looked like you were drinking your problems away, but it seemed like this was more of a habit. One formed through a lifetime of repetitions.

"I can start now if you'd like." Alastor smiled at you.

Your brows raised. "I am very clearly not dead."

"You might be soon." The static in his voice was heavier, and for a split second you could have sworn his pupils changed to dials.

Your fingers stilled against the glass you held, feeling your skin prickle at the silence that followed.

The wood in the fireplace crackled, and the eerie light coming from the green flames added just a tinge more terror to your situation.

Or it would have if the only emotion you felt wasn't an all consuming rage.

The clear threat hung in the air for a second before Alastor spoke again. "So tell me," 

How long have you been alive?

Why didn't you tell me?

 "How are you alive?" He said.

You had no idea why on earth he was angry. What gave him the right?

"We both know the answer to that already, don't we?" Your own smile tightened, teeth clenched hard to keep yourself from growling at him.

You tried to stomp out your anger, but every time you tried to reason that he used to be a friend, you couldn't help but be brought back to that time.

Lying in a pool of warm blood—your own blood. Seeing the exorcists flying down to you, racing to see who could kill you first. Turning your head, using the very last of your strength to reach out to your friend. Watching him stand from your side and melting away into shadows without you.

"Well yes, a deal, of course. But with whom? Not many demons down in this festering tar pit have that much power. You were practically gone, dear."

Ah, so it was a pride thing, you thought. He was bothered that there was someone who could do what he couldn't. 

You couldn't hold back from scoffing. "And did that ever bother you? That I was practically gone?"

He paused. The sound of static grew messier for a few seconds before Alastor gave up on his glass entirely. He opted to just grab the bottle by its neck and drank from it.

"You seem like you were hoping it did." He teased as he set the bottle down back on the table. "Shouldn't a good friend be happy I wasn't suffering?"

Your heart clenched, eyes narrowed. The both of you have danced around it this entire time, but it just seemed like there was no longer any way to stop the words as they finally slipped from your mouth.

"Shouldn't a good friend try everything to save the other?"

The accusation, the betrayal, the bitterness, finally dripped like venom from your question.

A heavy tension covered both of you once more. The elephant in the room finally addressed properly, but it seemed neither of you knew what to do with it now.

A beat of silence.

"Then, it looks like we're both such terrible friends." Alastor said, as he sunk back into his chair. You hadn't noticed the tension in his body this entire time, you weren't sure if Alastor himself noticed it either.

But as he rested his head behind him, you noticed something you failed to before now.

He looked...exhausted. His smile was in place, his hair neat, his suit wrinkle free. He looked as perfect as ever; but he looked tired.

You were sure you didn't look any more chipper currently.

You tore your eyes away from the demon that sat across you. "It's been a long night."

"It's been twenty minutes." There was finally a hint of genuine amusement in his tone, but it felt strained.

Like it slipped before he could stop it, a habit formed through decades of banter.

"Twenty too many around you." You simply shut it down.

Still, not one apology. Did he even regret it?

You felt so confused, so conflicted, so angry, and you knew you just had to leave before you did something you would regret later on—whatever that may be.

He looked like he wanted to say something as you got up, but he chose to bring the bottle of alcohol to his lips instead.

It was only when your hand landed on the door handle did he speak. "I would do it again." 

It felt like a light went out inside you somewhere.

You didn't turn around.

"I would leave you to die—over and over." Alastor's floaty voice continued. "You were a good friend, but not great enough for me to risk my own skin."

You've known your friend to be quite the liar. He knew what to say and when to say it, and he lived to crawl under people's skin and piss them off.

But at that moment, you knew it was one of the rare few instances where Alastor was honest.

"It seemed like you wanted to know." His normally mocking voice seemed softer. Like it really was just a fact and nothing more.

"The V's were there when you weren't." You found yourself saying. You turned your head to the side just a tiny bit, but still didn't turn to look at him.

The lights flickered and your hand closed around the handle of the door.

"I made a deal with the V's. Everything about you and more, in exchange for my life." You continued, almost unable to stop the words from coming out, really.

"Your defeat seven years ago was my doing."

You really were terrible friends.

"It seemed like you wanted to know, old pal."

You left his room just as the lights fully went out.

[thefrogdalorian]

A little love letter to Din Djarin writers... 🤍

I love that some of you write him as soft and gentle while others focus on the darker, harsher parts of his personality. I love that he can be both a quiet, kind man caring for his child or an intimidating, terrifying bounty hunter who is a lean, mean killing machine... depending on what the fic warrants.

I love how you write him with other characters from The Mandalorian or even with those who would never cross paths with him in canon, from Star Wars or elsewhere. I love how you write him interacting with yourselves and us, and some of you even create your own original characters to exist a long time ago in a galaxy far, far away alongside him.

I love that some of you ship him with that one other special person, while others recognise how desirable he is and ship alllllll the ships. Not forgetting those of you which are here for none of those ships and/or even headcanon him as ace. I love that any of those options allow you to explore your own identities and sexualities through him.

I love that you can write the most tooth-rotting fluff or filthiest smut, and all of those things in between. Whether it's for general audiences or explicit and strictly 18+ ... all of your fics have an audience and someone out there who appreciates your writing.

I love how differently you can interpret him, but there are also so many common themes and tropes running through your writing. I love that there is room for all of your Dins here.

I love that he means so much to you and that all of us here hold him in our hearts a little bit. I love that we can all watch the same episodes and come to entirely different conclusions about him. I love how much we love him.

Getting to be a part of this wonderful community and interact with so many people who love the space tin can man as much as I do has truly been one of the best things that happened to me recently. I'm so glad I made this little blog... It reminded me just how good fandom can be. I am blown away by the number of talented people here!

So, I just wanted to take a moment to express some gratitude towards all of you! Thank you for writing your Dins and please don't ever stop. Finally.... last, but not least:

I love Din Djarin!!!

[dimensionalspades]

I'll never be over that in the Q Conflict comic Sisko was like "Hey we need to end this fight, Julian have you ever sniped a god in the face" and Julian was like "No sir but I'm game to try" and then he shot Q in the face

[epiphainie]

i can't with all these "the show is highlighting tommy's jealousy, they're planting seeds that it will cause problems" takes like bffr. he mentioned being envious over the 118's dynamic twice, sure, but in what world (literally how?) would that cause a relationship problem? do yall expect him to be in cahoots with gerrard behind their back and murder buck to take over his life or something?? like even with the hyperbole aside, i genuinely cannot see how they can turn this into relationship drama without going against everything they showed us with tommy so far

[maiumeni]

(basically a tiny version of the Reassurance Bucket but it’s still new content! :3c)