dr-birb

[dr-birb]

[dr-birb]

lonely geto

[dr-birb]

Mutually Assured Destruction

[dr-birb]

hes sorry (he isnt)

also @maimaily i did draw this before reading your comment but it was so on point i had to include it

[dr-birb]

Waiter!Reader who always gets called to the kitchen mid shift to try food hand made by Chef!Ghost.

Hes made a little extra portion of something, braised steak over mashed potatoes this time.

“Come on kid, try a bit f’me.” You think you get weak in the knees off that alone, but the steak is perfectly tender and seasoned, potatoes just right and creamy, you groan at how good it is, stomping your feet at how perfect it is. And Ghosts eyes are so soft at the sight of you enjoying his food. Something he’s still working the kinks out for the autumn menu.

He brushes a stray curl away, then wipes the left over mashed potato that was there, sucking it from his tongue, “It’s good?” He asks as if he didn’t just make your underwear wet— shut up—

“Wonderful!”

“But?” And he waits for it, he’s always looking for answers out of you. The only person he wants answers out of.

“More oomf.” But you say it more like a question. you’re no chef, you don’t know what it’s missing exactly. But Simon is attentive, he understands you so way, some how, takes bite, from the same spoon, himself. Then nods, patting your lower back, “More oomf, thanks birdie.”

You have to take five in the walk in before you get back to your section.

a/n: part 2 to this post.

[dr-birb]

Operation: Babysitting- Part 2

Summary: The team is a bit hesitant to stay in the safe house with you, but you aren't dangerous. To them, at least. You're a Cryptid. One that had been captured and experimented on, but ultimately, you broke containment. The only way to keep you and the rest of the world safe is to keep you under watch, which they are a little reluctant to do.

When the team finds you, you're inside the house and curled around your wounded leg. Still in your gangly form, you had stripped naked to see the extent of your wound. Your skin was pulled tight over every bone, stretching and aching like it hadn't anticipated your sudden growth. Simon stares at the scars that litter your body, your wide eyes fixing on them.

Wild and panicked, you let out a low noise. A warning as you backed against the wall. Your eyes scan the group, lips curling back when you see Kyle, but smoothing into guilt when you see Simon. Despite your size, you're still just as quiet and even faster, hands darting out to grab Simon up and cradle his in your palms.

Clumsy, far to big fingers, dug and pulled at the vest and uniform Simon was wearing, letting out little grunts as you stripped his upper half. You stop, lifting Simon closer to your face so you can study his ribcage.

You brush your spare hand across his ribs, pressing down just barely and keeping your eyes on him to gauge his reaction. He wanted to kick you in your odd, stretched face, warning you never to touch his ribcage again. But he didn't. He lay perfectly still, letting you trace your thumb across his belly before turning him over in your hand.

You repeat the soft touches, the tentive pressing across his skin as you waited for signs of pain. When you were satisfied in your examination, you set him down and let out a low rumble. Your bones began to snap, limbs contorting, shrinking back down to your normal sized. If it hurt, you didn't show it, no grimacing or crying out as your body shifts and shakes back into "proper" size.

You whine quietly, heaped on the floor, and in the silence of the room, the team hears as the bullet clatters from your leg and onto the ground. "You okay?" Simon asks quietly, kneeling down beside you and placing a hand on your back. He gets a slow nod in return, and against your better judgments, you try to push yourself off the ground.

"Hey, stay laying down, kid." Price orders, noticing the way your arms shook under your weight. "Just relax, okay? One of us can take you to your room." He continues as he joins Simon on the floor beside you.

"You didn't know."

It wasn't a question. You peel your eyes open, turning your head to face the two men and pressing your cheek into the cool wooden floor. "Didn't know about me."

"No, we didn't." It was Kyle's turn to talk, and you spot him behind his captain, standing a few feet back. He looks at you apprehensivly, and for good reason, you think, his arms crossed over his chest. "Sorry I shot you." He apologizes after a second, though a part of him doesn't feel guilty at all.

"I would've... if I saw me." You mutter, eyes falling shut as you struggle to stay awake. Your muscles ached and twitch, shivering underneath your layers of clothes as they try to adjust to the change for a second time.

Price picks you up carefully, getting you into your room and laying you in bed. He thought about changing you out of your bloody pants, but you weren't one of his soldiers. He wasn't going to risk making you uncomfortable and causing you to shift again.

Back in the living room, Kyle was pacing slightly, raising his eyes to Price when he walked into the room. "This is bullshit." He states firmly, not backing down from Price's cold state. "Sir."

"Kate would have told us if she had known. Which tells me Shepard must've known something and didn't tell her or us." Price explains, though he can't be certain at this point. "If Y/N had wanted to kill us, I'm sure they would've been able to."

"Why are you still defending that thing -"

"Do NOT talk about them like that!" Price orders, surprised that he was raising his voice so quickly. He takes a deep breath to steady himself and sighs. "You know what I saw in their file? The fact that they were captured in some kind of facility for two years, and their body has the scars to show it." He reveals to the group.

"Who had them?" Simon questions immediately, and Price shakes his head.

"Redacted. They were a normal civilian, dropped off the face of the earth, all traces of them scrubbed away, and when they came back, they were put here. Anything else is redacted." Price wanted another cigar and badly, taking out his phone to call Laswell and get some answers.

Laswell was just as shocked as the rest of the team. She combed through your files, finally using some of her clearances to get through to information that was redacted.

"There's nothing on what their life used to be, John. Genuinely nothing. Everything was completely deleted." Laswell sighs, staring at the computer in front of her. "I don't know if Y/N was always a creature or if they were made into one, but they aren't fully human anymore." She explains, looking through the few pictures she was able to find of you and the facility that held you. "Jesus Christ."

"What is it, Kate?" Price presses urgently, hoping he could bring some answers back to his team.

"They were used as a weapon. They made Y/N to be almost completely indestructible and then forced them into mission." Kate mutters in disbelief, closing out the files and shutting her laptop. "Y/N is a walking weapon. And I think Shepard knew."

There was a tense silence. An understanding between the two of them as they realized what that meant. If Shepard knew, he was either trying to kill the team or kill you. Price clears his throat and sighs quietly.

"See if you can find anything else. I'll call tomorrow." He promises, hanging up the phone and sitting heavily on the edge of his bed. He rubs a hand over his face, wondering if he should turn on the lights in his room. It got dark quickly here, and the sun was already starting to dip behind the trees.

His door slowly creaks open, and he lifts his head to see you peeking at him from the doorway.

"Were you eavesdropping, kid?" Price asks firmly, and you shake your head no. "You can come inside. I'm not mad at you for earlier."

"Are the others mad at me?" You question, still stuck in place by the door.

"No, we're all just a little confused." He assures.

"Are you guys going to leave?"

Price was surprised at how nervous you sounded. Scared, like a child asking for their dad to check for monsters in the closet. It was starting to dawn on him that you might've been captured young. That there were parts of you that never grew up, never got to. A child, stuck in time, and in a body that could get far too big.

"No, kid. I promise we're not leaving you. Do you want to get some dinner? I saved you a plate." Price offers, standing up and heading over to you. You look up at him and nod slowly, flinching a little when he sets a hand on your shoulder. All he does is set it there, and when you realize no pain is coming, you settle down and go with him to the dining room.

[dr-birb]

The 141 Bistro - Part 1

"We need a hostess. Like, someone specifically to run the host stand."

Price looks up at Simon as he steps into his office. "Johnny isn't gonna tell anyone, but I can tell the workload is taking a toll." He asked to bum a cigarette twice today. We both know he hates smoking."

"Always makes him gag." Price chuckles before Simon can say it. The head chef nods as he sits down in front of Price's desk. "I can put up a posting for a hostess tomorrow. You do count?"

"Yes." Simon dug the count list out of his pocket and hands it over. "We're going to need to order a lot more ground turkey. The meatballs are popular." Price makes a note of that, knowing that it was time to switch the menu. Before he did, he always ran a small survey of his regulars' favorite meals, so he never took them off the menu.

"How's everything in the kitchen?" Price asks, wondering how the new line cook he hired was doing.

"Good. Smooth. Patrick has a lot of questions, but he gets things done. He'll do amazing when he gets some confidence." Simon beams as he flicks his lighter absently. His favorite people to work with were the kids fresh out of culinary school. He didn't tease them or put them through some kind of initiation. He showed them how to run a kitchen and run it well, never demeaning or looking down on them. He wanted to send any new chef that came his way into their career with knowledge and confidence. A wild difference for what he'd experienced until finding Price's restaurant.

"Good to know. Make sure we are prepped for dinner rush. The theater down the road is playing some good movies this week, so you know we'll be busy." Price says as he sets the paper down. "I'll be on the bar with Kyle tonight." Simon nods and gets up from his seat, knowing he needed to get a cigarette in before the dinner rush began.

You being out of a job, right after you spent what you did have on rent, was not on your bingo card for the month. Yet, there's barely any food in your kitchen, and you're hoping to hang onto the three packs of Ramen for just a bit longer. Your phone buzzes, and you snatch it off the counter, praying one of your applications has finally gone through.

"Hey, know that restaurant down the street from you? They are having walk-in interviews for a hostess. Get down there and apply!" Your moms message stared back at you mockingly, but there's a small surge of hope. You'd walked past the restaurant almost every day to get to your apartment. It always smelled wonderful, and it was always busy.

You hadn't ever had the money to eat there, mostly because you were saving so you could eventually buy your own place. If you didn't secure some kind of job soon though, you'd have to dip into your savings to pay for your bills in two weeks.

You sigh, heading to your closet and standing blankly in front of it for a long moment. You vaguely remembered a friend of yours telling you that most restaurants had an all black dress code. You hoped that that was true, grabbing a pair of jeans and a shirt, and double checking the shirt had no designs on it. You fix up your hair the way you like and wash your face up.

You needed this job, and you knew that you were qualified. You look at yourself in the mirror and smile slightly. You were going to get this job.

You make the short walk to the restaurant, this time stopping to enter the building instead of going past. Inside, it smelled like fresh bread, roasting vegetables, and bacon. The breakfast crowd was small, but the restaurant did just open, so that was no surprise.

"Hey there, you dining solo this morning?" A charming scottish voice got your attention. You look over to the host stand and smile at the stocky mam in front of you with a choppy Mohawk. It looked good on him.

"Uh, no. I was hoping I could interview for the hostess position?" You explain, which makes the man pout slightly at you.

"Ah, you coming after my job, pretty thing?" He teases, watching as your jaw drops slightly. "I'm joking. Johnny!" He introduces himself, offering you a hand to shake, and you take it. He gives your hand a small squeeze before letting go and guides you towards the kitchen. "Price is the owner. He's checking a shipment of diary that just came in, so he'll be a minute." Johnny gestures to Simon. "That's Simon. He's our head chef. He's not as mean as he looks or sounds. He's a huge softy."

"Shut up, tavish." Simon gruffly snaps, fixing his gaze to you. You feel your face heating, realizing that he was really cute. His nose was a bit crooked, maybe from being broken, and he had a slight cleft pallete scar that made one of his teeth poke out when he smiled. "You need to eat."

"I'm sorry?" You chuckle, snapping yourself out of the mini staring contest you twonhad engaged in.

"You look hungry. What do you want to eat?" Simon's tone felt less like a question and more like an interrogation.

"Oh, he likes you already. He feeds the ones he wants to keep around the restaurant." Johnny chuckles, patting your shoulder and leaving the kitchen to check his tables.

"Can I have a bacon egg and cheese sandwich?" You ask tentively after a long moment of awkward silence between you.

"What bread? We have croissants." Simon offers, and when your face lights up, he immediately grabs one to begin cutting it in half. "You have your resume?" Your face falls, and you groan, slapping a hand over your face.

"I knew that I was forgetting something... if I run back really fast -"

"It's better that you forgot it." Simon cuts off the anxiety filling you and slides over a plate with a delicious looking sandwich on it. "Price will have questions about you, mostly. Your past experience is a little important, but if you're willing to learn, he'll see that." He assures you, watching with satisfaction as you dug into your sandwich.

He knew that you'd fit in perfectly, now he just hoped you wouldn't fuck up your interview.

[dr-birb]

HOW TO GET YOUR ACCOUNT BACK FROM RANDOM NIGHTMARE SURPRISE TERMINATION!!!!!!!!!!!

I woke up on sunday morning to find that my whole account had been terminated out of the blue. VERY DISTRESSING!!! if this has just happened to you, YOU CAN GET YOUR ACCOUNT RESTORED. the best part is, everything remains intact! your messages, asks, followers, posts, etc. don't fret!! they restored my account only a day after it had been terminated. usually, it takes one to two weeks for a response. HERE'S WHAT I DID!!!

it's important that you send a SUPPORT TICKET. don't randomly email them!!! go to https://www.tumblr.com/support and choose "terminated account" as your reason.

include the email of the account that got terminated. this makes it easier for them to recover it! if you can't send it from that email, just include it in the message.

include the following: to the best of your knowledge, you have re-read the site rules and you haven't broken any site guidelines. state how important your account is to you, and stress how thankful you are for their help in recovering it. BE POLITE. EVEN IF YOU'RE UPSET OR PISSED OFF!!!! it significantly ups your chances of being listened to. I included the phrase "I'm sure you understand the importance of this" which is corporatespeak for "FIX THIS OR SO HELP ME GOD" and that seemed to get their attention.

you can also @ support on tumblr with the issue, and @ them on another site (e.g. twitter). there's a chance they'll see and respond quicker! cover all your options. the reddit for tumblr account termination is no longer active so don't bother with that.

if they don't respond within a few days, reply to the confirmation email they sent after you sent in your request. follow up! ask for updates! reiterate the urgency of the situation! make sure you're not responding to an address with "noreply" in it!

REALLY HOPE THIS HELPS!!!! all is not lost you just gotta be STERN AND POLITE. it's terrifying to have your entire account vanish overnight but there is always hope okay. love you good luck

[dr-birb]

It was lovely! Eheheh poor Gaz probably thought for a second he's getting eaten

Also very effective on the battlefield

Soap: Kite! Do the thing!

Kite: Long, long yawn

The enemy soldiers: What is that. What the fuck is that. Oh my god-

Meanwhile 141 is painfully aware they absolutely should not look behind them at Kite

If Price sees it he tries so so hard to not react

Also Soap seems the type to try to stick his hand into their mouth while they yawn but he's so so scared while he's doing it

I'm glad you liked it, anon!! 😁😁 You made my day honestly, I love getting asks, and exploring different concepts!

Gaz was terrified, man! He was casually sunbathing only to glance and casually see one of his natural predator's big ass teeth. Emerald Boas eat lizards in the wild, he thought he was gonna meet the creator himself 😭

Kite definitely would use the scare effect to stunt enemies in battlefront, absolutely. I also think they're pretty feral, since Emerald Boas are a very aggressive species compared to some other snakes. I'm thinking enemy soldiers being left with punctured lungs due to broken ribs, broken neck and other bones in bizarre angles, and Kite obviously does just enough to leave enemies agonizing, because me loves feral readers.

I feel like each member has a different reaction to it. They all find it kind of scary yet very intriguing consciously, but when it's about insticts, it's a bit different.

Price has the reaction to hiss, as in defensive display, as Pumas don't generally attack unless threatened, but it is pretty threatening to see that amount of teeth.

Gaz freezes, completely, and if Kite slithers ever so closer to him he's vanishing from sight, unable to stop his legs, my boy is trusting his instincts for once.

Soap isn't too scared, but if he's taken by surprise, he'll instinctively try stomping Kite. It may have happened before lol. And YES he totally tries sticking his hand in Kite's mouth while they yawn, immediately regretted it when, by instict, Kite clamped down on his hand, leaving a big bite that took a while to heal.

Ghost also is scared, but it's more because you're a big hybrid, normal boas are smaller snakes, not exactly going after boars, but you're easily big enough to eat a boar, so he gets a bit freaked out sometimes. But he's pretty good in not letting it show too much after that first time seeing you yawn.

[dr-birb]

Chef!Ghost is head chef at his own restaurant, tasting and preparing dishes, telling off workers when needed, ordering supplies— Ghost does it all.

Chef!Ghost who only does in person interviews, no cameras either, right in his kitchen, during service. He doesn’t care for the hype or getting 3 million likes on social media, he wants people to come in, enjoy the atmosphere, the rock music playing during the day, Jazz at night— and then the warm and filling food that will make anybody melt as soon as it touches their tongues. Simon Riley’s, “secret ingredient” that everyone raves over.

“And what exactly could that be?” The interviewer asks, anticipatingly.

And he hums, an ends of his eyes crinkling a deep but light chuckle coming from his lips as he sautés a pan of vegetables, “A bit ‘f fuckin love, innit?”

Incomes waiter!reader who isn’t really supposed to be in the kitchen per say— you so badly want to be a pastry chef. But culinary school needs to be paid off, so you’re working at Ghost Restaurant (lol stupid name, walk with me). But at the restaurant theres no real deserts, just some cookies and a bit of ice cream, “Cause we have to,” one of his sous chef’s, Donny, laughs.

Waiter!reader who, after bribing Donny, got to bring a nicely made chiffon cake to go along with family meal. And the icing, blue is a bit messy. It’s not perfectly done and it’s pretty obvious, but theres some open star piping on it, a few white and yellow cute flowers too. Everyone’s raving about it, from the waiters to dishwashers to the line cooks— and then a nice slice is saved off for Ghost.

“You.” He points to one mid shift, two days later, simply says, motioning you away from the ticket station and to the back of the restaurant.

You’re more than nervous, clearly you must’ve pissed him off, desserts aren’t needed at the restaurant, and to turn family meal into a cake tasting. To Top it off you definitely dropped a couple plates this month. You’re smoked.

“You can make a marble cake, yeah?” Is what he first asks when the back door closes.

You take a glance around the mess of the office, gulp down whatever fear is in you, “I-I can try.”

“Good. Bring me a slice your next shift.”

And it’s as simple as that, he goes back in the building, after plucking your forehead, leaving you rubbing your skin and confused.

did you bring the cake? Of course you did. You want to keep your job. You bring the cake two days later, in an old Tupperware container, a light glaze atop the the dessert, heart pounding out of your chest. And he takes a fork (he has those stashed on him) and takes a bit of your cake. He grunts in satisfaction, then hands you a hot plate of food.

“Eat.”

Was this some sort of trade off? Who knows, but if it meant you could eat on the clock, maybe it was for the best.

a/n: this was stupid.

[dr-birb]

gojo satoru x fem reader

angst/hurt/comfort

You were fighting about something so stupid. It was the third week in a row that the dinner you made went cold because Satoru’s work ran late again. You knew that sorcery was demanding of course, but being alone all the time was starting to fray you.

Tonight you ordered his favorite takeout and sat nursing the barely eaten box of fried rice in the living room chair, watching the rain pour down outside of your shared apartment. He had said he’d be home at 6. A glance at your phone told you it was well past 8 and he hadn’t texted or called. What if something happened? Should you call? You huffed, discarding the box on a side table and sinking further into the cushions as an anxious pit began to grow in your stomach.

When the front door opened to reveal a tired Satoru shrugging off his coat and placing an umbrella by the front door you didn’t turn to greet him like you normally would. “You said you’d be home at 6.” you said, still speaking to the window softly, but he knew the words were for him. He chuckled. “Sorry sweets, got caught up saving the world, you know how it is.” His voice rang out in his usual tone. confident, dismissive. “Food’s on the counter.” you said as you got up to leave the room. “Hey hey, wait a second” Satoru was suddenly next to you, brushing your arm in that soothing way he does. “Are you upset with me?” he asks, so earnestly with his eyebrows raised in concern that is pisses you off. “No Satoru, of course not. Why would I ever be upset that I never see my husband when he says I will?” you snark, moving your arm away from him and squaring your shoulders. He looks taken aback and steps away. “Are you serious? You know I come home as soon as I can. The world doesn’t revolve around you, yaknow?” You feel the burn of tears in your eyes but you fight it. “I just wish you would stop making me promises when you know you won’t follow through. I’ve eaten dinner alone for the last three weeks!” you spit back. He braces his hands on the counter. “I have more important things to worry about than you eating alone! You have no idea what my life is like.” he raises his voice. You felt like you’d been slapped, his words searing into your skin. You couldn’t even help it, the tears started falling and you began stepping backward, away from him. As soon as the words came out he regretted them. “Baby wait, come here. You know I didn’t mean that.” he tried to step towards you, but you were already at the door hastily slipping your shoes on. “No Gojo, I don’t seem to know much about you at all.” and with that you’re slipping out into the night.

Fuck. Gojo Satoru was pacing. You had left not five minutes ago, off into the stormy night without an umbrella. He glances to the front door. Or a coat! He swears he feels his heart shatter and the pieces hit the bottom of his stomach. He can see you in his mind walking aimlessly, alone and shivering in the night. You clearly needed space, he tells himself. Just sit and wait for her to come home. He tries to wait, he really does. But then he keeps replaying the last words you muttered. “No Gojo, I don’t seem to know much about you at all.” He begins to bite at his finger nails. Gojo. You hadn’t called him Gojo since you first met. And even then he immediately urged you to call him Satoru. He craved his name from your lips like a drug. Thunder shook the windows and his eyes snapped to the downpour outside once again. Who was he kidding? He shot up and grabbed his umbrella, and threw his coat over his arm before fleeing the warm little apartment that went cold the second you left.

You hadn’t really thought much when you left, clearly, as you sat shivering on a random side street curb soaked to your bones. If you had thought you might have grabbed an umbrella, or maybe you wouldn’t have left at all. You just needed to get out of the suffocating space. You felt embarrassed. Of course he had more important things to worry about! You know firsthand how hard he works, how many lives he spares on a daily basis. You’ve even held him as he cried for the ones he couldn’t.

Of course you paled in comparison to the pressure he faced every moment of every day. But it still hurt. You were still lonely. You just felt silly for letting the feelings bubble up. You never meant to let them out like that because how silly does that sound? “Poor me, I have to eat my hot meal alone in my perfect little apartment because my beautiful husband is the strongest being in the universe.” Oh, how you wish you were in your perfect little apartment now cuddled up next to him. How are you ever going to face him after you exploded like that? Your teeth start the chatter and the frustration of it all crashes over you. The tears slipping down your face turn to steady streams and before you know it you’re struggling to take a full breath.

Warm hands at each of your arms snaps you out of it. “Darling?”

You look up to see your husband kneeling down over you with his umbrella like some snow haired angel. “Hey hey, baby come on, you’ll freeze out here.” His concerned voice coaxes you to stand as he puts his coat over both of your shoulders and stands close enough to shield you from the rain with his umbrella. “Let me get you home.” He says gently with a hand guiding your lower back. You nod, too tired to fight it. Neither of you speak the whole way back, the silence is instead filled with the steady noise of rain hitting the plastic covering above your heads.

He shuts the front door behind you and shakes the umbrella off, putting it back on the ground. You look down at the small puddle of water forming beneath you and you hear his footsteps leave your side for a moment. your heart starts to sink until you hear him return with the biggest fluffy towel he could find. He cups your cheek, making you meet his eyes as his other hand wraps the warm towel around your head and shoulders. Much to your humiliation, you start bawling your eyes out again.

He pulls you against him, sinking down to the floor and situating you in his lap and he cradles your head against his shoulder. “I’m here now baby, not going anywhere.” He murmurs against your hair and it only makes you cry harder. “I’m sorry Toru. I shouldn’t have made it a big deal.” You hiccup. He pulls you away to look at you suddenly. “Nuh-uh. Don’t apologize. I shouldn’t have said what I said. You should always be able to express your feelings to me.” You shake your head back at him “you work so hard and you were right, I have no idea what the burden feels like…I can’t even imagine. And here I am just a silly insignificant non-sorcerer complaining about eating alone. it was stupid and-”

he cuts you off my cupping both your cheeks again. “Never ever say you’re insignificant again. You are my everything. Nothing else matters to me more than you. The rest of the world can go to hell for all I care.” His eyes could burn through yours with their intensity. He searches your face and all you can do is nod. “I didn’t realize how much my being away has hurt you baby. I’m so sorry. Never again. When I tell you I’ll be here I’ll mean it. I don’t care what I have to do to be back here by your side every night, I’ll do it.” His fingers caress your cheekbones and wipe the tears from under your eyes. “Come on, let’s go get you into a warm shower. Seeing you get sick because of me would send me to an early grave.”

You both stand up, his hand locked in yours. “It was my stupid pride that made me go out into the rain instead of talking it out.” you murmur, but let him coddle you anyway. While you showered and put on his big comfy sweatshirt, Satoru ordered more fresh takeout and you spent the rest of the night in his warm arms watching the rain fall outside. “I’m serious about what I said earlier.” He says softly into the dim room. You crane your neck to look up at him. “There is nothing more important to me. I’ll burn cities to come home to you.”

and you believe him.

[dr-birb]

I saw this picture and got possessed by demonic urge to draw this IMMEDIATELY. So, huh, would you try this candy?

[dr-birb]

did i tell you that i miss you

[dr-birb]

Ko-Fi BLOBBUS Commissions i worked on last month

[dr-birb]

I am falling for the hybrid propaganda (I've been here for years, who am I kidding? All my ocs since early teen years were hybrids)

Anaconda!Reader who is big. The soldiers in base all underestimated how big an anaconda hybrid would be. You were big, long, if you lied down beside Ghost, you'd be double his size and a bit more, because of how big your body is. Humanoid torso that is filled with scales, smoothly shifting to a massive snake body.

You were a temporary soldier, contracted to help with ambushes in the tropical terrain of their next op. Your species known for being quick and silent in water, aswell as hunting well at night.

The first few weeks of training, Soap was a big thrown off, it's not that he's scared of snakes, but he is scared of the monster snake that is at least 15 feet big. Taking a moment to warm up to you, though when he did, he enjoyed having your weight draped over him when he napped. Gaz is a bit less skittish, being a reptile hybrid, he ended up bonding with you easily.

Ghost didn't understand what was so scary about you, sure, you were big, but you were slow on land, too big to move so fast. Though whenever sparring, he'd get pretty freaked out whenever you'd demonstrain your restraint techniques; the weight of the muscles of your long body making adrenaline rush over his body in a fight or flight response.

Price was draw to how much of an utterly terrifying sight you were when in a body of water. It was only when you were all in the op and he saw you slither quickly underwater and kill man after man like some kind of siren dragging them deep down the water, did he understand why Anaconda hybrids are so feared.

They all also couldn't help but be rock hard when, after asked to interrogate a soldier, you started to slowly squeeze him, just enough to apply pressure and make him gasp, barely breathing as you broke his ribs, painfully slow, all while your tongue would flit out to taste the smell of his sweating and crying in the air.

[dr-birb]

hybrid 141 with a reader who’s human but falls into the pack dynamic. used to military men being cold n mean now being forced into nests, getting scented 10 times a day while they’re annoyed it won’t stick, knowing ur place in the ranks getting scuffed if out of line. like j….yeh man shit sounds comfy as hell

Oooooooooo absolutely

Hybrid!141 who picks up human!Reader, and instantly decide that you're an honorary canine hybrid. You're a private, lowest rank, and you can feel it. Without hesitation, all of them will scruff you in an instant whenever you're out of line or need to be moved or whatever reason they can think up.

Coyote Hybird!Price who keeps rubbing against you, desperate for his scent to stick -eventually resorting to scenting all of your clothes- and dragging you around because he doesn't want his pack to be far from him.

Wolf hybrid!Ghost who keeps play bowing, trying to get you to spar with him, and then gets pissy when you don't comply/don't understand. He desperately tries to teach you wolf body language because of how heavily he relies on it, because the others at least have a vague idea of how it works.

Bengal fox hybrid!Gaz who keeps dragging you into his nest, insisting that it's safe and you need to be kept there. He lets his instincts take care of you, constantly grooming you and sticking close by.

Golden jackal!Soap who keeps trying to drag you off to teach you new things, cooking for you, and trying to get you to replicate his behavior.

And at the end of the day, they'll drag you to their den, and start a cuddle pile as they all nuzzle into you, trying to scent you properly. At least it's comfortable.

Plain text under cut

Hybrid!141 who picks up human!Reader, and instantly decide that you're an honorary canine hybrid. You're a private, lowest rank, and you can feel it. Without hesitation, all of them will scruff you in an instant whenever you're out of line or need to be moved or whatever reason they can think up.

Coyote Hybird!Price who keeps rubbing against you, desperate for his scent to stick -eventually resorting to scenting all of your clothes- and dragging you around because he doesn't want his pack to be far from him.

Wolf hybrid!Ghost who keeps play bowing, trying to get you to spar with him, and then gets pissy when you don't comply/don't understand. He desperately tries to teach you wolf body language because of how heavily he relies on it, because the others at least have a vague idea of how it works.

Bengal fox hybrid!Gaz who keeps dragging you into his nest, insisting that it's safe and you need to be kept there. He lets his instincts take care of you, constantly grooming you and sticking close by.

Golden jackal!Soap who keeps trying to drag you off to teach you new things, cooking for you, and trying to get you to replicate his behavior.

And at the end of the day, they'll drag you to their den, and start a cuddle pile as they all nuzzle into you, trying to scent you properly. At least it's comfortable.

[dr-birb]

Injuries (drabble)

Warnings!: Injury described, canon-typical violence (you know, like war). Nightmare. Comfort. Off-screen kiss on the cheek. Swearing. [~2.2 k words]

Beneath your haunches, the ground is trembling with the force of the cracking bullets in the air, vibrations blasted through tainted oxygen so hard that they infect cracked concrete and really test your hearing protection.

The firefight is one of the nastiest you've seen yet. A concerning amount of the fire you hear is decidedly not cover fire, cracking off the (former) concrete pillar and it's collapsed sibling that are turning out to be nearly-perfect cover, even if there's more rebar and mesh than you would like.

Your comms are trying, poor things, but there's little to be done, and you know it when Gaz's voice cuts as he tries to relay orders to you. Or, hell, maybe they were orders, you couldn't hear shit through the static either way

Boot soles grit against sandy concrete as you try to bite out a return message. Position compromised, you try, but the words don't leave when you see what looks like a medium-sized stone tossed over your barrier.

"Fuck!"

You try to run, but the comm's wire (and with it, your hearing protection) is snagged, pulled out by a burr of rebar breaking through the pillar's surface, tangled hopelessly in the mesh.

There's no time, and still, you try.

Always assume that a grenade tossed at you has two seconds or less till it does its best to turn you into red mist.

You had forgot.

And still, the blast is never quite as small as you think.

There is no pain in the immediate seconds after, and you silently thank deaf ears in the heavens for adrenaline, until you spot a movement a few meters away, peeking out from a corner.

It's automatic. Your rifle bends to your wills, a machine that is operated by an equally robotic entity. One of blood and one of metal. The way real warfare has been for thousands of years.

A body hits the floor, but you don't hear it, you see red painting the forehead, leaking through a too-weak helmet. You hide behind the more upright of the pillars, before watching another assailant burst from the corner, shoulders shaking as they grab their dispatched colleague by the shoulders, shaking them helplessly as though to will life back into their body.

Once more, you take a shot, and there is no miss.

It's a somber thing, but there is no time to offer condolences or sympathies, not when the broken box of your comms finally figures something out and flashes a yellow pinprick for you.

Evacuate ASAFP. You May Or May Not Be Important Enough To Wait For.

A twinge hits your arm as you lower it, and a wet warmth floods the area, but there's little time for that now. Having a chunk of grenade in your arm is preferable to being dead, by far.

Running has always been good for you.

You've never liked to sit still, not at work. The movement is what prompts the blood in your veins to pump, your heart to follow with hummingbird-fast beats. The burn in your lungs, it's what makes you real.

But, at the same time, the ache in your arm has taken time to grow as it stains your uniform with a deep red, forcing a sharp pain up your nerves and into your brainstem with every thump of your boots against the cracking ground.

You switch your rifle to your non-dominant hand, but it does little once the high of adrenaline starts to fade, and your foot also starts screeching its protest, weakening with each forced stride, no matter how much you push forward.

The helicopter is already raring to take off, and you try to shout out to your team, but you can't hear yourself.

Your foot hits the floor one last time, and flash of agony is so intense that it forces what should be another cry from you, but once more, no noise hits your ears.

Knees buckle, fabric is scraped off with skin in tow, and your damaged body lays heavy on the ground.

Another boot appears in your peripheral, and you try to look up.

Just before the face comes into focus, a particularly nasty gush of blood leaves the wound in your arm, and takes your vision with it.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The floor beneath you is inky black, and cold.

A boot thuds down right before your face, and Price's face comes into focus, bristly bearded and bristling with rage.

His voice booms from seemingly everywhere around you, like you've been plugged into a surround-sound system made in hell.

"Rookie, whot the hell were you thinking, going in like that? You knew your coffin'd be empty if you died, right?"

It's so loud your ears are already starting to ache, the noise piercing every fiber of your being and rocking your cells with the vibrations, tearing your muscles apart from the inside.

A sharp sting spreads through your foot, but your neck refuses to allow you to look as muscles lock up, and another face steals away your attention, even as the pressure mounts.

"Ah, Cap, they're green. Might well bury'em alive. Sae's the time, aye?"

Soap's face is different. Low-sitting eyebrows pinched down, but a wicked smile present on thin lips, practically reveling as the floor seems to swallow you whole.

You know the laughter you hear, but it brings no comfort when you see Gaz cackling next to the Scot.

God, he looks so pretty when he laughs, and it does nothing but twist the knife when you watch him lean against Soap, before looking down at you.

"It's alright, luv. Some people just... don't make the cut. Way of the world, innit?"

The comfort is false, you know it is, but your damaged heart takes it anyway, to somehow make believe that it's not your fault, that you had just aimed too high.

When Ghost appears, there's no more defense you can give yourself.

As usual, the only thing you can see is his eyes. Light brown like mud that's just about to crack, honeyed when the light hits just right.

He says nothing, but he turns away, and some part of you can't allow that, even as the room starts to pivot on some axis you can't see.

You try to reach forward, to plead, but your voice doesn't work, and your legs are stuck, sinking into the black with no foreseeable way out, rotating faster and faster, a bug spiraling down into the drain.

A grating, long BEEEEEEEEEP floods the space around you first, painfully high-pitched and absolutely unbearable because it seems to match exactly with the ringing flooding into your ears.

You're certain that there are a few specific parts of your body that ache, but in the haze of painkillers, it's a simple dullness.

That being, until hands are on your shoulders.

Price stands above you, brows pulled down in worry, lips tuned in a stiff frown, and he speaks.

"------! - ------- --- ---- ----! --- ---- –"

He pauses when he watches you fail to acknowledge what he's saying, staring up at him with a pinch in your brow, eyes calculating as always, but now trying to put together what he's saying.

"-- --. ---, ---- -------! ----'-- --- -----."

Price's head follows a movement you only catch the tail end of. A body leaves the door, walking quickly, but there's no squeak of boots on linoleum.

His hand is under your chin, then, gently guiding you to look back up at him, baby blue eyes full of sympathy, a fatherly sort of concern that looks oddly welcome on his weathered face.

Price is slow to move, making sure you watch as he gently takes the plastic cup from the crappy nightstand beside the stiff bed your body lays on, taking a mock sip himself before holding it out to you.

Something is wrong, but you reach out a lead-heavy arm anyway.

It doesn't work very well, but thankfully Price catches it before it can spill.

It's humiliating, sure, but you still sip when the plastic rim kisses your parched lips.

You don't look, but if you had, you would see John smiling, reassured, ever so slightly, that you'd be alright. Not quite the v-shape you had come to know, but close enough.

You smile back, in turn. Weakly, but you do.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Soap spends a good deal of time in your room, in the first few days.

It's like he refuses to let hospital food actually be eaten by you, with how he keeps on bringing over his leftovers and heating them up in the microwave down the hall for you.

The first time, it's soup. Then, a stew, a little thicker, with some bread, which is followed by a simple sandwich.

But that's not all. He's joking with you the whole time, smiling as you come back into being a person again.

Yet another day, and the door opens.

The trial hearing aid planted in your ear does little to muffle the ringing that has become characteristic since your injury, but when the hinges squeak, your tired head snaps over to the Scot in your doorway.

"Fuck. Simmer down some, hen o' mine. Don't stare at me like that. I got ye sumthin'."

Your curiosity is met with a chuckle, and a small, wrapped package being set into your lap. After a few seconds of stillness, he gently prods you to open it.

A book of sudoku, crossword, and other puzzles. "To pass the time," Johnny says fondly. "Gotta keep the brain sharp, I'm sure."

He's sat beside your bed, and for once, you dare to do something new. You reach for his shoulder with an arm, and pull him into yourself.

That's the first time you have the balls to hug someone you work with.

He hugs you back.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The diagnosis is only half shocking.

To you, that is still much too shocking to be comfortable, but Gaz, by your side, is much more active than you, in the discussion.

"Nerve damage? To what, specifically?"

"They can recover, right?"

"Would you recommend surgery or physical therapy? Both?"

"What's the timeline before they can have a re-evaluation for service?"

John had insisted that someone went along with you, and the Lieutenant was out training with Soap. So, that left Gaz.

He's a very good patient advocate, really, and at some point, you start looking at him in his seat beside you instead of paying all your attention to the doctor.

The white light is the pure opposite of flattering, but he manages to look good because of course he does, he's Gaz.

Brown eyes suddenly snap over to you, and his lips turn down slightly in concern before a warm hand gently settles on your shoulder, jostling you just enough to call you back to reality.

"What? What's- is something wrong, Garrick?"

Your voice is a little rougher than usual, not properly pitched as per usual, but enough.

He sighs lightly, but starts to smile softly when he does.

"Your hearing aids are in, right luv?"

"Y- I- I think so?"

"Ringing or no ringing?"

"It's- mate, it's not supposed to go away for a few weeks, I don't think."

Your voice is a bit more practiced, that time. Better.

The doctor, across the desk, pauses in her scribbling on the notepad (you're sure they think they're writing something, but there is no way that those are words), and looks up at you.

"Dead right. I'm glad you're well-read on your condition."

Her voice rings out once, and in the quiet, an alarm rings.

"Shit. I am so sorry, we're running over and I need to get to my next appointment. I'll see the pair of you again in a week, alright?"

You nod, but Gaz, on your side, seems just a bit ticked by the ordeal, but he takes you with him, already whisking you off into the café to get you some actual food.

And hell, if you kiss him on the cheek when he drops you back off at your room for the night, that's alright. Your little secret.

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

"I swear to God, I'm gonna fucking kill you, Lieutenant."

Your punches hit the bag repeatedly as your words bite from your lips, sweat-coated and annoyed.

"Not until you hit your previous times, sergeant."

Ghost, bastard he is, is training you again.

Sure, you're out of physical therapy now, and sure, you do want to train, but he's just such a bastard about it.

A particularly hard swing is where you focus that annoyance, and the bag very nearly comes back for your face.

He stops rocking on his heels, and the relative silence is soon broken.

"Good for the day."

He declares, and you look back up from the red, padded synthetic leather, brows furrowed.

"What?"

"You wanted to be done for the day, right? You're done."

You stand, confused and maybe a bit upset, hands still wrapped up tight.

"No, I want to earn being done for the day. I was annoyed with you. Those are different."

There is a shift of the fabric of the mask you see, indicative of some sort of real facial expression.

"You're going to do just fine, rook."

His voice is warmer, this time.