#Excellent Observation Lieutenant.

[columboscreens]

[rileyslibrary]

teaching ghost how to make paper cranes but he keeps messing up with his huge ass hands <3333 (gn reader please! love your work❣️❣️)

*taps microphone* one “Ghost struggling” with a side of “Japanese paper folding art” coming right up. (A/N at the end)

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“This is even more annoying than Soap.”

“It’s not Soap’s fault you have sausages for fingers.” You murmur as you finish your tenth paper crane and set it on the conference table.

He examines the back of his hand as if he had just received a manicure. He then flips it over, palm facing up, and curls his fingers into a fist before releasing them.

“My fingers are not the problem,” he argues, “it’s these sheets; they are way too small.”

“Did you say ‘shits’ or ‘sheets’?” You quip, and he huffs at your comment. Yet, he picks up another piece of paper from the stack to try again.

You observe him as he leans over the table. He is pretty crafty when it comes to surviving in difficult situations; he can light a fire by creating a bow drill, build a shelter out of branches, and navigate the woods with a needle as a compass. But when it comes to these types of crafts, he struggles.

He starts folding again, a little gentler than before. Every time he completes a step, he pauses to assess his progress. He occasionally lets out a self-motivational hum and nods to himself.

But then something happens, and he loses it—a misaligned fold caused by his large hands or a paper rip as a result of his inexperience with handling such delicate materials. Sometimes he just feels discouraged, anticipating another failed try, and gives everything up.

Looking at his current attempt, you know the paper crane will fall apart. He completes his final folds and, as you anticipated, it comes loose. He groans and crumbles the paper.

“You can do it,” you assert. “I’ve seen you train unruly recruits with much more patience.”

“For fucks sake, Y/N,” he shouts, throwing his head back, “recruits are easier to shape into soldiers than moulding a fucking Post-it note into a duck.”

“It’s a crane,” you correct him; “ducks have another technique.”

“What’s the difference?” he complains. “Why do they have different folds if they are both birds?”

“For the same reason, an AK47 and an MP5 need different types of ammo, I guess.”

Despite his disappointment, he picks up another piece of paper and folds it again.

“Patience, Lt.,” you encourage him, “treat it as a recruit.”

He pauses for a minute, contemplating your advice, before he begins. He does not treat the paper as a target this time. He carefully pinches it with his fingers and folds it with his nails. In his eyes, the paper has taken on the appearance of something far too fragile. Something that needs to be helped and taken care of. It’s not against him, but with him—they’re allies working towards a common goal.

He completes it and places it in the palm of his hand, stretching his creation towards you. It’s not perfect, but nothing is.

“Excellent work, Lieutenant!” You cheer, and he proudly places his paper crane next to yours.

“It’s relaxing and meditative,” he admits; “all this folding and aligning makes you forget about things.”

“Things?” You ask as he pulls another sheet from the stack.

“You know,” he replies, staring at the paper in his hands, “bad things.”

You can see his emotions shifting through his eyes—they’re half-lidded as if they want to forget the atrocities they witnessed. His hands are fiddling with that paper; they are shameful hands in his mind—hands that participated in the worst horrors imaginable. They’re not worthy of making paper cranes.

“Paper cranes symbolise hope,” you comfort him, “and there’s a Japanese legend that says whoever makes a thousand of them will be granted a wish.”

His eyes light up, and he opens his lips to say something, but Soap enters the room. “What are you doing here?” He yells and sits on the table, right next to your paper cranes.

Ghost rolls his eyes at the sight of Soap but continues with his little project. “I’m making a thousand paper cranes to fulfil my wish.” He replies.

“What are you going to wish for, Lieutenant?” He asks, and Ghost replies with a stern “for you to get off my fucking back.”

You make quiet shushing noises to calm him down, and he inhales deeply.

“What is it that you want, Sergeant?” He finally asks, and Soap begins to report every problem around the base that would require Ghost’s attention.

“And the fridge broke last night, and all the meat has gone bad,” he concludes, “so it looks like we might have to eat a plant-based diet until we fix it.”

“That’s alright,” Ghost shrugs, “as long as we get our nutrients, we’ll be fine.”

Soap looks at you, dumbfounded. “Wow, Lt.!” he shouts, turning to Ghost, “these paper cranes have turned you into a bloody monk, haven’t they?”

“Paper crane, paper crane,” Ghost begins to chant as he folds, “go away, or you’ll end up with a fucking cane.”

“Ghost!” you cry. “Where is the patience and meditative state we discussed earlier?”

“I’m sorry,” he apologises and turns to Soap. “Namaste, sergeant,” he says and waves his hand in dismissal, “now fuck off.”

And who are you to tell him what to say or how to behave? You, too, are a project yourself, just like these cranes lined up in front of you. You look at the trash bin with all the papers he crumbled before completing his first successful paper fold art. Today he learned something new and joyful. Something that makes him feel content and proud rather than something that wakes him up in the middle of the night or, worse, prevents him from sleeping. Making a thousand paper cranes is so much better than watching him with that thousand-yard stare he gets after every mission.

Soap grabs one of your paper cranes, places it in his pocket, and leaves you two be.

Ghost completes his second successful paper crane and grabs another sheet. “Nine hundred and ninety-eight more to go,” he states, “you know, for that wish.”

———————————————————————

A/N: I had no idea how to make a paper crane, so I wanted to teach myself first in order to write this. And yes, I did it on a Post-it note (but not a sticky one). Also, this piece is 1000 words.

[sinsofbeauty]

A Midnight Encounter

Fandom: COD MWll

Pairings: Jealous! Simon “Ghost” Riley x Fem! Reader

Requested: Nope :3

Warnings: Jealousy, Soap giving you nicknames, Mild possession, SMUTTY SMUT SMUT, Dom! Ghost, fingering, orgasm denial, overstimulation, squirting, choking/breath play, spanking, daddy kink, degradation

Overview: A brief encounter with your superior Soap gets Ghost on edge. Couple of drinks down the hatch and a late night after a mission, turns into something much more heated than your intentions.

A large party blooming with life, and a night that would be one to remember. Undercover, you and Soap had been infiltrating a large mansion for some intel on a lead. The both of you had to pose as a couple, not exactly husband and wife but something “long term.” It was a masquerade party, so faces were hard to see under the masks that covers half of peoples faces. So you and Soap had sat at a round table, across from each other that way eyes were also behind.

“Ghost, what’s your status?”

You and Soap exchanged a quick glance after Price spoke on the comms. It was now all about timing and patience as the first phase will proceed.

“Gettin’ there,” Replied the Lieutenant, who’s checkpoint was to make it on the roof. “No hostiles on the rooftops, closing into position.”

The glass dome over the ballroom had lights around the rim and provided a glimpse of the night sky. With all the commotion, no one would have anticipated someone being up there, but of course you and Soap knew.

“I’m in position, over.”

Looking up, you notice the glare of Ghost's silenced firearm. The ceiling in this area of the structure was quite high, making a sniper with an excellent view likely. You turn to face Soap, who was chatting with you and seems to be having fun as you scouted the area. Price and Daz were sneaking inside the building as this was going on.

“Fox, there’s a door south east to your location.” You heard Ghost speak through your comms. “I can’t get a visual, do you see anything?”

Your eyes transitioned to look at the door, in which had just opened. “Copy Ghost. It just opened.”

“What is there?”

You observed three men leave, two of whom were real close to the third. Those who had encountered the one in the middle, were greeted and left shortly after. It didn't take you long to realize that he was the mansion's owner. Not as quickly, but at a steady enough pace to make your heart race, the man began to walk over to where you and Soap had been sitting.

“Three men in total, one is probably the party host. Seems to have a lot of friendly gestures from guests.” You replied, keeping your eyes on Soap. “The other two are probably guards, they look too alert to be friends or close company.”

“Copy that.”

Upon taking a deep breath, Soap looked back at you after casting a quick glance over his shoulder. Phase two had begun, and the man in front of you had quickly stood up and left without saying anything else. There you were left alone, with Ghost watching as the man of the house approached your table. You had a drink in hand at this point, lifting it to your lips as the three men had came to your table. They all were tall, staring down at you while you set your drink back down on the elegant cloth of the table.

“Good evening. It is my pleasure to welcome you, even though it’s well into the party.”

You gave a genuine smile nodding your head in appreciation. “Of course, it is my pleasure to attend such an extravagant event.”

The man smiled, raising a hand to shoo off the men who had stood closely behind him. With that, the owner of the mansion had taken a seat in the spot Soap had been sitting across from you. Now, it’s showtime.

“Target right on queue,” You heard Ghost speak quietly in your ear.

“Rog. Soap what’s your status.” Price then speaks.

“Oscar mike. The halls are quiet, no sign of hostile activity.”

As you struck up a discussion with the man, you positioned your arms beneath the table. You kept the target distracted so that the men in your ear could continue discussing the objective. Though the longer you stayed, the harder it became, anxiety in the pit of your stomach turning into discomfort. Your face was trying to hide the uncomfortable sensation you were stifling within, while your hands were fidgeting under the table.

“Found something,” Soap was heard on the mic.

Oh thank god.

“A file and a usb. Talks about everything we’re looking for. There’s also a map to what looks like a part of Southeast Asia.”

“Rog on that. Execute phase three, we’re getting the hell outta ‘ere.”

Perfect. As soon as the man in front of you laughed—not at what he said, but at what you had just heard—you started to smile widely. In an effort to attract his attention, you laid the drink that you had just finished sipping on the table.

“I apologize for interrupting, but I must go the bathroom. Would you kindly inform me where it is?” You smiled innocently at the ignorant man who had only given you a lusty glance in response to your politeness.

“Why of course, it’ll be down over there by that entryway. Immediately take a left and you shall see.” The man leaned in and set a hand on yours, lifting it into his before planting a firm kiss on our knuckles. “Please do return, I absolutely love your company my dear.”

“Of course, I won’t take long.” You said with a wink.

He let go of your hand out of amusement and allowed you to stand up. You had moved carefully past other guests while saying excuse me, walking in the direction he had instructed you to go. Finally, you reached the entryway and turned left.

“Ghost, Fox, we got the intel. All we need is you two out of there, copy?”

“Roger. Oscar mike and out in five.” Ghost spoke.

Shortly after taking your heels in hand and moving quickly down the corridor, you adjusted your earpiece and pulled your hair back into a ponytail. It was pitch black, with hardly any lights, dull, and somewhat difficult to see. But it didn't stop there; noise down the hallway forced you to pause, and you eventually found your way into what appeared to be a dining hall.

“Fox? Do you copy?”

Once more, Price's voice echoed in your ear. As you attempted to hold your breath due to your heavy breathing, you could feel your heart beating rapidly. The voices approached the door before stopping, speaking in a language you couldn't comprehend. It was unfamiliar, like something Arabic or a comparable dialect. It was difficult to determine if they were guards or other guests from the party.

“Fox?”

Your ears were straining to focus on the language being spoken from behind the door when you faintly heard the Captain's voice again. They then shifted to using English at that point. You became aware that you had been gone for a while when they radioed about a girl who matched your identical description. Both the party host and the security were looking for you.

“Fox talk to us.”

Your attention was drawn to the comms again, hearing Soap when he called you. The people behind the door jogged off making you take a deep breath. “I copy,” You sigh with relief into the comms. “I ran into a couple of guards, had to hide for a bit.”

“Had me worried there baby girl.” Soap chuckled into the mic making you snort with a head shake.

“I can clearly take care of myself.” You replied, looking out the door to see if the coast was clear. “I’m right near the exit, better have those vehicles ready.”

“Just waiting for you doll.”

“Enough with the flirting you two.” Price scolded in your ear. “Just get your ass outside Fox.”

“Copy,” You couldn’t help but cackle at the nicknames as you finally made it through.

You took a moment to locate the spot where you and Ghost would meet as you snuck through the grass next to the structure. Price would have joined Gaz by this point, and Soap would be going towards the other car. That moment did eventually arrive, and you met Ghost at the predetermined location.

“We have a change of plans,” Price called out through the comms. “There were too many guards in the area for Soap to make it to Bravo’s vehicle. He’s coming with us, copy?”

“Roger that sir,” Ghost took one fine look at you and huffed, taking one final survey through the night vision goggles.

Both of you made your way to the vehicle, in which you both hopped in as soon as you saw it. Ghost in the driver’s seat, while you in the passengers. The vehicle vroomed with life before the masked male driven off, making it on the dirt road that lead to the exit of the mansions perimeters. Once off, you had clasped your hands together with glee. Your first undercover mission that didn’t involve shooting people, what a success!

“Oh that was amazing! Never had so much fun being fake.” You giggled out, causing Ghost to grunt at your comment. “I’m glad I didn’t get caught. That would’ve been a disaster in itself. Though, the people I was hiding from spoke another language. I think Arabic? Something of the sort.”

When there was silence, you turned to face Ghost, who had his hand firmly on the wheel and was glaring at the road. Although you couldn't see his face, the silence and the growing tension within the car left you puzzled.

“Is something wrong?”

Before he could answer he swerved on the side of the road, making you jolt in your seat as the car had vigorously jerked into a bunch of uneven grass behind a couple of trees and rocks. You looked at him in shock as he parked the car, turning off the engine and even the lights for concealment.

“What the hell is wrong with you?!” You exclaimed adjusting yourself back in your seat correctly.

Ghost had looked over, his eyes staring at you with a deep glare. It was intense, cold, and made you freeze in place as you stared at him innocently. The way that his eyes looked so menacing, deadly, made you heat up in more places than just your cheeks.

“Get out of the fuckin’ car.”

“What?”

There was silence in the air, before you watched as he opened the door and got out. He was dead serious about this one. You got out yourself, not minding that your bare feet were on the grass let alone the stockings that matched your skin tone. The sound of Ghost slamming his door made you jump, and watch him walk around the head of the car. With that, you closed your door, but by the time you turned around he was right in front of you.

“Baby girl? Doll?” His voice rang deep within the quiet atmosphere of nature.

Oh…shit. That’s what he was upset about. Let’s just say, you and Ghost have more of a Lieutenant/Sergeant relationship outside of what people see in uniform. It’s been going on for a short time, but still. Simon was very protective of what was his.

“He’s called me that before.” You replied shaking your head. “It’s nothing serious and you know that.”

“I still don’t fucking like it,” He snarled, making your heart practically leap out of your chest. He was dangerously close to you, his mask practically inches from your face. “And on top of that, that man at the party. Putting his fuckin’ hands on you.”

“I had to play my part Simon,” You looked away from him. “Jeez if I knew you would be this jealous-“

You were cut off by a gloved hand taking your chin, yanking it back to look at him. The heat between your legs had been shown in an instant, your thighs pressing together as you whimpered helplessly under the taller man.

“Jealous, is an understatement.” Ghost growled. His eyes looked fiercely down at you, half lidded and hungry for more than what you expected.

“G-Ghost,” You stutter, arousal forming under a nervous expression. “We’re still on a mission, shouldn’t we get back to base?”

The eerie silence of the night crept over, until Ghost took his other hand to his radio. “Captain, we’ve run into a little problem.”

It took a few moments for a response. “What’s your status Lieutenant?”

“There are guards along the border. I don’t see an exit without being seen.” The silence took over, making your raise your brows at what Simon was trying to do.

“Copy that. Stay low until an entry point is sealed. We’ll keep a lookout for any signs of activity.”

“Copy, over and out.”

His eyes, which were malicious and filled with significantly more than what you had previously seen, peered at you from the radio. Ghost had slid his hand that was on your chin over your neck, taking it with a firm squeeze. You gasped only slightly when he used his body to pin you against the car door.

“You wanna be sly, little fox?” His voice was purely filled with his British accent, making you shiver and put your hands on his wrist. In that moment, you had realized why he had lied to Price on the radio. He was buying time.

“Turn around.”

That was a voice you heard many times before. It was the part of Ghost only you have seen out of the members of Task 141. The one that would either fuck you into oblivion, or make you cream so much that not even god could stifle your pitiful screams.

Without a word you turned around, the back of your tightly fitted dress giving Ghost a perfect view of your ass. He grunted, and a heavy slap was planted on your right cheek. You gasped out since it was so unexpected, abdomen clenching tight as his gloved hand let another rip at your other cheek.

“Lemme tell you something sweet girl,” Ghost spoke out of pure lust and sexual tension. “This ass, belongs to me.”

Another hit to your cheek made you grit your teeth, and with another he slapped considerably harder. Tears began to brim at the corner of your eyes, and when he had abused your ass for the last time you couldn’t help but moan out.

He noticed this, a hum making him bend down with his masked mouth next to your ear. “Enjoying yourself, baby girl?”

You didn’t respond, instead you squeezed your eyes shut on how he mocked Soap’s words. Fuck was he good. In an instant you felt the back of your short dress being lifted up, the cold air of your red ass being exposed to the night.

“No panties,” Ghost stated from behind you, as you felt fingers on your stockings. A quiet rip was heard, letting you know that he tore that shit with one easy grip of his hands. “We’re you expecting to get fucked tonight Princess?”

You let out a shakey “no”, but Ghost didn’t believe that. After a night looking like this, so vulnerable, so fucking sexy, damn that was his plan. But of course, he had something else in mind.

“Don’t lie to me,” He said, taking a moment to remove his gloves off of his hands. He tossed them to the ground and moved one of his hands to the front of your dress, cupping your breast.

“I-I’m not lying.” You spoke, opening your eyes at his motion. “I was just..dressing up for the occasion.”

When you felt two fingers on your slicked pussy lips, your breath caught, and your reaction alone caused him to groan. You couldn't hide the fact that you were a mess, due to how wet you were between those adorable thighs of yours.

“Look at how wet you are. Just for me, and only me. Isn’t that right, doll?”

Arousal was clearly visible as skin became flushed, thighs beautifully moist, and your nipples puckered into hard buds. It was hard to swallow, let alone breath without it being filled with lust. In spite of your best efforts to balance yourself on the car with your hands, you eventually lost and melted under Ghost's control. When his fingers made their way to your clit, you exhaled loudly and whimpered as he rubbed in slow, agonizing circles. You moaned, not satisfied with the speed at hand. You wanted more, fuck.

“I can’t quite hear you. Is my little slut wet for daddy~?”

“Fuck Ghost!” You groaned out, head hitting the glass of the passenger window. “Y-Yes, I’m so wet for you…”

Without warning he dips his two fingers in your throbbing cunt, making you almost scream out with pleasure. You tighten around him almost immediately, making him groan sharply while he abuses your sweet sex over and over. He knew the right places, curling his fingers, making you tremble.

“Such a tight little cunt baby.” He purrs, the speed of his fingers fucking you in an unrelenting pace. “Just seeing you in this dress makes my cock ache. I couldn’t help thinking about fucking you while I watched from the roof.”

His hand that had been massaging your breasts came up to your neck, taking it with a strong hold. Your airways had been blocked, making it hard to focus while his fingers pumped inside you. As soon as you felt lightheaded, he slowed his pace before releasing his grip, allowing you to breath for the time being. Taking himself out from your tight hole, he used his two fingers covered from wet juices of your cunt to spread your folds open.

“You look so fucking cute,” He breaths, not being able to help his own heavy, staggered breaths. “I could just fuck you right here.”

Before you could say a word, his fingers sunk back into you. You jolted with pleasure, stomach tightening, thrust after thrust of his fingers repeatedly flicking up at your special spot. You moaned out, whined, and writhed beneath his body, the pleasure making your legs wobble numb. Your climax was close to bursting, Ghost taking your neck once more and cutting of your air supply.

“Fuck baby,” Ghost grunts out. “You’re clenching hard on my fingers, gonna cum already?”

As you closed your eyes you let out a choked groan, feeling yourself on the brink of pure bliss. Although you wished it was his huge cock sensuously rubbing your walls, he was using his fingers quite well. Ghost quickly withdrew himself from your cunt, releasing his hold on your neck which caused you to take a deep breath. Your clit was yearning for attention, and you were twitching in desperation. He pulled your head up to gaze at him just as you were about to approach orgasm, causing your back to arch away from his body.

“Don’t you fucking come.” He commanded.

“B-But I-Im-“

“Don’t you fucking dare.” He grabbed your hands from being able to touch yourself.

Your eyes were squeezed shut, holding back your orgasm as you were told. For fuck sake, why did he stop?! It was so fucking good “Please,” You beg, shaking your hips in desperation. “Please, please fuck me please!”

Ghost gave you a firm slap to your ass, making you flinch with a whine. “This is your punishment for flirting like a little whore.”

“But I wasn’t-“

SLAP!

You moaned out, legs about ready to give out under you. “Fuuuck~!”

“Has anyone been able to pleasure you like this?”

Your eyes stay closed, not being able to look at him. “N-No.”

“No what?”

You felt his finger back at your slit, massaging and running up and down your creamy hole with ease. Your breath halted, swallowing hard at the feeling. “No, sir. Only you.”

“That’s right princess,” He spoke deeply, making sure your clit got some attention. “Open your fucking eyes.”

You do as your told, opening them as you stared right into his. His fingers plunged into your pussy again, a moan escaping the pit of your throat.

“You wanna come?”

“Yes sir.” You say weakly.

His fingers pump into you, slow and steady as your tight cunt clenched around him once more. You couldn’t help but close your eyes, but as soon as you did he stopped. “Keep your fucking eyes on me.”

Your eyes shot open, and his lowered into a glare. His fingers began to fuck you again, only this time at the pace he was doing before. You yelped out, unable to control your helpless cries as his fingers made your abdomen clench for release.

“Does my dirty little slut wanna come for me? Does she wanna fucking come all over daddy’s fingers?”

“Yes! Yes please!!”

“What do you say doll?”

“Please Ghost! Pleasepleaseplease I wanna come so bad!!!” You pleaded, your climax reaching faster than it did before. “Ahh~ Simon, I wanna-“

“Fucking come for me baby~.”

With that, you climax consumes you. Your inner walls spasm, making Ghost grunt out and grab your hip with his free hand. He continues to fuck you through your orgasm, fingers curling harshly into your tight walls as you scream out in ecstasy. Your legs shake finding yourself being overstimulated to the brink of coming again.

“Si- mon- fuck!- aha mmhn~!!”

The squelching of his thick fingers in your pussy was soon interrupted by the sound of liquid gushing out. Onto the floor, on your stockings, on his pants it went, squirting until Ghost stopped, pulling his fingers out and rubbing your slit gently.

“Good fucking girl.”

You panted, letting your head fall and your body hunch into a weak position against the car. Ghost removed his hand from your pussy and held onto you, seeing that you practically had no balance left over. Your stockings had been soaked on the inside, from your slick cunt to your thighs. Ghost pulled your dress down and pulled you away from the door, opening it and picking you up to set you inside.

“I can handle myself.” You said because of his actions.

“I know, you handled me pretty well Princess.”

You puckered your lips as he set you down in your seat, closing the door and walking back to the other side. He hopped in as if nothing happened, turning on his radio.

“Captain, do you copy?”

A couple moment of silence later and Price responded, “Affirmative. Any changes?”

“Oscar Mike and off the radar, we should be home soon.

Ghost turned off his radio, turning on the car and soon driving away back on the road. One hand stayed on the wheel, the other, which was the one he mercilessly fucked you with stayed on his crotch. Man did you wish he railed you, made you fucking come undone over and over again like last time. You looked at him, head titling to the side in a tired stare.

“If I knew you would be like that over a couple of nicknames…I would have let it slide a lot sooner.”

“Fuckin’ hell.” Ghost huffed, simply out of amusement. “You really wanna piss me off don’t you?”

“Why not? You fuck me anyways.”

“I won’t be nice the next time it happens. You can trust me on that love.”

[scotianostra]

July 7th 1548 saw Treaty of Haddington, between France and Scotland, confirming the betrothal of Mary Queen of Scots and the French Dauphin (heir to the throne) François.

You could probably fill a post out every day with stories about her short life, she wasn’t yet six years old and this was the second treaty arranging her marriage, the first being The Treaty of Greenwich which was ultimately rejected by the Parliament of Scotland on 11 December 1543 and led to The Rough Wooing during which the English King sent his armies north to force us into marrying off our Queen Mary, it was George Gordon, Earl of Huntly who famously called it ‘the rough wooing.’stating….

“We liked not the manner of the wooing, and we could not stoop to being bullied into love.“

Mary of Guise, the Queen’s mother, turned to the Auld Alliance for help, dangling the carrot of her daughter’s hand for the French Dauphin, Francis, as a reward. On 7 July 1548, the Scottish parliament and the French ambassadors met at the besieged town of Haddington, fifteen miles from Edinburgh, to sign the treaty. Here is a full transcript of the treaty:

In the parliament of a most excellent princess Mary, queen of Scots, held at the abbey of Haddington on 7 July 1548, by one noble and mighty prince James [Hamilton], earl of Arran, lord Hamilton etc., and governor of the realm, and the three estates of the realm being present.

On the which day Monsieur [André de Montalembert, seigneur] d'Essé, lieutenant general of the navy and the army sent by [Henry II], the Most Christian King of France at this present time, showed how his master the King of France, having regard to the ancient league and confederation and amity existing between the realm of France and this country, and of the mortal wars, cruelties, depredations and intolerable injuries done by our old enemies of England against our sovereign lady, being of so tender an age, her realm and her lieges thereof during these diverse years, whereby the said Most Christian King, being moved through fraternal amity and confederation foresaid, could do no less but to aid, support, maintain and defend at his power this tender princess, her realm and her lieges as a propitious and helpful brother against all others who would attempt injury against the same, not by words but by way of deed, and to that effect has presently sent him in this realm with his navy and army of noble men with such directions as to put this realm to the old liberty, privilege and freedom and to recover all strengths, castles and fortalices out of our old enemy’s hands, with the advice, counsel and assistance of my lord governor and nobles of this realm, to their utter power and to expend their lives to that effect, and not only has he sent this army presently but also promises in his said master’s name at all necessary times to come to send and to have in garrison men of war, munition and money in this realm in such quantity that shall repress our said old enemies during the time of war and keep and defend this realm from them and all others in liberty and freedom according to his commission, obligation and promise given to him under the said Most Christian King’s great seals shown and produced in the face of parliament.

Therefore, having consideration of the matters stated above and how that the said Most Christian King has set his whole heart and mind for the defence of this realm, he desires in his said master’s name, for the more perfect union and indissolvable bond of perpetual amity, league and confederation, the marriage of our sovereign lady to the effect that the said Most Christian King’s eldest son [Francis Valois], dauphin of France may be joined in matrimony with her grace to the perpetual honour, pleasure and profit of both realms, observing and keeping this realm and the lieges thereof in the same freedom, liberties and laws as they have been in all the Kings of Scotland’s times past, and shall maintain and defend this realm and the lieges thereof as the same as he does for the realm of France and the lieges thereof according to his commission, promise and direction foresaid, produced as said is, and, therefore, desires my lord governor and the three estates of parliament to advise herewith and give their determination in this matter if the desire foresaid is reasonable and acceptable or not. [Mary of Guise], the queen’s grace, our sovereign lady’s most dear mother, being present, my lord governor and the three estates of parliament foresaid, all in one voice, have found and decreed and, by the judgement of parliament, concluded the desire of the said Monsieur D'Essé, lieutenant in the name of the said Most Christian King, his master, (Monsieur [Henri Cleutin, seigneur] D'Oisel, his ambassador, being present in the said parliament confirming the same) very reasonable and have granted that our said sovereign lady be married with the said Dauphin at her perfect age, and presently give their consent thereto, so that the said King of France keep, maintain and defend this realm, the lieges of the same, the liberties and the laws thereof as he does in his own realm of France and for the lieges of the same, and as this realm has been kept, maintained and defended by the noble kings of Scotland in times past according to the promise of the said lieutenant, special commissioner in the said cause, and that our sovereign lady be married to no other person but to the said Dauphin only.

My lord governor, in our sovereign lady’s name, ratifies and approves in this present parliament the determination and consent of the three estates of the same being present, concerning the marriage of our sovereign lady with the Dauphin of France according to the act of parliament made thereupon, providing always that the King of France, the said Dauphin’s dearest father, keep and defend this realm, the laws and the liberties thereof as his own realm, lieges and laws of the same, and has been kept in the times of all the kings of Scotland past, and to marry her to no other person but to the said Dauphin only.

And so it was, with her marriage agreement in place, five-year-old Mary was sent to France to spend the next thirteen years at the French court. The young Queen sailed with Mary from Dumbarton on 7 August 1548 and arrived a week or so later at Roscoff or Saint-Pol-de-Léon in Brittany.

If you ever get the chance go visit the John Gray Centre in Haddington, it houses all of the Council’s historical records and goes back centuries, it includes documents relating to King Robertthe Bruce from the year 1318, and numerous dating to Mary Queen of Scots reign. I was thrilled to inspect one such document signed by Queen Mary and Lord Darnley, reall hands on history, it's free todo this, you do get charged a fee if you want totake photos though.

[vibratingskull]

Sparring session

“Au where you're an imperial officer (with a crush on Thrawn obviously 🤭)but you're bad at sparring, so he offers to give you "private lessons" in his quarters, and once there, things quickly become a little spicy..😄” - @ele-millennial-weirdo

Tag List

It’s a Thrawn x gn!reader

warnings : a bit of blood, nsfw implied at the end

You crash down, your breath cut out and a shockwave spreading through your spine. You stay laying on the floor, contemplating the ceiling and why you accepted to practice sparring given your atrocious level. You hear your opponent laughing joyously and the congratulations of the little crowd of officers that came in to train during their break. 

You breathe deeply through your nose, still down, when you hear footsteps and a head comes into your field of vision. Two red orbs observe you with indifference and a pinch of disappointment. The room goes dead silent. 

"Lieutenant commander (y/l/n), is this the true level of combat an imperial officer is capable of?" 

Reality finally hits you and you jump on your feet, saluting your superior. 

"Sir, I'm sorry sir!"

Thrawn slowly shakes his head. 

"Such a level is inadmissible. You are supposed to represent the excellence of the Empire."

You nod shameful. You can’t believe he witnessed you ridicule yourself like that. Not him.

"Yes, sir. One on one combat has never been my forte, this is why I continue training."

He looks at you from head to toe, then glares at the rest of the group in the back of the room. His gaze goes back on you, you feel yourself cowers under his burning sight. 

"Clearly the training is inefficient. You will come see me tonight, I will give you a private lesson. Let’s hope I can instill you some techniques by the end of it. You are all dismissed, go back to your posts.” 

You all head towards the door hurriedly. A hand grasps your arm as you walk past the chiss, squeezing it gently. Your heart skips a beat as you look up to him.

“Do not expect me to go gentle on you, you are clearly behind the rest of the group. It is an immense task that is ahead of us.” He warns with a steady voice.

You gulp, nodding once again. He releases you and you run after your colleagues, a little bit of apprehension in your stomach.

______________________________

You enter Thrawn’s training room carefully, hearing muffled combat sounds. You see Thrawn fighting with an electrical staff against his two DT-series sentry droids. You don’t say a word, sliding yourself on the side of the room against the wall, admiring the spectacle before your eyes. Your heart flutters at the sight of his athletic abilities. He gives blow after blow, escaping the deadly grasp of these droids with ease and agility, he manages to put one on his knees and use it as springboard to jump and deliver a powerful kick in the head of the second one, knocking it over. Your eyes widen, taking measure of his actual level in combat. You’re gonna get your ass handed to you tonight. 

“Override code : Rukh.” He orders 

The droids raise up and shut down. He stands straight, you see his shoulder moving with his heavy breath. You approach with his towel that you hand to him, he slowly turns towards you and takes the fabric with gratefulness in his eyes.

“Right on time Lieutenant commander (y/l/n), I permitted myself to do a warm up.”

He rubs his face and the back of his neck, fixated on you.

“I can see that.”

You squirm a little. You’re intimidated by his feat in combat, and terrified at the idea of fighting him, you’re not gonna lie. He towers over you, eyeballing your form and muscles.

You cross your arms in front of you to flex your biceps by instinct, to not show how intimidated you are.

“So. What do we do?” you ask, masking effectively your nervousness.

“You will take the staff and we will fight each other.” He shoves the weapons into your hands.

Okay…

You are bad.

But not THAT bad.

You take offense to that.

“Are you sure of you, sir? I won’t hold back.” You warn

“Good. Me neither.” He answers unfazed.

You frown. You both take a combat stance and without warning you jump on him. You crash the spear on the ground, missing him by some inches. He takes the occasion and kicks you in your exposed ribs, propulsing you against the wall. You hold your stunned head, the shock was hard. You glare at him with anger. He raises an eyebrow with a grin. He gestures to you to come to him, taunting you. Ire spikes in your blood.

You will need to feint him, you think. You stand up, cracking your neck bones to ease your muscles. You throw yourself at him, swirling the staff but at the last second you dive and aim at his feet with a circling motion of your leg, he jumps to avoid it and you sink the weapon in his stomach and ignites it.

Electricity flashes before your eyes, blinding you. You hear a horrible scream and smell the scent of burning flesh.

You stop it, realizing your error.

You hear a thud as his body crashes down, unmoving. You look at him, horrified. 

What did you do?!

That could count as a murder attempt. 

You toss the staff, throwing yourself over him, checking for a pulse, for a breath, for anything that proves he’s still alive.

“Sir?! SIR?!” 

Eyes closed, he doesn’t respond. You lift his black tank shirt to see his stomach. 

It’s not pretty.

You clench your jaw. What are you going to do?! 

Suddenly, a hand seizes a fistfull of your hair and yanks you backward. You yelp with surprise and pain. You’re projected on the ground once again and a body rolls over yours, you throw a punch without thinking,hit, and get one in return. You plant your nails in his side, drawing blood and tearing the fabric apart. A powerful hand comes and claps your wrist, forcing you to let go  so you try kicking him down with your knees but he doesn’t budge. Desperate, you raise your bust and bite down his shoulder, you hear him hiss.

It isn’t any noble martial art anymore but a crude fistfight of the street between bloodied and bruised people. You roll like that for a minute, in a messy battle of scratches and bites, ripping both of your clothes. You lock him between your legs to prevent him from getting back the upper hand, your waists pressed against the his. You only hear the sound of hiss, grunts and gaps coming from both of you and the taste of blood in your mouth.

At one moment, everything came to a halt. He managed to pin your wrists besides your head, flashing you his canines and growling at you. You growl back, shaking your arms to free them. You lock eyes, both panting and bruised, you see blood dripping from his nose, and you feel it in your mouth. You both stay still waiting for the other to do something or break the silence, but you just look into each other's eyes. 

You’re captured by those shiny red orbs.

And suddenly, something switched.

Your lips crash together in a messy, deep kiss. Your tongues meet and hug the other, you put your hands in his hair, disheveling them. He holds your cheek with one hand and slides the other under what's left of your shirt to your chest, caressing the skin. Your blood mix and your limbs tangle. You squeeze your legs, pressing him harder against your pelvis, igniting both of your passions. You roll again, helping him to get rid of what’s left of his own shirt, you caress his sides and chest, you lick the blood you’ve drawn with your bite and hear him moan. He kisses your cheek, caressing your back and sliding one hand in your pants to the heart of your cravings. You wave your back at the touch, gasping. You came back to your senses seeing the blood and the glass shards on the floor.

“Here?” You ask incredulously.

“Here, on the floor, like beasts. It suits us both...” He pants with desire and pulls you for another kiss.

@bluechiss, @al-astakbar, @thrawnalani, @justanothersadperson93

[croziers-compass]

George Henry Hodgson of the HMS Terror A Historical Recount, collection, and documentation of Lt. Hodgson's Life

Birth Record

When George Henry Hodgson was born on January 25, 1817, in London, London, England, his father, Robert, was 43 and his mother, Mary, was 39. He had one sister. He died in 1848 at the age of 31.

 Henrietta Mildred Hodgson (only Sibling)

George Hodgson's Sister's Life and Death (Lefthand Side) A Portrait of Her here: ⚓

⚓ George Henry Hodgson was an English Royal Navy officer and polar explorer. He fought in the First Opium War (1839-1842) where he distinguished himself in combat. He later served under Captain Francis Crozier as Second Lieutenant aboard HMS Terror on the 1845 Franklin Expedition, which sought to chart unexplored areas of the Canadian Arctic, find the Northwest Passage, and carry out scientific observations.

Found in: A naval biographical dictionary: comprising the life and services of every living officer in Her Majesty's navy, from the rank of admiral of the fleet to that of lieutenant, inclusive. - O'Byrne, William R., 1823-1896

Previous Services Aboard the HMS Excellent

Muster Roll

George Henry Hodgson Lt. Record (links to my google drive)

Arctic Medal 1818-1855

All Officers and men of the Royal Navy and Royal Marines

Digital Memorial

I hope you have all enjoyed this lovely journey through records and materials relating to Lt. George Henry Hodgson. Admittedly there is very little substance here but I am more than happy with what I have procured. I hope it satisfies you as well.

[shinmiyovvi]

「Call of Duty Modern Warfare Original Character Info」

GENERAL INFORMATION

NAME: Noemi Rayne G. Trinidad

CODE NAME: “Soro” (Fox in Filipino)

AGE: 31

GENDER: Female

SEXUALITY: Heterosexual

D.O.B.: [REDACTED]

P.O.B.: Davao City, Philippines

NATIONALITY: Filipino

ALIA(SES): 

Bravo 0-9, Ghost 0-5

Noemi, Emi, Rayne, Ren (By her family, relatives, and friends)

Ma’am, Captain (By Gaz)

Capt, Capt. Soro (By Soap)

Sea girl, Nomi, Show off (By Ghost)

Soro, Love, Ray (By Price)

Zorro, hermana (By Alejandro)

Kapitan Trinidad (By Rudy)

OCCUPATION: Military personnel from the AFP Light Reaction Regiment, an associate member of Task Force 141.

RANK: 2nd Lieutenant (2012-2015), Captain (2015-present)

LANGUAGES SPOKEN: Cebuano and Filipino as her mother tongue, English as her third language as she is a polyglot but limited.

AFFILIATIONS: Armed Forces of the Philippines, Philippine Scout Rangers, Light Reaction Regiment, Task Force 141, Coalition, Armistice, JTF - Ghost Team, SpecGru

APPEARANCE

HEIGHT: 5’9” (175 cm)

WEIGHT: 141 lbs (64 kg)

EYE COLOR: Dark brown

HAIR COLOR: Black

HAIR STYLE: Shoulder-length (2019), Overgrown Boy Cut (2022)

BODY TYPE: Hourglass

BUILD: Lean and muscular

BLOOD TYPE: A+

DISTINGUISHABLE FEATURES: Has a scar on her right cheek and the lower left part of her neck. She also has scars on both of her arms, which she mostly wears long sleeves.

FACE CLAIM: Jane de Leon (Images below)

FAMILY

SIBLINGS: 1

STATUS: Youngest daughter of the Gerardo-Trinidad Family

FATHER: Ramon O. Trinidad

AGE: 60

HEIGHT: 5'6" (167 cm)

OCCUPATION: Retired AFP Soldier as he works as a carpenter for their shop.

MOTHER: Paulina G. Trinidad

AGE: 57

HEIGHT: 5'4" (162 cm)

OCCUPATION: Housewife

BROTHER: Leonardo Eric G. Trinidad

AGE: 34

HEIGHT: 5'11" (180 cm)

OCCUPATION: Architect

SKILLS AND ABILITIES

FIGHTING STYLE: Any but most likely uses Muay Thai and Arnis (If she found a pair of sticks)

WEAPON OF CHOICE: Any as she uses a throwing knife to take down enemies silently.

ABILITIES: Can be a translator and a recon sniper due to her experience back in 2016.

SPECIALTIES: Stealth, Espionage, and Hacking to infiltrate unauthorized areas.

PERSONALITY

POSITIVE:

Intelligent: Noemi is one of the smartest students in the class who mostly competes in quiz bees as she receives a lot of rewards from her competitions and also excels in her class.

Boyish: She spends time with her brother and her male friends and she has different interests and traits, unlike other girls around her subdivision.

Good tactician and thinks logically: After becoming the lieutenant, she uses her wits and observation around her as she will find an advantage for her and her squadmates of when to attack or when to fall back. With her being the mentee of the former captain, she took note of how her lieutenant led them to victory.

A loving friend and daughter: Despite her stern, relaxed, and laid-back personality, she is nothing more than a friend you can always rely on. She is a loving and caring daughter to her family in which she tends to overwork herself just to get the right amount of money to provide her parents for their needs. 

Dutiful with her occupation: Noemi is very dedicated to her job as a soldier in her country even if what she entered is a life-and-death situation. She mostly escapes her near-death experiences during the siege after their deployment in 2017. Noemi has no hesitation in killing her targets, as long as she knows what their wrongdoings are, she won't think twice to kill them in an instant.

Can crack jokes: If she ever feels like lighting up the mood, Noemi won't hesitate to brighten up the spirit of her fellow soldiers with some jokes.

NEGATIVE:

Has trust issues: Noemi tends to have trust issues and is also cautious when choosing the right people to trust.

Weighing some guilt inside her: After losing some of her friends during her career, she couldn't help but distinguish self-guilt from what happened to them.

Getting out of control of her emotions, especially anger: Noemi tends to bottle up her emotions, which she would snap at any time, and manages to go feral.

An expert in manipulation and deception: Noemi is capable of manipulating and deceiving people in order to acquire intel. She may act natural but deep down she was using them for extracting information.

TRIVIA

Noemi is the lead guitarist for the school's band which joins the battle of the bands.

Her favorite activities in school are Intramurals, quiz bees, band performances, and sports fest.

She likes to play video games during her free time during her off duty and sometimes she would draw on her journal to pass the time.

Noemi never shares her music taste with anyone but she listens to Jpop, Kpop, OPM, Pop, Pop Rock, Punk Rock, Rap, and Alternative Rock.

Noemi was known for being the smartest student who tends to sleep during class and answers questions without even trying to be attentive during the discussion sometimes.

BACKGROUND

Noemi is the youngest of the Gerardo-Trinidad family and was born to have an inspiration to be a soldier because of her father's past. Although her parents wanted her to be a nurse, she declined and was eager to pursue her dream of being a soldier and fighting for her country. Noemi is a talented and intelligent child who tends to join quiz bees as she is also an athlete at her alma mater. She is the captain, and outside hitter of her volleyball team, and the small forward of the basketball team. She also joins badminton and sepak takraw competitions, and everyone looks up to her as one of the athletic students in her school. After graduating high school, she passed the PMA exam and strived hard to finish her military training. Noemi joined the AFP and then proceeded to join the Scout Rangers to get the Scout Rangers Qualification Badge in order for her to join the Light Reaction Regiment. Before she joined LRR, she embarked on missions that molded her as a soldier and took down notes about becoming a leader from her captain. She lost her comrades during the Siege of Marawi she looks at them as her brothers-in-arms and a family. In 2019, Noemi became an associate member before the formation of Task Force 141 after Laswell introduced her to Price and Gaz as she continued to work in TF141.

Images for the gif above (From left to right):

MW1 (Left), MW2 (Center), MW3 (Right)

[lewis-winters]

Hello!

I am hoping you'll be willing to listen to answer a question i have about Lewis Nixon's supposed demotion.

I've never been in the military, so I'm very interested in your perspective since you mentioned military service in your VERY thorough post about how the 'military culture' is constantly in the background of BoB but never really explored or discussed.

Ok So Nixon is Regimental S-3 between Bastogne sometime & Operation Varsity. He's a Captain. To me, a non-military person, S-3 is his job and Captain is his rank. When Sink/Dick decide he should bump back to S-3 at 2nd Battalion with Dick, that's NOT a demotion. That's a transfer. He's doing the same job, at the same rank, at the same pay, just in a different place. In a large org, maybe there is some loss of PRESTIGE, but you have not lost anything. Maybe you even WANT the lateral transfer, maybe all of your friends are over in that other office/unit/store whatever. A demotion would be getting bumped back to 2nd Lieutenant or something, losing pay, losing rank.... in my head anyway.

So, tl;dr, IS the Nixon situation actually a 'demotion' or more like a transfer from an Army culture perspective?

Also thank you for your thoughts on how the show ignored some important aspects of Army systems & Army culture....in favor of THE DRAMA! (which yeah ok...it's a show...drama! psychology!...) I thought it was really interesting and an excellent critique!

I wanna start this off with a little oops! sorry! my bad! I've been calling Nix Regimental S2 this whole time only ahdshaddsfj you are right he WAS Regimental S3 and then he got demoted to Battalion S2. Lmao!! Yeah!! Ok!! He's still a good intelligence officer, though! Can you fucking imagine your Regimental S3 walking the line with you? that's like if you were a desk worker writing your report with the COO of your company sitting right next to you, lol.

EDIT: Ok, wait. Sorry. I got a little confused, because I was so sure Nix was an intelligence officer, therefore he couldn't have been S3 because S3 is planning and operations. So I went and searched it up and slight correction!! Lewis Nixon was not Regimental S3, he was Regimental S2 and then he was demoted to Battalion S3. At least, in show. I still need to cross reference with the books, but... yeah! The rest of this post has also been edited to reflect this.

Anyway. No, it's not a lateral transfer, that's still a demotion. It would have been a lateral transfer if Nix was moved from Regiment S2 to Regiment S3. But he wasn't. He was moved to Battalion.

While you are correct in the observation that Staff Section Designations (i.e. S1-S8 and others) are equal (they are literally just different jobs descriptions; S2 handles the processing of intelligence and tactical information for the commander while S3 handles plans, operations, and training), Regiment S2 is still higher in rank than Battalion S3 because Regiment, Battalion, Brigade, Company, etc. etc. are ranks/follow the hierarchy of rank. Mostly due to the sheer sizes that are being handled.

A Regiment is divided into several companies, squadrons, or batteries and often into two battalions, and is run by a colonel. A Battalion is typically consisting of 300 to 1,000 soldiers commanded by a lieutenant colonel, and subdivided into a number of companies (usually each commanded by a major or a captain). The rule of thumb is this: the bigger the amount of men you handle, the more senior your staff officers, supposedly. Bigger numbers mean bigger operations and logistics, and senior officers (allegedly, heh) have more experience and more schooling to handle those!

Now! However!! a colonel of a regiment can have anybody in his staff regardless of rank (but with certain caveats i.e. chain of command isn't broken). Either through necessity (soldiers die, the positions have to be filled), meritocracy (unlikely, but not impossible), or because he plays favorites (yeah, this is more realistic). Nix being just a Captain who happens to be Regiment S3 is not uncommon. It's fine. Happens a lot, especially in dire constraints like in the middle of an actual War. And Nix is very intelligent and, though I guess some people would call him lazy, Dick (and several others, too) thought he did his job very well, AND was probably there the longest, as compared to other candidates. On top of that, he comes from a family that is rich and might have had some significant pull in the military. Nix being in regiment as a mere captain is not weird. BUT it gets fucking weird (read: the chain of command is broken) when the Regimental S3 is just a Captain, while the Battalion S1 or S2, S3, S4, etc.-- who is EXPECTED to answer to and take orders from all officers in Regiment-- is a Major. Or a Lt. Col. Or anybody ranked higher than a Captain.

It's just not done! For a Major or a Lt. Col. or higher to answer to and take orders from the likes of a mere Captain! That breaks Chain of Command! Usually, to remedy this there is some reshuffling! So, either Regimental S3 is moved elsewhere laterally (i.e. Regimental S1, S3, S4, S5, etc), or if it is seen fit (i.e. said Regimental S3 is someone the upper brass have a vendetta against or cannot manipulate 👀👀👀👀👀), they will be demoted to Battalion. Or maybe even lower.

That's what I meant by the military is so so precious about chain of command. If a regimental officer is good! and has saved your regiment many times with his skill! it's only logical that you keep him where he is, right? Lmao. No. Wrong. If someone with less skill but higher rank were to come along, you have to defer to them. That's the rules of the chain of command!

Anyway. Even if Nix's demotion was just a reshuffling of manpower, it's still a public snub! It would look really bad on your career profile.

[softguarnere]

For Whatever We Lose

Lewis Nixon x OFC (slow burn, enemies to lovers) Chapter Three: The Goddess of War

Summary: Easy Company's newest member is thankful for the distraction provided by the new Women's Squad A/N: No points for guessing why this chapter was one of my favorites to write so far Warnings: period typical sexism Taglist: @dcyllom @kujofam

If anyone at Camp Toccoa is grateful for all the commotion caused by the female paratroopers, it’s Private David Webster.

Being transferred out of his company and into Easy is . . . an embarrassment, to say the least. Thankfully, all the fanfare and fuss over the women being placed into an offshoot of E Company is such a distraction that no one seems to notice David as he quietly slips in and joins their ranks. Satisfaction settles into his chest as he claims a bunk in the barracks for himself, unobtrusively arranging his footlocker and his belongings in amongst everyone else’s, just as if he's always been there. The lack of attention for his arrival is a strange sort of triumph, like an undercover journalist establishing the perfect alibi and new identity as their cover.

David allows himself a small smile at his success. So far, so good.

None of the other men even get the chance to think about noticing him. Even before David’s arrival, the bunkhouse had been full of conversation – almost all to do with the addition of the female paratroopers to their company, although he did hear one man complaining about the meatloaf that had been served for dinner the night before, which was a nice change of pace. And now, too, another distraction presents itself as a tall, ginger-haired man opens the bunkhouse door and allows himself in.

The effect is instantaneous. Men stop talking when they catch sight of him, instantly sitting up a bit straighter. Not, David realizes, in the way that you would for a headmaster or a dean who expects you to simply exist in a way that is automatically prim and proper, but in the way that you conduct yourself around someone that you hope to impress in the best possible way – someone that you admire.

The Lieutenant nods as a greeting. He stays standing near the door, which has shut behind him. He observes them, not waiting or expecting them to stop their idle chatter; he seems happy just to be around them in this casual environment.

Nevertheless, the talking dies out as the other men look to him. A man with a thick accent leans forward a bit on his bunk, calling out from the middle of the bunk house, “Lieutenant Winters, sir?”

“Yes, Perconte?”

The man on the bunk, Perconte, sits up a little straighter as everyone’s attention turns to him. “Sir, we were just wondering about the girls.”

“What about them?”

“We all know what you were thinking, Perco!” Someone calls, eliciting several laughs from around the room.

Perconte shakes his head, smiling. “Well, sir, we just wondered – what happens now? I mean, why us, anyway?”

“Why Easy Company?” Lieutenant Winters repeats. For a pause, he considers the question. Then, hands on hips, he takes a step forward, and begins a gentle pace down the aisle between the bunks as he works out the answer. “Have any of you heard why Colonel Sink chose E Company specifically for the new Women’s Squad?”

The question is addressed to everyone, to anyone, and they all shake their heads. Even David, although he’s been part of the company for all of two minutes.

“Well,” Lieutenant Winters continues. “I’ll be honest – I had to wonder the same thing myself. But Colonel Sink made it clear: paratroopers might be the best of the best already, but he thinks that Easy Company has gone above and beyond, and we haven’t even left the US yet.”

Smiles scatter themselves across the room. Best of the best of the best. Not so bad.

“As such, who better to help pioneer this new idea? Our track record is excellent. Supreme. The idea – the experiment – of female paratroopers is one that Colonel Sink wants to see succeed. Any other company might shunt them to the side or set them up for failure. But as men known for succeeding, the colonel knows that we don’t want any blemishes on our record.”

Someone interrupts. “You mean – uh, he doesn’t want any blemishes, sir?”

He carries a lot of weight in the way it’s said. Yet the word is tarnished, somehow, like old silver that no longer holds its shine quite the way it used to. Lieutenant Winters has already said that Colonel Sink wishes for them to succeed. David gets the feeling that the “he” being referred to is someone else entirely – someone who inspires the feeling of disdain, or maybe a faint fear.

The Lieutenant is inscrutable, but he doesn’t protest when a few of the men release breathy laughs that might be scoffs or snickers.

“It would be safe to assume that,” he says nonchalantly. “Now, as some of the best, Colonel Sink has entrusted us with a great responsibility.” Winters, now at the end of the aisle, at the door opposite from the one he started at, turns to face with men with one quirked brow. “Easy Company, are you up to the challenge?”

Put like this, it all seems so simple. Of course Colonel Sink would pick Easy Company to pioneer the Women’s Division! Who else would be so welcoming? So ready to set aside their differences for the sake of upholding their company’s stellar reputation? These men have already been learning how to put aside the differences between themselves and their fellow men – doing the same with the women should be easy, after that. This is a company that will not let the colonel and his grand experiment down, David realizes. They would hate to disappoint not only him, but the lieutenant standing before them, tasking them with helping to usher in a new age of military history.

The effect is instantaneous. Any of the men who harbored doubts about their company’s new squad seem to have been converted – and those who still aren’t convinced see enough people change their mind to know that they ought to keep their mouths shut on the threat of marring Easy Company’s status as a first-rate company. Either way, most of the men nod in agreement. A few even smile, never one to back down from a challenge – especially not one issued by someone who they so admire.

“Good.” Lieutenant Winters allows himself a smile now. He begins pacing back down the aisle, back to where he started. “We’ve got to show the other companies that these women are a part of our company and that they are treated as equals. I expect that every single one of you treat them with dignity and civility. Help them and get to know them the way that you have the other men in this bunkhouse. The standing order is: respect.” He stops pacing again to look around at everyone. “Can we do this, Easy Company?”

“Yes, sir!” Almost everyone exclaims at once.

Lieutenant Winters’ expression is firm, proud. “Well then, I’ll hold you all to that. Don’t let the colonel down.”

The unspoken agreement that seems to pass between the men is: don’t let the lieutenant down. And, as David looks around, he has a feeling that disappointing this man is the last thing that any of them want to do.

“Is this coming from Captain Sobel, too, sir?” Someone asks.

There it is – that same feeling that the earlier he caused passes through the bunkhouse again. David has only ever heard Sobel’s name in passing, but he’s got quite the reputation of his own, to say the least. This is someone who would never allow a tarnish on the E Company name.

“These are my thoughts,” Lieutenant Winters admits. “Captain Sobel will be along shortly to make an announcement before you formally meet the women. I don’t know what he plans to say, but I do know that he wants, more than anything, for Easy Company to continue going above and beyond – and to help its new members do the same.”

Oh, he’s brilliant, David thinks. This impromptu speech wasn’t really so improvised to begin with. It couldn’t have been. It had to be Lieutenant Winters who issued the challenge if they want this experiment to succeed. If it had been Captain Sobel, some might have been tempted to throw the proverbial wrench into the plans, as it were, just to watch him flounder. Lieutenant Winters is not someone who you intentionally fail. Genius.

As if on cue, the door opens and a dark-haired man steps in. Another lieutenant, from the bar on his collar.

“He’s on his way,” he tells Lieutenant Winters.

The door opens once again, and the men all stand as another dark-haired man bursts into the room, making a grand entrance. His face is stern and he looks down on them, his eyes roving over every one of them in turn, just to make sure he has their attention.

“Easy Company!” he begins in a booming voice, much more formidable than the tone the previous speech was delivered in. “Today, the female paratroopers are being absorbed into our company as the brand new Women’s Squad. There will be no funny business – no fraternization – under the threat of having your weekend passes revoked. My company will not be subject to rumors and scandal – it will continue to uphold its excellent record. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” everyone mutters, much more subdued than when Lieutenant Winters had asked for their understanding.

Captain Sobel nods firmly. “Good.” Then, just the way he came, he blusters from the room, slamming the door behind him.

All the men instantly relax at his departure.

“There’s a guy that makes you almost want to fail him,” the man next to David mumbles, glancing his way. He does a double take, giving him a onceover with scrunched brows. “Say, who the hell are you?”

David blinks, discovered all at once for his newness. “David Webster.”

The man looks him over again. “I don’t think I’ve seen you before.” He tilts his head. “No, I haven’t. Where’d you come from?”

“I just transferred into Easy, from Fox Company,” David admits, proud that his face only heats a little from embarrassment. “It’s my first morning here.”

The other man shrugs. “Guess you picked the right day to join. Everyone’ll be so busy with the gals that they probably won’t notice a new guy enough to pick on him.” He pauses. “Probably.”

My thoughts exactly, David thinks, although he gets the feeling that this man might just have some thoughts of a few jabs to throw his way.

He sticks out his hand. “Don Hoobler. Nice to meet you.”

“You, too.”

It was a nice six minutes or so of being unnoticed as the new guy. 

It’s still early in the morning, yet the humidity is thick, and made thicker by the cicadas in the trees all around the camp. No longer are their cries simply scattered ambient noise throughout the day, but the unrelenting screeches that drone on and on in a sound that blankets the air above their heads. If the men can’t complain about the heat and the layer of sweat that perpetually exists no matter what they do, the bugs will do the crying for them. From the sound of it, they’re just as miserable as the men doing PT are. The Dog Days in Georgia are nothing to sneeze at.

The women are already gathered on the parade grounds when Lieutenant Winters leads them to PT. Captain Sobel has stormed off ahead. Everyone is at least a little eager to meet these women. Even the men who claim not to care, to have no interest, perk up a little bit as they approach the small group.

Winters gives them a look over his shoulder. Not demanding, not a warning. Just expectant. He’s given them his thoughts. The rest is up to them.

Two women stand in front of the others, leading them in stretches. They stop as the men approach. Behind their crisp salutes to Sobel, their eyes wander to the men, questioning; how is this going to go?

“At ease.” From behind, it’s not hard to notice that Sobel is looking the women up and down, hands on his hips while he surveys them. After a moment, he nods to himself. He points to one of the two women that stand apart from the others. “Aphrodite, introduce your women to Easy Company.”

The woman who is slightly taller blinks, her dark eyebrows shooting up one second before descending into a furrowed position in the next. She purses her lips, throws a quick glance at the woman standing next to her, who looks less angry and more confused.     

“Come on,” Sobel urges, clapping his hands. “We’ve got a schedule to keep.”

“Sergeant Minerva Revels,” the woman, Minerva, stresses in an accent unlike anything that Webster has ever heard before. Slightly Irish, maybe? Australian? 

The woman next to her sounds off next. “Sergeant Diana Bradham.”

It doesn’t take long to get through the other eight of them. There’s Privates Keziah Crowe, Bianca Mancini, Juanita Valdez, Anna Wallis, Anita Houston, Lucinda McNair, Katherine Scott, and, to Webster’s ultimate surprise, Lori Sinclair.

Lori?! He can’t help but be taken aback. She’s the last person that he would have expected to find here, although her red hair should have given her away instantly. Then again, maybe it makes sense, what with her family being so well connected, and all. Probably good publicity for both the Sinclairs and the Army. Last he heard, Lori was off getting a degree in journalism. Huh. Well, hell of a story that she’s going to have. Like him. Who knows? He remembers her as being a promising writer. Perhaps they could co-author a book when all this is over.

Before his mind can wander to close to the New York Times Best Seller’s List, Sobel speaks up again.

“Easy Company, you can take the time to introduce yourselves later. But now, we’re running Currahee.” No one dares let their groans escape them. Sobel whirls back to the women before anyone can think to complain. “Sergeant Bradham, who is the weakest runner in the Women’s Squad?”

The shorter of the two sergeants hesitates. Everyone freezes, waiting to see if her lack of an answer is because she doesn’t know, or because she doesn’t want to embarrass anyone.

“Quickly!” The captain urges.

“I – uh, I don’t know, sir.”

“You don’t know? You are a sergeant, Bradham. Why don’t you know?”

“Well . . .” She bites her lip, glances at the other sergeant. “It’s our first day of organized PT, sir. I’ve never seen any of them run.”

Snickers run through the men as they realize Sobel’s misstep. Glancing around, several men look elated by his mistake, while others just look downright done. It gives Webster the feeling that this sort of occurrence is more common than anyone would like to think.

Sobel whirls around. “Lieutenant Winters!” He barks. “Take everyone up the mountain. I’ll be recording their times. Anyone under forty-five minutes will have their weekend pass revoked. Go.”

In the short time that he’s been a member of Easy Company, Webster has heard Sobel threaten to revoke their weekend passes twice now. This must be commonplace, and he must be serious, because a mad dash up the mountain begins immediately. In the heat of the morning, clouds of dust kick up from the dirt, clogging the air on the trail as they run.

Of course, Webster has run Currahee before. But never like this. Rumors about Easy Company’s running abilities have floated around the camp, and it seems as if this is one of the rare occasions that the rumors are true.

The amazing thing is, hardly anyone falls behind. Some runners are stronger than others. The dark-haired sergeant – Minerva, he remembers – charges straight ahead, easily keeping time with Lieutenant Winters up at the front of the group. Her glossy ponytail swings in time with her steps.

How ironic, Webster thinks, that the woman named after a goddess of war can do this with such ease. As if it’s been predetermined that she can lead people into battle, charging ahead like this.

After the switchback that plummets straight down, the trail dramatically reaches upward, stretching for the sky. Breaths come in pants and white shirts are sweated through, becoming a second skin as they stick to men’s backs with the water from their bodies and the moisture of the air.

But before anyone can truly come to appreciate how miserable this exercise is, something unexpected happens. Above all the heavy breathing and the crunching of boots hitting the ground, a voice rings out over the din.

“He was just a rookie trooper and he surely shook with fright,” a voice sings, clear as a bell and sweet as honey. Whoever the voice belongs to, she must have quite the set of lungs on her, because she doesn’t sound nearly as exhausted as she should while simultaneously singing and running.

The next thing that anyone knows, everyone is joining in on the chorus. A siren song and the dark-humored lyrics carrying them up the mountain, and before they can consider being miserable again, another song is started up to carry them down. It goes on like this, with everyone being so distracted by the music, that when they reach the camp again, it doesn’t feel like the worst run of their lives after all.

Clouds of dust kick up as the company slows to a stop in front of Sobel. The captain’s lips are pressed into a thin line. His eyes betray nothing. He could be pleased with them or absolutely pissed, it’s anyone's guess.

“Forty-eight minutes,” he finally announces. “All weekend passes are revoked. Spend that time working on your running. Now go change and report to the firing range. Move with a purpose!”

Once again, the company manages to hold in the groans and eyerolls that they all so desperately want to let out. Good soldiers, all of them, they hold in their complaints and head off for the barracks to change out of their PT clothes. As they walk, several of the men give the women a wide berth, occasionally throwing glares their way, like the revoking of weekend passes is all their fault. Have they already forgotten who started the singing that buoyed their spirits to get them up and down the damn thing in the first place?

The women are hustling back with such purpose that Webster has to enter a slight jog to catch up with them. He ends up next to the sergeant with the unusual accent.

“Hello,” he says, suddenly remembering what it was like to approach other children on the playground as a child at school and introduce himself in the hopes of befriending them. “I’m David Webster.”

Sergeant Revels quirks an eyebrow. She has green eyes, he realizes now that he’s looking at her up close. Like the ocean. And a spattering of freckles across her nose. “Minerva.”

“The Roman goddess of war.”

She nods. “That’s right. Not Aphrodite, like some people seem to think.”

“Well, some people have no appreciation for the classics,” Webster quips, which makes the corner of her mouth pull slightly in the faintest of smiles. Before he can lose her attention, he adds, “Welcome to Easy Company.”

Minerva does smile this time, as something like relief washes over her, relaxing her shoulders. “Thank you.”

“Minerva!” Someone calls from up ahead. “You better come quick!”

It’s quick, but Minerva’s fingers ghost over his arm in the lightest touch. “See you around, Webster.”

And then she’s gone. The goddess of war, off to fight another battle.

[marquis-de-chastellux]

newport January 12 1781

dear general being arrived at newport, I find myself very happy; not because my health is rather improved than impaired by a long and fatiguing journey, nor because I have seen the vast and interesting theatre of the most memorable transactions, but because I had the opportunity to Know the first personage who shines upon it, and to add the feelings of my heart to those with which he had inspired my soul long time before.1 your excellency commands the respect and the admiration of both hemispheres, but to love you is the peculiar privilege of those who enjoyed your society. I Know, dear general, that your modesty do not allow your friends the pleasure that they should find in expressing their sentiments; but give me leave to observe that those are only apt to forget that you are great who Know how you are good. I have experienced your indulgence, and when I wish to satisfy my vanity And to hope that I dese[r]ve it some way, I think that You distinguished in me a true friend to your country and to the great cause of liberty.

I am happy, dear generl, in the opportunity that is offered to me to present my respects to your excellency. count de charlus the son of Marqui de castries, our new minister, is a young gentleman endowed with the best and most Amiable qualities, but i may do him justice in a word by saying that he is a worthy friend to Marquis de la fayette. he resigned a colonelship of horse to serve in America and left in france a very handsome lady whom he had married six month before.2 I hope that he will testify to your excellency the respect and the attachment of the whole french army, but peculiary that of your Most obedient and humble servant

Cvlr de chastellux

Captain lynch and baron de Montesquieu desire to be respectfully remembered to your excellency and to acknowledge all the goodness you have showed them.3

1. Chastellux, one of the three major generals in the French expeditionary army, had just completed a tour of the northern and middle states, during which he explored the sites of several battles fought earlier in the war. He had visited GW at his headquarters on 23–27 Nov. and 20–21 Dec. 1780 (see GW’s first letter to Samuel Huntington, 27 Nov., and n.1, and to James Clinton, 19 Dec., and n.1; see also William Heath to GW, 21 Nov., and n.1; Lafayette’s first letter to GW, 5 Dec., and n.9; and Chastellux, Travels in North America, 1:63–232). 2. Charlus was colonel en second of the expeditionary army’s Saintonge Regiment (see also Lafayette to GW, 13 Nov. 1780, postscript). For Castries’ appointment as France’s minister of marine, see Vergennes to Lafayette, 1 Dec. 1780, in Lafayette Papers, 3:238–39; see also Lafayette to GW, 9 Dec., and n.3 to that document, and Rochambeau to GW, 19 Dec., and n.5. 3. Isidore Lynch and Montesquieu were Chastellux’s aides-de-camp (see Chastellux, Travels in North America, 1:248–49). Isidore Lynch (1755–1838) was from an Irish Catholic family. Educated in Paris, he began his career as a lieutenant in a French regiment commanded by his uncle. At this time a captain, he eventually attained the rank of lieutenant general in the French army. Charles-Louis de Secondat, Baron de Montesquieu et de La Brede (1749–1824), a grandson of the philosophe Montesquieu, also eventually became a lieutenant general in the French army.

[sassykai10]

Just Let Me Breath

Summary: 

"He cupped his hands and filled them, then ran them over his bare face.

He felt the marks of his eternal scars pass under his fingertips.

Hard lines of memories that had branded him, preventing him from forgetting every time he saw his face in the mirror. That was why he never looked at himself.

That was why he did not want anyone to look at him."

-

Ghost has a dissociation moment.

Warnings: Angst, Dissociation, Derealization, Panic Attack, Anxiety

Please, If you don’t feel confident to read it, just don’t! Take care!

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

It was a cold mid-November evening.

The base was completely silent, except for the few soldiers on watch for the evening.

Price had let the guys from Task Force 141 off so they could rest before their new mission somewhere in Europe.

The captain had gone back to his office to sort out some paperwork. Gaz had run back to his room as soon as he had been given the all-clear. Ghost had intended to return to his room to get just enough rest, but Soap would not let him go until the middle of the night.

It was just past midnight.

The sergeant and lieutenant were in a quiet little room on the base. They had decided to pass the time by playing cards, chatting - Soap especially - and drinking something strong to help them fall asleep better later.

"Boom! - the sergeant threw a double pair onto the table - how do ye respond to this excellent play, LT?" he observed him amused with a big grin on his face. Proud of his cards.

Ghost looked at him. He felt the corners of his mouth turn up just enough to give the idea of a small smile under his balaclava.

Ghost slowly lowered the cards in his hand, a scale of alternating black and red cards ascending from number four to eight.

"Shite..." huffed Soap as he rolled his eyes and tapped his thigh with one hand.

He then moved to settle himself better in the chair. His hands slid over his face and lightly tapped his cheeks. He took the shot glass and poured himself some Drambuie, a liquor his parents had left him the last time he had visited them.

He raised his glass slightly and after carefully contemplating his choice, downed the contents in one gulp.

When he had finished he banged the glass so hard on the table that Ghost was already thinking of Price's face when he found out the next day that Soap had broken something because he was half drunk. Fortunately, nothing broke.

"Whoa! - Johnny shook his head left and right as if to clear his hangover, then looked Ghost straight in the eye with new resolve, his Scottish accent growing stronger - A'm waantin' a rematch!"

"Whatever you say, McTavish," replied the superior calmly, amused.

The two spent another half hour playing and when it was time to return to the room, Ghost was forced to help the sergeant.

In no time at all, he had drained about half the liquor he had brought and was now unable to stand.

"LT... - called him back chuckling - how come yer not as drunk as me? Ye've been drinking too..." he hummed drunkenly.

"I can hold my liquor just fine Johnny"

"Tis nae fair though..." he pouted.

"What?"

"I want tae be like ya when I grow up..." he joked chuckling.

Ghost took a few seconds before replying.

"You'll be better than me, Johnny."

"Hmm. Maybe, but I'll never be as cool as ye" and laughed belly-first.

Ghost felt himself smiling slightly.

It had been so long since he had spent the evening pressed in the company of someone who could make him feel good and prevent his mind from returning to all those horrible memories of the past.

When he was with Johnny, he felt like Simon Riley, not Ghost.

But this thought, as nice as it was, made him uncomfortable. A certain sense of anxiety and nausea tightened his chest.

Johnny had been able to bring a part of Ghost out into the open, something he had been hiding for years since it had fallen into Manuel Roba's hands.

Maybe the man wasn't completely dead. Right...?

'Lt! - Soap snapped his fingers in front of his eyes to rouse him from his trance - we're here!" he laughed.

"Hmm," he muttered in agreement.

Johnny took the room keys from the pocket of his military suit trousers and with difficulty managed to slip them into the keyhole. With a turn he opened the door.

"Finally some rest!" he sniggered as he made his way to his perfectly made-up bed according to the strict rules of the barracks.

With a leap, the sergeant threw himself onto the mattress and moved over the sheets to find a good sleeping position, crumpling and unravelling them.

Despite not being a dog person, Ghost had always thought that Johnny actually resembled a Golden Retriever in character, especially when he was drunk.

Seeing him tossing and turning on the sheets, it felt like watching a dog turn in the kennel before going to sleep.

"LT...! - Johnny called him back in a whiny voice - goodnight!" and smiled at him through wide smile before resting his head on the pillow and falling asleep.

Ghost watched him for a few seconds before turning on his heels.

"'Night Johnny" he mumbled, grinning slightly as he closed the door behind him.

The corridor was silent.

Ghost's footsteps could not be heard, that was a characteristic of him. He had been trained to be a weapon, and as such he had to be able to move silently, on the tips of his toes, to sneak up on his enemies and sever their carotid artery with a single blow from behind.

Even if he had wanted to, that part of himself would never have changed and no matter how hard he tried, some of the things Roba and his people had put in his head, he would never be able to forget them, many of the traumas had changed him so much that they left everlasting scars in his mind.

He took a long breath as he began to feel his heart beat faster.

Remembering what he had been through was certainly not helpful, especially if he already had to deal with these traumas at night with nightmares that lasted for hours on end and always woke him up with his throat closed and tears threatening to fall down his cheeks.

With long strides he finished walking down the corridor and after entering his room he slowly closed the door behind him, making sure the key made two turns in the keyhole. Being cautious and anticipating any possible enemy attack, especially in his sleep, was one of the answers to the traumas he had been carrying around since his return to action.

He removed his boots and jacket, carefully placing them in order near the entrance.

He glanced at the clock on the bedside table by the bed. 00:43.

He could feel his heart still in his throat, pounding and pounding in his ears.

Fuck...

Quickly he headed for the bathroom and with a sudden gesture tore the skull balaclava off his head, a reminder of what he had become.

He did not even look at himself in the mirror and turned on the water in the sink. He cupped his hands and filled them, then ran them over his bare face.

He felt the marks of his eternal scars pass under his fingertips.

Hard lines of memories that had branded him, preventing him from forgetting every time he saw his face in the mirror. That was why he never looked at himself. That was why he did not want anyone to look at him.

He wiped water over his face several times, as if unconsciously trying to eliminate all traces of the growing anxiety he felt in his chest.

Anxiety about what then?

He didn't know either, but his mind travelled so fast that it could be anything: the mission, the night, the nightmares, his relationship with Johnny and the other team members, his fear of not being enough...

All kinds of thoughts of this kind ran through his unconscious continuously, without giving him a moment of peace.

He just wanted to be able to breathe.

To forget everything he had suffered for, but he knew that would be impossible.

He looked up and saw himself in the mirror.

He had done it without realising it and now he regretted it.

His face was milky white, decorated with heavy and numerous pink scars cutting across his forehead, neck, jaw and lips, and his nose was slightly crooked from all the blows he had suffered.

He looked into his eyes, so dark brown that he wasn't sure if he was really looking at the colour of the irises or inside his soul.

He felt and saw his eyebrows arch imperceptibly upwards. The corners of his eyes began to itch uncomfortably.

His hands clung tightly to the edge of the sink to seek support with the reality he knew was disappearing.

For a few seconds he still saw himself reflected in the mirror, then he saw nothing more.

His head was whirling dangerously and his mouth was completely dry. He felt his legs and arms begin to stop supporting him. His balance was precarious.

For a tiny fraction of time he remembered standing in the bathroom, facing the mirror.

The more he looked at himself, the more he wondered if that person in front of him was really him, Ghost, not Simon. He tried to convince himself of that somehow.

He was certain that Simon was no longer there.

But then who was that man in front of him?

In a few moments consciousness slipped from his hands, before returning to his mind, all of a few seconds apart.

He had to force himself to remember where he was, who he was.

His mind was distracted and before long he found himself immersed in a strange, but not unusual feeling of disorientation.

Now he was no longer sure where he was.

Blurred images appeared before his eyes and when he tried to close them he could not.

His head spun lighter, increasing the feeling of nausea that knocked at the pit of his stomach.

He suddenly felt his body become weak, as if he were floating.

Then he saw him, or rather, he saw himself.

The man before him was standing somewhere, not sure where he was.

He could see his blond hair, but his face was blurred.

What did he look like?

He knew, of course he knew!

So why couldn't he remember?

When he saw him turn around, he felt the taste of bile rise beyond his stomach, up his esophagus.

The blond-haired man had the face of a skull, no eyes, no mouth, just an aggregation of pieces of bone.

He felt a slight movement and his mind began to whirl again, wiping the man out of sight.

...Simon...

His name reached his ears in a distant, distorted way.

He turned his gaze to see where it came from, but no one came forward.

Around him only darkness.

Darkness, darkness and being alone.

He shifted his eyes left and right, above and below, where he hoped to find a light, something to help him escape the sudden panic he felt in his chest.

He felt his body as if lying down.

And suddenly the blurred but familiar image of the coffin's interior took him by surprise.

The air began to run out quickly.

He tried to move within that cramped space to find something useful to get out, again.

The jaw... he thought as he felt around, only to realise he couldn't move.

He was going to die there.

He had managed to escape the first time, but he had been pardoned and now, by some strange twist of fate, he would have to relive those interminable minutes again without being able to move or breathe.

His life would end there.

Simon...!

The same voice reached him a second time, more clearly.

He closed his eyes tightly.

He tried to struggle as much as he could, to no avail.

He had to escape at any cost!

When he opened them wide, he was no longer in the coffin.

He felt he could breathe better, however with difficulty.

He looked around again and saw for the second time the so familiar body of a man with ash-blond hair.

He was standing, his shoulders arched slightly forward.

He approached.

He saw him trembling.

He looked closely at his face: his eyes were fixed in front of him, lost in something that even he did not know what it was. He could see that he was biting down hard on his upper lip, just enough to be bleeding. His cheeks were streaked with tears.

It pained him to see that man suffer like that.

Him?

Who was he pitying?

That man?

Who was he?

Who was that man?

Where was he?

Shit...! Shit!

Simon!

It's all right...!

... Johnny?

He opened his eyes wide.

His head was spinning as if in a spiral, his vision was still blurry.

He felt his quick breath go in and out of his mouth.

He had to stop. He had to catch his breath.

His heart was pounding loudly in his ears.

He had to regain his self-awareness somehow.

Three things he could smell.

The faint smell of the shampoo he had used the day before. The aftershave. The faint smell of cigarettes.

Three things he could touch.

His sweatpants. His arm. The cold edge of the sink.

Three things he could see.

His hands clinging desperately to the sanitary. His toothbrush in a glass on the small cupboard nearby. Himself in the reflection.

Inhale. Exhale.

Repeat.

Ghost closed his eyes and forcefully ran his hands over his face.

He needed to detach himself from that mirror. He needed to get out of there.

Fuck...

He ran a hand through his hair as he shakily made his way to the bedroom.

The anxiety was still there, but he felt decidedly more self-conscious.

He saw the balaclava on the floor and bent to pick it up.

Putting it on meant going back to being Ghost, the man he was meant to be. A confidence to gain full control of his body.

He passed the mask around his head and took a deep breath.

A - wrong - feeling of peace embraced him, making him feel safer.

He sat on the edge of the bed taking his face, now masked, in his hands.

He took more long breaths trying to calm himself in the last moment of the panic attack.

He looked up and glanced at the clock. 1:03.

Only a quarter of an hour had passed since he had entered his bedroom after leaving Johnny drunk in his room.

The feeling of helplessness seized him, making him break into a cold sweat.

So little had passed and he had experienced the moment as if it had been hours.

He could not remember what had happened, but he must have had a moment of derealisation and dissociation, something he had been experiencing for years, but was not used to.

How had he managed to come to his senses this time?

His mind strained to remember.

The memory of a male voice, heard many times before, made its way from his unconscious.

"Johnny...- he sighed quietly, his eyes open in amazement- fuck..."

He didn't know if that was good or bad.

He knew that the sergeant could be trusted enough by now.

He didn't want him to get too close to Ghost. He didn't want him to run away once he got to know him better and especially didn't want to risk putting him in danger.

On the other hand, however, a deep desire in his heart wanted someone to at least try to help him, to save him from the idea of a life lived only as Ghost and not also as Simon, who in one way or another still existed in his mind.

He was afraid that a good soul like Johnny might change him, not knowing what awaited him once he got so close to someone.

Ghost shifted on the bed to stand with his back against the wall, the pillow behind his back.

He curled in on himself, closing his legs and tucking them against his chest.

He hid his head between his knees and his hands gripped his feet tightly.

He would wait until he fell asleep, then the day would begin with a wake-up call and preparations for the mission ahead.

Everything would be exactly as it always was.

[universitypenguin]

Loved you’re latest story! Just wanted to know if you have a character board for what some of the characters look like…? Like Zach and Landon…

For whatever I’m thinking of Glen Powell and Miles Teller 🤣

🤷🏻‍♀️ they’re also hot 🥵

Thank you for the ask! I do have a story board of the side characters. Here’s a peak at the visuals for the other characters in “The Princess and the Lawyer.” (Also, please note: Zach Hightower is not one of my original characters. He appears in the Gray Man series by Mark Greaney. I don’t want to put myself across as if I came up with him, because I did not.)

Zach Hightower

My rationale behind Zach’s picture is that he’s older than Lloyd, but not by much. He’s in his late forties and has a very strong, muscular build. He spent 20 years in the Navy before going into intelligence work. This was how he met Lloyd, who was an embedded as an intelligence officer in Zach’s strike team. During the first year working together they clashed often. Lloyd and Zach are actually polar opposites, which made for a rocky relationship, until they realized their differences made them a great team. After about a decade on a CIA team known as “The Goon Squad” he retired to become a private investigator.

Side note: The actor I picked to represent Zach starred in a show called “Human Target” back in the 2010’s. That show definitely inspired my mental picture of Zach’s character when I read the second Gray Man book, “On Target.” At this point he is Zach to me, you know?

Landon McAnanny

Landon is considerably younger than Lloyd and Zach, probably in his mid-thirties. He’s a quiet, reserved person, but also sharply observant. Landon is the most deadly person in the entire story, because he can easily make himself appear unassuming and non-threatening.

He joined the Navy right out of high school and spent the next four years getting his bachelor’s in psychology on the military’s dime. Because of his education, he started out his career as a second lieutenant. Landon excelled and went on to join Zach’s SEAL team when he was only 28. For special forces soldiers that’s pretty young, but Landon was very talented. While on teams he finished a master’s degree in applied behavioral analysis and became his squadron’s field interrogator.

It was Zach who recruited Landon to the CIA after he lost most of his team on a disastrous mission. Later when he started his own investigation firm, Zach recruited Landon for his interrogation and psychology skills.

[acesknights]

° × Warlock Background info post ° ×

CW: Small warning for the post as there will be gore art near the end of this post 🫶

I wanted to make a small(ish) post about warlocks backstory/info because I've been practically only relying on what i find in my notes app and what i remember in my head about him

I'll update this as i go / more info is added into this oc

Info under cut <3

// General information //

Name: Adrian Jan Gruszczyński

Aliases: Warlock

Rank: lieutenant

Affiliations: Shadow Company, GROM [formally]

D. O. B: [09/09/1988] September 9th 1988

Age: 37 Years

Gender: Male - Cisgender

Nationality: Polish

Ethnicity: (West) Slavic

Laterality: Right side dominant

Blood type: O+

Languages: Polish, English, Russian

Personality Type: ISTJ

Specialises in: Long-range-marksmanship, CQC, covert infiltration

Weapon of choice: Barrett MRAD Bolt-Action Sniper Rifle + SIG MCX-SPEAR LT Assault Rifle

// Appearence //

Eye colour: Light Blue

Hair colour: Dark Auburn

Height: 187CM

Weight: 75KG

Body type: athletic

Any markings and/or scars: smaller scars on his arms and legs from small accidents while on the field ie - barbed wire, knife/sharp abrasions.

Deep knife lacerations on his back that required stitches [now healed leaving deep visable scarring]

Chemical burn across the right side of his face, going down to his collar bone - his hair, ear, and neck being affected by the said burn - his right eye sustained little to no damage yet that is subject to change but currently the burn had only eaten away at a large amount of his face, exposing/ripping apart part of his lips - leaving half his mouth always shown.

That severity of a burn had led to him requiring a skin graph from his thigh, more surgeries would be needed in the future to better fix this injury.

The same chemical burn scarring also being on his right forearm, the scarring there hadn't caused major damage as it was partially burned from splashback from the chemicals being thrown onto him but still required the same attention and overlook incase it were to damage his ability to use said arm

// Mannerisms //

Best traits: Tactical Acumen , Loyalty , adaptability to situations

Worst traits: Neuroticism, abrasive nature, known to have workaholic tendencies

Mannerisms: He has a tendency to respond in a brutally honest manner - a trait he had picked up from how he was brought up. He's highly observant, frequently assessing his surroundings and the people around him, which contributes to his tactical acumen. Despite his stoic exterior, he shows support for his team through subtle gestures, like a reassuring nod or a brief, reassuring touch on ones shoulder. Adrian may engage in tactile behaviors like adjusting his gear, checking his weapons over when in deep thought or contemplation before deployment.

// Family //

Relatives: [N/A]

Relationship status: Divorced - 'Katarzyna Gruszczyńska' [estranged]

Children: 'Anya Gruszczyńska' [deceased]

Extra: carries romantic feelings towards his Commander 'Phillip Graves'

// Background //

- Adrian had began his career in the Polish Army when he had enlisted at aged 19, specializing in covert operations and unconventional warfare. He excelled in reconnaissance and stealth missions.

- Special Forces Training: Adrian's exceptional skills caught the attention of the top brass, leading to his selection for specialized training within Poland's elite GROM unit. He honed his skills in marksmanship, infiltration, and hand-to-hand combat.

- While Adrian was still serving in the GROM unit, a mission involving counter-terrorism took an unexpected and horrific turn as Adrian was part of an operation to neutralize a dangerous extremist group responsible for multiple attacks across the time-span of three years. During a high-risk raid on a remote compound that was found inside of a large town, a hostage situation had occurred. This tragically claimed the life of their young daughter, Anya - who had been staying with Katarzyna's parents at the time. Adrian had to witness first-hand the death of his only daughter in front of him. The only view he had was from the scope of his Sniper Rifle

- The loss of their child was an unbearable burden on Adrian and Katarzyna as grief and guilt overwhelmed them both - knowing that this turn of events could've been stopped much earlier than before, yet the two of them had tried to overcome this grief in two vastly different and unhealthy ways. Adrian's relentless commitment to his military career as a coping mechanism drove a wedge between them both - he threw himself into his work seeking solace in the missions to distract himself from the loss of Anya. While Katarzyna could not bear the pain and distanced herself emotionally from him, thus straining and ruining their relationship with one another.

- Overtime, It eventually led to their estrangement, with both of them unable to find a way to heal and reconnect amid the painful memories of their once beloved child. The two agreed to their own separate ways and eventually divorced.

- Shadow Company Recruitment: Adrian's skills and experience eventually caught the attention of the private military organization, Impressed by his service history, they offered him a position that aligned with his talents.

- Injury: During one of his mission within Shadow Company, a mission that Adrian was tasked on had gone south all of a sudden - leading to a gunfight with the enemy rather quickly. Said gunfight leading to Adrian getting hit with a nasty chemical burn across his face and upper left arm. This injury left him unable to serve fully for multiple months, leading him to need multiple different facial reconstruction / skin graphs surgeries to help aid in the healing and lessening the look of this injury he had sustained.

// Images below that show his injury: // + coloured in varient

[clove-pinks]

War of 1812 Wednesday: A Glorious First of June

I periodically bring up Sir John Franklin’s status as a War of 1812 veteran, but I have assumed that it’s more of a piece of trivia than anything else—a footnote in his career even if he took a bullet to his shoulder as part of raiding party at the Battle of Lake Borgne. 

Franklin was a midshipman on HMS Intrepid during the circumnavigation of Australia, he was at the Battle of Trafalgar in the thick of the action (narrowly missing a French sniper’s bullet), and of course he became famous for his polar exploits long before the 1845 Franklin Expedition. I didn’t think that Franklin would be dwelling much on the War of 1812, especially not late in his career in the 1840s. But I was wrong!

Invitation card to a ball aboard HMS Erebus and HMS Terror, hosted by James Clark Ross and Francis Crozier, 1841 (Derbyshire Record Office).

Sir John Franklin was Lieutenant Governor of Van Diemen’s Land when Erebus and Terror wintered there in 1841, and of course he attended the ball. Although the date of 1st June appears to be a coincidence and not selected for any special significance, noted Franklinheads @explorersaremadeofhope @kljjfnotes​ and Olga Kimmins of The Thousandth Part brought it to my attention that it acquired a Glorious First of June title.

The usual “Glorious First of June” in the Royal Navy is the Fourth Battle of Ushant in 1794, but Sir John Franklin had a different battle in mind:

[all the company continued standing while the national anthem was performed by the full Band. The next toast in succession by Captain Ross was “His Excellency the Lieutenant Governor,” to which Sir John Franklin responded, by observing that the day set apart for the festive occasion by Captain Ross, was one that Englishmen might well be proud; it was the anniversary of one of the most splendid naval victories that adorned the pages of our history—it was a day rendered historical by the battle of the Shannon and Chesapeake—and it was also a day considered sacred to science by the discovery by the gallant officer who had proposed his health, of the North Magnetic Pole.]

Franklin hears the first of June and immediately goes to HMS SHANNON VS. USS CHESAPEAKE?! I was not expecting that at all, and have give Franklin more credit for his taste.

The celebrated engagement during which H.M.S. “Shannon” captured the American frigate “Chesapeake”, 1st June 1813, Thomas Whitcombe (Wikimedia Commons).

[scotianostra]

The Battle of Hadden Rig was a battle fought on August 24th 1542, except maybe it wasn't.

To explain this I have to tell you about how much of the dates in history from centuries past can be identified, in this instance it is down to the the feast day of Saint Bartholomew the Apostle, rather than post a date the chroniclers would merely say it was a certain saints day or so many days either side to whatever christian feast, The Battle of Hadden Rig was on St. Bartholomew's day, so the dates all correspond to them aye? Naw, because the calendars changed in 1752, St. Bartholomew's day was originally on September 11th on the old style Julian calendar, nowadays the Catholic Church honours him on August 24th, oh and to muddy the waters a wee bit more Eastern Christianity observe June 11th to honour him. We also have the fact that the actual date September 11th in the Gregorian calendar actually corresponds to August 29th!!! So with that in mind I'll get on with telling you about Hadden Rig.

I think this little known battle is largely forgotten about is due to the numbers involved and the exact location being relatively unknown, I will post a link to this afterwards.

With Scotland now ruled by the young James V under the influence of his English mother, hopes for improved Anglo-Scottish relations were high. However, in 1534 Henry VIII broke the link between Rome and the English church appointing himself as its Supreme Head. Suppression of the Abbeys and plundering of the wealth of the church followed.

Such action was strongly opposed by James V who was heavily influenced by the staunchly Catholic and pro-French magnate Cardinal David Beaton. With Scotland resisting the English move towards religious reform, tensions between the two nations increased significantly. The death of Queen Margaret in 1541 removed the final impediment to war.

Henry VIII demanded that James meet him in York to discuss a religious settlement between the two nations but the Scottish King failed to attend. An English army then raided the Scottish borders under the Command of Robert Bowes.

The only real source for what happened is from the book "The History of the Wars in Scotland: From the Battle of the Grampian Hills In The Year 85, To The Battle Of Culloden In The Year 1746, which was first published in 1783, so a guid few years after the battle. This is directly from that book.

Henry of England, being disgusted at his nephew's connections with France, and finding that Henry of England, Francis had sufficient employment at home, resolved to invade Scotland, both by sea and land.

He, ' appointed a very considerable army to rendezvous upon the borders, under the command of Sir Robert Bowes, one of his wardens, the Earl of Angus, and his brothers. James had nominated the Earl of Huntly to command his army on the borders, consisting of 10,000 men; and his lieutenant was Sir Walter Lindsay of Torphichen, who had seen a great deal of foreign service, and was esteemed an' excellent-officer.

Huntly acquitted himself admirably Well in his commission, and was so well served by his spies, as to have certain intelligence that the English intended to surprise and burn Jedburgh and Kelso.

The English army, under Bowes and the Doug lases, continued still on the borders; and the Scottish nobility and gentry had resolved ’not to attack them on their own ground, nor to act offensively, unless their enemies invaded Scotland. Huntly being informed that the English had ad advanced, on the 24th of August, to a place called Haddonrig, and that they had destroyed a great part of“ the Scottish and debatable lands, resolved to engage them; and the English Were astonished when they saw the Scottish drawn up in order of battle about day-break. Neither party could now retreat without fighting; and Torphichen, who led the van. consisting of 2000 of the best troops of Scotland, charged the enemy so furiously, that Huntly gained a complete and easy victory.

Above 2,000 of the English were killed, and 600 taken prisoner among whom Were their General Bowes, Sir William Mowbray, and about sixty of the most distinguished northern barons; the Earl of Angus escaped by the swiftness of his horse. The loss of the Scottish was so inconsiderable that it is not mentioned.

Of course Henry VIII was not to let this go and got his revenge in November at Solway Moss, more on that in Novembers post.

The following link lets you know where we are in the understanding of the battle as of a couple of years ago, it calls into question the above account, although now mentioning it, it also asks questions about the location, and disputes the numbers.

https://www.thesouthernreporter.co.uk/.../mystery-over...

[daughter-of-melpomene]

MY THE A-TEAM 2010 ORIGINAL CHARACTER, DOT WATANABE

BASIC INFORMATION ———

FULL NAME: Dorothy Hina Watanabe.

OTHER NAMES: Dot (universally), Deadeye (among the military), Dottie, Dottie-girl, musume, magomusume, shinzō, Dr. Jekyll, Dorothy Gale, Watanabe, Lieutenant Watanabe, Miss Watanabe.

NAME MEANINGS:

Dorothy - of Greek origin, meaning God’s gift.

Hina - of Japanese origin, meaning sun.

Watanabe - of Japanese origin, meaning boundary.

ZODIAC SIGN: Cancer (born July 7th, 1978).

BIRTHPLACE: Kohler, Wisconsin, USA.

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Mobile.

NATIONALITY: American.

SPOKEN LANGUAGES: American, Japanese, Spanish (not fluently), American Sign Lanuage (not fluently).

GENDER IDENTITY: Cisgender female.

PREFERRED PRONOUNS: She/her (but will not correct those who refer to her as any others).

ORIENTATION: Unlabelled romantic orientation, asexual (sex-repulsed).

OCCUPATION: Army Ranger (formerly), member of the A-Team.

FACECLAIM: Karen Fukuhara.

PERSONALITY ———

HOGWARTS HOUSE: Gryffindor - “the lion”.

“The Gryffindor house emphasised the traits of courage as well as daring, nerve, and chivalry, and thus its members were generally regarded as brave, though sometimes to the point of recklessness. Some Gryffindors had also been noted to be short-tempered.”

MYERS-BRIGGS TYPE: INFJ - “the advocate”.

"Many Advocates see helping others as their mission in life, and they’re always looking for ways to step in and speak up for what is right. People with this personality type also aspire to fix society’s deeper problems, in the hope that unfairness and hardship can become things of the past. At times, however, Advocates may focus so intently on their ideals that they don’t take adequate care of themselves – a pattern that can lead to stress and burnout."

ENNEAGRAM: Type Two - “the helper”.

"Twos are empathetic, sincere, and warm-hearted. They are friendly, generous, and self-sacrificing, but can also be sentimental, flattering, and people-pleasing. They are well-meaning and driven to be close to others, but can slip into doing things for others in order to be needed. They typically have problems with possessiveness and with acknowledging their own needs. Unselfish and altruistic, they have unconditional love for others."

ZODIAC: Cancer - “the crab”.

"Cancers attract friends and lovers through their loyalty, commitment, and emotional depth. These crustaceans make excellent hosts and enjoy entertaining with comfort food and free-flowing libations. (Cancer rules the stomach, so there’s nothing these crabs love more than a home-cooked meal.) If you're not a fan of Cancer’s attachment to the home, that may be a bit of a problem. Though these celestial crabs avoid direct conflict by walking at an angle, they can inflict a harsh pinch with their distinctive brand of passive-aggressiveness. It may be difficult to convince a Cancer to talk openly about what's bothering them, but if you can do it without making them feel threatened, you'll build long-lasting trust."

ALIGNMENT: Neutral Good.

"A Neutral Good character typically acts altruistically, without regard for or against lawful precepts such as rules or tradition. A Neutral Good character has no problems with cooperating with lawful officials, but does not feel beholden to them. In the event that doing the right thing requires the bending or breaking of rules, they do not suffer the same inner conflict that a Lawful Good character would."

LOVE LANGUAGE: Physical touch (giving), words of affirmation (receiving).

SKILLS: Exceptional marksmanship, hand-to-hand combat, knowledge of first aid, observational skills, people skills, singing, acoustic guitar, baking, endurance.

LIKES: Musical theatre, spending time with the team, fidget toys, a good meal, soft sweaters, cuddling with Murdock, slow dancing, autumn weather, horror movies.

DISLIKES: Mushy foods, strobe lights, rap music, any kind of discrimination, know-it-alls, being cold, smug people, snobs.

FEARS/PHOBIAS: Blood, being alone, failure, snakes, losing the people she cares about, being separated from the team.

BACKSTORY ———

Dorothy Hina Watanabe was born July 7th, 1978, to Sakura and Hiroshi Watanabe, the second child and second daughter of first-generation Japanese-Americans living in the small town of Kohler, Wisconsin. Dot’s father was a fairly skilled marksman, having been taught to shoot by his own father when he was young, and from the time that Dot and her older sister Ren were eight and eleven respectively, Hiroshi Watanabe used Saturday afternoons to take his daughters into a field near their house and teach them how to shoot.

Though Ren grew to have fair skill with a revolver, Dot took to shooting various types of firearms almost faster than her father could teach them to her, eventually graduating to doing complicated trick shots by the time she was ten. When the sisters were eleven and fourteen, they begged their parents to let them enter a shooting contest in the county fair, entering as a pair and beating out fully grown adults. Though that was the only competition either of the Watanabe daughters ever entered, the girls became mildly famous in their county, with a local paper dubbing them “the Oakley sisters” in an article about their contest win.

Though the girls were raised well and their parents loved them dearly, tragedy was destined to strike the family. One night while driving home from a date night, Sakura and Hiroshi Watanabe skidded out of control on a rain-soaked road after swerving to avoid a deer, crashing into a tree. Both of them were dead on impact, and thus Dot and Ren were left as orphans, being taken in by their paternal grandparents almost immediately. Though the girls’ grandparents were loving and did their best to raise the children well, Ren, who had always felt that her grandparents favored her younger sister, believed that Dot became even more the favorite after their parents’ deaths, and this caused her to relentlessly bully Dot for the majority of her childhood, mercilessly making fun of everything from the younger girl’s fashion sense to her frequent rambling and “freaky ticks” (Dot had not received her autism diagnosis yet).

Though Dot could never quite bring herself to stop loving her sister, she was relieved when Ren went off to college with the goal of someday becoming a United States senator. Dot, however, had no real intentions to get any form of higher education; she’d never been good enough at anything, or enjoyed anything enough, to attend four more years of school for it. Instead, at the age of nineteen (after taking a year to take care of her aging grandparents and make sure she could hire a quality caretaker for them), Dot enlisted for the US Army Rangers.

Due to her amazing firearms skills, Dot quickly became a well-known figure among the Rangers while she was still a private, dubbed “Deadeye” by her fellow soldiers both due to her infallible aim and the colder, more precise personality she seemed to adopt when in conflict. She also began a casual relationship with Lieutenant Madeline Keller, who worked on the base Dot was stationed at. It was with Lieutenant Keller that Hannibal Smith first saw Dot, making out with the other woman in the base’s empty barracks.

Dot’s commanding officer was ready to report both women and court-martial them for fraternizing, but Hannibal had come to observe the shooting skills of this well-known young woman and didn’t care if she wanted to make out with someone before the demonstration. After showing off her sharpshooting skills, twenty-year-old Dot was offered a position under Colonel Smith’s command, with a promise that she’d get to go on crazy missions and utilize her incredible abilities so often that they’d never grow rusty.

Over the course of the next few years, Dot grew close to Hannibal and came to see him as an adoptive father, as well as developing a sibling-like relationship with Templeton “Faceman” Peck, a fellow Ranger and skilled con man whom Hannibal also took under his wing. Dot and Face spent the majority of their interactions bickering and competing, but when Hannibal informed her that Face had been captured by a corrupt Mexican general and needed their help, Dot didn’t hesitate to agree to going on the rescue mission with him.

She just didn’t realize, going in, how much the events of that rescue mission would change her life.

RELATIONSHIPS ———

FAMILY: Sakura Watanabe (mother; deceased), Hiroshi Watanabe (father; deceased), Ren Watanabe (older sister), Himari Watanabe (paternal grandmother), Katashi Watanabe (paternal grandfather), Hannibal Smith (father figure), Bosco “B.A.” Baracus (brother figure), Templeton “Faceman” Peck (brother figure).

FRIENDS: Templeton “Faceman” Peck (best friend), Bosco “B.A.” Baracus (best friend).

ACQUAINTANCES: Charissa Sosa (acquaintance), General Russell Morrison (acquaintance).

ROMANTIC INTERESTS: Roger Wilson (brief crush), Kyle Holland (brief crush), Madeline Keller (former fling), H.M. “Howling Mad” Murdock (current romantic interest, boyfriend).

TRIVIA ———

Dot is a massive musical theatre fan. Her top three favorite musicals are Moulin Rouge!, The Sound of Music, and Hairspray.

She also really likes podcasts, her top three favorites being Welcome to Night Vale, The Magnus Archives, and My Favorite Murder.

Dot makes amazing peanut butter cookies.

She loves the show Hannibal (and is a huge Hannigram shipper, not that she’s admitted it to anyone besides Murdock and B.A.).

Dot is a terrible dancer. She is so bad that Hannibal knows better than to put her undercover on any missions where dancing would be required, because she would undoubtedly screw it up without even meaning to.

PLAYLIST ———

i. “angel with a shotgun” by the cab.

ii. “count on me” by bruno mars.

iii. “soldier” by fluerrie.

iv. “you can’t get a man with a gun” from the musical annie get your gun.

v. “stay stay stay” by taylor swift.

A-Team OC Squad: @auxiliarydetective, @datasgirlfriend.

General Taglist: @hiddenqveendom, @foxesandmagic, @artemisocs, @reyofluke-ocs, @guardiansofheroes, @ocappreciationtag.